A Question Of Entail:

Volume One.

Chapter I.

Pemberley, 1st August, 1820.

Darcy turned his imaginary corner for what seemed like the hundredth time. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece for what seemed like the one thousandth. He looked once more at the open double doors which provided the exit to the corridor that led to the next room. The next room. Where his wife was located. He clenched his fist. If someone told him the identity of the man who said that it got easier every time, he would kill him here and now in the most gruesome way imaginable. The man must not have loved his wife, else he would never had said that supposed pearl of wisdom. For Darcy knew that the pain never got better, it only got worse, every time.

He turned the corner again and glanced around the room, trying to fix on something other than the floor. It was to no avail. The room was empty, Georgiana and her husband having kept his children downstairs while they waited to make sure they were not concerned. He grimaced. He did not blame Georgiana for doing that, for his own presence at the moment would be no help to his children, the worry for their mother written clearly upon his face. Darcy sighed and turned another corner. He swore to himself every time that he did this that he would never put her through it again, yet always she would survive in perfect health and another year or so would pass before she would announce that they were in the family way once more.

At last he heard the wail of a child and instinctively breathed a sigh of relief. He came to a halt by the opened door, waiting for the midwife to come walking through, the agreed signal long ago for him to go to her. Five minutes later she came and he nodded politely to her before walking straight past her to go the next room.

The midwife made no comment upon the lack of acknowledgment of her presence, instead she just curtseyed and let him go past her without comment. Indeed, where the Darcys were concerned, she was lucky to get one at all. It was common knowledge in Derbyshire that Mr Darcy had only eyes for his wife, in fact it had been established within a month of their arrival.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Darcy opened the doors to the room that was only used in these circumstances. He blinked several times as he gazed at the scene before him, trying to confirm its truth. Elizabeth was there lying in the bed, sleeping peacefully. In the cot nearby, a babe was also sleeping equally peacefully.

Darcy went straight to his wife, sitting down on the chair that was near where she lay. He reached out and clasped her hand, bringing it carefully to his lips. Slowly the reality sank in, and he found himself shaking uncontrollably. He rested his head on their hands on the bed, as he finally let go of his restraint and sobbed out his grief.

Elizabeth's sleep was broken. She opened her eyes to find her husband crying on her hand. "Will? What's wrong?"

Darcy looked up. "Will" meant she was concerned, "Fitzwilliam" meant she was fine and "Darcy" meant that she was angry with him. Fortunately he had rarely heard that name being spoken. "Its nothing," he said honestly, gazing at her, "I'm just glad you're alive. I thought I was going to loose you."

She sighed and instantly began to reassure him, for they had had this discussion every time. " You never will."

"I love you Lizzy."

"I love you," She replied, her sparkle returning. Darcy smiled back at her and she leant down to kiss him. Then she sat up, turned and slid across to the end of the bed. She returned with the child and presented it to him. "Here is our daughter."

Darcy gazed down at the babe and was entranced. Every child had had the ability to do that to him since they had had Lawrence, their first and their heir. The babe opened her eyes and stared up at him, causing him to let out a gasp of surprise. Elizabeth's eyes were staring back at him from inside the babe in her arms.

Elizabeth saw his fascination. "What shall we call her?"

"Well," he replied, "as we decided against using our own names long ago and as she is the image of her mother, I think it should be Imogen Elizabeth Darcy."

Elizabeth considered for a moment and then agreed. "Imogen it is. Although I think her father is too much of a flatterer to judge so."

Darcy chuckled. "Let me take her and you get some rest. I'll introduce Imogen to the rest of the family. I love you, Elizabeth Darcy."

Elizabeth smiled. "I love you too, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

The 35th Regiment camp, Newcastle.

In a small, poor looking, ill-kept house on the main street, another woman was struggling in her labour. And this was to be her last child, at least for awhile.

Downstairs, a family equally nervous, waited for the ordeal to end. Seven children, unnaturally silent, wished for their mother to be okay. A wife of another officer kept her eyes on them worriedly.

A knock at the front door brought them all out of their trance. The woman got up and went to answer it. A officer, a Major by the look of him, was standing outside.

"Mrs Wickham?"

"No," the woman answered, "my name is Mrs Lawford. What can I do for you?"

The officer looked uncomfortable. "My business is with Mrs Wickham alone."

"Mrs Wickham is.........." A child's wail stopped the explanation and turned it to be unneeded. The officer nodded in understanding. "How long until she is fit to see visitors?" he asked Mrs Lawford.

"Not for a few days. Why do you ask?"

"I am afraid I come with some bad news. I regret to inform you, Mrs Lawford, that Captain Wickham was murdered this morning in a duel."

Chapter II.

Pemberley, 1820.

Georgiana Blakeney looked up as the doors to the music room were opened by a footman, signalling that her brother was about to come through with the latest addition to the Darcy family. The children near her stopped playing instantly, all equally curious as to what was about to happen.

Sure enough he came through the door with boyish smile upon his face and a bundle in his arms. "Come and welcome your new niece, Georgiana."

The youngest children of the Darcys, twins Alexander and Alexandra, tried to rush up to greet their father but their elder siblings Lawrence and Heloise, held them back. They had been through this already and knew that it was wrong to disturb their father with the new baby until they were asked.

Georgiana came up to her brother and peered down at the bundle in his arms. "She's beautiful," she cried softly instantly. "What have you called her?"

"Imogen," Darcy replied as they moved to sit down on one of the sofas. He gestured for the children to come and see the child. Six children came up to the sofa and clustered around their father and, for two of them, uncle, to see what he held in his arms.

"I think I see why she was named Imogen."

Darcy looked up at his brother in law. "How is that, Michael?"

"I can tell from here that she's the image of her mother."

Darcy chuckled. "That's exactly what I first thought."

"How is Lizzy?" Georgiana asked.

"She's a little exhausted, it was a long time. She's getting some rest at the moment. I'll let her sleep in there until she wakes up."

Hunsford Parsonage, Kent.

"Thank you, Sir, for coming so far. You had a pleasant journey I trust?"

"Yes I did."

"Did Lady Catherine's............"

"Please, Mr Collins, I did not come here to listen to you talk about Lady Catherine. You wanted to see me about something to do with Longbourn. What is it?"

"I am afraid that I cannot inherit it, sir."

Mr Bennet looked at his host puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"I believe, sir, that there is a clause in your late father's will that forbade entail if the heir to that entail was not able to............. that is..........."

"Mr Collins, please get to the point."

"I cannot have children sir. That is, my wife is not able to........."

"I understand, Mr Collins," Mr Bennet replied quickly. He hated travelling, except to Derbyshire, and wanted this visit to end as quickly as possible. Now he realised, it was going to take a little longer than he had anticipated. "Er, when did you find this out?"

Mr Collins hesitated. He had no desire to confess that they had never even tried for children, let alone the real truth; that it was not Charlotte's problem but his own. "About a week ago, sir."

Mr Bennet made no comment on this, surprised as he was. Until now he had never heard of the clause that Mr Collins referred to. "Well, thank you for telling me this Mr Collins. I fear I must be leaving now."

"Will you not stay for tea? Lady Catherine, I am sure........."

"I thank you, Mr Collins, but I am afraid I must decline. I have a pressing appointment with my lawyers in town." At least now he did. This was going to need some careful investigation to find out what happened next. If it could not go to Mr Collins and it could not go to his daughters, then who could it go to?

The 35th Regiment camp, Newcastle.

In the end, Mrs Lawford was spared the unpleasant task of acquainting her friend with the news of Captain Wickham's death, for Mrs Wickham determined it herself, when her friend had been allowed to visit her.

Mrs Lawford could remember her reaction well. Indeed she had been most surprised by it. She had considered once to have many things in common with her friend Mrs Wickham. She like Mrs Lawford herself, had eloped with her husband, and until today, Mrs Lawford had let the romance of it cloud her true judgement of the state of affections between the two.

Yet now, as she looked at her friend in shock, as she listened to her reaction, Mrs Lawford began to wonder what it was in the first place which has caused the Wickhams to leave all their friends, to elope to Newcastle.

"He is dead then?" Had been the only words Mrs Wickham had uttered. It had been more a statement than a question, yet Mrs Lawford chose to treat it as the latter. She confirmed it with sad acknowledgement.

Mrs Wickham made no reply. The babe in her arms stirred but instead of looking at her, Lydia turned to the window, as tears continued to elude her features.

Chapter III.

Pemberley, 2nd August 1820.

As daylight began to invade via the sash windows the recent darkness in the north west wing of guest bedrooms, Elizabeth rolled over in her sleep and into the brilliance of the rays. Her eyes blinked open upon the immediate encounter of those rays and then instantly closed themselves again as her senses had yet to become connected to the passage of time, shrouded in sleep as they still were. A second later, however, they opened once again this time in surprise to find her husband's form sleeping opposite her.

Her surprise was not to do with the novelty of the occasion, indeed it was a rarity for her not to wake either in the arms or the presence of her husband's form. Instead its roots lay in the fact that the bedchamber they now inhabited was not the master chamber, or even what the room that was meant to be her own bedchamber, - for she had spent little of her time in that room either, the state of affections between Fitzwilliam and herself being what they were- it was one of the suite of guest rooms which lay some distance away. Due to its convenient geography- having a small lounge scarcely a hallway away from it- it had been used as the chamber to welcome all of the Darcy children into the world. It was chamber that Elizabeth never spent much more than a week in- except when the twins had been born- and she always slept uneasily there, due to the absence of her husband. Yet now she had awoken to find him peacefully asleep beside her.

At least he had been peacefully asleep. Now he was as awake as herself and wearing a sheepish smile upon his features. "I see I have been discovered," he commented.

"Indeed you have," Elizabeth replied. "How long have you been here?"

"Since last night," he replied, shamefacedly. "I confess, Elizabeth, that I have often...... in fact every occasion it is my custom to sleep beside you until you are well."

Elizabeth smiled at the frank sweetness of the reason. It was one of the many avowals of devotion and love that he had bestowed on her constantly from the day of their engagement. Immediately she encouraged its continuance, by recollecting upon the marked difference it had made to her sleep pattern.

"The first night we spent apart after Lawrence was born," Darcy began, "I could not sleep. I finally gave up at midnight and came here. Since then I have been unable to leave your side at night." He paused, taking her hands in his to kiss them, before changing the subject slightly in order to allay fears. "Imogen is asleep in her cot."

"That I never doubted of, my caring and loving husband," Elizabeth replied, making him smile in pleasure. Her hands evaded his grip and began to trace the lines upon his which marked the divisions.

Darcy tried desperately to keep the desires which this action caused under control. This vow was not easily accomplished, for in a marriage such as theirs, the affection, devotion, adoration and love between them had increased every day of its existence. Indeed, if it was at all possible, Darcy found that he loved his wife even more than the blessed day he had been lucky enough to gain her affections.

"And how have the rest of our children coped?" Elizabeth asked, her fingers still stroking his palms.

"They struggled under the absence of their mama admirably," Darcy managed to reply, still finding her actions unbelievably distracting. In fact, if anything, the somewhat trivial nature of their conversation, coupled with the action served only to increase his desire.

"And dear Georgiana and Michael, how are they?"

"They are also well."

"That was a very economical reply, my love," Elizabeth remarked teasingly, knowing full well the reason for her husband's lack of conversation. Her fingers continued in their task. "I am sure your sister would be most distressed to hear such a reply coming from a previously beloved brother."

Darcy could bare it no longer. "All right, that's it," he declared, and abruptly pulled Elizabeth into his arms, his hands taking control of her own, stopping them in their occupation. "You know why it was a short reply only too well, my love."

Elizabeth affected innocence. "Do I?"

"Most certainly. It was the action of my wife bewitching me." Darcy now took those captured fingers up to his lips and began to lay small kisses upon them. After a few minutes he had become so ingrossed in his task that an interruption was most unwelcome.

The interruption originated from the cot that was not too far from the bed. Darcy reluctantly released his wife to let her fetch their latest child before its cries woke the other occupants of the house.

Gracechurch street, London, 3rd August 1820.

Mr Hawkins, butler to Mr Edward Gardiner, was just about to go to the kitchen to have his luncheon when the door had the annoying presumption to be knocked upon. Sighing in the same emotion he went to open it. The man standing outside waiting to come in was a familiar face to Hawkins however, and his annoyance changed to gladness as he welcomed in the arrival.

"Mr Bennet, sir, welcome."

"Thank you, Hawkins," Mr Bennet replied, distracted as he was. "Is my brother home?"

"He is indeed sir. Shall I take you to him?"

Mr Bennet nodded and allowed Hawkins to take the lead. He was still overwhelmed by the recent sequence of events to notice anything, except for perhaps a slight feeling of deja vu at experiencing the same emotions which had passed through his head here over eight years ago.

"Edmund!" Began his brother in law as soon as Mr Bennet came into the drawing room. "What brings you into London?"

"Estate business," Mr Bennet replied quickly as he waited for Hawkins to leave. When he did so, he sat down and began to explain. "Collins wrote to me about a week ago, asking to see me on an urgent matter concerning the passage of Longbourn. It turns out that he cannot have children. Which means he forfeits the right to inherit it."

"How come?" Mr Gardiner asked, puzzled.

"Well, this is what I found out this morning. Apparently there is a clause in my late father's will which states that if the estate has to be entailed away and that heir does not or cannot have children within my lifetime, it passes to a second male child of one of my daughters."

Mr Gardiner relaxed. "Is this all you came you tell me? I see no problem in this. It is obvious who it will go to."

"It is," Mr Bennet agreed. "But how does that not appear incredibly selfish to the rest of them? After all, they may have sons within my lifetime."

"I think they will just have to live with it. Or rather my sister will have to."

Mr Bennet chuckled at that. "I believe they will. It is strange however. I always imagined one day that her children would inherit Longbourn and now they will. I never wanted it to go to anyone else. If Collins had had more sense............." Mr Bennet trailed off at the thought of possible outcomes that event might have brought about.

"And if you had had another son," Mr Gardiner added. His brother in law merely nodded.

"Still, it is just as good this way. Looking back I would not change a thing."

Mr Gardiner nodded in agreement. "I presume you will be staying here? It is after all, shorter travelling time from London."

Mr Bennet thanked his brother in law for his generosity as his mind began to make plans to meet with his lawyer again in the morning. There were contracts to be drawn up.

Chapter IV.

Pearlcoombe, Cheshire. 4th August 1820.

In a neighbouring county to Derbyshire and not thirty miles from the estate of the Darcys lay Pearlcoombe, home of Mr and Mrs Charles Bingley. It was a large estate, not as large as Pemberley of course, but considerably larger than Netherfield and had the good fortune of being completely theirs, the last owners of it having regrettably passed away with no heirs not more than ten years ago. The estate had remained empty for so long that the neighbours of it were beginning to despair of its ever being filled again when one morning two riders had been seen surveying it.

"It's a fair prospect," the fair-haired gentleman had concluded first.

"Pretty enough, I grant you," his friend, the dark-haired gentleman, had replied, feeling a slight sense of deja vu as he did so.

"Oh its nothing to Pemberley I know, but I must settle somewhere," the fair-haired gentleman continued, causing his friend even more agitation.

"Bingley," he had began straight away, "do you not realise what you are saying? It is just me or have we had this conversation before?"

Bingley had chuckled outright at that, causing his friend to laugh also, breaking the intrusion of the past. "Seriously, Darcy," Bingley began, once calm had prevailed, "what is your opinion of it?"

"Do you need my opinion?"

"Well, I must confess I am already decided, but I should like to have it all the same."

Darcy paused before answering, "I think you should take it."

Bingley smiled. "That is exactly what I had decided. I shall settle it directly."

And so Pearlcoombe was once inhabited again, much to the relief of all its neighbours. The house was so beautiful, that it had been determined long among them that such a house should not be empty for long. They were most glad to welcome Mr and Mrs Bingley with their son, James, when they arrived to take up residence not more than a month later.

Now, to describe the estate. It was very much of the Classical style, built in pale stone with a considerable amount of windows, but not enough to ensure that they completely covered the house, situated in a valley, with spectacular views of the countryside and its very appearance gave such an atmosphere of tranquillity that it was only right that the family who now had ownership of it would be just as peaceful and kind.

Since that time, the Bingleys had been blessed with two more children, Elspeth and Helena, of whom the latter was just now a year old. They favoured- as their proud father was often wont to judge so- the beauty of their angelic mother and had been pronounced as angels as soon as they were born, with the dispositions of their easy parents doubled in both.

Indeed the Bingleys could count themselves as one of the happiest couples in the world. Their estate was idyllic, their children perfect, and as the situation of ______ was too far away from Hertfordshire to incur frequent visits from Mrs Bennet- although Mr Bennet often visited while passing through on his way to Derbyshire- the family could not be more happy. They had been most glad to get away from Netherfield. The visits of Mrs Bennet had if anything increased since the day of their marriage and it was only so long that even a couple with the sweetest dispositions could put up with the visits and the constant inquiries for balls to invite single young men to marry one or two of their sisters. The distance of Pearlcoombe had served well, especially as Mrs Bennet was not fond of long carriage rides -although where it concerned her children that was wont to change, but her husband was most reluctant to take her for not more than a fortnight at the most- and had the additional advantage of being not thirty miles from Pemberley, incurring frequent visits from both families.

Jane delighted in visiting her sister, indeed a dinner there had been planned for a few days hence, but which now had been delayed due to the birth of Imogen. The Bingleys had been the first to be informed of this happy news by hand of a Pemberley footman not more than a day after the girl was born and had sent their congratulations. Jane was happy for her sister and happy for herself. She loved dear Charles more each day and was thankful that he had had the chance to come back to Hertfordshire and marry her eight years ago. The wedding had been as perfect as she had once imagined it could be, although she had missed Lizzy much during the first months. The Darcys had travelled to town two days after the wedding, then had gone to Derbyshire a few weeks after that. This distance between them caused the frequently flow of letters which helped to lessen the sorrow and they were most glad to be reunited at Christmas two months later. They had spent the first day together walking upon the grounds of the estate as Elizabeth delighted in showing her sister all the beauties of Pemberley, first just the two of them, and then later in a Phaeton with Aunt Gardiner, fulfilling a promise that Mrs Gardiner had requested of her niece a few months ago.

When they moved to Pearlcoombe a year later those visits had increased, along with the sisters happiness. Their young children became fast friends as well, along with Georgiana, whom Jane came to know better over the years. She had met Miss Darcy at the wedding and like Elizabeth had fallen in love with her at once. Together the two sisters between them managed to increase Georgiana's confidence and trust to such a degree that when Mr Michael Blakeney came her way, she did not hide away as she had previously done so.

And so we come to the fourth day of August 1820 which had so far been an ordinary day in the life of the Bingleys. The had risen early -in a house with three young children it was impossible to do otherwise- and breakfasted before separating for the rest of the morning, Charles to sort out a minor problem concerning the horses, Jane to see that the children were established in the nursery before writing a letter to Lizzy.

This business was completed by luncheon to which all the family took outside, the weather being- for England that is, and I speak from experience, dear readers- unusually fine. They took it not far the house itself, upon the grounds that were untouched by gardens. The cook did a very fine luncheon and it was often the custom in good weather to partake of it outside in the relative peace of the estate grounds. I say relative, because it was about to change and the pleasant tranquillity was soon to be done away by the unwelcome- and indeed, must unexpected- intrusion of noise.

This noise was not easily identifiable at first. Although Pearlcoombe had the happy advantage of being situated in a valley, that valley sometimes posed a problem, especially when the source of a disturbance could not be identified. It forewarned the owners that a visitor was coming, but it did not enable them to identify the visitor until it was almost too late, especially when that visitor decided to send no word of their coming, as visitors are sometimes wont to do.

And this visitor- perhaps I should say visitors, for there will be several,- was indeed of the unexpected kind. It was in the form of a carriage, the Bingleys had been able to determine that much by the noise, for it was a distinct noise. The sound of horses hooves going at full pelt, combined with the rattle of carriage wheels on the pebble road way to the estate, had a unique sound and long experience served to identify it also immediately.

It caused complete surprise of course, as unexpected carriages usually do. At first the Bingleys were of the opinion that it was Mr Bennet, but this was quickly dismissed, for that gentleman usually came by horse. No, a carriage usually denoted a lady and or children with- sometimes without- a gentleman as well.

A quick query to his wife's memory told Charles that no family was expected, for no letters had come from either the Guests- Kitty -or the Smythes- Mary -recently, and of course Mrs Bennet was out of the question for no letter had come from her either. That left the Darcys who, with the birth of Imogen were likely to be at Pemberley for quite a while. It was also not the Blakeneys as they too were staying there. The Gardiners were out as well, as Jane had had a letter from them only yesterday which revealed that they were still in town. Which left only one conclusion.

This conclusion was a great surprise, for the Bingleys had never had a visit from them in their entire married life, indeed no one had. It had not been the matter of having no desire to see them- although that was an excuse for some,- it had been more a case of the inconvenience that such a visit would create both ways. Travelling to see them would mean residence in a hotel, for the house was of too full a nature to provide them with rooms, and them travelling to see the Bingleys was often prevented by an extreme lack of funds or to the usually annual addition to the ever increasingly large family.

The Bingleys immediately packed up the remains of the previously quiet luncheon and began the short walk back to the house, as all the while the sounds of the carriage got louder and louder. They reached the front entrance of Pearlcoombe just as the carriage had come to a halt not many feet from the steps.

It was a post or hired carriage, and not a very good one, as the decrepit appearance of it showed. The horses looked haggard and worn out, like they had been driving for at least a day or more without a change. The driver had a similar look and manner, indeed he almost stumbled as he jumped down from the box in a rush to open the door and reveal his traveller.

The Bingleys meanwhile had come to a stop outside the front steps, and were watching with an extreme sense of dread to see if their suspicions were correct. Their expressions of hard come welcome were trying to make a considerable effort to look more convincing when the carriage door was open and was finally relieved of its occupants.

Jane gasped, a motion which was shortly copied by the rest of her family. She stepped forward and pronounced the name of the last person she had expected to see. "Lydia!"

Chapter V.

Pearlcoombe, August 4th 1820.

It did not take too long for Jane to determine that her youngest sister was not her normal self. She had not done any of the usual things that she would have done eight years ago. Jane knew that eight years would be plenty of time for someone to change, it is just that she had not expected Lydia to follow this example. Jane looked closely at Lydia as she stood there, hesitant to move forward and greet herself and Charles. Almost as if she knew that her reception might not be welcoming. Her whole manner was cautious, more than cautious even, it looked scared. Her eyes were reluctant to meet any of theirs and she seemed to be in a trance as she continued to just stand still.

Jane knew that it was up to her to make the first move and so she began it directly by stepping forward and addressing her sister with, "Lydia, it is good to see you. Will you not......"

She could get no further. The sudden words of comfort spurred Lydia out of the trance that had somehow got her through the past two days. She ran crying into her sister's arms.

Jane was most surprised at this reaction, but nevertheless, she reacted quickly, putting her arms around her, murmuring words of comfort. She turned her eyes to Charles, motioning him to take care of the carriage.

Charles stepped forward and paid the coachman who until Lydia had begun to cry had looked most annoyed at not receiving gratitude for his trouble. However, he was not without heart and stayed down long enough to help Bingley with the luggage and assure the gentleman of his wish to see his sister in law- at least that was the relation he presumed it was- in happier circumstances.

Bingley meanwhile had reached the carriage door and peered inside. Then he gasped again. He knew Lydia had had a son about a year after they had married, but they had never heard of any more after that. Yet somehow there were seven children sitting in the carriage, looking at him with eyes of fear. Instantly he spoke to them, trying to assure them. "Hello, I am your uncle Charles. Will you not please come out now?"

The children silently obeyed him and with his help stepped out of the carriage. It was then that he noticed the eighth child, a bundle wrapped in a brother's arms. The lad himself was having difficulty getting out of the carriage. Charles reached out with his hands to take the child. "Let me," he began soothingly. The lad hesitated for a brief moment, as if this kindly looking gentleman was not to be trusted. However he soon realised the difficulties of his present situation and, with definite reluctance, handed over the child. He was comforted however by the way that his 'uncle Charles' cradled his sister with an almost fatherly devotion in his arms.

Mr Bingley handed the babe back as soon as the lad had got out of the carriage. He knew that their trust needed to be gained and that keeping the babe in his arms would have prevented that instantly. He glanced at his wife and saw her still occupied with a crying Lydia. He was also surprised by the appearance of Mrs Wickham. It then occurred to him that Mr Wickham was nowhere to be seen. He turned back to the lad, who was obviously the eldest, as all the others seemed to cling to him, and carefully asked, "did not your father travel with you?"

It was with some difficulty that the lad managed to reply. "Our father is dead." He said simply.

Who knew that just those four words could have so much effect. It seemed to stop the ominous silence that had previously surrounded them and prompted the carriage off into motion. It was a tired motion, and Bingley noticed that the horses were worn out. "Please," he addressed to the driver, "why do you not stay here for the night? My housekeeper would be glad to accommodate you and those horses need a break."

The coachman nodded and thanked Mr Bingley for his kindness. Bingley turned to order a passing stable hand to take the horses and carriage to the stables and then escort the coachman to the kitchens. With that done he turned back to his wife who had now managed to separate herself from Lydia and was beginning to lead her and the children inside the house. Bingley turned to the children and gestured them to follow him.

Lydia did not even glance at the beauty of the hallway as she entered, in fact, she had seemed to have returned to that trance like state which had occupied her throughout the journey here. Her children were just as silent although their eyes cast themselves about the place, as if looking for something or someone.

"Sir?"

Bingley turned to see his housekeeper standing there. "Ah, Mrs Miggins, would be so good as to take these children and give them something to eat?"

"Of course, Sir. Anything else?"

Mr Bingley was grateful for Mrs Miggins' prompt. "Yes, could you prepare rooms for them and my sister in law? And there is a coachman downstairs who will also need the same."

Mrs Miggins nodded and with a motherly gaze at the children she enclosed them in her wake in the direction of the kitchens.

Jane meanwhile had guided her sister to the drawing room where, as Bingley joined them, she and her sister were seated upon a sofa. Slowly Jane spoke. "What is wrong, Lydia? Why have you come?"

Lydia came out of her trance. She wiped her eyes and begun the tale. "George was killed in a duel two days ago."

Jane gasped along with her husband, the latter of whom, having heard of the death, had yet to hear how.

Lydia continued as if the gasp had never happened. Her voice was stilted, almost- to use a modern term- mechanical. "At first I thought we would be okay, that we could carry on as normal. But then the next day brought the bailiffs."

"The bailiffs?" Jane repeated in surprise, but again Lydia did not seem to acknowledge it.

"I knew we had very little money and I tried to help, indeed I tried most frequently, but I had to look after the children. Now it seems there was nothing I could have done. All the furniture had to be sold, including the house. We had nowhere to go. Mrs Lawford gave me some money, enough to travel to here, but no more. I packed the few things that could not be sold and left immediately." She paused and looked at her sister. "I know I am imposing upon you and so you have no fear of me staying forever. I just need to find a service."

"No," Jane began instantly, glancing at her husband as she did so. Mr Bingley nodded his permission. "You can stay here, all of you can stay here for as long as you need to."

"You are very kind," Lydia began, "but I cannot. I do not deserve such kindness."

"I insist, Lydia, you can stay here." Jane repeated before embracing her sister once more.

"Thank you," Lydia replied and then glanced hesitantly at Mr Bingley. "Where are children?"

"They are with Mrs Miggins getting some food," Bingley replied. "Would you care for some refreshment yourself? Or perhaps some sleep?"

"No, I am beyond sleep, but I would like something to eat," Lydia replied. "Thank you, Jane, thank you Mr Bingley. I am sorry........." Lydia trailed off in another set of tears.

Pemberley, August 5th 1820.

As the carriage of the Blakeneys drove away Darcy's arms tightened around his wife's waist. "Alone at last," he muttered in pleasure, kissing her neck.

Elizabeth smiled and refrained for once from reminding her husband of whose departure he was wishing. Imogen stirred in her arms. "Do not pay any attention to your papa's comments, my dearest," she whispered to her. "He will miss your aunt terribly."

They turned and followed the rest of the children inside where dinner awaited them.

A few minutes later when the main course had just been served, and Darcy had just finished announcing a toast to his wife and his new child, their peace was disturbed by the opening of the dining room door.

Heloise Darcy announced the guest before the footman could. "Uncle Charles!"

Darcy stood up instantly and inquired after his friends well being.

"I am well thank you Darce," Bingley replied. "No, no do not get up. I have eaten, thank you, just before I set off for here. I would speak with the two of you if possible." Bingley paused looking at the children who eyes and ears had been watching expression and listening to every word. "Alone."

"Of course my friend," Darcy replied, getting up, followed by Elizabeth, who, after making sure the children continued, followed them to the end of the room. "What is it, Charles?" Elizabeth asked.

"Can we talk in the study?" Bingley asked his brother in law.

Darcy nodded and the three adults quitted the room to go another two doors down. Once there Darcy turned to his friend and repeated his wife's previous inquiry.

"I have just come from Pearlcoombe where Lydia and her children are right now," Bingley began. "They came because Wickham was killed two days ago in a duel."

Chapter VI.

Rosings Park, August 7th, 1820.

Pemberley, Derbyshire
August 3rd.

Richard,

I write to you, cousin, with the best of news. On the first of this month Elizabeth gave birth to Imogen Darcy! I am overjoyed. Words cannot really do justice to my feelings when I first laid eyes on her. She is the image of Elizabeth, Rich, and I dare say will grow to be just as beautiful. Her eyes were already dark blue when she born and now they are an almost perfect copy of my wife's. I thank the day I was able to gain her love, for life has never been so good!

I dare say you are now chuckling out right at this babbling display of mine. My dignified days are long gone I think.

Once Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of his majesty's Britannic army, now plain Mr Richard Fitzwilliam of Rosings Park, did indeed chuckle at the recently read conclusion of his cousin. Few knew better than himself how true it was. And he deserved it.

Plain Mr Fitzwilliam was also happy with his lot. Once -and still -a second son, he had made the army his career and resigned himself to bachelor hood, knowing all too well that unless he was extremely lucky, he would not meet an heiress who he could love as well. Then, about four months after the marriage of his cousin, Anne de Bough had come to stay at Pemberley.

He had been surprised at first, upon discovering the mask that Anne used to fool her mother into thinking she was an invalid so she could have a freedom she otherwise would not have enjoyed. Then as he spent more time with her, he had begun to value her more than just a cousin, but a friend as well. That friendship had quickly turned to love and they had married in the spring of 1813, just after he had resigned his commission.

Lady Catherine had been less than pleased at first. It had taken her a year to accept them and welcome them into Rosings Park, and then even longer for harmony to be restored. Angry as she was at the 'betrayal' of one nephew, another doing the same had only increased it. It had taken her a lot to eventually admit that she missed her daughter and she had actually gone to Pemberley to bring them back, if only to keep them from the influence of Elizabeth Bennet.

Indeed, Mrs Darcy had remained Elizabeth Bennet in Lady Catherine's eyes until that very day in 1815. After that, communication again ceased between Derbyshire and Kent, until three years later when a letter had come addressed to all, announcing the birth of Alexander Bennet and Alexandra Regina Darcy. It had caused Lady Catherine to soften ever so slightly as she remembered her beloved sister, the late Lady Anne Darcy. Alexandra had been her middle name and the honouring of her served as an olive branch. She wrote back to them with congratulations and begged to be forgiven.

Richard could only guess at what had occurred at Pemberley the day that letter arrived. He had been one of the few to see 'the infamous letter' from his aunt to her previously favourite nephew on the engagement of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. It had not been a letter that had remained on paper long. Darcy had had only enough control to show its contents first to Richard himself, who had been with him at the time it arrived, then to Mr Bennet, whom he had felt it was only right to do so, then to his uncle, before throwing it into the nearest Netherfield fire. Until 1818, he had never mentioned it, but when the 'congratulations letter' had arrived, he had let his anger show. Richard could understand his cousin's reaction and, had it not been for Elizabeth's persuasion, a reunion would never have been retrieved. As it was, the Darcys had spent the Christmas of 1818 at Rosings Park, and Lady Catherine had been most gracious. The breach had been mended forever.

It was therefore with no hesitation that Richard relayed the news from Darcy to his Aunt and mother in law of yet another addition to the Pemberley family.

"That is wonderful news, my love," Anne remarked as she heard the news as well. Lady Catherine also uttered a word or two on congratulations before asking, "does he send any other news, Fitzwilliam?"

"As far as I can see no," Richard replied. "But if you will give me a few minutes I will find the stopping point of his description of joys and see."

There was a pause, a rustle of pages, then Richard found an entry marked but two days later than the first. He began to read it aloud, not expecting the content to be what it was.

August 5th, late evening.

Since, writing the last Rich, news of the most unexpected nature has reached us. I shall begin to relate it as how I learned about it, in order to give you the most complete information.

One day ago Elizabeth's sister Lydia arrived at Pearlcoombe with all her children. It seemed at first that her husband had left her but Charles and Jane soon learned otherwise. You can no doubt determine by now what I am about to relate to you, but nevertheless I shall continue in my task.

Wickham it seems, managed to send himself up into debts of the highest depths, in both the Officers mess and out of it. It got to the point where he was starting to resort to blackmail. Then the regiment was recalled to France. Wickham had no desire to fight and so with a certain amount of manipulation, he managed to promote himself to the rank of Captain into the only company that was staying in camp. Things apparently righted themselves for awhile and then began a downward spiral once more. They came to a head on the last day of June this year.

An Officer by the name of Major Vaughan found out that he was to be blackmailed by Wickham. Instead of reporting it, he charged Wickham to a duel the next morning at dawn. The fight was, as far as I have been able to gather, short and sweet, and needless to say, Wickham lost. He died the same day my daughter was born.

His mistakes do not end there. The extent of his debts were as such to ensure that Lydia and her children- of which there are eight, seven girls and one boy- were thrown out of the lodgings we had set up for them, and had to auction what little remained of their valuables. They had just enough friends to be leant the money to hire a carriage for Pearlcoombe and no more.

They stay with Charles and Jane at present. As for myself I am attempting to investigate the full extent of Wickhams debts from what Army contacts I have. If you know of any, cousin, I would be most grateful for your assistance.

Lydia has changed a great deal, according to Charles. We ourselves have seen little of her, due to our situation.

That is all I can relate at present. I will write when I have more.

I remain most respectfully etc.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Richard laid the letter down with more than a degree of surprise. The death of a man whom the entire family of Darcys and Fitzwilliams hated with an abhorrence, had seemed to of created more problems than his life ever did.

Chapter VII.

Mr Dreyer, the best of Mr Darcy's personal couriers, had been run ragged by the past weeks work. He had previously been looking forward to spending some time with his family, when the master had rung for him late evening of the 5th. He had presented himself at the study where he had been handed three letters to deliver. The first had been to Matlock, seat of the Fitzwilliam family, where he had rested briefly before leaving at the crack of dawn to travel to Rosings Park to deliver the letter that Richard Fitzwilliam has just relayed to the floor, and now he was nearing his final destination; Longbourn.

He could only conjecture at what the letters contained. He knew of course that part of them would carry the news of the birth of the Master and Mistress' fifth child, Miss Imogen Darcy, but his mind would have been astonished if that had been the only reason for their sending. The Master always announced the news by ordinary letter, no express was ever sent. This time however Mr Dreyer had been told to waste no time in posting all, so it was therefore unlikely that the letters contained only that information. Of course, it was not in Mr Dreyer's nature to presume to speculate too much on the business of his master, indeed he had not wondered at all at the nature of the letters until this morning.

He had arrived in Hertfordshire to find that Mr Bennet was not living at Longbourn, at least not at present, for as the housekeeper had informed Mr Dreyer, her master had left for Kent some days ago after the arrival of another express addressed to him. Thus Mr Dreyer had arrived at a dilemma: who to give the letter to? His master had been most insistent that the letter passed only to the hand it was addressed to, but had failed to mention why.

At length Mr Dreyer had arrived at the conclusion of travelling to Kent at once to deliver the letter, and had been about to voice this out loud when the most unfortunate of circumstances occurred. Mrs Bennet had happened to be passing his horse and, having a good memory, recognised Mr Dreyer, who was obliged at once to dismount. Unable to come up with an excuse he had reluctantly delivered the letter to Mrs Bennet's hand and resigned himself to the sanctuary of her Housekeeper's kitchen to have a now non-deserved meal.

Thus, he and Mrs Hill had been sitting and enjoying quietly a nice lunch, spoilt only by the former's guilt at having failed his master's wishes, when the cries of Mrs Bennet could be heard loud and clear through the ceiling. He then discovered why the news was sent express.

As for Mrs Bennet, persons who are acquainted with her know only too well what reaction she brought forth upon reading the news from Derbyshire. Joy first at the birth of another grandchild. For a while nothing save a few joyful cries of "Dear Mrs Darcy" could be heard from her. The second piece of news however brought her crying out, "Oh my dear Lydia! Oh my poor girl! That scoundrel!"

Mr Darcy had not expected Mrs Bennet to be reading the letter and had therefore been most blunt in his communications of the descriptions of the Wickham's circumstances, knowing that his father in law would expect nothing less, and thus the agony of Mrs Bennet was full indeed. "Wickham, Wickham," she began to cry, bringing Mr Dreyer awake at the name, as he realised his master's actions. Then Mrs Bennet's grief became even louder as she called out "Hill, Hill," again and again.

"Hill," Mrs Bennet began upon that woman's entrance. "Where are my smelling salts? Oh, the most dreadful news! My poor Lydia, widowed in her prime! Oh my poor, poor girl! Oh, Hill, I feel my faintness coming upon me again!"

Mr Bennet would have been unable to receive the letter from Mr Dreyer whether the man had finally discovered his location or not, for he was at this present time taking a break at the Swan Inn, in the village of Kympton, not far from his son in law's estate.

He had spent the past days of time away from Longbourn mostly in town, travelling between his brother in law's house and the establishment of Messrs Averay, Bookbinder, Caudell and Sons, his solicitors. It had taken him several days to first read through his father's will, check with the appropriate parties that his understanding of the certain articles he was concerned with was correct, and then making alterations to his own will, before finally drawing up the contracts that he needed to take with him to Derbyshire.

All of these changes of course were only conditional, due to the nature of the conditions mentioned in his father's will. The line itself about the matter of entail had been most succinct and straight forward, but the actual passing of the inheritance itself concerned the consent of his daughter and son in law.

His daughter and son in law. Mr Bennet chuckled to himself as he mounted his horse for the last leg of his journey. If someone had told him nine years ago that this union would come about, he would have told them that they were devoid of sense. Yet, funnily enough, someone had indeed told him the likely-hood of it, but he had refused to listen. Now, looking back on it, as he had been often doing with all of his daughter's marriages, he was surprised at himself for not noticing the signs before. Of course, he had noticed her wistful look, when ever she looked at Jane and Charles, but had merely put it down to loosing her sister. It had never even occurred to him that she might be in love. The gentleman's application had taken him so much by surprise. Consent he had indeed given, for who could refuse such a man anything, but he had been determined to make it conditional on his daughter's feelings. To hear her repeat his assurances and tell him of what the gentleman had done, Mr Bennet had eventually managed to reconcile himself to the match. He had watched her go with a heavy heart, one that was even heavier on her wedding day.

He glanced up and began to slow down his horse as he arrived on the driveway to the estate. As usual, he came briefly to a halt when the avenue of trees parted to reveal a glimpse of the house in all its glory. It truly was a beautiful estate, no more than his daughter deserved in fact. He suddenly wondered if he should have sent word of his coming. Normally he never bothered, his son in law being kind enough to give free rein on invitation, but he knew that they were expecting another child that was to arrive anytime soon, his presence might be an intrusion at this time. Well, there was no point in worrying now, he realised.

He started his horse again into a gentle canter down to the house, as another memory came to his thoughts. It was about the one time that he had been there when a grandchild of his was born. It was their second child and he could still remember to this day his son in law pacing the room where they waited with an anxious face that looked ready to kill any one who remarked that things were making progress, and practically wearing out the rug beneath his feet. The worry had been written clearly on his own face too and Mr Bennet smiled at remembering his son in law walking straight pass the midwife to his wife without even thanking her.

Mr Bennet drew the horse to a prompt halt and dismounted as a stable hand came out to take him. All thoughts about the past stopped as he walked up the steps and knocked on the front door.

Mrs Reynolds greeted him upon his entrance and instantly directed him to the music room. As he got closer Mr Bennet could hear the faint sound of a piano being played. Meanwhile Mrs Reynolds nodded to one of the footman who rapidly opened the doors.

"Papa!" Elizabeth cried upon on his entrance.

Mr Bennet took the room in at quick glance. Darcy had been sitting on the sofa that commanded the best view of the pianoforte, while the children had clustered around him, waiting for their mama to finish so they could claim her attention again.

His glance then went to Elizabeth as she embraced him. She had had the baby, that much he gathered by her thinning body and the bundle in her husband's arms. He set her back and smiled in reply to her inquiry about his journey. "I did, thank you. I hope I have not come at bad time?"

"Not at all, sir," Darcy replied as he stood up and came to see his father in law. "In fact there is a lot of news to relay."

"One of them being the arrival of my new grandchild I gather," Mr Bennet commented as Darcy began to present his bundle to Mr Bennet.

"This is Imogen, papa," Elizabeth stated with pride.

Mr Bennet took his granddaughter in his arms and like others, gathered instantly why she was called Imogen. He smiled as he remembered briefly the gratitude he felt when they had chosen to call their sons Lawrence and Alexander. He knew that they had only done it to honour his name, but he still felt the distinction was also intended for an event that Elizabeth could not possibly remember.

He handed the child back to Elizabeth as they went to sit down. Instantly his other grandchildren rushed at him. He greeted each one in turn, reserving a special token for Alexander, who had unconsciously always been his favourite. Then he began his request. "I came because there is something important that I wish to discuss with the both of you."

As if on cue, the nursery maid appeared at that moment for the children. After they had say goodnight to all, Lawrence, Heloise, Alex and Alexandra went with Mrs Campbell. Imogen stayed asleep in her mother's arms.

"What about?" Elizabeth asked when Mrs Campbell had exited.

"I received a letter from Mr Collins some days ago. He requested to see me as soon as possible. When I arrive at Hunsford he revealed to me something which until then I had no idea had ever existed. There is a clause in my late father's will that allows for the possible eventuality that the entail cannot have children."

"Charlotte and Mr Collins cannot have children?" Elizabeth asked in surprise.

"Yes, that is what Mr Collins needed to tell me. I left for town the next day to consult with my lawyers. There I discovered that the condition did exist. It states that if an heir of an entail cannot have children Longbourn goes to a second son of any of my daughters."

There was a long silence when Mr Bennet finished speaking. Both Elizabeth and Darcy were unprepared for the news they had just received. The conclusion to draw from it was obvious, but they still had to hear from Mr Bennet all the same.

He obliged them. "If you wish it, Longbourn will pass to Alexander." He paused then added, "of course, I do not expect you to answer right now. I understand that this requires a lot of thought. I know the estate is not worth much by Pemberley standards, but I would dearly like it to go to Alexander if it could. It need not been the only thing he receives, either. Of course, I understand completely if you decline."

"It definitely has to go to a second son?" Darcy confirmed.

"Yes, the wording was quite specific." Mr Bennet sat back and waited, wondering idly why his son in law had asked that question.

"Papa," Elizabeth began after a while. "We will need time to think about this. Will you be able to stay for a few days?"

Mr Bennet replied that he would.

Chapter VIII.

Pemberley, 10th August 1820.

"Elizabeth?" Darcy inquired aloud in a slightly panicked voice.

"By the window, my love," her voice answered.

Relieved, Darcy got up, put on his robe and went to join her.

It was the morning after Mr Bennet's arrival. As yet they had been unable to discuss properly the news they had heard last night. Both had been concerned with coming to their own conclusion first before voicing their views with another.

"So," Darcy began after he had greeted Elizabeth with a kiss, "what is your opinion about it, my love?"

Elizabeth glanced at her husband. Their eight years of marriage had never stilted her courage in voicing her every thought to Darcy and so it was without any hesitation that she began to reply. "I am perfectly happy to let Alex have Longbourn, if it is agreeable to you."

Darcy smiled. "I had a feeling that would be your opinion, my love."

Elizabeth's look turned to puzzlement. "Is that all the reply I am to receive?" She asked, unconsciously quoting her husband from the past. She flushed as she saw Darcy flinch briefly. The 'Hunsford incident' was still a painful memory to him, even though they had been married eight years and counting. Every time he woke without her by his side, he would panic that his recent joy had all been but a dream and her voice would take a while to reassure him that it was not. "I apologise, my love. That was not supposed to come out the way that it did. What I mean is, you seem a little reluctant in agreeing with me."

"It is not reluctance, it is plain guilt," Darcy replied, wrapping his arms tightly around her from behind. "We have so much that Alex does not need to worry about being second son, and I feel that if we accept, we would be depriving the other Bennet children of something that they have equal claim to."

"Which is why you asked about the wording of the will," Elizabeth remarked. "I do agree, Fitzwilliam, they do deserve to have the choice. But I believe my father wants it settled quickly. We have the only second son at present and I think he is concerned that he may not live to see another." She shuddered as she finished the last.

"I think, Lizzy, your father wants it to go Alex purely because he is your son," Darcy replied, trying to easy her worry. He above any other- except perhaps Jane -knew that his wife was Mr Bennet's favourite daughter. It was why he had taken pains to become better acquainted with him before he married Elizabeth. Love for her had made it important to have her father's blessing as well as his consent, and he was pleased that he had that still. Mr Bennet reminded him a lot of his own father in a way and he was pleased to know him. "I asked your father about the wording because of your sister's situation."

"That would please mama," Elizabeth commented with a smile. "Her favourite daughter's eldest son inheriting Longbourn. But I do not think that would be wise. Lydia may have changed, but I have only Charles and Jane's authority on that. And they always saw the good far more than the bad. If Lydia's son was to inherit, The inheritance would suffer."

Darcy kept his own reservations about the son of George Wickham inheriting Longbourn silent. "I was also thinking about your other sisters as well. Kitty has only two children so far, and Mary four, but if ever they have a second son, their own situations would ease if Longbourn were to pass to them."

Elizabeth nodded, thinking of her sisters as she did so. "Your are right, my love, but you know as well as I do that Edmund Guest is the most arrogant man when it comes to accepting what he deems charity, which to him Longbourn would indeed be. And as for Ezekiel Smythe, well the less said about him the better."

Darcy admitted reluctantly that his wife was right about his brother in laws. Smythe was close to being a Puritan, let alone an Evangelical, and so any other estate but priesthood was blasphemy to him. Guest meanwhile was a man of means and devoted to Kitty but too proud for his own good.

"And that leaves Charles and Jane," Elizabeth added, with a sigh. "And you know what their reply will be if we express the desire to leave it to them."

"Yes, Charles is too kind for his own good," Darcy replied, smiling. "Admit it, my love, you want Alex to have Longbourn."

"Did I not say so at the beginning of this discussion?" Elizabeth questioned innocently.

"You did, but until now your conclusion seemed to have been reached by process of elimination, rather than a real wish for it."

"I do," Elizabeth confessed, "I do want Alex to inherit Longbourn, but like you I feel guilty that it should go to him above any other. However, he does seem destined to have it."

Darcy looked at his wife with nothing short of amusement. "Since when did you start believing in destiny, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth turned into his arms so she faced him as she replied lovingly, "since I married you, my dear husband."

At this point Darcy could not refrain from kissing her passionately in reply.

Due to the liveliness of their children, the Darcys were unable to announce their acceptance to Mr Bennet's request until after lunch when the twins and Imogen were asleep, while Heloise and Lawrence were at their lessons.

"I had hoped that would be your reply," Mr Bennet remarked with good humour. He reached into his pocket and produced the contracts. "Here are all the legal papers, so we can make this official." He handed Darcy the documents.

"I'll go and find Reynolds and see if he can get Fitzgerald here tomorrow," Darcy announced before quitting the library, kissing his wife's hand on the way.

Mr Bennet turned to his daughter with a smile. "I am glad you agreed, Lizzy. It was always a wish of mine that your son would inherit Longbourn. If Mr Collins had had a modicum of sense, perhaps........."

Elizabeth reacted as he had intended, breaking into peals of laughter. "Oh papa!" She cried when she had calmed down. "I do not think that would have changed my mind."

"No," Mr Bennet agreed. "Nevertheless, I am happy you and Darcy are together. Now, is there anything else you need to tell me other than Imogen's arrival?"

Elizabeth lost her smile. "Fitzwilliam and I wanted to tell you this together, sir, but I dare say it does not matter now. Mr Wickham is dead."

Mr Bennet leaned forward in shock. "Dead?" He echoed. "How?"

"We have yet to receive the full details but........." Elizabeth began, before launching into the whole of it, at least the information that she had received from Charles who had some how managed to prize it out of a changed Lydia.

When she finished Mr Bennet was sitting back in his chair with anything but the humour that had occupied him before. "I see now why Darcy asked about the wording of the will," he remarked slowly, his hands gripping the arms of the chair in order to keep his anger in check.

It goes without saying that as Mr Bennet's opinion of Mr Darcy rose, his opinion of Mr Wickham had lowered considerably by the hour. During the few weeks before the wedding of his favourite daughter he had attempted for her sake to get to know a man that he had previously thought to be arrogant and proud. The change he had found was astonishing first, then later he had come to respect and like the man that was taking his Lizzy away. As his opinion of Darcy changed to approval, his opinion of Wickham changed from merely observing the foibles to regarding the man with suspicion every time a letter arrived from Newcastle. He could still remember vividly the day that he had asked his son in law for the full the story about Wickham.

Now that he had heard this news his concern about Lydia's marriage was justified. "Lydia has nothing left?" He asked his daughter to confirm.

"All Wickham left her was eight children," Elizabeth replied bitterly.

"That's not all he left her," Darcy announced abruptly as he re-entered the library a letter in his hand. "I have just received this from my contacts in Newcastle." He paused and with a disgusted voice added, "apparently Mr Wickham left debts of _____ pounds in the officer's mess, as well as the ____ pounds he owes several officers, along with the rent on the house. All of which, even the auction of the furniture is not going to pay off."

Chapter IX.

Pemberley, August 11th, 1820.

Darcy rose early next morning to attack his financial estates. His decision had already been formed during the night before, now it was only a matter of making his accounts work without the usual surplus that was laid up each year. He could not help but feel a sense of deja vu, the events eight years ago fresh once more in his mind. However, he reminded himself of his own faults which had brought the situation about in the first place. He was making amends for the faults of his character eight years ago and he still felt the necessity to do so.

Elizabeth rose early likewise and soon found him in his study, checking the final details one last time. "You need not do this," she remarked as she leant over his shoulder, her fine eyes surveying the accounts.

Trying to ignore the sensations that her breath and proximity caused in him, Darcy replied, "I do," before ticking the last equation and laying down the quill. "It is my fault that this situation evolved in the first place."

"Fitzwilliam, if indeed there is any blame to yourself the debt has more than been repaid. You need not do this as well."

Darcy merely glanced at his wife in reply. The years of marriage together had created the rare talent as to be able to exchange thoughts and opinions by just a single glance. Elizabeth received that now and translated it instantly. The matter was already settled in her husband's mind and no discussion would change it's outcome.

"In that case I thank you again," she began.

"No gratitude is needed," Darcy interrupted, leaning against her and looking into her eyes. "The years spent with you, my darling, have more than repaid me, if indeed there was any need for repayment. I love you Elizabeth, and I cannot bear to see you or our family suffer because of Wickham."

"That was entirely too charming a reply," Elizabeth commented with smile. "How ever I am able to live up to such praise?"

"Are you fishing for even more compliments, my love?" Darcy asked her lightly. "At present, I have not the time to do them justice."

"No time to do them justice? One might conclude that you are unwilling to do so from that statement."

"No unwillingness in the matter, only the........" Darcy trailed off. Elizabeth's face was close to his. He titled his head and kissed her.

Somehow, despite the awkwardness of their positions, the kiss developed into a long impassioned declaration from both sides and it was quite awhile before either of them returned to reality. When they did, it was with great reluctance.

"Jane wishes us to have dinner with them tomorrow," Elizabeth began after awhile. "Do you think we will be able to?"

"As long as Imogen and you are up to the journey, I have no objections," Darcy replied, looking anxiously at her.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, will you never cease your protective sensibility?"

"Never where my wife and children are concerned," Darcy announced grandly. Elizabeth laughed in reply.

"I wonder how Lydia will be," Elizabeth voiced aloud.

"You really think she will have changed?" Darcy asked her in surprise.

"Strangely enough I do," Elizabeth replied. "She has had eight children in eight years of marriage where the money has been scarce and the luxuries absent. I think that is enough to change even her wild disposition. Also, to my knowledge, me and Jane have only received one letter from her since her marriage and that was on the eve of ours. I expected more correspondence, if only to ask for money."

"Has your mother received any from her?" Darcy asked.

"She did once I believe, but they stopped at least two years ago if not more. You remember when they visited around the birth of the twins? She mentioned the lack of letters from Lydia then."

"I am afraid my love my memory of that time is mainly concerned with my worries for you," Darcy replied seriously. "That day was one of the longest of my life."

"And mine," Elizabeth responded with a smile, just before the door clicked. "Good morning Papa."

"Good morning," Mr Bennet replied as he crossed to join them. "Let me guess," he began as he sat down and encountered his son in law's gaze. "You are volunteering to help us with the Wickham debts?"

"Not help, pay," Darcy tentatively replied, looking anxiously at Mr Bennet, memories of a similar conversation some years ago resurfacing.

"May I ask why? Although I suspect that I already know the answer."

"I feel responsible, sir. It was my mistaken pride which..........." Darcy trailed off as he caught Mr Bennet and his wife's expressions. "Well, I also simply wish to do so. I feel it is necessary."

"Well, I have no objection to it, so you may," Mr Bennet replied, causing Darcy to inwardly utter a sigh of relief.

"Papa," Elizabeth began after awhile, "do not think me impertinent, but may I ask how long you intend to stay?"

"Truth be known, Lizzy, I had originally told Mrs Bennet that my visit would take no more than a week at the most. However, it has taken far more than that and I suppose I must reluctantly return to Longbourn before she sends a search party for me."

"Will you be able to stay for a further two days?" Elizabeth then asked. "Jane has invited us to dine at Pearlcoombe tomorrow night you see, and I am sure she would be delighted to include you. It would also give you the opportunity to see Lydia if you wished to."

"Unfortunately Lizzy, I think two more days would rather set the return journey too long for Mrs Bennet's liking. Meryton's delights can only amuse her enough not to notice my absence for more than a fortnight. Do give my best wishes to all at Pearlcoombe though. No doubt Mrs Bennet will insist upon us making another visit once she hears of two further additions to her grandchildren." Mr Bennet paused to flash his son in law a wry grin as Darcy tried once more to master his fear at the prospect. Mr Bennet he could stand, enjoy even. Mrs Bennet, however, was another matter. It was eight years and as yet he had been unable to master his emotions to poker his face. "So, if it is agreeable to you, I shall depart tomorrow morning."

"It is not agreeable for you to depart Papa, but if you must go then we shall not attempt to delay you any further."

Longbourn 11th August 1820.

It did not take long for all of Meryton to learn that Mrs Bennet was in the deepest of grief's although they had yet to determine why. Mrs Bennet had retired to her room since the day she received the letter and the village had not heard so much as a sound from her since then. The sensible quota of Meryton rejoiced at this while the rest lamented at the loss of gossip they were to loose by Mrs Bennet's confinement.

However, being a curious and determined lot, as indeed village gossips always are, they soon came up with a plan to satisfy their interest. The plan was hardly an ingenious one, indeed, where gossips are concerned, what plans were, but nevertheless it was a solution that would have instant remedy. Mrs Bennet required, in their opinion, a visit from a well-meaning friend or relative to aid her through her grief. Of these two the former was paid no consideration, as the latter was in the village and would need no excuse to visit her sister.

So Mrs Phillips paid Mrs Bennet a visit and, much to her and the village's satisfaction, she was soon acquainted with all that Mrs Bennet had to relay.

The first item was quite astonishing but Mrs Phillips soon pronounced herself in conjunction with her sister on the opinion of Mr Wickham's character.

"I was most distressed at first sister," Mrs Bennet remarked in her usual style. "Indeed who would not be upon hearing such a woeful piece of news?"

"Indeed, dear sister, indeed."

"However, I soon managed to reconcile myself to the comfort that my dear Mrs Bingley must be providing for my poor Lydia."

"As would I be sister, if I had such a delightful daughter as Mrs Bingley."

"That scoundrel, to leave my poor girl alone like that!"

"Indeed my dear sister, indeed." Mrs Phillips let in the usual customary pause that was necessary in such circumstances, before adding, "although, I had always suspected that such a man would surely come to such an end someday."

Without a moment's hesitation Mrs Bennet replied, "sister, so did I and warned Lydia accordingly when she visited us after her marriage. But would she listen? One cannot fault her though, sister Phillips. She was so much in love with the young man. And he was so delightful."

Mrs Phillips would have replied with complete agreement to this epithet had it not been for the door of the drawing room opening at that moment.

Mrs Bennet followed her sister's gaze. "Yes, Hill, what is it?"

Mrs Hill looked positively uncomfortable, almost reluctant even, to announce her reason for disturbing her mistress. She had no desire to give her news that would cause even more agitation than the recent news had. However, it was unavoidable. "A Mr Lawrence Alexander Bennet wishes to see you, ma'am."

Mrs Bennet's reaction was immediate. "Oh my dear boy! Oh sister, quick, give me my smelling salts. I feel my faintness coming upon me again!"

Chapter X.

Pearlcoombe, August 12th 1820.

So far, the lack of conversation was enough to do everybody's head in. The atmosphere at the Bingley dinner table was charged to say the least. It made the Darcys grateful that their father had declined to join them for the evening was doubtless going to be a long one.

Mr Bennet had left as planned early the next morning, having little idea what was to await him at Longbourn and probably no desire to find out. Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam had seen him off, for the children were still in bed after a late night of being with their grandfather. After they had seen his horse disappear from sight, they had returned to the house to take the opportunity of a rare morning to themselves. The rest of the day had then been spent as usual, time with the children and time with the estate business, before retiring to their apartments to dress for the evening at Pearlcoombe.

When they had arrived Lydia was somewhat absent at first. She did not emerge in fact until the moment dinner was announced. Elizabeth had greeted with the best affection she could muster, trying to avoid expressing surprise at her altered appearance. Lydia looked a shadow of her former self. Gone was the wildness, gone was the silliness, in fact had it not been for the unchanged eyes and hair, Elizabeth would never have recognised her. Even her face had remarkably aged more than eight years could warrant. There were dark circles around eyes which makeup could never cover and, upon her bare arms, -when Elizabeth caught glimpses of them, for they were mostly covered all night by a thick black shawl- had signs of fading red marks, the identity of which could not be mistaken. They were scars.

During dinner the change became even more marked. Unless something was specifically directed to her, Lydia never entered into any conversation. Her lack of appetite served only to increase her sister's concern and shock. The movement of eating was done automatically, without thought to its taste or its nourishment, and the drink consumed was likewise without consideration to taste or compliment, only water. The desert was not even touched.

When the gentlemen retired to Charles' Billiard room Elizabeth had, rather optimistically, expected some improvement to her sister's appearance, even if it was only a sigh of relief. However, there was nothing. Lydia did not even seem to notice the change of scenery, from dining chamber to the music room, let alone Darcy and Bingley's departure. It seemed that Lydia at times did not even know where she was. Her body was there, but her soul was not.

Elizabeth was not the only one to notice this. It was the first thing that Darcy remarked upon when he and Bingley entered the latter's Billiard room.

"She has been like this since she told us about Wickham's death," Charles replied to his friend and brother in law's inquiry."And even that took some difficulty to obtain."

Darcy laid out his first shot. "And there has been nothing to alter her from it? Even briefly?"

"Nothing. Jane's really at the end of her tether. She was hoping Lizzy had an idea, but she seems just as at lost."

"She is," Darcy acknowledged, remembering the look of astonishment that his wife had sent him during dinner. "Were those red marks on her arms what I thought they were?"

"If you mean scars, I believe so," Bingley confirmed. "Even though we have yet to get her to admit to them being thus." Charles suddenly looked at Darcy in shock. "Wickham was capable of that?"

"Wickham was capable of anything if his mind and the drink took him to it," Darcy replied bitterly, memories of Cambridge rising into his visual mind. He laid down his cue and took another shot. "I cannot help but wonder if marrying the two of them was really the best solution."

"Darce, there was no way you could have foreseen this," Bingley cried. He had learnt of the things that Darcy had done to bring about the marriage when Darcy had returned with him to Netherfield. "You did the only thing you could have done at the time, faced with that situation. It would have been worse for Lydia had you not made them marry."

"Would it?" Darcy asked vehemently. "Would it have really been worse than what's happened in their marriage? All right she might have lost her reputation, but she would not have had the scars she has now."

"Darce, stop blaming yourself. There was no way you could have known that this was going to occur. Now, let's return to the ladies before you drown into more of a depression than you have now."

While Bingley was trying to bring his brother in law out of the self blame mode he had gotten himself into, Elizabeth and Jane were trying to keep alive a conversation that was flagging considerably. The minutes past had done nothing to alter Lydia's appearance. Her soul was still closed off to the party.

Elizabeth had very nearly had enough. When it came to her sisters her patience was never tried but now with Lydia it was waning considerably. She wanted to shake the girl into her senses, or at least to get her talking. She knew Lydia was in grief, she understood the wherefor and the why, she just wanted her to confide in her sisters. After all, why bother to come here otherwise? If she had not wished for help, she would never have taken the coach to Pearlcoombe. True, she had little where else to go, save Longbourn, but even if money had not been an object, even Lydia would know that she'd find no help there. Elizabeth sighed, then came to a decision. It was a difficult one, in fact it might even make Lydia retreat further, but it had to be attempted. She got up, stepped forward and knelt in front of her sister. Looking up at her face, she began, "Lydia, please, talk to us. We are here to help you. It's tearing me and Jane apart, seeing you like this. Please." She paused and waited for Lydia to respond. Nothing. "Lydia, please. Even just a glance will do. It might help if you confided in us. We are your sisters, flesh and blood. We are waiting to help you. Please let us."

Jane, who had been watching Elizabeth and Lydia intently ever since the former had tried this new tactic, would swear later that she had seen a flicker of something in Lydia's eyes. What it was, she could only speculate. Recognition possibly, even perhaps acknowledgement of all that Elizabeth had said. However, no vocal communication came. At least for a whole five minutes. Then....

Lydia looked at Jane and then back at Elizabeth. Her lips began to open, as if she was trying to speak, but somehow had forgotten how to formulate the words. She slowly opened her mouth, looking at Elizabeth with eyes that screamed out for assistance.

A knock sounded upon the music room door. The spell was broken. Lydia retreated. Jane stood and called for the knocker to come in. It was one of the nursery maids.

"Please, Ma'am, Miss Louise is crying for her mother." The maid, poor soul, had the sense to realise that whatever she had interrupted had been vital. She looked most apologetic as she uttered her speech.

As for Lydia there was a slight improvement. She gestured a silent thank you to the maid, before getting up to follow her out of the room and attend to her child.

Elizabeth turned to her sister when they had gone. "Jane, if someone else had not already done the job for us, I would go and kill Wickham myself. This is not natural."

"People are all affected differently by grief, Lizzy," Jane began, trying as usual to an advocate for all parties.

"I've seen people affected by grief and I know that this is more than that. Much more. That wall, Jane, has affected Lydia longer than the death of Wickham. It's her mask, and how long it's existed is far too difficult for me to judge. But I am certain of one thing. Unless we break it soon, she will be lost to us forever."

Chapter XI.

Pemberley, 16th August 1820.

The events of the twelfth did not go quickly by. The Darcys had left Pearlcoombe late that evening with no sign of Lydia. Since the call from the nursery, they had heard nothing from her.

Elizabeth had ended the evening feeling very frustrated. Not just with Lydia, but with herself as well. The move had almost worked, she had almost spoke. If only....... Now she doubted her move, wondering if the action had drawn Lydia even further back.

It took her awhile to try and forget the blame. When they had arrived at Pemberley she had told Darcy what had happened, along with the belief that she was at fault. He had emphatically refused to believe such a possibility. He told her of Georgiana and Wickham, when he had tried to break them and the reaction his sister showed. It had been very similar apparently. It had taken him four long hard weeks, just to get her to even look at him. He, who had been her only confidant. He told her not to give up hope.

That was four days ago. Since then, Elizabeth had kept up a daily correspondence with Jane, waiting for the first sign, any sign from Lydia. They had gone back to the original plan, of waiting silently, for her to make the first move, not them. To let her know that they were there for her just by they're presence alone. Darcy encouraged the correspondence, remembering well how much a comfort it had been to write to Richard when Georgiana had been the same. The letters did not contain much, indeed the only subject they mentioned was Lydia. It was a frivolous waste of paper, but they could well afford it.

At the moment however and for the first time since the twelfth, her mind was not on Lydia. Instead it was working out the difficult problem of how to slide out of her husband's embrace without him waking up. She tried once more to gently move and then the problem was taken out of her hands as he opened his eyes. She smiled and moved up to kiss him. It was only meant to be a short kiss, but Darcy quickly took control, rolling her on to the bed, his lips still locked on hers. Once he had her impaled by his arms he drew away briefly to gaze at her.

"Good morning," he uttered huskily, drawing a laugh from her.

"Do you plan to greet me this way every morning?" She asked him.

"Only when I am awake enough to do so," he replied, smiling. He laid another kiss upon her lips, before gently sliding away. He settled into a resting position beside her, his arm propping up his head. "What are you plans today?"

"Write to Jane but that's about it," Elizabeth replied. "Why?"

"I was thinking we could take advantage of the sun and have an out door luncheon with the children."

"Sounds perfect."

"I had a feeling it would."

"You did? Since when did I become predictable?"

"You haven't. I have just perfected at reading your thoughts." Darcy paused as he sent a loving gaze to her and then added, "between two souls entwined, there is always...."

"A complete meeting of minds," Elizabeth finished, smiling. Darcy leant down to kiss her and all thoughts of the plans for the day were forgotten.

Mr Bennet was to remark later- in half a joking manner, mind you -that he would have done well to have gotten to the bottom of the matter straight away, instead of 'indulging' -as he put it- in his wife's nervous whims. As it was, he barely had time to think, occupied as he was by own hopes and concerns. After all, having some mysterious stranger greeting you in your own house as if the former lived there can put anyone out of their pervious good humour.

The stranger had not come into the house by illegal means, of course, but had been invited, on the authority of name alone. Mind you, where Mrs Bennet is concerned, a familiar name was all that required you- or a stranger, as it happened to be in this case -to be welcome with open arms.

When we last encountered that good woman, she was entertaining her sister with the gossip of family before a visitor was announced. This visitor's name we shall leave for the present, as he is to meet Mr Bennet very soon. He shall remain for now as the mysterious stranger who was waiting for Mr Bennet's return.

Mr Bennet left Pemberley in good time and with regular breaks along the way- one of which was a short detour to London to inform Mr Gardiner that the matter his brother in law had gone to Derbyshire for had, for the moment, been taken care of -he managed to arrive at Longbourn several days in advance of the predicted time that Mrs Bennet would have lasted before sending out a search party. At least on her side in any case, for his was preparing itself to be the recipient of many a good-natured and enthusiastic addresses on the lateness of his return.

So, while his favourite daughter and family were settling down to a delightful outdoor luncheon upon the grounds of their estate, Mr Bennet had slowed his horse to a stop and had dismounted outside Longbourn. Upon arriving he was to remember later that all he had noticed about the place was nothing out of the ordinary, which was strange in itself, for surely the arrival of a horseman would provoke a response from someone, would it not?

Nevertheless at the time Mr Bennet chose not to comment on it, instead walking up to the house and letting himself in. Upon his entrance he was greeted by the laughter of his wife, and the younger chuckle in return. Alarm bells finally began to ring at this moment. Mr Bennet was an astute judge of character, but even on this occasion the most amateur of students would not fail to determine the chuckle as male. Without further delay, Mr Bennet headed for the drawing room.

"Oh my dear Mr Bennet," began his lady the minute he appeared in the drawing room, "we have most anxiously been waiting your return!"

Mr Bennet was already on his guard, and his wife's greeting only made him even more so. Without the slightest appearance of altered composure, he both took in the occupants of the room and the reply to Mrs Bennet in the same moment.

"We?"

"Oh sir, how can you be so tiresome, do you not notice there is some one else here to welcome you home?"

Mr Bennet had, but he was not about to let his wife know that. He turned his gaze to the gentleman instead, as the mysterious stranger began to rise under his stare.

The stranger walked forward and held out his hand to Mr Bennet. The latter paid him only one comment. "And you are?"

"Why Mr Bennet, do you not recognise him?" His wife cried. "He is our dear Lawrence, returned to us at last! The Collinses will not inherit after all, with our only son and heir to stop them!"

Chapter XII.

Longbourn, 16th August 1820.

"I suppose the earliest memory of mine is the day I was transferred from the orphanage to my new family," were the words with which Lawrence Alexander Bennet began his tale as soon as Mr Bennet had gotten over his surprise and was sitting down his armchair, a glass of cognac beside him for the moment untouched. As for his dearly lady wife, Mrs Bennet was fanning herself on a sofa opposite them, throwing every now and again the occasional motherly glance in Lawrence's direction.

"Although I had no recollection that I had had a family at the time. To this day I do not know who took me from here, even though I can remember this place vividly. But to resume. The family, by the name of Calverley, were not affluent, but they had enough to install for me a tutor and, when the time came, to send me to Oxford. At the end of my schooling, I decided that I could no longer go on without making them proud of me, so I joined the army. They had been kind to me, and I wished to earn that kindness by whatever means I could. Later I was to learn that my desire need not have been thought of.

"I returned to their home to find a gentleman waiting with- if you will forgive for using this term for them, for indeed they have been such for as long as I could remember -my parents. He had come to inform them apparently that his employer no longer desired to pay for my upkeep. I did not realise until then, but it turns out that control of my upbringing was in fact attended to and financed by another and one who had no wish to see me, nor continue with his support."

"This gentleman's name?" Mr Bennet asked, speaking for the first time since his arrival. The words and tone were careful, for he was still on his guard.

"I was informed that it was a Mr Alan Collins, sir," Lawrence replied. His tone was respectful, betraying no sign of deceit, or any sign that he was acquainted with the gentleman in question.

"I knew it!" Mrs Bennet cried out at that moment. "I knew that the Collinses were mixed up in this dreadful matter! Why........."

"Please, Mrs Bennet, calm yourself, you are speaking ill of the dead," Mr Bennet commanded, before gesturing to Lawrence that he could continue.

"Well, as the Calverleys had no option other than to turn me out, I shifted myself instantly to my regiment and travelled with them to France. I was involved in a few of the battles, - Vimeiro, the retreat at Corunna, the sieges of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, Salamanca, Vitoria, Toulouse and of course Waterloo -before I was discharged, whereupon I began my search to find my real parents. It was long, as I had no idea where to begin, and not all the information I could find was reliable. I must confess it was pure luck that I learnt of Meryton, sir, and when I did, I could do naught but travel immediately to here. I do hope I did the right thing, Sir." With this last Lawrence looked directly into Mr Bennet's eyes who gave a slight acknowledgement of the gesture.

As for the man himself, Mr Bennet had hardly changed his countenance throughout the entire tale. His face was composed, showing no surprise, no distrust, in fact no emotion of any kind. His mind was in deep contemplation. Slowly he asked, "what are your intentions now, Lawrence?" The words were uttered again with calmness, betraying nothing beneath them.

"As I have left the army, I hope, sir, to stay here with you and try to pick my life up. Not exactly from where I left off, but........" Lawrence trailed off, looking hopefully at Mr Bennet.

"Of course you can stay, can he not Mr Bennet? He is indeed our son, after all, this is his home," Mrs Bennet cried, before her husband could get a word in.

Mr Bennet just nodded in reply, glancing at the clock as he did so. The lateness of the hour was noticed immediately. He turned to Lawrence. "Yes of course. You will always be welcome here. Now, if you do not mind, I believe we had all better retire. I shall hear more from you tomorrow, I hope, Lawrence?"

"Of course, sir," Lawrence replied before respectfully wishing them goodnight.

Mrs Bennet departed some minutes later.

Edmund Bennet remained in his armchair, the light of the fire sufficing as his only vision guide. His mind however, was not focused at all upon the fire, or the lateness of the hour for that matter. Instead it was mulling over again and again the events of the evening. The tale he had just heard was foremost in his mind. He replayed Lawrence's words verbatim continuously in his heard, recalling each action, each reaction, every gesture, every tone, that he had displayed while telling it. There was no denying that the man was good. His every action had a purposeful intention, however insignificant. He truly believed in his tale. Mr Bennet dwelled for a while upon that story. It was a good one, like the man himself. It spoke of detailed research, careful rehearsal, and above all it actually sounded like it had occurred.

Mr Bennet sighed and finally took up his drink. He downed it in one, as his mind formed his conclusions. He would need help, if he was to succeed in his plan. Lawrence Bennet, if indeed that was the man's name, would prove a difficult foe. Of course he was lying. The only problem was how to prove he was.

Chapter XIII.

Pemberley, August 20th 1820.

When the Bingleys, Wickhams and Blakeneys sat down with the Darcys to dinner, it was obvious to all that four more days since Jane's last communication had done nothing to alter Lydia's disposition. She was still as silent, and still as self-contained since the last time they had seen her and for a while, it did not seem that the evening would bring any change to her manner.

For a time her silence threatened to inflict the whole of the sumptuous dining room, but the host soon managed to come with something suitable to compensate for it. Thus the entire meal passed agreeably enough for all parties.

The party then separated, the gentlemen to Darcy's study where their port awaited them, the ladies to the music room. This at first did not bring the hoped for altercation to Lydia's disposition. However, just as the outcome had begun to look bleak, a change took place.

At first it was not noticed by any of them, for they were too busy trying to compensate for the lack of Lydia's involvement as to rarely glance at her. Georgiana was the first to notice it. She had, by mere chance, anxious as much as her sisters were over the state of Lydia, turned to look at her with a mind to offering her sympathetic condolences, as she had not seen Lydia at all since her arrival. Although she rarely thought of her own time with Mr Wickham, she still understood the affect he could have and her heart had gone out to Lydia's ever since she had been informed of the story. She had been looking at Lydia kindly, with a view to tentatively addressing her when, without warning, Lydia returned the gaze.

Georgiana was startled and instantly she spoke to her. "Mrs Wickham, are you all right?" She asked.

Lydia's reply drew Jane and Lizzy's attention instantly. "I would prefer it if you did not address me by that name, Mrs Blakeney."

"Why, Lydia?" Elizabeth instantly asked. This was what they had been waiting for. The moment had come. Lydia was out of her shell.

"I am no longer Mrs Wickham. He is dead, I am no longer his property." Lydia looked up at Elizabeth and Jane. Suddenly tears formed in her eyes and she began to cry, pouring out her grief.

Elizabeth and Jane rushed to her side, embracing her instantly, as the gentlemen walked in. They did so silently, for they had heard the crying begin just as they reached the door to the room and, guessing the identity of the person, did not wish to disturb what might finally be a cure for Lydia's ills. They remained by the door, uncertain as to whether to remain, fearing their presence might alter things for the worse. Georgiana looked up at them kindly, inviting them to stay. They accepted and began to slowly approach the sofas.

Lydia's tears began to abate and slowly Lizzy and Jane drew back from her to give her air. Lydia took a deep breath and spoke a third time. "I am sorry, Lizzy. I'm sorry Jane. I did not mean to be like this for as long as I have. It was just difficult......." She trailed off to blow her nose and then glanced up at the gentlemen. "I apologise for my lack of propriety, Mr Darcy."

"There is no need for you to do so, Lydia," Darcy replied gently, crouching down so his head was level with hers. "We all understand your reasons for being so."

"We are just grateful that you took the courage to come to us," Elizabeth added comfortingly.

"I have treated you all abominably though," Lydia continued sadly. "Not to mention neglecting my children. I hope they have not been too much trouble, Mr Bingley?"

"Not all, Lydia, they have been angels," Charles replied reassuringly. "You raised them well."

"The only thing I have managed to do right with my life then," Lydia concluded bitterly.

"Do not be so hard on yourself," Jane uttered immediately.

Lydia would have said more, had it not been for a knock upon the music room door, interrupting the entire proceedings. Darcy stood up and walked to the door. He opened it, took the note from the footman who was waiting there and then walked back to the group. He handed the note to his wife with the words, "This express has just arrived for you."

Elizabeth thanked him and looked at the direction. She recognised the handwriting instantly. "It is from Papa! What on earth can be the matter?" She turned it over and broke the seal.

The express ran as follows.

My dear Lizzy,

I hope this letter still finds you all health. Forgive my method and abruptness in this letter, for I have little time to relay all of the story. Suffice it to say, you need to come Longbourn as soon as possible. Be not alarmed, your mother and myself are quite well. However, circumstances have changed a great deal since I saw you last.

Once more, rest assured that there is no dreadful news awaiting you, only a mystery that I need all of you to help me solve.

Mr Edmund Bennet.

"What on earth can father mean by this?" Elizabeth cried aloud. She handed the paper to her husband, who likewise after reading it became puzzled.

"What is it, Lizzy?" Jane asked.

"Papa summons us all to Longbourn," Elizabeth replied, before reading the letter aloud to the rest of the occupants of the room.

Chapter XIV.

Longbourn, August 26th 1820.

The Darcys, Bingleys, Lydia and children, were the last to arrive at Longbourn. After receiving the letter almost a week ago, they had all separated instantly to begin packing for the journey.

When Charles, Jane, Lydia and their children had returned to Pemberley, for it had been agreed that they would all travel together, the problem of accommodation was first addressed. Longbourn could not contain them all, and, presumably, there would also be the Smythes and Guests to consider. After a detailed search for a hotel or Inn which could provide a suitable number of rooms, Michael Blakeney came up with the solution.

He was acquainted with the family who now owned Netherfield. The Devereauxs, had always been owners of the place and had leased it eight years ago to Bingley with a view to selling, which was later changed when Charles and Jane quitted the place for Pearlcoombe. Between the Devereauxs and Blakeneys there had been a long history, - the main estates of both families lay with in twenty miles of each other at Richmond, -thus Michael had no concern in imposing upon them.

An express was instantly dealt to the Devereauxs, who wasted no time in replying back, offering all of them- including the Blakeneys -accommodation for as long as they needed it.

Once that problem was solved the Blakeneys travelled to their own estate to pack, and Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam began their own packing, readying to travel as soon as Georgiana and her family returned to Pemberley.

After a smooth journey they arrived at Netherfield to a warm welcome from the Devereauxs. They made sure their luggage was unloaded and their rooms sorted, before departing for Longbourn that very evening.

Thus when Elizabeth stepped out of the Darcy carriage it was with relief that she saw only the carriages of the Guests and Smythes parked on the Longbourn drive, and luggage being unloaded from both of them.

She had been married to Darcy for nearly three years when letters arrived, announcing Kitty's engagement to Mr Edmund Guest. Mr Guest was a man of modest fortune, but enough to afford him a comfortable home, and an inheritance of three thousand pounds per annum from a distant aunt awaited him. She had met him apparently, at a Meryton assembly scarcely a year ago, and their attachment, as Mrs Bennet was sure, had been there from the first. Kitty had changed a great deal since the marriage of her sisters and it was to her credit. She had at first barely noticed Mr Guest until he had asked for her hand for the last dance. She had been flattered when he confessed during it that he had all evening working up the courage to ask her. Mr Guest continued his attentions, by paying call on the family the next day. Evening upon evening of engagements attended by the both of them for a twelvemonth was enough to secure an attachment on both sides. Kitty fell in love with her gentleman and her frank confession of it one night, encouraged him to reveal his own affection. Mr Bennet's consent was applied for and granted and they married in autumn of 1815. Mr Guest gained his inheritance a year later. Since then they had had two children, Thomas, born in 1816 and Rebecca born in 1819.

Scarcely a month after the wedding of Kitty, letters arrived announcing to the Darcys the engagement of Mary to a Mr Smythe. The Rev. Smythe had recently arrived in the neighbourhood as the replacement parish priest for Meryton's neighbouring town; Ashcroft. Smythe was a respectable man with a comfortable income of four hundred pounds a year, despite his rather passionate religious nature. He was extremely devoted to his profession and this was possibly the main reason for Mary to be attracted to him in the first place. Since her sister's marriages she had become slightly more bookish- if this was indeed possible -and Mr Smythe's opinions on the disgrace of recent literature appealed to her own. They began to meet quite frequently, much to the disappointment of Mrs Bennet whose plans for her last unmarried daughter lay in quite another direction. Mr Bennet was equally surprised at the attraction of Smythe for he found the man rather infuriating at times, but nonetheless gave his consent to the match when it was called for, only an evening after Kitty's young man had come a calling. Since their marriage four children decided to grace their household; Faith, Hope, Charity and Samuel, all with a year separating them.

At this moment the former of the above Bennet girls came outside to greet her sisters. Elizabeth immediately called out in greeting.

"Lizzy! Jane! We were wondering when you were all going to arrive," Kitty Guest remarked as she embraced Elizabeth, carefully minding the sleeping babe in her arms. "And is this Imogen?" Elizabeth replied that she was. "Oh, she is so sweet!"

"Kit, what's wrong? Why have we all been called down here?" Elizabeth asked as Kitty looked at her new niece.

"Well, it is not anything bad," Kitty replied cautiously, "but it is rather complicated. I do not know the whole of it. Only Papa does, and he is not saying anything." Kitty paused and then added, "let's go inside shall we, and let the gentleman himself explain everything."

With this Kitty turned to go and after standing puzzled for a few minutes the Darcys, Bingleys and Lydia followed her. When they reached the entrance to the drawing room Elizabeth finally managed to get her sister's attention. "Kitty, what is going on?"

At that moment however, another voice saved Kitty from replying. "Oh my dear dear Lizzy, you are here are last."

"Hello Mama," Elizabeth replied resignedly as Mrs Bennet embraced her. It was a short embrace, for Mrs Bennet was anxious to do several things at once. First she exclaimed over Imogen who was, despite all odds, peacefully still asleep in her mother's arms, then she greeted Darcy, who put on a brave face and tried to greet his mother in law with the best of his manners. Then she did the same with the Bingleys before finally spotting Lydia, whereupon her cries changed. "Oh my dear Lydia!" She cried, pulling her into a comforting- and suffocating -embrace. "Oh my poor girl, what must you have gone through!"

Much to Elizabeth and Jane's surprise, Lydia managed to cope well with the ordeal of her mother's inquires to her health. She willingly submitted to all of Mrs Bennet's entreaties and if she had anything to conceal, it was kept very deep.

Mrs Bennet then turned to the other person in the room, who had judged it wise until this moment to keep silent.

"Now, you can all meet Lawrence, who has been returned to us!" She cried in happiness.

"Lawrence?" Elizabeth and Jane both cried out in puzzlement.

"Yes, your brother, my dear girls!" Mrs Bennet kindly replied as though they knew the entire history. "Lawrence, these are Jane, Elizabeth and Lydia."

The gentleman himself , who had rose upon the mention of his name now hesitantly stepped forward to greet the new arrivals who were just as astonished as the first ones had been.

Mr Bennet was in his favourite and frequently used retreat, a book in his hand, waiting for the best and most intelligent of his offspring to arrive and help him out. He had not planned on sending for all of them, that had been Mrs Bennet's doing. She, not suspecting, had decided on the arrangements even before he had been confronted with the mystery and he had been forced to accept, else risk the inquisition of his at the moment unfounded but nevertheless deeply held mistrust.

This deeply held mistrust had appeared in his mind ever since he had been confronted with the tale. If he had valid evidence, he would have confronted Lawrence immediately, but unfortunately he did not. Therefore, the occasion called for an appeal to someone he could trust with anything, someone he knew from previous experience would help him acquire the proof he needed, whether it convicted or released the gentleman that was sitting in his drawing room. It was this belief that caused him to retreat to his library until everyone had arrive, for fear of facing the rest of them.

Suddenly a knock at the door disturbed his reverie. It was no ordinary knock, for it began with two quick knocks, then a pause, then repeat, leaving no doubt as to the identity of its owner. Mr Bennet closed his book and called out, "come in, Lizzy."

Elizabeth had been at her ancestral home for half an hour now and was still no closer to understanding the surprise she had just been confronted with. As soon she had been able, she had carefully handed Imogen to Darcy, then slipped out of the room to find her father. If there was anyone that could explain it, it was he. "Hello, Papa," she began, closing the door behind her and sitting down.

"I knew that when you arrived you would come and seek me out," Mr Bennet replied, making an effort to sound more happy than he was. "It was really only you and the Bingleys that I wanted the news to be released to first." He paused, and Elizabeth waited it out, wanting him to explain in his own way. She knew her father well, and to interrupt him now might prevent half the story.

"Before I go any further, let me make one thing clear. Longbourn is still for Alex, whether this succeeds or not."

Despite her resolution, Lizzy could do naught but ask a question now. "Papa, what is all of this about?"

Mr Bennet leant back in his chair and......... was about to begin his story when another knock sounded upon his door. "Come in!" He called out rather curtly.

Darcy came in carefully, looking sheepishly at his father in law. Suddenly he felt like he was a child again facing his father's wrath. "Sorry to disturb, but Imogen is waking up and I thought it would be best to bring her to her mama, before others interceded."

"I do apologise Darcy," Mr Bennet began when the poor man had stopped explaining, "I thought it would be someone else. You might as well stay, actually, I need all the clear heads I can get hold to sort this out."

Darcy thanked him with a look, before handing his daughter to his wife and sitting down in a nearby chair. Elizabeth hushed her daughter back to sleep, waiting for her father to begin again.

Chapter XV.

Longbourn, August 26th 1820.

"Do you remember Lizzy, eight years ago when you came down from telling your mother about the discovery of Lydia?" Mr Bennet asked her.

"Yes," Elizabeth replied, puzzled as to why her father would start his explanation by alluding to that scene of all scenes.

"Do you remember what I said?"

"Of course I do, but........"

"No, you obviously do not," Mr Bennet incurred before Elizabeth could finish. "You remember, I am sure, me ridiculing myself for not having the foresight to lay aside...... or rather as I put it then, "a certain sum". I then went on to say the following;" Mr Bennet paused here and when he began again, he tried to put his voice and tone how it was then, so Elizabeth might remember the slip he made and had afterwards hoped she would not pick it up. " "But of course I hoped to father another son. That son would inherit the estate, no part of which would be entailed away, so providing for my widow and any other children. But when Lydia was born and all hope of a second son was lost, it seemed a little late to begin saving."" With this Mr Bennet paused once more, waiting for Lizzy to pick up his line.

"Papa," she began , "I really do not see........." Elizabeth trailed off and glanced at her husband who had seemed to notice it as well. "Did you say "another son"?"

"I did as it happens," Mr Bennet replied, leaning back in his chair to begin the story once more. "At the time you were, I hoped, too overwhelmed with Lydia's situation to pick up my little slip, for I had no intention of telling anyone, including you, that part of my life. At least then I did not.

"Before you or Jane were born I did have the good fortune to father a son. I named him Lawrence Alexander Bennet," Mr Bennet paused at this moment to look at his daughter and son in law with a smile, "yes, that was why I was so glad you had the foresight to name your sons by those names, although I know that was not the reason that you did it. But to resume.

"Nothing of great consequence happened until Lawrence was five, when Jane was born. It was about a day after that event when he asked me if he could go outside and play. I had no intention of refusing him, it was a perfectly normal request. But after that question, I never saw him again." Mr Bennet paused here to take a drink of his wine. Elizabeth and Darcy waited for him to continue. "At first I thought he had just gotten lost, or that he had decided to play a trick on me. But, as the days increased, I began to loose hope. Not completely, but by degrees. It was like a part of me was closing itself forever from the rest of me. I never intended for that part to be opened again. And then, six days ago, I returned home to see the gentleman you have just been introduced as a sibling. And, despite all present evidence to the contrary, I find this Lawrence Bennet extremely easy to distrust." With that, Mr Bennet went on to explain verbatim, the tale Lawrence had told him that evening.

Needless to say, Elizabeth and Darcy were both stunned by the tale they had just received. For the former it explained the lot. Firstly, the rift between the Collinses and themselves, that had been until Mr Collins married Charlotte. If Alan Collins had indeed kidnapped her brother, it would have changed considerably the relationship between cousins. Secondly, it accounted for her father's rather cynical out look on life, which she had acquired as well, although to a lesser degree. It could also explain her mother's nerves, if indeed anything could. Slowly, she looked up at her father and spoke. "Have you considered, Papa, how strangely this tale as you call it, fits in?"

"I have considered it, Lizzy," her father replied, "in fact it was the first that entered my mind. Which is why I distrust it. It is too good to be true. However, I have no evidence to disprove or to improve the story. And you, Darcy," Mr Bennet added, looking at his son in law, whose face appeared to be in great concentration of thought. "What is your opinion on this as a rational objective man?"

"It is as you say sir, rather too good to be true, but the evidence does seem to be of good authority."

Elizabeth nodded and looked down at Imogen as she asked, "what, do you intend to do then?"

"I intend to find out some certain proof to this gentleman," Mr Bennet replied slowly, looking at the both of them. "And I greatly need your help."

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy before complying to her father's wish. "Who else is to know that you suspect him?"

"Jane and Bingley may know, but no one else," replied Mr Bennet, "if the story is true, I have no desire to make Lawrence feel uneasy, for it will provide more of a hindrance than an assistance to our task." Mr Bennet paused to finish his drink, before adding with relief, "thank you, Lizzy."

Thank us when this over, Darcy replied silently, then aloud he assured his father in law that he need have no concern about Alex's future in regards to Longbourn.

"No," Mr Bennet replied, "that is not effecting me, in fact it has only made me see this more clearly. There are two questions though that I would dearly like to have answered when all of this is over. The first is how he acquired all this information about our family and lastly, if this is true, why he waited until now to spring this upon us."

Chapter XVI.

Oakham Mount, August 27th 1820.

For Elizabeth, early morning walks had the custom of clearing her mind of everything but the problem she needed to solve. She had slipped out of the bedchamber that she and Darcy shared at Netherfield early this morning with this single thought in her mind.

Now, as she came to the top of Oakham Mount, she realised, reluctantly, that her original plan was about to go completely out of her head. Sighing, but determined, she took the initiative and called out to the silhouette figure that had taken her place on the stump of the old oak tree that signified the summit. "Lawrence!"

The figure stood up and bowed instantly upon the announcement of his name. "Mrs..... I mean......." he paused, chuckling. "I apologise. I have no idea how to address you. You are my sister and yet, for years I have been an only child."

"It is strange," Elizabeth acknowledged, offering her hand. Lawrence took it and raised it to his lips as she replied, "but, please, do not distress yourself. Call me Lizzy, or Elizabeth, and all will be well between us."

"Elizabeth then," Lawrence began as she took a seat on the stump and he followed suit on a patch of dry grass nearby. "I did not realise early morning walks was a Bennet family trait."

"We are an energetic family, but it is usually only me and Jane that tend to walk in the morning, although Papa has been known to do so as well. I find it clears my head and allows me to see things objectively."

"Yes, it is refreshing," Lawrence concurred. He glanced at her as he added, almost wistfully, "I wish that somehow I had been able to sort out all of this earlier."

"Why did you not?" Elizabeth asked.

"Well, when I was first confronted with it, my regiment was called back to go to France. Then, when I finally managed to cashier myself out, it took a long while just to find any link at all."

Elizabeth nodded, at the same time though she wondered if there was something wrong as her father had ascertained. If there was some weakness to exploit, then this five year absence from the Battle of Waterloo to the present was it.

"But it is done now," Lawrence continued, using a foible of Mr Bennet, "and it cannot be undone. I will just have to use the time I have to the best advantage." Elizabeth wondered at the choice of words here but chose not to comment on it. Instead she returned her gaze to the direction of the mount that viewed Netherfield. Lawrence meanwhile lapsed into silence, his own mind equally thoughtful. He had not even entailed a thought about how difficult this could turn out to be. All that had mattered to him was sorting it out, before time prevented him from doing so. He had a debt to pay for not following his heart all those years ago when he had first found out about all of this. The only thing that bothered him was the fear in his mind that it was too late to do anything.

Elizabeth, seeing that Lawrence was thinking, - strangely enough, in a manner similar to her husband -returned her thoughts to the original plan that had occupied her this morning. She, like her father, had been immediately suspicious of Lawrence Bennet when they had been introduced yesterday evening, yet now, sitting with him upon the summit of Oakham Mount, overlooking the grounds of Netherfield, she caught herself several times looking for similarities between him and their immediate family in every gesture, mannerism, word, or tone of voice. And in general she found them.

But maybe, that was due to her purposefully looking for them in the first place. As though she wanted a brother in her life, even if he was still a mystery to them all. Yet, as she realised this, Elizabeth reminded herself of the other things she had noticed which had made her agree to her father's request. There was one feature in particular that had fixed the decision in her mind. It was still there this morning. As an observer of people's characters, she had first detected this habit last night, albeit after her father had told her the whole story. Which had been why she had distrusted it, until this morning. Lawrence, she was sure of it, was not telling them the whole story. There was something he was keeping back, and that something obviously mattered a great deal to him, for she was only able to notice instances of it.

That only gave her two conclusions; one, he had a shameful past that he did not want to reveal, or two, that he was not Lawrence Bennet at all, but instead playing a deliberate part. Both these conclusions fitted, however, to Elizabeth's mind, the latter was missing one thing. As yet she had been unable to think of a motive as to why he would deceive them all. Longbourn estate, although comfortable, was by no means a profitable inheritance, he would do better to pretend he was heir to the Devereauxs, whose fortunes had increased tenfold since their last visit to Netherfield. That left personal vendetta, which did not even seem realistic, since the gentleman was far too young to be carrying an avenging burden on his shoulders.

No, it was altogether too puzzling a situation, Elizabeth concluded as Lawrence finally turned to her, asking her if she had any plans for the day.

"I am not entirely sure," Elizabeth replied. "I really should spend time with Lady Devereaux I suppose as she is playing hostess to us, but beyond that my plans are uncertain." She paused, and then smiled as an idea came to her. "Lord Devereaux has invited my husband and brother in laws to do some shooting this morning. I am sure they would not mind an addition to the party, and then you could join us for luncheon."

"That sounds fine, I would be honoured," Lawrence replied.

When Elizabeth arrived back at Netherfield she encountered the most pleasing sight. That was her husband quietly talking to their latest daughter, who lay in his arms in their bedroom. He looked up at her entrance. "Good morning, Mrs Darcy."

"Good morning," Elizabeth returned to the both of them.

"Did you know that this is the same chamber that I slept in when I was here over eight years ago? It took the sight of this beautiful one to make me realise that I had not just dreamt us."

Elizabeth smiled as she leant to kiss him, before remarking, "my dearest Will, you really worry far too much. We have been married for nearly nine years now. This, I assure you, is not a dream."

Darcy smiled a smile which she cherished. "I love it when you call me that." He paused, turning to Imogen who was looking up at the two of them with wide eyes. "One day soon my pet," he whispered softly, "you are going to realise just how wonderful your mother is."

Imogen just blinked in reply, before closing her eyes to sleep once more. Elizabeth took the opportunity to ask her husband a favour. "Fitzwilliam, could you do something for me today?"

"Anything, my love," was the reply.

"Lawrence Bennet is joining the shooting party today. I would like you to keep an eye on him if you could."

"Of course, but why do you ask?"

"I saw him this morning while I was walking. We had a conversation and...... there is just something about him that does not sit well with me. He's hiding something, Will."

"I understand," Darcy replied sympathetically as stifled cry came from his lap. "Oh, I think little one is ready for breakfast."

Elizabeth took Imogen in her arms. "Thank you Fitzwilliam. I hope this stay improves your memories of this place."

"It already has, my love."

Chapter XVII.

Netherfield, 27th August 1820.

It is a truth not necessarily universally acknowledged that in times when shooting was one of the only accepted landowner sports, it becomes an event that calls those gentlemen early from their beds.

So, when Mr Darcy ended up joining the party rather late, it brought a lot of questions from the others, in particular his host, who inquired after the lateness of his guest with more than a passing curiosity.

Darcy's reply was........ well you can hear it yourselves and judge it as you choose. "I am afraid I was unavoidably detained by my distracting wife, sir."

Lord Devereaux, a very respectable man, also had the advantage of a loving marriage, and chuckled at his guest's reply. "I am well aware of those temptations and so shall forgive your lateness."

It should be noted here that Lord Devereaux should be considered as the most affluent gentleman of the assembled party. His fortune doubled Darcy's by a clear thousand or two and three well proportioned states accompanied it, Netherfield being only one of them. He was married to an heiress, -who had brought with her hand the third- and had an heir who was as yet unmarried. Added to this was his three nearly married daughters, of which, all bar one were presently engaged while the other was indeed of the attached state. He was a man of amiable features, and equally amiable manners, with a sardonic quip that kept him in Mr Bennet's good company, and thus had been pleased to let the majority of the Netherfield rooms to that gentleman's extended family.

Darcy had replied to Devereaux's response with a slight acknowledgement and then turned to look at his brother in laws Bingley and Blakeney, before finally coming to a rest on Mr Lawrence Bennet. It was time, his mind had decided, to take stock of the gentleman and see if his own judgement of him agreed with his wife's and his father in law's. Having decided himself upon such a task, his mind set to immediately.

The first thing he took in was appearance. After all, if Lawrence was Mr Bennet's son, then logic dictated that some resemblance must remain in their features. After a detailed and discreet examination, Darcy concluded that there was a similarity, by way of the manners and features of the mien, and he could see that the dark hair of Lawrence could have once been Mr Bennet's own.

All this judgement had been ascertained without attracting Lawrence's suspicions, for Darcy, although less reserved since his marriage, still had the habit of something resembling a spy when he could be called into it. The next judgement he made however, did meditate an awareness, for it was completely unexpected.

Lawrence had at that moment fired a shot, which no one could deny was of remarkably good aim. It spoke of rather decidedly a military origin, which Darcy, from his long history with his cousin, had had a great deal of experience of observing, and one that had been in long standing. Of course, Darcy knew from Mr Bennet that Lawrence had claimed- this word should be noted- to have served under Wellington, but it was a claim anyone could make, providing they never had to prove it. This shot however, not only told Darcy that it was true, but also required him to remark on it. He inquired in the general way, as if the inquiry had no special preference.

"Yes, I did serve," Lawrence replied. "How did you notice?"

"My cousin is in the profession," Darcy returned with the same degree of normality. "May I ask which regiment you served in?"

"I had the honour to serve in the Oxfordshire 52nd Foot as an Ensign and eventually a Captain," Lawrence informed him before returning to address the young Mr Devereaux with a remark.

Darcy however paid no attention to it. All his attention to the party had ceased in fact, when he heard Lawrence's reply. The regiment had chosen well, it served a lot in the fields of Spain and if it did not have awakened a connection in his mind, Darcy would not have put too much thought on it. However, the 52nd was known to him only too well. It was the first regiment his cousin had joined, then a lieutenant, before moving into the intelligence section of Wellington's staff.

It was therefore with great rapidity that after the shooting party had retired to the house, that Darcy set down to write his cousin a letter which contained the following request:

....... Rich, I am sure after reading all of this you will not hesitate in lending your assistance to this matter, so I shall ask what I want without delay. Did Lawrence Bennet by any chance, serve when you served in the 52nd? I know this is going out on a limb as it were, but I think your reply will prove invaluable to all of us as a sign of proof or disproof to the validity of this man's assertions.

I remain, etc.
Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Chapter XVIII.

Netherfield, August 28th 1820.

The rest of the twenty-seventh passed without nothing of significance taking place, save what I have already mentioned. Darcy informed his wife of what had occurred that morning, along with his intention- for only intention it indeed was at that time -to write to his cousin. Elizabeth agreed wholeheartedly with his plan.

Thus, nothing to do with Lawrence Bennet could be done until a reply arrived, so the Netherfield occupants occupied themselves with the other equally pressing matter that concerned them all. That matter was of course, Lydia's situation, for it was determined that something had to be decided now, as they might not have another opportunity to conference together as it were.

Accordingly, Mr Bennet arrived early the next day to have a conference with his eldest daughters and family in the Netherfield Library. He too was grateful to have another matter occupy his mind other than the one that had been there for days, without any sign of marked improvement. Since the marriage of his daughters he had tried to be a better father as far as he could with the two that remained, but until now, the one that he had most heartily wished he had taken the time to improve, had been too far out of his reach from him to do so.

It was determined early on that Lydia could not, within all reality, stay at Pearlcoombe for the rest of her and her children's lives, as much as Jane and Charles tried to assure Mr Bennet that it would be no hardship to them.

"No Jane, on this I am quite resolved," were Mr Bennet's final words on that matter. "Lydia, if she has that sense, will soon come to look on it as charity."

"Then, if I may suggest," Darcy voiced, "a house on my estate has recently........"

"No, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth interrupted. "If Lydia regards Pearlcoombe as charity, then a living on Pemberley she will also. Besides, you have already done far too much." She turned to her father. "But the same cannot be said for Longbourn."

Mr Bennet looked at his favourite daughter solemnly. "Lizzy, I wish it could be that easy. But you know your mother only too well. Lydia and her children would be spoilt utterly, if they remained here."

"Then, father," Jane asked tentatively, "what can you suggest? All reasonable offers, save giving Lydia money enough to afford a living, have been rejected."

Mr Bennet could only sigh. "I believe you are right my dear." He paused then added, "Now, before Darcy offers that very thing, I venture the thought that until we come up with something else, the only solutions are those of a short term nature. She may as well stay at Pearlcoombe."

It can only be supposed that naturally, while this discussion was taking place, what occupied Lydia's own thoughts was connected to this. And indeed those who supposed that would be correct.

Lydia was seated in a drawing room of Netherfield, with her youngest child Louise asleep in her arms. Her mind however was as far away from that room as it possibly could be. She was contemplating what her future would be. It was not a pleasant prospect. She could see nothing reasonable other than being a burden to her family. She did not wish to impose herself on Jane and Mr Bingley forever. Nor did she wish to do the same to Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, as kind as the latter had been these past few days. She also did not wish to live at Longbourn. Eight years of marriage had been enough to make her realise where the faults of her upbringing lay, that is with herself and her mother. She did not wish her children to suffer such a fate. Marriage, the only other option bar one -that of servitude- was also out of the question. For indeed, who would even consider a widow of four and twenty with eight children?

So, like the rest of her family had come to realise, her situation was a complicated one indeed. She wished she knew a solution to it. Now, she could only dwell on it in all its distressing glory.

The sound of the drawing room door opening broke those thoughts. Lydia looked up, expecting it to be Lady Devereaux, or one of the Miss Devereauxs, or one of her sisters. Indeed anyone but the one person that it was.

"I am most sorry for disturbing you," Lawrence Bennet replied as he came in, closing the door. "I had no idea anyone was in here."

"Please, do not trouble yourself," Lydia replied distractedly, her self esteem at its lowest ebb.

Perhaps it was that reply, or perhaps Lawrence noticed the distressed and lonely heart inside her. Whatever it was, he walked to the sofa and seated himself beside her, took her free hand in his, and remarked with words of the greatest tenderness, "be assured, that whatever is troubling you, if you choose to confide in me, I will not give it away to anyone. Indeed, I will do my utmost to help you."

Lydia looked up at him in surprise, then glanced away, back to Louise. "I wish you could help."

Lawrence waited silently for her to continue.

"I made something of a scandal in this family by eloping," Lydia began after a short pause, "I married a man I knew absolutely nothing about and what I learnt later gave me much to regret by it."

"Surely you loved him though if you were willing to do that," Lawrence tried reassure her.

"At the time I thought I did, but I realise now that I was far too young to know what love was. Anyway, that has no relevance now. My actions before my marriage do though."

"Why?"

At this point Lydia looked up and gazed at his face. "Why do you care?" She asked frankly, her piercing eyes burrowing into his soul.

Lawrence did not buckle under their gaze. "For a number of reasons, most of which are not important right now," he replied after a pause. "But first and foremost, you are my sister, and what ever troubles you, troubles me."

"Thank you," Lydia replied. "I am grateful to know that someone cares for me."

"I am sure your other siblings feel the same."

"I rather think not." Lydia paused "I am outsider in this family, Lawrence. And not just because of the man I married, although I am sure that made matters worse. I have always been regarded as one who is beyond hope of a change."

"Do you have any idea why you feel this way?"

"That's just it, I do not."

Chapter XIX.

Netherfield.

Lawrence would have done a great disservice to Lydia if he had not acted as he did so after hearing this information. For indeed, who could keep silent after hearing such a tale of woe? As soon as he could he sought out the members of his family that were staying at Netherfield, determined to get to the bottom of the matter. He soon discovered their whereabouts.

"Ah, Lawrence," Mr Bennet began when the gentleman had entered. "What do you do here?"

"I have just had a most troubling conversation with Mrs Wickham," Lawrence replied, noticing as he had suspected to do so, a change of composure on the faces of several people in the room the moment he pronounced the name. He voiced this observation instantly. "Now," he added, vehemently, "would someone favour me with the reason why that name inspires dread in almost all of you?"

After awhile the silence in the room began to turn oppressive, so Lawrence tried again in the same tone. "Look, Lydia is distressed enough as it is. Feeling like an outsider as well cannot help."

The word outsider triggered a response. "Why does she feel like that?" Jane asked.

"I think it has something to with the matter of who she married," Lawrence returned. "Now, please would someone tell me? Believe me, I have probably heard worse, serving for as long as I did in the army. What is Wickham to you?"

Elizabeth turned to her husband whose face remained impassive. "Will, what harm can it do? Everyone concerned in the matter has recovered from it, including you." At her husband's apparent hesitation she persisted thus, "if you are unsure, you need only ask her permission. And if Lydia's behaviour these past few days is anything to judge by,........ surely her very manner tells you she has changed? She needs to recover, Fitzwilliam, and I for one think that a knowledge of her late husband's past would help her right now." Elizabeth stopped for breath and took her beloved's hands in hers as she uttered her final words. "It might even provoke her to confiding in us."

Darcy's eyes had remained with his wife's from the beginning of this speech and it was through them that Elizabeth had learnt to understand his soul. It was a soul she had come to value highly, treasure even, and now as she looked into his eyes she saw the beginnings of an acceptance to her plea. The tragedy of Georgiana and Wickham he had related to few people, not trusting their discretion enough to do so. Even when he had been negotiating with Mr Gardiner all those years ago, the true circumstances he had never revealed. Until Elizabeth, no one had known, and after Elizabeth he had by degrees, let others into the circle; namely Mr Bennet and his brother in law and friend; Charles Bingley. Was it now time to let Lydia learn of the past dealings between him and Wickham? Also, was he wise to trust Lawrence with the information, being as he was, as yet, a unproved relation to the family? These were the doubts that haunted Darcy and his wife's plea had managed to temper them enough to make Darcy consider the gravity of the present situation. It was then with this in mind that he stepped forward and slowly related the entire story to Lawrence Bennet.

And what can be said of Lawrence's reaction while he listened to Darcy's story? Well, firstly, it must be noted that not once did he choose to interrupt the story, nor did he voice aloud an guessed inference or opinion on anything that Darcy said. Instead, he remained silent until the end, his gaze never leaving the glances of his present company. His thoughts however, constantly drifted. They first drifted to Lydia, and indeed she remained a factor throughout the entire tale. His thoughts drifted then to imagining what Wickham must have been like as Darcy's tale went from the accepted to the scandalous events in their Cambridge days. Finally, they came to rest on his sister in law, Georgiana Blakeney.

Lawrence had not yet the time to make her familiar acquaintance, as he had only dined with the Netherfield family once. Yet he had already determined her to be as sweet and as kind as his eldest sister Jane. To know that a man like Wickham had tried for her and failed, due to her brother's interference, was not only a proof that Wickham was not someone who could never be recovered from, but also a testament in his eyes to the assumption that he had previously determined, that if one girl was capable of suffering nothing from an experience with Wickham, then so was another. He looked at his brother in law and when Darcy had finished the story he calmly replied with this last thought in mind. "I thank you for telling me. I promise you on my honour that it will go further. However, after hearing this, I think it wise that you at least tell Lydia the story, or let your sister tell her. The knowledge that she is not alone in this will be beneficial to her, and, I believe, will go a long way in prompting her to recover."

Darcy looked at his immediate family, then at Lawrence. Then he decided.

Chapter XX.

Netherfield, 29th August 1820.

After the conference of yesterday, dinner had been announced, leaving any possibility of talking with Lydia alone unlikely. The Bennets had left soon afterwards for Longbourn with every intention of returning on the morrow. Lawrence had made the Darcys aware of his promise to Lydia and they had agreed that it would be best if he was present to explain his reasons for not keeping silent.

They duly met the next day in the drawing room where Lydia happened to be alone. Lawrence went to her immediately upon his entrance. He sat down next to her as Darcy and Elizabeth seated themselves opposite.

"Lydia, in doing this I am about to break my promise to you that I would keep whatever you told me secret," Lawrence began, looking very shamefaced. "But, after hearing what I did, realised that you needed help. I heard this story yesterday and I think you ought to hear it as well. Please listen to what your brother in law has to say."

Lawrence's well chosen words had certainly got Lydia intrigued. She looked to her sister and then Mr Darcy, waiting for him to begin.

Darcy took a deep breath and met her eyes. Elizabeth took his hand in hers as he began the story once more. It remained in her comfort throughout.

Lydia's reaction to the story was one of a mixed nature. At first she was shocked. Insensible as she had been eight years ago, she had no idea that Wickham had even known Mr Darcy until he had come upon them at the time of her elopement. Now, she learnt of their long acquaintance, she began to understand and interpret many of the things that had occurred during the negotiations of her marriage. That Wickham had never loved her, a suspicion which she had ascertained a few months after the wedding, she now knew for absolute certainty. In a way, she realised, it made things somewhat easier in her mind. However, it also made things a lot harder. Then, as Darcy reached the story of Ramsgate, her shock increased. She had never really gained Georgiana's acquaintance, for she had missed both weddings of her sisters. To learn that she, Darcy's sister, had been sought after by Wickham for purely financial reasons..... well, it was, to the say the least, shocking. Her heart went out to Mrs Blakeney, as her own self blame increased. She realised now more than ever, why Elizabeth had been insistent that she did not go to Brighton and rather wished that she had obeyed that advice.

When Darcy came to the end of his story Lydia needed several minutes to recover before she began her own tale. She knew now, that it had to be told. "Thank you, Mr Darcy," she began, when she had gathered her thoughts, "I am most grateful that you told me this. Lawrence, please do not distress yourself. You did not betray me, in fact I think I needed to hear that. It gives me the courage to tell you what I have been longing to tell someone; that is the true history of my marriage to Mr Wickham.

"It began well, mainly because of my own self delusion that I was suffering under. I thought Wickham loved me. I realised not long after the birth of Henry, that he did not. Indeed he as much confessed it once. But to resume.

"Wickham began to gamble away our income as soon as he could. I tried to keep him from spending all of it, but his debts at the mess soon turned him to drink. Naturally, his tendency to drink shortened his temper. I tried to avoid him as much as I could, but that soon it became impossible. I soon realised after a while that as his wife I had to submit to his desires." At this point Lydia stopped. She turned to Darcy and added, "please, Mr Darcy, do not blame yourself for making us marry. I was as much if not more to blame for my actions. I should never have gone to Brighton."

Darcy reluctantly acknowledged Lydia's plea, keeping his face impassive. His own thoughts at the moment were providing swift competition to counteract any cure the plea could have given him. He should have told the neighbourhood from the beginning. He should have made Wickham's true character known. But, due to his mistaken pride, he had declined and now Lydia was suffering for it. He felt his hand being squeezed and turned to see Elizabeth looking at him with eyes that carried the message of her own opinions, which would be voiced later. She was determined that her husband would not slide into despondency concerning who was and who was not to blame for Wickham's involvement with her family.

Meanwhile Lydia's story continued. "I soon learnt that providing I submitted quickly, he tended to leave me alone. I took advantage of this, and made sure I had friends who could be relied upon as excuses to call us out to dinners. One of these was Mrs Lawford, a woman a year or two older than me and unfortunately, had also eloped with her husband. Although hers was much more a case of affection. She saw my marriage as the same, indeed that was how Wickham presented it in public and I, enjoying her company, wished never to dissuade her from that delusion.

"Thankfully, Mrs Lawford had experience of managing money and between her and I, the little money I had was managed well enough to provide my increasing family and myself for several years. I realise I could have wrote to all of you, but I had no desire to let Wickham know I doing that. Also I did not wish to appear greedy and wild, like I had once been.

"When the regiment was recalled to France, I hoped at first that we would stay behind for I feared for the children's safety. I soon began to regret this desire as Wickham blackmailed his way up to a captaincy. His referee was Major Vaughan, whose name might be familiar to you all. At the time I had no idea it was blackmail, for the Major was far too scared that his scandal would be made known to fight back.

"The captaincy gave him more freedom to gamble. As I carefully made sure he never had all of our income, he soon ran out of cash and turned to blackmail once more, after I refused to give him any more, despite all his persistence. That drove him to the most profitable of his blackmails; Major Vaughan. Needless to say the Major soon became tired of Wickham's pressure and called him out. It was the day I gave birth to Louise. And god forgive me, I so relieved when I learnt the Major had been successful." It was with this last that Lydia finished the tale. For their own sakes, she had left most of the details out, for she had no desire to make any of them feel more guilty than they already did. As far as she was concerned, when it came down to her, they were all blameless.

As for Lawrence, he had remained silent throughout the entire tale, and when Lydia had come to the end he had carefully taken her hand in his, offering support. He would realise later that it was today which would eventually change his life forever.

Chapter XXI.

Netherfield 31st August 1820.

Rosings.
29th August 1820.

Darce,

I am afraid to inform you that during the time I served in the 52nd, a Lawrence Bennet was never in the ranks of Ensign, Lieutenant or Captain. Of course, if you recollect, I did not stay long in the Oxfordshire, as Wellington soon spotted me at the siege of Ciudad Rodrigo and enlisted me on his intelligence staff. So he could have joined after that.

I must say Darce, that this story of yours intrigues me, so I will seek out a few old army friends of mine and see if they can help you.

With regards, etc.
Richard Fitzwilliam.

This was the short reply which Darcy received this day from his cousin. It confirmed all he had expected instantly. His cousin's memory was one that could never be doubted on, even when you wanted it to be- I refer here to some rather embarrassing stories of Darcy's youth which he swore and did pay Fitzwilliam back tenfold on his bachelor night. These are of course, another story -and as such Darcy took the information as certain. He was now faced with the unhappy task of informing his wife of Lawrence's first mistake.

He accordingly and reluctantly did so after breakfast when he joined her in their bedroom, attending to Imogen's needs. "Elizabeth," he began cautiously, "I received Richard's reply this morning."

Elizabeth looked up from Imogen and saw in her husband's face the nature of the news he feared to relay. "Judging by your face, Fitzwilliam, I presume it does not confirm what Lawrence told you?"

"I am afraid that is the case, m'dear," her husband replied. "Are you disappointed?"

"I am glad we learn now, rather than later," Elizabeth remarked, "however, I fear my father's response. I know, despite his denials, that he secretly wished Lawrence is who he says to be. As far as I am concerned, I hope the gentleman's real story is not too shameful."

"I confess that is what I hope, my darling," Darcy replied. Against his better judgement he had grown to like Lawrence Bennet, especially since his assistance with Lydia had achieved so much. It was only two days gone past Lydia's story and she had improved much the better for it. She never returned to her trances and the mention of Wickham had not once caused her to shudder.

"I like him as well, Will," Elizabeth replied, interpreting her husband's enigmatic glances once more. "What else did Richard say?"

"Only that the story intrigued him enough to seek out some of his army contacts to see if he can find anything out. Comes from being an intelligence officer for far too long I think."

"It is just as well we have his assistance, Fitzwilliam. He might find the damning proof we need to credit or discredit Lawrence Bennet's assertions."

Darcy acknowledged as he had intended to, that Elizabeth was right. The information that Lawrence had not served in the 52nd when his cousin had, did nothing really to prove the falsity of his story one way or another.

Elizabeth went early in the afternoon to Longbourn in order to tell her father the news. She did not announce her arrival, wishing to avoid her mother's pleasantries and the company of Lawrence until her father allowed them to confront him.

She found her father for once walking in the grounds rather than his study. He spotted her arrival instantly.

"Lizzy, my dear, what brings you here?"

"Papa, you remember some days ago me telling you that Fitzwilliam had written to Richard at Rosings for some information about his military days?"

"I remember well. What was his reply?"

"That he does not recollect a Lawrence Bennet ever serving in the 52nd during his time in the regiment."

"Is his authority good?"

"The 52nd was the first regiment he served in. He left after Ciudad Rodrigo. Lawrence has claimed to have served both before and after that siege."

"I see," Mr Bennet replied in his usual abrupt way. His own thoughts sang with relief that his suspicions had been justified.

"Are we to confront him with this information?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes," Mr Bennet replied after a pause. "But we are to do it with discretion. If he does have something to hide I have no desire to alarm the gentleman just yet. Not until we have definitive proof." He turned to his daughter and took her hand in his. "Thank you, Lizzy, for telling me. You did right in doing so. Do not fear, I am glad you did. It gives me relief for having my suspicions."

Chapter XXII.

1st September 1820.

One can hardly suppose that in such a neighbourhood as Meryton the events at Netherfield and Longbourn would not remain in those locations only. And indeed, they would be right in their suspicions.

After Mrs Phillips had been treated to the chance introduction of Lawrence Bennet, the news that the long lost son of the Bennets of Longbourn had returned to the family fold, had spread around the village in lighting speed. Of course, they had all heard of the history, and they had all been most saddened for Mr Bennet's loss all those years ago. Then, when the marriages of the eldest daughters had come about, the neighbourhood had secretly rejoiced that the majority of them had the one thing that Mrs Bennet lacked to make her life complete. It was not that they did not like Mrs Bennet, indeed she was a great source of gossip and news from time to time, but her incessant talk of Mrs Darcy and Mrs Bingley in the recent years had become...... well, somewhat tiring. So, while they grieved for poor Mr Bennet,- such a nice, if rather eccentric gentleman, which was high praise according to them,- they consoled themselves with the knowledge of Lawrence Bennet's disappearance when Mrs Bennet proved to be too taxing. The village at times tended to have a malicious streak when the occasion called for it.

But to resume. Mrs Phillips had barely begun to rejoice with her sister- hoping that this show of emotion might entice her sister to let her see the man himself- when Mrs Bennet sent her away, her excuse being that until she had greeted Mr Bennet with "the darling child", no one else was to meet him. Mrs Phillips reluctantly left, and the servants who escorted her to the door, swore later that many a number of mutterings under breath had accompanied the woman's departure. Needless to say, Mrs Phillips was not very happy at only being able to spread the news of Lawrence Bennet's return, and not what the gentleman looked like. However, spread the news she did and by the time the Darcys had arrived at Netherfield, Meryton was alive with gossip.

As the days went on with no sign of an invitation from the family to any of the citizens of Meryton to see the fabled- and hopefully single, as there were still some unmarried daughters of Meryton,- Lawrence Bennet, there was a natural inclination to come up with some form of an invitation themselves. After all, Mr Lawrence Bennet could not, absolutely could not remain incognito for any longer. It was unthinkable to a village such as Meryton. At first there was some difficulty in procuring a reasonable excuse for sending such an invite, particularly to Netherfield, as the Devereauxs were in residence, and to refuse them, while asking their guests was impossible. This meant that it could be no ordinary assembly, but a quiet evening at the next highest residence.

So, it was with mixed reactions that the occupants of Netherfield and Longbourn received invitations for an evening at the Lucas Lodge an evening hence. The latter commented upon it their normal way; Mrs Bennet rejoicing at the chance to show her dear Lawrence off, Mrs Kitty Guest looking forward to seeing Maria Wexford nee Lucas once more, her husband having not the heart to refuse their acceptance, the Smythes deploring at the probable lack of Christian civility to be had during the evening, and Mr Bennet retreating to his study and a nice bottle of his best brandy. His thoughts about it concerned whether or not he should introduce Lawrence as his son, when he was not sure he was himself. It might help Lawrence to relax his guard, if indeed he had anything to hide, but on the other hand it had the possibility of making the search for the truth altogether harder. He had yet to confront the man yet with the mistake he had made in choosing the 52nd Regiment, an situation which Mr Bennet found himself dreading, all the more he thought about it.

After all, the man must have had a reason to put his history with the military, and his son in law Darcy had assured him that Lawrence was definitely of that ilk. Mr Bennet had come to trust his son in law's opinions and judge of character much of late; although Darcy always tried to insist that Mr Bennet's opinions were often more sound than his own. Mr Bennet however, had become convinced that they had a cynical edge to them and recently he tended to seek Bingley and Darcy's opinions about someone before making a final judgement. The son in laws of course, always returned the favour.

So, it was with the surest trust that Mr Bennet placed in Darcy's opinion that Lawrence had had, at some point in his life, military training. As a man who once had a Colonel for a cousin, his authority could not be doubted. Thus, while Mr Bennet knew that Lawrence had lied about the Oxfordshire, he had not lied about the army roots.

Naturally, this conclusion, brought to Mr Bennet some discomfort. If Lawrence had to lie about that, who knew what else he had lied about. It also brought up the question of why. Why would a man lie about something like that? What reasons could he possibly have? It was these questions which Mr Bennet had been troubling himself over the past few day since he had received Lizzy's news and the longer he dwelt upon them, the more he dreaded to confront the man. Despite all his distrust Mr Bennet had come to like the gentleman who was pretending to be his son, so much so that sometimes he had to remind himself that Lawrence was indeed pretending.

The Netherfield occupants meanwhile greeted the invitation with slight discomfort, the expectation of being sociable for an entire evening in the company of Sir William Lucas, was more often than not a prospect to be endured rather than enjoyed. The Devereauxs felt themselves unable to escape the invite; there was nothing that could possibly send them to town by chance on the same day that would delay their attendance, nor was there anything wrong with the other estates that they held. How much they wished right now to be at those estates, either would do, the Richmond one and the one in Norfolk being so very far from Netherfield as to prevent them attending an evening at Lucas Lodge.

The Darcys were also greeting the invitation with mixed feelings. Elizabeth was worried about the children as they rarely left them alone. Imogen in particular was far too young to go anywhere and would it not be better if they stayed with her? As much as Elizabeth and Darcy desired to do this they found they could not refuse Sir William, even if it meant leaving Imogen with the Devereaux nursery maid all evening. Fitzwilliam was of the same opinion, although his thoughts mingled with memories of previous evenings there, most of all the one which had occurred before his character change. It had been an evening which at first he had looked on with joy, as it had been the first occasion he realised his attraction for Elizabeth. Recently though these feelings had turned to regret at the conduct of himself that evening and many events after it.

Despite trying to learn Elizabeth's philosophy- think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure- Darcy often found himself reflecting a lot upon the past mistakes of his life, which had impeded his courtship of Elizabeth. Their constant reminder did have one benefit for the good, it helped him to refrain from making the mistakes again, yet they did have a habit of depressing his often jovial nature, as they were doing so now. It drove Darcy to seek a respite and just as he was about to do so, in it came; in the form of his wife and youngest child.

Elizabeth had had the suspicion that her husband would indeed be thinking such thoughts when she received news of their impending engagements. It had been her first mission to find him, before she informed the Bingleys, who memories of that evening eight years ago would prove to be more pleasurable. Now, as she came to seat herself by him, she instantly began to try and cure her husband of his reproachful tendency.

"My dear," she began, "I beg you to refrain from remembering a certain evening at Lucas Lodge which has less happy memories for yourself."

Darcy looked at his wife in awe. She always seemed to know what he was thinking. "I do try, my love, but it is difficult to do so."

"Have not eight years been enough to fade them?"

"Eight years have certainly decreased them, Elizabeth, but some are still vivid. However," he added, as he placed a hand on her cheek, caressing her softly, "there is but one aspect of that evening which I can never forget."

Elizabeth tried to answer in the same light tone, none withstanding the feeling that his touch had produced and mindful that Imogen was in her arms. "What aspect was that, pray?"

"It was the evening when I confessed to myself and to someone else that my thoughts had become occupied with the meditation upon the pleasure that a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow."

The inference was unmistakable. Elizabeth blushed. "Who did you say this to?"

Darcy's features had a wicked tint to them. "Caroline."

Elizabeth smiled, then, at the same time as her husband, burst into peals of laughter.

Chapter XXIII.

Lucas Lodge, 2nd September 1820.

It was with mixed reactions that Lawrence Bennet met the neighbourhood of Meryton, that night at Lucas Lodge. He had been introduced as Mr Bennet's long lost son, a title for which he was grateful to have acknowledged at last. The delay in its announcement had left him feeling unsettled, even now he still felt a little uneasy in the role. Of course he had anticipated a little reluctance, suspicion even, from the family as well as the village, but he had not desired this much delay in his acceptance. However, his adjustment to this delay had not taken too long; his mind putting his surprise down to spending too many years on the continent.

Now, as Lawrence looked around the room, his trained eyes taking in every person that was there, he saw that the delay had not done anything to alter the nature of his plans. His quest, judging by the lack of other newcomers in this social evening, was yet to begin. Lawrence sighed and took another sip of his wine. He rather wished something had occurred, he would like to have this finished quickly, before he grew an attachment.

Elizabeth watched her new brother taking in the occupants of the room and smiled to herself. His manner was almost a copy of their father's. If indeed they had the same father........ no, this was ridiculous. Why did she have to keep reminding herself of that? She turned back to the fascinating- and it must be noted that Elizabeth used that term in the most sarcastic sense -conversation which Sir William Lucas was holding.

"Capital, capital. Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?"

Darcy tried to restrain the first comment that came into his head. "Quite," he replied, desperately wondering why he would ever think that this evening would resemble any of the others that he had been to. Sir William was always slightly more........., no, Lizzy must forgive him for saying this, but there was only one word to describe him; annoying. He felt a hand brush his arm and he turned to see his wife standing next to him, her eyes sparkling. She knew what he was thinking, for she was of the same mind. The evening would be over soon. At least he hoped it would.

Surprisingly, the evening had gone remarkably well so far for all those intended. The hosts had not been too annoying, and the introduction of Lawrence Bennet had passed without too much notice been taken. In fact it must be said that most welcomed him like someone would welcome an old friend. Lawrence Bennet had been accepted quickly and warmly. Of course, the gentleman had many assets with which to assure such a reception. He was a pleasant, well-mannered, young, with a pleasing countenance and a handsome mien. He was to inherit Longbourn, saving Meryton from the future presence of Mr Collins, -for which they were all eternally grateful for- and best of all, he was single. He was to the entire population of Meryton, most pleasingly available in every respect and they could not wait for the next assembly in order to show him their unmarried daughters.

The other acquaintance that had took Meryton by surprise was Mrs Wickham, or Miss Lydia Bennet as she preferred to be called. They had least expected her to arrive, especially widowed and with, -it was rumoured- eight children. They had not seen her since she had returned from London with that dreadful Mr Wickham, whom they now all detested, even if he had stayed loyal to the poor girl. Indeed they felt quite sorry for Lydia. To have been married to such a man and in such a situation! With an increasing number of children as well! It must have been quite dreadful. They had all determined to offer their most heartfelt wishes and condolences to Lydia, as soon and as frequently as they could.

Lydia herself was at this moment wishing herself far away from Lucas Lodge. Anywhere would do, as long as it was as far from here as it possibly could be. She was not enjoying the evening. From the minute she had arrived, she had had not one instance of peace. Everyone wanted to offer their condolences and their judgement on the situation. No doubt they wished for gossip........ a gossip which she used to indulge in herself. How she wished she could go back and change her behaviour then! It was her fault and her fault alone. Her character had been beyond correction, beyond alteration. She had been left to learn that herself through Wickham's......... treatment.

Lydia inwardly shuddered as she thought of the man- for gentle he was never -who had been her only companion for eight years. There had been rare glimpses of kindness in the early years, followed by a desire and need to avoid him as much as possible in the months that followed. He had tired quickly of her, if indeed he had ever wanted her in the first place. Lydia was now quite sure that he had only seen her as something to take along for the ride. A bit of comfort, while he escaped from his debts. His debts........ the ones which both times Mr Darcy had taken care of, was still taking care of. She felt so guilty and so incapable of the gratitude that she wanted to bestow on him. He was too good a man. She wondered how long he had been in love with her sister. Had he loved Elizabeth that night she had caught him gazing up at the window of their lodgings? Was that why he had come to find them? Why he had succeeded where her uncle and father had failed? It was exactly the sort of romance she had craved for herself all those years ago.

Eight years, nearly nine. It seemed like an eternity. She thought she would achieve that love with Wickham, but no, she never did. Even when it was the happy years, there had always been something missing. Lydia now knew what that was. She had never loved Wickham. He was a fancy, not a feeling. She may have thought she loved him, but at sixteen she had no idea of what love could truly be like. All she had then was a misguided idealisation taken from any novel she could have laid her hands on, aided by the romantic notion of elopement.

She had yet to fall in love. It was something Lydia now realised that she could not do without. The loneliness which lay deep down inside her, which had been there since the beginning of her marriage and before, was one that not even the children could heal. It was eating away at her, not with a great deal of speed, which might have been easier, but slowly, gradually, day by day, she felt a piece of herself being destroyed. It was tortuous, terrifying, and right now it seemed impossible to rectify. At first it had hidden itself from her, or perhaps she had been deceived by her imagination into not noticing it until her life had become unbearable. She had developed a method to avoid trying to dwell on it for too long in the day. She had to survive for the children's sake, and, when it came down to it, her own as well. If she was to ever have any idea of what love could be like, she had to survive each day with the loneliness inside her, eating away at her, until there was no need for her to be in the world any longer. She would care for the children, tailor to their every need, give them every bit of love she held for them, until they were beyond the need for a mother's love, whereupon her life would be over. It was an alarming prospect, but at the moment, it was all Lydia could foresee.

For Mr Bennet the evening at Lucas Lodge had begun with a hope and ended with a prayer. The hope was that Lawrence would make some mistake, would know too much of one person, thereby proving that he could not possibly be his son. All evening he had been looking for a sign, however small, however seemingly insignificant, that might enable him to label Lawrence Alexander Bennet an impostor. Yet there had been none. Mr Bennet had trained so much on this hope that he had begun to wonder if the fact that there had been no sign was indeed a sign. Certain he was that Lawrence was not, nor never could be, his son, he was now beginning to become impatient of waiting for the evidence to prove so. Indeed he had begun to worry if they ever would find any evidence. True, he had lied about his past, his military background, but that was circumstantial. It did not prove either way. It required something more, and that something was slow in its coming.

Mr Bennet could not explain why he trusted the thought in his mind that told him that Lawrence was not his son, when every instance disproved it. He just felt so certain in it, that with every increasing sign of resemblance, he put more faith in it.

End Of Volume One.

Volume II.

© Danielle Harwood-Atkinson 2010.