Chapter XXIX.

"Its an absolutely stupid idea, Cavendish! Particularly in your condition!"

Lord Lucius gave his fellow member of the Four Horse Club a glance full of disapproval. Despite the fact that he had swallowed copious amounts of wine, port, brandy, whiskey, whisky- the former being the Irish version, the latter English -he still felt and believed himself to be in full possession of his sensibilities.

Now he stood up from his chair, looked down his fine, patrician nose at his colleague, and snorted derisively. "Such concern for my safety, Winslow! Afraid I might win?"

Whether Lord Winslow privately agreed with this opinion of Lord Cavendish's, did not matter. However, that he was to take this slur at his skill as a carriage driver did. He too rose up from his chair, a little unsteady, it must be said, drained the last contents of his glass, and tossed it, with good aim, into the fire. "I can race you any day, Cavendish! Sober or drunk! And still beat you by a yard too, I'll wager!"

Thus challenged, Lord Lucius was about to forsake his pride now. He too drained his drink and tossed the glass into the fire. "You're on!" He cried aloud, disturbing the other occupants of the room from their alcohol induced slumbers.

"Any one else care to join us?" He asked, giving each remaining member that was currently residing in the London residence of the club a mocking glance.

Within ten minutes all ten of them were outside the building and standing in the crisp, early morning London air, clothed in their outdoor coats, the long riding apparel of carriage drivers, and shouting for their horses and equipage. Lord Lucius, the most richly and impressively attired of them all by far, was the first to have his wants attended to.

His yellow and black carriage, with the coat of arms of his family engraved in gold, along with four black horses, was shepherded out of the stables, its attendants quietly holding the reins, waiting for their master to take sole command.

A single, graceful- despite his quietly contained drunkenness -leap, and Lord Lucius was abroad the step, and the reins were in his hand. He waited for the other gentlemen- in various stages of drunkenness -to also mount, then flicked his whip. Like a sudden clap it sounded in the silent cold morning air, the equivalent almost of a starting pistol; and they were off!

Through the gates to the London roads, the file of carriages rode at a sedate pace, keeping a respectable line until they had reached the boundary of the town. As the roads changed into the condition of those in the country, the riders set their own pace. Lord Lucius, being by luck of the exit from the club, in the lead, galloped ahead with his set, keeping a constant whip on their pace, and a hand on the reins.

Any evidence that, a scarce hour ago he had been drinking the rest of his gentlemen colleagues under the table, was entirely gone. In its place was the epinephrine and the exhilaration that came with the thrill of participating in such a risk-taking, high powered sport. The horses in front of him were the best trained out of all the club's steeds, having come from his own high pedigree stables.

He gave the back of his coach a cursory glance. Turning round a second later with a smile of satisfaction. No one had emerged yet from the last turn of road. He was ahead of all, including that detestable little fellow Winslow. Fancy he having the nerve to challenge a Cavendish to a race! He was not even an Earl! What chance did a piffling Viscount have against him? Nothing was the answer!

He reached and gained another corner, whipping his horses into a frenzy of activity. The first stage of the race was almost to an end, by his memory, the first pub out of London having always been counted as a suitable marker for all their races. Lord Lucius wanted to be the first by a long way to reach it. He checked behind him again, and seeing nothing, allowed his horses to set their own pace. He was content to coast for a little while. After all, what was the fun in winning if there was no one behind you to witness your triumph?

As the countryside seemed to race past him in the opposite direction, Lord Lucius felt the need to fortify his parched throat. Transferring the reins to one hand, he reach into one of the deep pockets of his greatcoat with the other. Producing a well-worn leather coated flask, he balanced the container between his thighs, and untwisted the top, his eyes not taking off sight of the road ahead for a second. The silver cap now removed, he raised the flask to his lips and took a satisfying long drink of the liquid contained therein.

Elizabeth! The name suddenly crossed his mind, appearing out of nowhere in his drunken tumble of thoughts and senses. He had not thought of her for weeks, not since his failed attempts at finding the place she had hiding at, and running her to ground. Whatever fascination that had first attracted him to her, had disappeared long ago. She had long since become nothing more than a mistress by force, good for a lay and a getting an heir.

Though she had yet to give him satisfaction in either department. He wondered where she had gotten to. How she had managed to hide from him. He had sought every member of her family out. Even had braved the streets of Cheapside in order to ask after her at her Uncle's, though it had ill-behoved his sensibilities and aristocratic pedigree.

But none of that annoying mixture of relatives in law, had known where she was. Nor, as they told him, where to start looking. Short of making enquiries through the papers- which as the richest Earl in the land, Lord Lucius was disgusted at the thought of having to resort to that means of communication -the Earl had no avenues save the law left to try.

A part of him had long since lost the enthusiasm as well. After all, she had barely given him satisfaction from the moment he had married her. He might have enjoyed exacting his power over her body, but her lack of eagerness for that part of her duties he long since tired of. His quest for a heir, while being important to the family name, was reduced to nothing more than the occasional whim of thought now.

Added to this, ever since her disappearance, he had found that staying at the club catered far more for his pleasures- whether carnal or other -than returning home ever did. Unlike the other gentlemen facilities his father's patronage had left him, the Four Horse had never once kicked him out, even though he drank more than any other member there, and refused to pay his debts, of gambling and or honour. It was also easier to just collapse once drunk in the nearest armchair of whatever room he happened to be in, and he could be assured of not being disturbed until morning.

The sound around him of horse hooves galloping seemed to double abruptly. Lord Lucius secured his flask, and turned briefly to check the identity of the carriage behind him. Why, it was that fool, Winslow! He turned, and tossed the tail end of his whip upon his four steeds, speeding them up. He would not allow that fool of a Viscount to outstrip him! Not on a race which he had first laid the challenge for! What kind of a name was Wiltshire Onslow Winslow any how?

Fortunately for the Earl, the horses were well rested and well fed, having been in the care of the stables of the club for many weeks now. They quickly picked up the pace. The sound of their hooves pounding upon the hard, rough road was intense and loud now. Lord Lucius cheered them on, turning in mid flight to check again at the distance between him and the Viscount, laughing when he saw Winslow attempt, and fail, to make his horses go any faster, in order to outstrip his rival.

The road however, was about to bestow Winslow an advantage. It widened, allowing space for two carriages to ride side by side. Added to this, was the early hour at which they had begun this impromptu race, meaning that few carriages of the public and private nature, would be meeting this train of ten, all in a struggle to reach the pub first. Winslow saw his opportunity, and grabbed it with both hands. He whipped at his horses, and swerved them across the road, into the empty space alongside Cavendish's equipage.

Whether it was due to the amount of alcohol which he had consumed, the draining of his energy reserves by the race's extreme taxing on his body, or the quickness and skill of his opponent, Lord Lucius noticed the change instantly. One second there was nothing beside him, the next there was. Four horses now became eight, one carriage now became two.

A race for supremacy ensued. The wheels rumbled on, the hooves pounded in synchronous time. The engraved coats of arms faced each other off, preparing to join in their own private duel, while their current holders raced each other across the countryside.

Countryside flew past, and Lord Lucius let out a sudden howl of triumph. His horses had managed to edge out a lead from Winslow. Casting a glance of arrogant posturing at his opponent, the Earl flicked his whip again, making the gap widen.

Later, it was said that no one was quite sure exactly when tragedy had struck. Astutely observing all witnesses to be a sandwich short of a picnic- and, quite frankly, drunk out of their senses -the investigators had been content to leave the uncertainty at that.

Indeed, it could be argued that no witness could be relied upon to know the exact time, except for the victim himself. And he had been in no condition to answer or refute anything. Whatever the condition of the roads, or the state and energy of the horses, the hand of God had come upon the master of the lead carriage. And his command could no longer be ignored.

Lord Lucius, still triumphing over the knowledge that he was outstripping his rival, had forgotten that there was still some considerable length of road to overcome in the race to the first pub and stables outside of London. Whether it was due the intake of alcohol both before and during the ride, or the drain upon his internal energy resources, Lord Lucius would soon no longer be in a position to comment.

The road before him suddenly quadrupled. He blinked, but his drunken stupor prevented his mind from properly comprehending what was in front of him. His horses, having better instincts than their master at present, had slowed down, but were not allowed to remain thus for long. A strike of the whip made their speed quicken once more, and they left their master to their fate.

The barrier ahead of them, was in fact, a crossroads. Divided into four options, it presented the choices for which county to enter next after London and its environs. And from two of the county outskirts, came two carriages, both of the post and, fortunately for all concerned, devoid of passengers. The collision was now inevitable.

Lord Winslow was the lucky one. He had not consumed enough alcohol to be insensible, and had spotted immediately the obstacles which were soon to cross his and Cavendish's paths. He slowed down his horses, letting them remain on the other side of the wide road, but some distance behind those of the Earl. A minute or so before the crossroads, he too foresaw the inevitable. Crying aloud in horror, he halted his carriage.

The move was not a moment too soon. The other eight carriages behind, seeing an obstruction in their path, also halted, their lords dismounting from the steps in skilful leaps, their drunkenness done away by the approaching horror. They just had time to reach the edge of Winslow's carriage, and thus be in sight of the crash when it occurred. A fearfully loud crack disturbed the silence of the morning, followed by the squealing of horses. Then a thud, at the conclusion of which, all standing turned their heads away.

Lord Lucius knew nothing of the witnesses, nor the terror and mess of letters, parcels, reins and horses he had caused. His head hit the ground, killing him instantly.

---

It was some hours later, after the authorities and coffin makers had been called to the site, that a trail of mourners followed the coffin-bearers up the streets of London to the imposing house on Hanover Square. Robertson opened the front door, and greeted the sight of the coffin with confusion.

When he learned the identity of the person inside, that confusion slipped behind his servant's mask of composure, and he swept back into command. Directing for the coffin to be laid in state upon the Dining Room table, he went below stairs to inform the rest of the household staff.

The Earl of Saffron Walden's lawyers turned up within the next hour. Seeking out the Butler, they asked if they could pay their respects to the Countess. When Robertson replied that she had disappeared, the men of law looked perplexed themselves.

Following the Butler to his rooms below stairs, they took out the long piece of parchment that contained the last Will and Testament of their late client, and consulted again the lines which spelled out the nature of inheritance. Five minutes was all that was needed to confirm their first opinions.

Their client had no living family member that belonged to the Cavendish direct line. That left the sole inheritor to be the Lady Elizabeth, Countess. Respectfully, they inquired after her whereabouts. Robertson answered in all honesty that he did not know.

The lawyers received this reply in silence, then turned to face each other and mulled over its contents for a while. Finding inspiration, one of them turned back to the Butler.

"Do you happen to have any information regarding the whereabouts of any members of the Countess' immediate family?"

"Yes, I believe there are some letters from the mistress' father in the late master's Study," Robertson replied, before showing the trio of lawyers the way to the room.

Ten minutes later, the lawyers had found what they needed to begin their search for the Countess, and Robertson had closed the door behind them. With a sigh, he walked to the Dining Room. Standing at the head of the coffin, he reflected over the details of his master's last movements, or at least, what he had heard from the witnesses who carried him back home.

Not for one moment did Robertson feel any semblance of loss. Young his master may have been, but by no means a good one. He had been horrible to his wife. Robertson had almost cheered when he had learned of Lady Elizabeth's successful escape from the Earl's clutches. And now she was the sole holder of all his fortunes.

And what a good ruler she would make of them, Robertson decided.

---

Chapter XXX.

Mr Andrew Bennet esquire, had been, as of almost an hour ago, comfortably ensconced within the private sanctum that was the Library of his home, Longbourn. Very few people were allowed beyond the door of this hallowed place nowadays.

Mrs Bennet, who had never thought there was a need to ask for permission in the first place, had long given up the practice of barging in unannounced to tell her husband about the latest new neighbour they had acquired, or a new suitor for his remaining three unmarried daughters.

Netherfield, the previously only vacant property within three miles, was now let by his eldest daughter and her husband, and the event of regiments or new gentlemen taking residence in Meryton had occurred for some months, much to Mr Bennet's relief. There had been a time when his door had not been barred to one member of his house, but that daughter was long married, and had not set foot in Longbourn since her sister's wedding.

Now however, someone else had possessed the nerve to come into his library. The man in question, had turned out to be one of the lawyers of his son in law, the Earl of Saffron Walden. Mr Bennet had been very surprised, and very concerned upon learning this information, and had forgot for a moment, the strict instruction of who was and who was not, allowed into his Library. When he learnt of the nature of the news which awaited him, these two conflicting emotions increased in their effects, and gained a third; relief.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that Elizabeth Cavendish, nee Bennet, had long been her father's favourite, out of all his five daughters. This position had not changed upon her marriage, indeed quite the contrary. His need for her wit, her sense, her companionship, doubled the moment he realised that he would no longer see her everyday.

Being a man who abhorred the necessity of letter writing, he had taken up the liberty of going to the townhouse of his son in law, whenever he was the least expected. However, those visits had rarely provided him with the chance to see his daughter alone, or even a day spent in her company. So, Mr Bennet had been forced to resort to letter writing.

It was a custom which, usually, he loathed to indulge himself in, indeed, if it had been any other person, he would not have given himself the bother, but to Elizabeth he always wrote, whenever she happened to be apart from him. Out of all of his daughters, he had always looked forward to receiving and replying to missives from her pen.

However, he had noticed from her first letter to him, that something had changed since her marriage. Something of herself had been lost, vanished suddenly without a trace. Too precious to put a name towards, and too slight to be noticed by any except those who truly knew her, as he did.

Mr Bennet had naturally become puzzled by this discovery. For many a month he had tried to work it out, and reach a satisfying conclusion. The one that he did eventually reach however, was not altogether satisfying. Almost from the moment his door had shut behind the exiting figure of his first son in law, Andrew Bennet had regretted giving his consent to their marriage.

Something about the Earl had not sat right with him, even when his daughter had assured him that this marriage was what she wanted. This something had turned into a certainty, albeit an unidentifiable one, when he received his first letter from her after her marriage.

Elizabeth however, had not bestowed him with a confidence as to what it was, that was, her father believed, quietly destroying her. And, though he felt that he knew the something was connected to the Earl, Mr Bennet had kept silence upon the matter.

And now his son in law was dead. The manner of his death had further confirmed Mr Bennet's suspicions, but the information which he discovered along with it, certified it even more so. His daughter, he was now to learn, was no longer living in any of the houses of her late husband, and had not for quite some time.

Where she was living, the lawyers had absolutely no idea, and, to their surprise, neither had Mr Bennet. He did however, relieve them of the burden of finding out. Andrew thanked them for their information, and promised to have his daughter contact them as soon as her location had been discovered.

Alone once more in the privacy of his Library, Mr Bennet leant back into the confines of his armchair and pondered the puzzle he had just been set. Within moments, he had reached only one, inalienable conclusion. Only one daughter could possible know where his favourite was.

Or at least, have a certain amount of suspicion.

---

Like his favourite daughter, Mr Bennet enjoyed walking in preference to a horse or the carriage, when the distance was not so great that need of either the latter or the former became a necessity. So he walked the three miles he needed to cover, arriving at the door of Netherfield, well before any note could have been sent to let them know he was coming.

"Papa," Mrs Bingley cried when he had been announced and entered into her and her husband's presence. "We had not expected you."

Mr Bennet put aside his puzzle for awhile as he greeted the face of his eldest daughter. Jane looked perfectly happy and contented with her first marriage, that was easily ascertained by her sweet smiling face, and the adoring devotion of her equally besotted husband. In this match at least, he could comfort himself that he had not erred in bestowing Mr Bingley permission to wed his one of his daughters.

"I always pride myself, Jane, on coming into one of my children's houses when I am least expected. Now, I will dispense with formalities, for I can see yet without spectacles and I can see you are both perfectly well. I came to inform you of a sad event, and ask a question which pertains to it."

Here Mr Bennet paused, ensuring like any good story teller, that he had his audience's full attention before proceeding any further. "I was informed, by one of his lawyers a few hours ago, that the Earl of Saffron Walden has passed on from the world of the living."

Jane gasped, turned to look at her husband, who was likewise amazed, then did the thing which Mr Bennet had been expecting. She sent a glance to Mr Bingley, full of meaning. And its message was quite clear. They had hoped for this event for some time, and as a result, knew where Elizabeth was.

"Out with it, Jane," Mr Bennet immediately remarked, causing his eldest to look upon him with surprise. "Where is she? Where is my Elizabeth?"

Jane glanced to her husband once more, who nodded solemnly. Then she turned back to her father, realising that she was about to give him the second shock of this morning. "She is living at the home of Charles' good friend, Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Andrew Bennet sat back in his chair, his expression belying the full nature of the surprise he was currently experiencing. For a full minute, he uttered not a word. Then he steepled his fingers, and remarked quietly, "tell me everything you know, both of you."

Jane related the entire story to him, with Charles adding his own perspective every now and again when needed. The skill of their telling was quite lost upon Mr Bennet, too concerned as he was, with the actual events he was hearing. Elizabeth had met Mr Darcy quite frequently over the past year, first for the wedding of Jane, then at Kent, through a mutual relation; Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Somehow during these meetings, Mr Darcy had discovered the secret which Elizabeth had kept from all her family; that her husband was abusing her, and had offered her an escape. Then one night in London she had walked out of Hanover Square, and into his house in Grosvenor. Since then, she had been a guest of him and his sister.

"Where is she now?" Mr Bennet asked, in that same quiet tone.

"With Darcy and his sister in his country estate. Pemberley in Derbyshire," Bingley replied.

Andrew asked for the direction, and having obtained it, took leave of his eldest daughter and son in law. Upon his return to Longbourn, he ordered for his carriage and horses, bade his wife and daughters goodbye, and set off on the road to Derbyshire.

---

When we last touched upon the situation of our hero and heroine, they were celebrating the discovery of an addition to their unconventional family. Now, they were reluctantly out of Darcy's master suite of chambers, and residing the daylight hours in the more public used rooms of the first floor of Pemberley.

Georgiana had returned to her brother's house a few days ago, and since then had spent her days in the company of said beloved brother and the Countess. Although still ignorant of what had occurred during her absence, she was intelligent enough to sense that something had happened which changed the nature of the relationship between her brother and Elizabeth.

Though they were as discreet as they had always been, even when there was nothing to hide, Georgie could detect that there was now a certain closeness between them, which had not existed the day she left to spend time with the Matlocks. And the knowledge of this, while still officially undeclared, made Georgiana even happier.

As for Elizabeth and Darcy themselves, they could not be more content. Since the latter had shown her how much he enjoyed the discovery of her news, Elizabeth had let herself worry no longer. He was truly the best man she had ever known. If anything, his affection for her had increased. His attentions had become even more tender- if that were possible -than they already were, and his concern over her safety and comfort had increased tenfold.

The day after she had told him, when they were still sequestered in his bed, he had taken her in his arms, and quietly relayed how much he loved her, and how much he loved the child growing inside her. He told her of the happiness he had felt ever since she had walked into his life, and the joy ever increasing that he experienced whenever he looked at her, or made love to her. How every day, every hour, every minute, every second, she became infinitely more precious to him.

When the day came for Georgiana to return, they had risen reluctantly from his rooms, and returned to the routine they had occupied themselves with when she was staying with them. With one exception. On the first night of Miss Darcy's return, Elizabeth had retired to her room, to find Mr Darcy waiting for her. His cravat gone, along with his dinner jacket and waistcoat, and the top buttons of his shirt undone.

Upon her startled gasp of surprise, he had knelt before her, and prayed aloud that he had not been too presumptuous in the manner of his wait for her.

"No, not at all," Elizabeth had replied. "But I had not, that is, I had not expected....." she trailed off in a blush.

"You thought that the return of my sister would cause what happened to us to revert back to what it had been before she left," he said finishing her query for her. "And it can, if you wish for it." He looked at her tenderly. "Do you? Do not answer with what you think is right. Answer me with what is in your heart, for that refusal, is the only one I will accept."

"I," Elizabeth began, then hesitated, as she looked at him, wondering how to phrase her desires. Then the words came out before she had any idea that she was speaking them. "I would miss you if you went to your room tonight."

He smiled up at her. "Thank you, my love," he said. Then he rose up, and led her too the bed, where he sat down, taking her hand in his. "I know, that society would look upon this as wrong, but it does not feel so to me. When I look at you, all I see is the woman that I love. The one who I took to be my wife the first time she came to my room, and showed me how much she trusted and loved me."

Elizabeth blushed, then solemnly replied, "I do love you, Fitzwilliam. With all my heart. And I still do not know what I have done to deserve the same from you."

"By being yourself, and nothing more," he replied, drawing her closer. Where he sat upon the bed, he could reach her barely swollen belly, and he now leant forward to place a tender kiss upon it though her dress, to the child within. Then he rose up, and took her into his arms, catching her lips in his.

No more words were spoken between them. Indeed, none were needed, for they had long since reached that stage where the silence of their mouths and the movements of their bodies spoke a language of their own, the only one they ever needed. Darcy's hands rose from her waist to her hair, fingering out the pins which held its dark curls in place, and threading them to the floor behind her.

She tilted her head, and his lips slipped from hers to her neck, then to her shoulders, while his hands undid the clips of her dress, under the cover of her long hair. Her hands, once so shy, now confidently reach between them to undo his shirt, and deftly stroke his bare and taut chest and back.

Her dress fell down her slender arms, and she moved back from him to allow it to slide off the rest of the way. Her head had no need to bow now, nor her hands a need to hide her nakedness. Instead she looked up at him almost proudly, with tender regard, stepping back into his arms as soon as he had divested himself of his shirt.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed, his legs apart with her between them. Gently she pushed him down, climbing over him, her long hair falling around them as they exchanged another passionate kiss. His hands wrapped around her head, one exploring her bare back underneath her brown locks, while her own went to his breeches and calmly undid the buttons, until the final article of clothing between them came loose.

She moved off him, allowing Darcy to climb off the bed and out of the breeches. He came back to her then, coming to lie beside her, his manhood rampant, along with the rest of him, awaiting their most intimate joining. The silken sheets came to cover them, and he rolled her beneath him, all the while exchanging not one word.

Darcy kissed her lips, then let himself move downwards, as his lips worshipped every inch of her bare skin. He tenderly showered her abdomen, suckled gently at her breasts, then returned to her lips. He slid inside her, pulling above her, catching her eyes with his own dark ones, holding their gaze until their passions had been fully released.

When they had done, he stayed above her, reluctant to move while they climbed down from their emotional high. His adoring, devoted gaze was enough to convey all that he felt to Elizabeth who returned his feelings equally and without restrain. Then he wrapped her in his arms, rolled them so that he was beside her, and they fell asleep, remaining like that until morning.

---

Chapter XXXI.

Andrew Bennet leaned back into the comfortable furnishings of his carriage, his mind holding no humour at present for the green woods and hills of the country passing him by outside. Instead, his mind continued to focus upon the mystery of his daughter, and her location, which he was to visit today.

He had met Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy first at Lucas Lodge, just after Michaelmas last year. Then it had been a brief introduction, for it was rare one gained a better acquaintance with a stranger at Lucas Lodge, with the ever presence of its owner; Sir William.

That night, all Mr Bennet had been able to say for certain concerning Mr Darcy, was that the gentlemen did not talk as much as his friend, and that therefore, counted in his favour. But now however, that initial opinion was hardly one with which to form a proper judgement on the man who was, according to his eldest daughter, 'protecting' his favourite from her 'vile' husband. So Andrew thought back to the second occasion when both he and the gentleman in question had been present; at the Netherfield Ball.

Then Mr Darcy had also been silent, rarely crossing Mr Bennet's path, although Andrew could just recollect seeing him escaping Mr Collins somewhat successfully. After that, he realised, he had not seen Mr Darcy again until the gentleman had returned from London to attend his best friend's wedding.

Andrew recalled his memory of that day back to his mind, and found, to his frustration, that he had not spoken to Mr Darcy then either. He had seen his daughter talking to him, and the young girl beside him, who he had since learnt to be his sister. But not once could he recall ever speaking to the man himself.

The carriage negotiated the passage of another passing briefly beside it, then resumed its normal pace, though Mr Bennet noticed nothing of the uneventful incident. Having established that he had no personal experience with the gentleman in question to form an opinion of his character from, Andrew now set about recollecting what others had said of him.

The first comment he recalled, was from his dear wife, who had, on the first night of his being in the neighbourhood, pronounced Mr Darcy to be the most disagreeable man she had ever met! Andrew was inclined to discount that particular judgement however, on the grounds that his wife had only formed it, because the man had failed to dance with any of their daughters.

So he turned to the second opinion he had heard. That also was not from one who could be counted on to give a judgement unmarred by personal emotion. His youngest, Lydia, had mentioned Mr Darcy doing something which had reduced Lieutenant Wickham to the state he was in now.

While Andrew had formed as much of an opinion about that officer as he had about Darcy, he was not inclined to accept the judgement of his daughter either, for he knew that she would not give an impartial opinion on any gentlemen who did not pay the amount of attention she wished from them.

Thus Mr Bennet was left with the final opinions he heard; from Jane and Bingley, just before he left their house for Derbyshire. From the friend he had established that Mr Darcy was held in high respect, and counted on for his intelligence and judgement. From his daughter, he had learnt that Mr Darcy was by nature reserved, but within the company of those he knew, could be very amiable.

Further, he was an excellent brother, and had been in the possession of his family's estates since the age of three and twenty. This amount of information, in Mr Bennet's opinion, was not enough to form an entire judgement upon his character, but it would suffice for the moment, though it came from two people who were anxious for Mr Bennet to have a good opinion of Mr Darcy in the first place, for he was Elizabeth's apparent saviour.

At this moment, Andrew was brought out of his ruminations, by the gentle rise of the carriage, as its wheels and horses passed over a bridge. He glanced outside, and uttered a quiet gasp of astonishment. This had to be his destination, and what a destination it was.

Pemberley House looked to be fine building, sitting within its grounds as if it had been there since the dawn of time, though Mr Bennet could tell from the style of architecture that the outside at least was fairly new. As the carriage came closer, further examination proved the building to be older than its exterior facade, for the shape spoke back to the time of Queen Elizabeth and beyond. Its owner certainly had taste and discernment, if nothing else, Andrew could now feel able to conclude.

The carriage halted at the front palladian entrance, and a footman came out from the inner courtyard to open the door and let down the steps so Mr Bennet could descend. Once on the ground, Andrew presented his card to the man, whereupon he was asked to follow and wait in the hall until he had notified the master of his arrival.

Silently Andrew followed the footman through the archway into the inner courtyard, up the stairs and into the Entrance Hall. All the while his mind was at work, observing the decoration, both of the exterior and interior, speculating if these could give him a clue as to character of the master who owned them.

So far all Mr Bennet could discern was Mr Darcy's taste, which, like many things he had discovered recently, was not what he had expected. Having heard from his cousin Mr Collins, that his patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh was Mr Darcy's aunt, Andrew had sometimes imagined the interior of Pemberley to be similar to what he had heard about Rosings Park. But the reality was very different, displaying a taste more suited to the current fashion tastes of the Regency, rather than the past Baroque.

"Mr Bennet?" A female voice queried now, bringing him out of his musings. Andrew looked up to encounter the gaze of whom he presumed to be the Housekeeper. "Mr Darcy and Lady Elizabeth will see you now."

Andrew followed her through various rooms, all of an equally elegant, yet understated wealth, until she halted at last, in a room which Mr Bennet could not fail of liking instantly.

"Mr Andrew Bennet, sir." The housekeeper announced then, just as Andrew finished his rapid survey of the finest Library he had ever seen.

"Thank you, Mrs Reynolds," replied a deep voice, which brought Andrew to take a look now at its owner. "Could you please see to it that Georgiana is informed, and that none disturbs unless sent for?"

Mrs Reynolds merely curtseyed in reply, and Mr Bennet watched her exit the room out of the corner of his eye. The rest of his gaze was turned upon his daughter, and Mr Darcy. When he had first entered the room, he had seen them seated near each other on the same sofa.

Now however, Elizabeth had remained in her seat, while Mr Darcy stood behind, his hand resting on the ornate gilded edge. His face was welcoming, though it held a sense of caution, and the hand, Andrew noticed, frequently strayed near to that of his daughter's, which was also resting on the edge of the sofa back.

"Mr Bennet, you are welcome," Mr Darcy began. The tone, Andrew noticed, held a modicum of caution. "Mr and Mrs Bingley, I presume, informed you of your daughter's presence as a guest of myself and my sister?"

"They did, much to my surprise," Andrew replied, his eyes flicking briefly to his silent daughter. He had never seen her expression more tightly controlled before. "I came to inform you, Lizzy of an event which I myself was informed of only a few days ago. I decided to save the lawyer a trip, believing that I could deliver the news better than he."

This at last brought Elizabeth out of her silence. "What has happened, Papa?" She asked softly, a million answers racing through her head, none of them good, for fear of tempting fate.

"Your husband had suffered an accident," Andrew continued, observing all the while, the faces of his daughter and Mr Darcy. "He was racing, I believe, with his friends from one of his clubs, and his carriage collided with another. I am afraid he did not survive, Elizabeth."

His daughter heard these words with outward composure at first, while inwardly making her mind accept an event which she had long hoped for. Elizabeth could not believe that she was to be so fortunate. She had not thought such an event to occur so soon. She had believed that her marriage would last for a while longer, her husband being a young man in the prime of life, and an active member of that club for many years. But yet it had occurred, and, as unchristian as it might be to say such a thing, at just the right time.

It had been three years and five months of marriage, and now, it was finally over. Three years of torment followed by five months of happiness, such like she had never experienced before. She glanced up at Darcy, saw the same expression of joy, relief and love as she displayed, clearly marked upon his features, as light signalling day. Thoughts and dreams raced through her mind, some turning into hopeful reality as she gazed up at his face.

Suddenly she saw a message in his eyes and obeyed it, looking down at their clasped hands which had all this while, from the moment they had begun to learn of the news, rested on the ornate glided edge of the sofa. Yet, there was a difference. Somehow, during the realisation that she was a widow, a jewel of the deepest purple entwined in a silver band had been slipped on to her third long bare finger.

He had not asked, nor knelt before her, but to Elizabeth the moment could not have been more romantic. Without a word she withdrew the hand and departed the room, knowing that despite her 21st birthday passing a month ago he would wish to seek the blessing of her father.

Back in the Library, Mr Bennet now turned his gaze from the double doors from whence his daughter had quitted the room, to the man standing before him, with new understanding. He had seen Mr Darcy clasp his daughter's hand when he had spoken of her husband's accident, and therefore had not missed the silent movements of said hand to a pocket, draw something out, then slip it on the bare third finger of her left hand.

Just as he had observed his daughter's reaction to it. That Elizabeth received the gift with just as much surprise as he, could not be denied. Yet, at the same time, delight had come over her face, whereas Andrew had held only astonishment.

"I see my daughter has once again, managed to surprise her father," he now remarked, watching the gentleman opposite him carefully.

"I hope that this time, it does not prove to be an unhappy surprise," Mr Darcy said, somewhat astutely, thought Mr Bennet.

"That rather depends on a number of things, Mr Darcy," Andrew commented, taking up the offer of an armchair as he did so. "But you have at least one point in your favour at this moment."

"And what is that, if I may ask, sir?"

"You may ask. An excellent Library." He smiled briefly, then leaned back, steepling his fingers together, regarding the young man before him with all the appraisal of a future father in law. "Begin your request."

Darcy came forward and sat down upon armchair opposite. "Mr Bennet, I humbly ask you for the blessing of your daughter Elizabeth's hand. Almost from the first moment of our acquaintance, I have come to feel for her a passionate regard. I knew she was married, and therefore, I kept these feelings to myself. Now however, that she is free, I would wish for the chance to openly express them to her, as a husband should."

"Mr Darcy, that is not a sufficient explanation," Mr Bennet said, immediately after he had discovered that those words were apparently to be all he would get without some prompting on his part. "You have neglected to explain to me why you felt it necessary to take her from her establishment to your house."

"When I realised that I was in love with her," Mr Darcy continued, clasping his hands together to conceal his nervousness, "I could not fail to observe that she was not happy. One day I saw what I feared might be a clue to her unhappiness, and could not prevent myself from asking her outright. She confirmed my fears. From that moment, I confess, sir, I was lost. I swore to myself that I would help her, using all that was in my power to do so."

He paused, his gaze turning to the hearth between them, its embers slowly dying. "I offered her the chance to escape," he continued, showing that his mind was not on the scene before his eyes, but on those in his past. "I offered it with honourable intentions, as nothing more than an opportunity for her to find some safety and sanctuary, for a long as she needed it. At first, she was reluctant, fearing he would find out. But then, when she felt she could bear it no longer, she came.

"I treated her as an honoured guest, and not once forced my affections on to her notice.........."

---

".........but always there was this understanding between us," Elizabeth continued, unconsciously echoing her suitor's words to her father, from only an hour before. "Both of us knew what the other felt, and I knew that he would never openly display those feelings unless I gave him permission.

"For awhile I was confused, thinking that I looked upon him with those feelings merely because I knew of his, and felt guilty of not reciprocating. But soon I realised that they ran far deeper than that. I love him, papa. I know the difference now, between a passing fancy and everlasting feelings.1 He is nothing like the Earl. If you only knew his generous nature. He is the best man I have ever known."

"Well, my dear," said Mr Bennet when she ceased speaking, "I have no more to say. If this be the case, he deserves you. I could not have parted with you, my Lizzy, to anyone less worthy a second time."

They had been walking together in the grounds of Pemberley, since Mr Bennet had given a cautious blessing to Mr Darcy, then asked to talk with his daughter as well. Now Andrew gave free rein to his conclusions about the both of them.

Of Mr Darcy, he felt that at last, he had found a man who understood his daughter well, and loved her dearly. He could see it upon his face, and hear it in his voice all through the interview in the Library. Now with Elizabeth, he could see that all those feelings were returned. Not only that, but she was happier than she had ever been.

"Papa," Elizabeth now began, bringing him out of his thoughts, "now that we have your blessing, would it be possible to arrange for the ceremony to occur before the end of this month? I do not ask merely for Mr Darcy's sake, but for my own as well," she added, seeing his astonishment.

"Do you not feel a need to wait, to let society become accustomed to the news?" Mr Bennet queried.

"No, and I am surprised to hear that you think I would," Elizabeth replied. "I want the wedding to be soon because," she paused to look away from him, "because I wish for there to be no question about the father of my child."

Mr Bennet had always held an easy frankness between himself and his favourite daughter, but nonetheless he was still astonished when she finished outlining her reason. "I hope, my dear, that this future event was of your own choice?" He eventually asked.

"It was, I assure you," she replied, earnestly gazing at him. "He never forced himself, I went to him of my own free will. Even when there was no hope of marriage, he regarded it as his heir. He loves us both."

Andrew nodded in reply, sure of that at least. He watched her silently, confirming within his mind how happy she was. His eyes remained upon her as they turned a corner, and greeted with surprise the gentleman they had been speaking of.

He watched his daughter's eyes lit up with love, and saw the feeling returned just as devotedly in the eyes of her fiancé. He saw Mr Darcy take her hand and raise up to his lips for a kiss, then wrap it securely around his arm as he joined them. He observed the look they exchanged between them, and came to his decision.

Who was he after all, if he were to part to persons such in love?

---

"This is a little late, is it not?"

Darcy hesitated before the threshold, suddenly uncertain. "It is traditional," he pointed out, gently, tenderly.

"But you informed me almost three months ago, that you took me as your wife the first time I came to your bed," she replied boldly, her character now assured of the ability to be true to itself for the rest of their lives together.

"You gave me no warning then, my love," he said, his eyes now tenderly trained upon her own. "It would have been presumptuous on my part to display such back then."

"In that case, proceed," she proclaimed grandly, laughter barely contained.

He smiled at her and laughed as well, as he carried her gently over the threshold into the Entrance Hall of his home. Once inside, not caring the almost continuous passage of servants, readying rooms for the celebrations that evening, he bent his head and pressed his lips to her own, enveloping them in a long passionate kiss. Reluctantly, he broke from her after awhile, and continued to carry her up to his rooms.

They had been married barely minutes ago, a few days later after her father had first arrived at Pemberley. After he had granted his blessing, Mr Bennet had written to his wife and family, calling them up to Derbyshire, while Darcy had done the same for his own relatives, then travelled to town in order to procure the special license necessary.

Upon his return they had sorted out the settlements with the lawyers of her late husband and herself, a matter which had caused Mr Bennet further surprise, as he saw his Elizabeth become an equal partner in everything that Mr Darcy possessed. Then it had just been a matter of waiting for family to arrive, giving the households the news, and preparing the necessities for the wedding.

Darcy, with his precious burden still safely in his arms, now carried his wife into his rooms. Once inside, he gently set her down, and turned to close the door behind them. Then he pulled her tenderly into his arms. "Lady Elizabeth Darcy," he began, addressing her with one of her proper titles now, "are you happy?"

"Most assuredly, dearest Fitzwilliam," she replied, in such a way as to make him forget the rest of the world. He clasped her tight around the waist, and sought her lips.

---

1. I have parodied here, from Marianne Dashwood in Sense & Sensibility.

---

Chapter XXXII.

It was with great reluctance that they rose from the bed almost half an hour later. The presence of friends and family in the public rooms below could no longer be ignored. Darcy proved his worth as a lady's maid, helping Elizabeth put back on the white gown and undergarments which, bare minutes ago, he had gently removed from her body. It was to the credit of Sarah that her hair style still remained in its pins and curls, despite their previous positions.

When Elizabeth was dressed, she turned to admire her new bedchambers, which she had not seen until this moment. Like the rest of Pemberley's interior, they reflected a subtle elegance and understated wealth, along with a sense of neutrality, making the mood of the room suitable to both night and daylight.

Her observation complete, she turned to watch her husband once more. She still could not believe what had happened only hours ago. No longer did she need to fear about the Earl finding her. He was no more. Instead she was Lady Elizabeth Darcy. Wife to the best man she had ever known.

She smiled as she watched him retie his cravat without the assistance of his valet, in front of her dressing mirror. For all the trappings of his wealth, he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, unlike others who needed a servant for everything.

Her eyes ran down his body, taking note of how well he looked in his formal wedding clothes. Her mind supplied the images her eyes at present could not; of his bare sculpted chest, and the look upon his face as he took her. He had held so gently that time. Elizabeth still found herself wondering how each time was even better than the last.

The memories were still so vivid, in all their senses. Of his lips upon her skin, exploring her intimately. Of his the caresses his hands applied, each touch arousing her to a greater degree of passion and feeling. Most of all, how it felt when he entered her, and what a contrast his technique was from the Earl's.

What had always felt as an intrusion, now felt like the sweetest of pleasures. Combined with the expression upon his face, and the feeling conveyed by his dark eyes, their joining seemed to her almost hallowed, as profound and as deep as if it were a holy communion. He gazed at her with such intensity as they lay joined, striving for their ultimate pleasure together. In his view, she felt herself to be infinitely precious to him. And she could help but return that feeling, just as equally upon him.

He turned suddenly, his ministrations on his cravat complete, catching her gaze. Elizabeth could not help but blush as she tried to put her delightful recollections to the back of her mind and focus on the present. Grabbing his jacket from the chair it had been thrown on shortly after they had entered her bedchamber, he made his way over to her, putting it on as he did so.

"Do I please you, my Elizabeth?" He asked her softly, his voice lingering over her name, in that way which delighted her so.

"Always, my Fitzwilliam," she replied, bestowing upon him the same endearment to his own first name, making Darcy marvel once more at how no one else could speak it and touch him so profoundly as she.

They stood there, close together but not touching, the longing desire of wanting to repeat their lovemaking evident in what little space there was between them. Their dark eyes, so in tune now with the thoughts, wishes, dreams and feelings of the other, that no more words needed to be said, conveyed the desire to the other, and the mutual regret that familial duty, along with the duty as master and mistress of the house, called them back downstairs.

Darcy bent his head so their foreheads touched, closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He would have liked nothing more right now than to take his bride back to the bed they had only just risen from, but he knew the guests were waiting for them below. They had delayed their reappearance too long already. Reluctantly he straightened up, and resolved to take only her hand.

"Ready, my love?" He asked her regretfully.

Elizabeth silently assented, equally regretful, and allowed him to lead the way out of their room.

---

Upon their entrance into the Ballroom, all guests present fell into silence, their eyes eagerly turned to the appearance of their hosts. Before the Darcys' entrance, their minds had already established that this second wedding for the Countess of Saffron Walden was quite clearly a love match, making all but those who knew the couple the most wonder now what the first had been like, and speculate on how long they had been in love before the announcement of the engagement.

The eyes of the guests remained upon their hosts as Darcy took his lady out for the first dance of the evening. The number of couples would have been quite inferior to the size of the room, had not the number of those guests that were still talking been sufficient to fill the rest of the space.

It was a credit to the mastery of the orchestra present that the sound of the guests' chatter did not drift above the music, enabling the intricate movements of the first dances to be performed according to each of its participants skills in the art.

Darcy and Lizzy themselves remained oblivious to the speculation surrounding them, and the interest their absence had attracted. They had obeyed the call of duty to show themselves present at the dance; whether their minds were actually there with them was quite another matter, and not up for negotiation.

Their movements were as perfect as usual, both having become accustomed to dancing almost as soon as they could walk. But their eyes rarely removed from the gaze of the other, and the expression upon their faces was nothing short of pure contentment.

Around them the guests observed them, their minds busily attempting to calculate what vast amounts of fortunes were now combined. If Saffron Walden was said to be one of the richest earldoms, then so was Mr Darcy said to be one of the richest men in the kingdom. Apart, both of them could have been a very eligible prize for anyone, but together the match was even more powerful.

Already some were contemplating the worth of the next generation, trying to puzzle out if any of their families could ever hope to connect themselves so rich an alliance. As for those that were not altogether inclined towards monetary value, they watched closely the faces of the bride and groom, imagining how long their love had existed between them, what the real character of the late Earl had been like, and how even more dashing the title made the master of Pemberley now.

Of the family present, there was just a equal bunch of mixed reactions. Mr and Mrs Bingley stood next to their friends and siblings in the dancing line, each content with the match that their closest friends had made, and how happier each looked now.

From the side lines, Mr Bennet watched them, his smile behind a face of perfect composure, as he bore his wife's ceaseless chatter about their new son in law with tolerable equanimity. A short distance away, a equally taciturn gentleman stood with his wife, although she was far more suited to him than Mrs Bennet was to her husband.

The Earl of Matlock watched his only nephew with contentment, glad that he had managed to make a match equal on both wealth and meeting of minds. His wife observed with him, her eyes generally more on her niece, as her mind foresaw the next great society hostess, her future successor.

A little distance away from them stood the Viscount and his wife, their son and heir, his own mind equally approving of his cousin's match. Lady Onamae stood quietly beside him, her thoughts on her own wedding day, remembering that the new mistress of Pemberley looked just as happy as she. Like her mother in law, she pictured the future, lending her prayers that her cousins would have much happiness.

On the opposite side of the Ballroom stood Colonel Fitzwilliam, also pleased with the result of many months private speculation and concern between himself and his wife. As for himself, he was still revelling in his own recent love match, having found in Charlotte all that he could ever have wished for, along with all the joy of discovery that she saw in him the same.

Charlotte, who had never expected to fall in love, was now pleased to note that the expression upon her friend Elizabeth was very similar to that of her own. She rejoiced for being able to attend this wedding so soon, minding not at all that Elizabeth had not be able to return the favour only three months ago.

How many things had happened since then! She felt the caress of her husband's hand upon her own within his grasp, and looked up, quietly accepting his request that they danced the two next. Charlotte cast one final look to her friend, wishing her every happiness.

By one of the balconies nearby, stood a woman who was undecided about whether to be angry or content with this current situation. Lady Catherine de Bourgh had always entertained high hopes that her daughter would marry her nephew Darcy, and that together they would unite the two powerful estates of Rosings and Pemberley. Learning of his engagement had, understandably, given her much shock and pause for thought.

She had been quite saddened to loose her godson so soon, though equally angry at the nature of his death. She had always disapproved of his passion for that dreadful club. And now she had even more reason to do so. Now she was in a quandary as to whether or not approve of the union which had been the result of Lucius death. That the vast wealth of the Saffron Walden's had not gone out of the family was welcome news, but that it had put an end to her own plans for her nephew was quite a different matter.

There was no one now, within the family to wed dear Anne, which meant that Rosings would soon be lost to the Fitzwilliam family forever. Oh, Lady Catherine was shrewd enough to know that the next generation might bring it back into the family once more, but also wise enough to realise how unlikely that event could also be. Therefore, she stood before one of the balconies, her eyes constantly on her nephew and his bride, and wondering how she did not foresee this coming in time to work the match to her own advantage.

As for the remaining daughters of the Bennet family, their reactions to the match were equally just as different. Mary stood silently, refusing every request she received to dance, wondering when her mother would finally become reconciled to her wish to receive the veil. Kitty observed her sister and new brother in law with some wistfulness, hoping that, one day, she would be just as blessed as Elizabeth, and have a husband that loved her as much as Darcy evidently adored her sister.

As for Lydia, she was mourning the lack of redcoats among the guests, and the loss of the regiment from Meryton, along with the annoyance of not being allowed to follow them to Brighton, as a guest of her friend Mrs Forster. Mr Wickham in particular, had been most sorry to loose her company, and Lydia believed, would have proposed if not for that dreadful Miss King and her ten thousand pounds taking over the position of companion to the Forsters instead.

The music drew to a close, conducting the dancing couples to part and perform their bows and curtseys. Darcy eagerly rose up to take possession of his wife's gloved hand, leading her away from the dancing, in quest of an empty balcony. The journey seemed long, as they passed guests and family on their way, all wanting to shake their hands and congratulate them on their nuptials, but eventually they reached their goal.

Darcy swept them out into the balmy night air, the velvet and damask curtains closing behind them, giving them privacy albeit somewhat brief. Smiling, he took her other hand and led her to the railing before them.

"A year ago today," he began, his voice seeming to Elizabeth a tender caress, while his hands worked an equal enchantment upon her gloved arms. "I was standing here, without any idea of the happiness that awaited me. If someone had told me what lay before me, I would never have believed them. For I could never have imagined such contentment was to come." He turned to face her, drawing into his arms. "Thank you, Elizabeth, for giving me everything I could ever have hoped and dreamed for, and more."

Elizabeth smiled, her eyes misty with tears of joy. "A year ago today," she echoed, her own mind remembering what had happened to her then, now seeming so long ago. "I stood in my bedchamber at Hanover Square, despairing of ever escaping my husband. I had thought myself to be in love, and instead of enjoying such an emotion, I had become disillusioned with the whole idea of it.

"If someone had told me then what awaited me, I would never have believed them. I did not think I could ever be that fortunate." She blinked away her tears, taking a deep breath, before finishing her sentiments. "Thank you, Fitzwilliam, for teaching me to believe in love again, and to know that it existed for myself, as well as others. Thank you for making me feel safe once more, and for appreciating my true self, and not the character I had put to the fore to endure the Earl."

When she had finished, her eyes were not the only ones misty with tears. Darcy could say anything in reply, so choked upon emotion was he. Instead, his expression supplied what his voice could not, as he took her into his embrace, his lips finding hers for a long, eloquently satisfying, passionate kiss.

---

Later, when the day had long since turned into the next, and the ball had drawn to a close, with all its guests ensconced in their rooms, the Darcys moved once more to the bedchamber of the mistress of the house.

Darcy dismissed their sleepy servants, locking the door behind them. He stepped back up to Elizabeth, the meaning in his gaze unmistakable. At the same time, their arms drew around each other, followed shortly by a meeting of their lips. His hands explored her dark hair, seeking out hairpins, letting them fall to the floor to be tidied away upon the morrow.

Elizabeth deftly undid his cravat, then drew apart the buttons of his shirt, until the material revealed his bare chest. Her fingers slipped inside, their ministrations upon his skin causing him to shiver with pleasure, and anticipation for what further delights were to come.

Silently they divested each other of their clothes, and moved to lie upon the bed. Darcy's lips sought her own once more as they covered themselves with the silk blankets, rolling amongst them and the cushions in what was by now a well known dance to their bodies, but nonetheless still as enjoyable and momentous as the first.

Elizabeth met him move for move, kiss for kiss, caress for caress, passion for passion. She moaned her every pleasure, as his lips and hands worshipped at her breasts, her stomach, her arms and thighs, and that most secret part of her, one which he was becoming to know very intimately.

He too soon found himself moaning his own pleasure, as she returned to him the same caresses and same kisses in the same places upon his body. She felt nothing but contentment now, and of the sweetest and most profound kind. Her eyes caught and held his as he entered her, never parting from them as he began to shift in and out of her, drawing them closer and closer to mutual communion.

A long time afterwards, when they had exhausted all their strength for such delightful activity, they remained awake in each others arms, content just to hold each other, as their minds imagined their future, and what further delights awaited them.

And what a future it was to be. Their union would forever be contained in legend, to be recounted in countless different ways, never able to fully capture the joy and contentment they enjoyed, but always to be attempted. To be forever treasured by others, and held as the ideal meeting of loves, minds and souls.

The End.
© Danielle Harwood-Atkinson 2011.

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