Blurb: Pride, Prejudice and Soul-Marks. What happens when the person who is supposed to be your soul-mate doesn't even believe in soul-marks?

Hi, everyone! I suppose this is my latest "I know this is has been done a hundred times before but I can't resist doing my own version" story. It's not very long, so I'll post in two sections. Hope you enjoy!


LOVE FROM THE GODS
A Treatise
BEING
A THOROUGH RECORD AND EXAMINATION OF THE HISTORY, CAUSES AND REPORTED EXPERIENCE, INCLUDING CASE HISTORIES AND SCIENTIFIC STUDIES, OF THE NATURALLY OCCURRING PHENOMENON KNOWN AS “SOUL-MARKS.”

BY SIGMUND D. HEISENBAUER, DOCTOR OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY

Introduction

The phenomenon of so-called “soul-marks,” also known as fate marks, lovers’ marks, angel kisses, et cetera , has long been known to English scholars, being mentioned in some of our earliest records. Some of our finest writers of literature have found inspiration in soul-marks: Chaucer himself makes reference to lovers markes , and Shakespeare’s famous comedy Fate’s Mark Mistaken depends its entire plot around their appearance. However, while no one can justly dispute the existence of such marks, there has latterly been doubt raised as to their significance, and whether trust in their ability to determine the course of true love, as the saying goes, belongs more properly in the realm of science or superstition.

Soul-marks, as they shall be referred to in this treatise, are small, irregularly shaped marks which appear suddenly and always in pairs, one mark each on the body of a man and a woman, upon their first meeting. There is some debate as to how soon the marks must appear, or what degree of proximity may constitute a first meeting (see ch. 2). The marks may appear on any part of the body, and so are not always noticed immediately, but each mark appears as the mirror opposite of its partner. Traditionally they are believed to indicate that the couple who has been marked are “soul mates,” destined, or chosen by God, to experience true and lasting romantic love. Among the Scottish, and some of the more traditional enclaves in England, the existence of matching soul-marks is considered as binding as marriage vows, and should one of the marked already be married, grounds for immediate annulment. This latter practice in particular has caused much controversy in the Church of England, as in the Roman Catholic Church before it, with ardent theologians arguing both for and against proper ecclesastical recognition (see ch 8). In one famous example, Henry VIII claimed to share a mark with Anne Bolyen, only to accuse her of fraud when he signed her death warrant.

While soul-marks remain popular and desired among the lower classes, to the extent that authorities have been forced to issue warnings against grifters who peddle false “marks” for sale (see ch. 5), among the upper classes they have fallen into increasing disfavour. Some believe that this is because the marks are simply not as common among the very wealthy, but others take it as the indicator of a more educated society: that while the marks undoubtedly exist, the imputation of their meaning up until now has all been fancy. The marks, they say, have no real significance, and the people who have them fall in love because they believe they ought to. A more enlightened view, they argue, points towards coincidence, perhaps a harmless contagion, or even deception by the Devil. See chapter 3 for a thorough explanation of the modern theories currently put forth by “soul-mark sceptics.”

Despite the widespread cultural, religious and social implications of the soul-marks, there has been no systematic attempt up until now to gather and organise the varying sources of knowledge we have about them, which is why this author….


~❤~ One

It was Mr. Darcy who noticed it first--or, that is, his valet did, when he came to shave him on the morning after the assembly ball. Darcy leaned back in his chair and tilted his chin; with a deft gesture, his man brushed the lather over his neck and face. Then, with a straight razor, he began removing it in smooth, even strokes, beginning on the left side of Mr. Darcy’s face, and working around to the right.

He was delicately scraping the area just below Darcy’s jaw on the right side of his face when he suddenly gasped, and the razor slipped before he pulled it back.

“Anders! What is going on?” Darcy raised a hand to the nick, and brought it back with a drop of blood on it.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy!” Anders rushed in to apply a cloth to it. “It was most inexcusable, please forgive me…. Only, I was so surprised by--Will you allow me to offer you congratulations, sir? I hope you will be very happy.”

Darcy stared at him. “Congratulations? For what?”

He coloured. “Well… for… for the mark.”

“Mark? What on earth are you talking about? What mark?”

The valet gulped, and picked up the small mirror sitting ready. “Forgive me, sir, I had assumed--but of course you would not have--how could you? Very maladroit , as the saying goes--Only it is a happy occasion, so I hope you will be pleased౼” Seeing the expression on his master’s face, he clamped his mouth shut, and held out the mirror.

Darcy frowned at his reflection, then as Anders adjusted the angle of it towards that side of his neck, he tilted his head, trained his eyes down, and౼”Dear heaven,” he muttered faintly.

There, peeking through the remains of the lather, dark against the smooth skin of his neck, a medium brown, irregularly shaped mark lay, just as if it had always been there. Darcy had only seen a few such marks in his lifetime, but he knew very well what it was. When he was younger he had indulged in dreams of acquiring one of his own, but when so many seasons passed without… His gaze narrowed on the roundish shape. It didn’t look like anything in particular, of course, except now that he thought about it, the shape did rather resemble౼

“Finish,” he said shortly, leaning his head back and staring at the ceiling. He knew very well what that mark resembled. It resembled a woman’s lips. It resembled a kiss.

Anders completed the shave in silence, and when Darcy dismissed him immediately afterwards, he did not protest, only gathered the shaving water and brushes and other equipment, and withdrew, leaving Darcy cravat-less and coatless, but alone.

Standing, Darcy went to the large mirror, and subjected the mark to further scrutiny. There was a sense of unreality. How could this have happened now, of all times, and at all places? It must have been the assembly last night--but that was impossible! How could there have been a woman there for him? Could it really be that his… soul-mate had been there? That he had stood near her, spoke to her, looked in her eyes? Darcy quickly reviewed every female he could recall coming into contact with the night before, and shook his head. Impossible. It was impossible--and yet, here the mark was, looking for all the world like it had been left by a lover’s embrace.

Someone pounded on the door, and Bingley’s voice called, “Darcy! Darcy, can I come in?”

Catching up a clean cravat Anderson had laid out, he wound it quickly around his neck before going to open the door. Bingley burst through. “Darcy! Look! Look!” He thrust his arm in Darcy’s face.

“Bingley!” He batted it away.

“No, Darcy, I mean it, look .” He pointed to a spot on his forearm, exposed by a rolled-up sleeve. There, to Darcy’s bemused amazement, was a reddish-brown mark that looked vaguely like a feather, or a leaf perhaps. Bingley beamed. “It was there this morning. It must have been there last night too, only I didn’t see it! It’s Miss Jane Bennet, it must be. Oh, I knew she was the loveliest creature imaginable!”

“Now, Bingley౼”

“I’m going to call on her this morning. Will you come with me?”

“I’m not sure that it is the best౼”

Bingley frowned at him in confusion. “Don’t you understand, Darcy? It’s a fate mark! A soul mark! It means I’ve found my perfect soul mate, and Miss Bennet is the only woman I met last night that౼”

“I know perfectly well what it is; I have seen them before. I only think you ought to be cautious about making assumptions, about Miss Bennet, or the significance of the mark. It would not do to trust too implicitly in this idea of fate, Bingley. When you come down to it, it’s just a mark, and any further meaning comes from us, not it.”

Bingley looked crestfallen. “Do you mean to say that soul-marks are not real?”

“Well, obviously they are real, but as to what they actually are ౼”

“Every couple I’ve ever known who had soul marks were extremely happy. They all said the marks were right, and they were perfectly suited for each other.”

“Yes, of course if you believe that you are perfect, then you will probably౼”

“You can’t expect me to ignore this! I can’t just… pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Darcy sighed. “No, I know you will not be able to do that. And I do not mean to say that you should not discover who, but be cautious in committing yourself, I beg you! You must attempt to be rational.”

He grinned. “I’ll wager that you wouldn’t be half so rational if it were you! Very well, I will try to be cautious, but you must come with me to the Bennets! It will be the best place to start, anyway.”

Darcy wondered what he would do if it turned out that Miss Jane Bennet had a soul mark matching Darcy’s. She had been the best looking woman at the ball last night, after all. Though--he frowned--she smiled too much.

Sitting in the Bennets’ parlour a few hours later, though, he could observe for himself that all five of the Bennet sisters had pale, unblemished necks. He felt an initial sense of relief until he saw, there on Jane Bennet’s slender hand, the fern-leaf mark that matched Bingley’s. It was then that he remembered that just because the shape of the mark was the same, it did not mean the location of it would also be the same. Unless his-- match , for want of a better term--had her mark on her face, neck or hand, he might have no way of identifying her. Not without publicising his own mark, that was, and Darcy had no intention of doing that .

Bingley, of course, was delighted. He had already, with many apologies, removed his coat and rolled up his sleeve to display his mark. Miss Bennet blushed, they both beamed, Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, the younger girls squealed, and Darcy would have been glad to beat a hasty retreat. Inadvertently, he found himself catching Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s eye. She looked arch, amused, and challenging. Coldly, he withdrew his gaze and turned it back to his friend. The danger to Bingley was acute. He would have to be very vigilant in watching out for his gullible friend.


~❤~ Two

Miss Elizabeth Bennet did not discover her mark until more than a week after the assembly ball. It was Sarah, the maid, who noticed it. Elizabeth had called for a hip bath, and as Sarah approached to empty a pitcher of warm water over her, she gasped. “Oh, Miss Lizzy!” she cried. “You’ve got it! You’ve got the angel kiss!”

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. “Angel kiss? What do you mean?”

“It’s what we always call those soul-marks, miss. And if it doesn’t look just like a kiss! You’ve been blessed for sure, you and Miss Bennet. It’s got to be a sure sign of good luck, to both get marks, and so close together!”

Elizabeth had turned rather pale. “Where is it?”

“There, below your shoulder.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You’d better finish rinsing me off, Sarah.” Sarah did, then helped her out of the bath and into a dressing gown. Silently, she went to her mirror, pulled the dressing gown off her shoulder and turned until she could see its reflection. It was there, just above her shoulder blade, like a dark, almost bruising kiss--just as Sarah had said. How long it had been there, she could not say; she usually washed alone, and would have no cause to be studying her back in the mirror. The rest of the time, it had been covered by her shift.

“Sarah, would you find Miss Bennet and ask her to come to me here? And say nothing to anyone else!” She looked sternly at the excited maid.

“Oh, yes, Miss Lizzy! At once!” Sarah ran off.

Elizabeth dried her hair as she studied the reflection. Her heart pounded with excitement, but her native cynicism urged caution. This would not be as simple for her as it had been for Jane. She had no Mr. Bingley just waiting to claim her, as there was no other eligible man they had met recently. She had no idea who her match could be.

Jane appeared in a few minutes with Sarah, who scurried in after her, grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, Lizzy, you needed me?” Elizabeth made a face at her, and showed her the mark. Jane gasped with delight. “Oh, Lizzy! How perfectly wonderful!” She embraced her. “We shall be happy together, both of us!”

“Well, I hope you may be right,” laughed Elizabeth. “Only there is a small difficulty. I have no idea who the man might be.”

“Well, he must be--he must be౼” Jane frowned in consternation. “He must be a gentleman of exceptional character!”

“No doubt, but how shall I find him?”

“You have only to think of who you met recently.”

“You have hit upon the very nature of the problem: I haven’t met anyone new, not since the assembly. Unless--oh dear, do you think it could be a man I just happened to pass on the street? Would brushing up against him be enough to trigger it? And if it is, how shall I ever find him again?” She looked at her sister with wide eyes. “Jane, do you think it’s possible there may be people all over England walking around with fate-marks concealed under their clothes, and no idea whatsoever how to find the person with the other one? What does one do, in such a case? Advertise in the paper?”

Jane clasped her hands. “I am sure we can find a simpler solution than that. There cannot be so many eligible men in Meryton, after all--if it even was there that you met him! Or perhaps he may come looking for you, like Bingley came for me. Any man must do that, do you not think? Once he knows he has his soul-mate nearby, he will not give up until he has found her.”

“I hope you might be right.”

“I know I am. Now, let us think about this logically.” Jane ushered Lizzy to the dressing table, and took up the brush to begin brushing out her damp curls. Sarah hovered in the background, trying to keep inconspicuously busy long enough that they would not send her away. “You said the last time you met someone new was at the assembly.”

“Yes.”

“And when is the last time you can be sure that you did not have your mark?”

Elizabeth frowned uncertainly.

“I helped you bathe a fortnight ago, and you didn’t have it then,” volunteered Sarah, then shut her mouth.

“Thank you, Sarah. So you have had it at most for two weeks, and very likely less time than that. It does sound rather like the assembly, Lizzy.”

“No, that’s impossible. Mr. Bingley and his party were the only new people that night; I knew everyone else, I think, or had at least attended assemblies with them before. Since then, there has been that dinner at the Golding’s, and we played cards at my aunt’s house; she didn’t have anyone new there, did she?”

Jane coughed delicately. “There is one possibility you are forgetting.”

“Who? Don’t say it’s the butcher’s cousin, Jane, for I shall think it a very low blow if you do.”

“Well… Mr. Bingley was not the only eligible gentleman in his party that night.”

Elizabeth looked at her in bewilderment.

“Mr. Darcy, Lizzy. I mean Mr. Darcy.”

Sarah gasped with excitement.

Elizabeth started to laugh. “I take back what I said about the butcher’s cousin! That was the low blow! Mr. Darcy indeed! As if I could ever have anything in common with such an unpleasant, arrogant man! If I thought he had my matching mark, I would hide mine and never admit to its existence.”

“He is Mr. Bingley’s dearest friend, and I am sure he would never show such esteem to a man who did not deserve it.”

“With all of Mr. Bingley’s excellent and amiable qualities, I cannot think him a discriminating man. His general good will is one reason he is such a perfect match for you, my dear, kind-hearted sister. However, I fear I am not nearly so tolerant. I would not be able to overlook Darcy’s faults as your beau does.”

“Still, I think you ought to consider it, Lizzy. He does watch you a great deal, you know.”

“I suppose he might find me slightly less objectionable than our sisters--or slightly more. I have often observed him watching other young women too, when we are in company. He seems to prefer observation to conversation.”

“Do you not think that is consistent with a man who is trying to find his soul-match?”

“I suppose. But as he has said nothing of the kind himself, I am not convinced. No, my lover must be a man of mystery for now.”

“Perhaps once he hears about your fate mark, he will…”

“No!” Lizzy’s eyes widened in alarm. “No, no, no! On no account must you tell anyone of this! Or you, Sarah!” She darted a stern glance at the maid. “You must promise me you will say nothing! My mother, especially, must not learn about it.”

“But Lizzy, how can you expect him to find you if he does not know?”

“If we are actually fated to love each other, then it shouldn’t be a problem. Mr. Bingley came straight to you, didn’t he? He was already more than half in love with you, after a single evening. Well,” she tossed her head, “when my soul-match is more than half in love with me, he may come and ask me, and then I will tell him. Until then, I do not wish to be the subject of gossip and speculation. I could not bear it, Jane! To hear Mama ask every young man she meets if he has my matching fate mark? I would do anything rather than endure that!”

Jane patted her hand. “Very well, dearest. I will say nothing--and I am sure that Sarah will keep the secret too. But be merciful, Lizzy. Whoever he is, he must be just as nervous and uncertain as you.” She smiled gently. “If you frighten him away, he might not dare to approach you at all, and then where would you be?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Am I so fearsome, then?”

“To a man in love, I think you could be very fearsome, yes.”



~❤~ Three


They met at the Lucas’s two days later. Elizabeth looked up from her conversation to find him standing nearby and watching her, and a sudden consciousness warmed her cheeks. Jane’s theory was absurd, but still….

Refusing to be intimidated, she turned towards him. “You appear to take an eager interest in lady’s fashions, Mr. Darcy.”

He shrugged. “No man who has been much in society can avoid such conversations. It is a subject upon which ladies are always animated.”

“Yes, but I am surprised that you would willingly stay to listen, when you might easily escape.” He did not reply, and after a moment she continued. “You are a participant in the London season, I am sure. Tell me, what do you think about the new long sleeves?”

His eyes flicked down to her arms, bare between her short, puffed sleeves and long gloves. “I do not think I care for them,” he said, and looked back at her eyes.

Was it her imagination, or did his gaze contain a particularly intense, searching quality? She opened her mouth and shut it again, suddenly unsure what to say.

“Your sister,” he said abruptly, and nodded towards Jane, standing next to Mr. Bingley across the room. “She seems quite… content at sharing a mark with Bingley.”

She smiled at the sight. “I would say they are both very content indeed at being matched together.”

“So it is your belief that those marks are indeed soul-marks? You subscribe to the common belief in their ability to confer attachment?”

“Confer it? I would not say they confer the attachment. Was not your friend delighted with my sister before he ever discovered his mark? And she was equally pleased with him. They did not need the marks to like each other.”

“Yes, but if the stories are correct, the marks must have appeared as soon as they met, though Bingley, at least, did not discover his until the next day. If indeed they have power, it must have been exercised over them immediately.”

“Is that what you believe౼that soul-marks, which are known as a naturally occurring phenomenon from ancient times, have some unnatural ability to cause people who would otherwise not have cared for each other to fall in love?”

“I have not said so. Rather, I was only attempting to describe the possibilities. It is important, I think, to understand the full implications of what one claims to believe, particularly in a matter so mysterious and delicate as these soul-marks.”

“Ah, I see! You are a sceptic. You do not believe that the marks have any real meaning or significance at all. You think, in fact, that your friend has been tricked into believing himself in love with my sister. Only, to whom are you to attribute this trick?” Elizabeth felt her indignation increasing as she spoke. “I can only think of one person, and that must be God Himself, since He is surely the only one capable of creating the marks. This is not very pious, sir. Does your local rector know you suspect the Divinity of such treacherous dealings?”

She thought for sure she would anger him, but he only smiled. “Again you have tasked me with opinions I have not expressed, Miss Bennet. May I say you seem to take particular pleasure in it? But I will not be provoked into agreement.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You have now disclaimed both belief and disbelief, Mr. Darcy. If your true opinion does not reside with either of those then where, pray, does it reside? What exactly do you believe about soul-marks?”

He hesitated, searching her eyes. “I don’t know,” he said at last, his voice low. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

Elizabeth’s mouth fell open, and her heart beat in her chest. Did he౼could he౼

Charlotte strode up, smiling. “My dear Eliza, I am going to open the instrument now, and you know what must follow.”

Blindly, she turned towards her friend, giving Mr. Darcy her shoulder. “You are a strange creature for a friend, Charlotte! Always wanting me to play and sing before everyone.” Beside her, she heard Darcy draw a deep breath, but she did not look at him again, could not look at him again. If she did, she would soon start to imagine all sorts of things that could not be possible.

~❤~❤~❤~

As the first strains of Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s song began, Darcy pressed his shoulders to the wall behind him, hands clenched beneath the fold of his arms, and set his eyes on her face. It was her. It had to be. There was no other woman, no lady at all among all the society here in Hertfordshire whom it could be but she.

How could this be possible? Elizabeth Bennet was nobody, nobody at all. Her father was an insignificant country gentleman, her mother was vulgar, her sisters were silly—she had no connections, nothing that would make her an acceptable match for a man such as he. She could not be his soul-mate. She could not be his match.

But she was lovely, and clever, and she sang so sweetly. And on the back of her shoulder, peeking just slightly over the lower cut of her evening gown, he had seen the very edge of a brown mark. It could be anything: a birthmark, an old burn, or even a lover’s mark in any shape whatsoever—but somehow, he did not think it was any of those. He thought he knew exactly what it was, exactly how it would look if he peeled the fabric back. He knew, and that knowledge terrified him.



~❤~ Four

Mr. Bingley had been calling very often at Longbourn, sometimes in company with his friend, but more often without. Word of his and Jane’s matching soul-marks had spread across the countryside in a matter of days, and now everyone treated them as if they were engaged already. Jane always disclaimed, with a modest blush, but Bingley never seemed anything other than pleased by it. Elizabeth was certain he would propose at the very soonest day that propriety would allow; they had known him less than a fortnight, after all. Not even soul-marks would justify an engagement on anything less than three weeks’ acquaintance.

Jane was happy. For herself, though, Elizabeth was in turmoil. The conversation with Mr. Darcy at the Lucas’s had only increased her anxiety, not lessened it. Surely, surely her mark-mate could not be a man she actively disliked, could it? Fate౼ God ౼could not be so capricious! For all her criticism of Darcy’s supposed impiety, she felt she was the one in true danger of blasphemy.

Jane was no help. “If he is the one you share a mark with, then there is nothing to worry about, is there? You have only to get to know him, and you will find him as perfect for you as my dear Bingley is for me!”

“But what if I don’t want to get to know him?”

“That is only because he did not make a good impression that first night. Once you have spent more time with him, you will see. He is perfectly agreeable among those he considers his friends, Mr. Bingley told me so himself. I am sure he will be even more pleasant to the woman he loves.”

Sarah was likewise unsympathetic. “I’ve never seen him myself, Miss Lizzy, but Gretchen as works up at Netherfield tells me he is ever so handsome! And so rich! They say he has ten thousand pounds a year, and a grand estate in Derbyshire. Gretchen says his man, Anders, is the finest London valet she’s ever met, and far a cut above the other servants.” She giggled. “Won’t the mistress be pleased when she finds out!”

On that depressing thought, Elizabeth set out for a walk. It was the afternoon after the party at Lucas Lodge, brisk and windy. She pulled her cloak around herself and trudged a little faster. Mentally she began to compile a list of factors both for and against it being Darcy.

For : He was the only single man she was aware of having met since she got her mark.

Against : She didn’t like him.

For : Despite his apparent contempt for company, he had been observing the local young ladies, and herself in particular, in a way that suggested he might be looking for something.

Against : He didn’t think she was pretty.

For : He initiated a conversation on the subject of soul-marks and had looked at her most particularly while doing it.

Against : Jane had asked Mr. Bingley if Darcy had a soul-mark and he said he didn’t think so.

For : There was no one else.

“Blast,” Elizabeth muttered under her breath. “Blast, blast, blast.”

“Miss Bennet!”

She swung around. Mr. Darcy was on his horse behind her. “Forgive me if I startled you,” he said. “I was just at Longbourn with Bingley.” He swung down.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Darcy.” She blinked at him.

He swallowed. “Good afternoon. Will you permit me to walk with you?”

Silently she indicated her acceptance, and he led his horse alongside her. Together, they continued along the path she had been walking.

“This is pretty country,” he said after a moment. “Have you always lived at Longbourn?”

“Yes, always. And you? Did you spend your childhood in Derbyshire?”

“I did. Until I went to Eton, of course.”

“Did you like school?”

“Not at first, but I grew to like it. You never went away to school yourself?”

“Never. I have heard your home౼Pemberley, is it? is very beautiful.”

“I certainly think it so. Did you know I have a sister?”

“No, pray tell, how old is she?”

“Only fifteen. That is the age of your youngest, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Lydia is fifteen. Is she your only sibling, or have you a younger brother or two?”

“No brothers. In that we are alike. Did you like having so many sisters?”

“Sometimes. We had capital adventures when we were young. Preparing for parties is still a great deal of fun, though I daresay my poor father might disagree with me. I don’t suppose your sister manages to be very loud, as there is only one of her?”

He smiled. “No, loud is not an adjective generally ascribed to Georgiana. What are your favourite books?”

“I’m afraid I am very much a creature of impulse, and will read whatever strikes my fancy in the moment. Right now I am reading Waverly and Pope. And yourself?”

“ Hamlet, Easton’s Geography of China , and an agricultural journal.”

“I read a geography of China last year, though it was not by Easton, I think. It was fascinating, and also a bit difficult to believe. Do you think they can really have a single wall that extends over thousands of miles?”

“I see no reason to doubt it. It is an astonishing achievement, but by no means impossible. The Chinese civilization is even older than ours, after all.”

“Perhaps you are right. Does governing such a large estate take a great deal of your time? From what I gather from my father, land management can be a vexing business.”

“I have an excellent steward so most of the vexation is his, but I do my best to stay informed, on both the condition of the estate and on modern theories of agriculture and animal husbandry౼your question pertains to the journal, I presume?”

“Certainly. Its purpose for a man such as yourself seems obvious.”

He nodded. “Have you ever been to London?”

“Many times. My mother’s brother, Mr. Gardiner, lives there, and I have often stayed with him and his wife.” She glanced sideways at him. “They are not people that you would know. My uncle is a tradesman, and his house is on Gracechurch Street.”

His jaw clenched, but he did not say anything at first.

“They are some of my favourite people in the world,” she said to air. “Sensible, well-bred and kind.”

“I am sure they are. You must forgive me౼” He turned towards his horse. “I have tarried too long and must be returning to Netherfield. Good day.” Before she could say anything more, he was on his horse and riding away.

Elizabeth went home in bitterness of spirit.

---

~❤~ Five

“You don’t have to marry her,” argued Darcy to Bingley. “There can be no obligation attached to something you have no control over.”

“Of course I’m going to marry her!” Bingley frowned at him. “Why on earth wouldn’t I?”

Darcy paced. “Her family, her connections are too low.”

“Why, because her uncle is in trade? My grandfather was in trade!”

“ Your grandfather was, but—” He cut off.

“I don’t understand you, Darcy! I thought you would be the last man in the world to wish me to withdraw from a connection formed so publicly! Everyone has seen me court her, everyone knows of our marks! I could not draw back now, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

Darcy was silent a moment. “Your courtship has been public, but if it had not been, if no one but you knew…”

Bingley gave him a puzzled look. “Perhaps you are right, and there would be no obligation if we did not like each other, but I do like her. I like her very much, and I think she will make me happy. What does an uncle in trade matter compared to the prospect of life long happiness?”

“But your name, Bingley, what you owe to your name! And your sister—your marriage affects her too. You cannot—no man of property and family and reputation can only consider himself when he chooses a wife. No matter how… tempting the prospect may be.”

A mulish look appeared around Bingley’s mouth. He bowed his head and said nothing, but Darcy, waking from his abstraction enough to glance at him, saw he was rubbing his arm where his mark lay. He felt a kind of despair, for himself and his friend. Were they both to be doomed by pretty eyes and mysterious marks? He thought of Bingley’s last line: What does an uncle in trade matter compared to the prospect of life long happiness? If he really thought—if he could be sure—

What if it wasn’t Elizabeth at all? Until he had actually seen the mark for himself, he couldn’t really know. He could be torturing himself for nothing. But if it was, could he really walk away from her? He had argued with Elizabeth’s contention that to reject the soul marks was to abandon his faith in God, but in his heart he believed it. Would it be ingratitude to his Creator, to reject the woman He chose for him? Would he ever find peace again, knowing she was here, bearing his mark? Could he marry another woman, while bearing hers? Fate-mark indeed, he thought.

~❤~❤~❤~

The next afternoon both Bingley and Darcy came to call at Longbourn. Except for Jane they were a morose lot. Bingley was unwantedly subdued, and kept looking first at Jane and then at Darcy, who ignored him and just looked at Elizabeth, who looked at everyone but him. It wasn’t until the youngest sisters, Kitty and Lydia, burst into the room, bringing Maria Lucas with them, and then a tea tray arrived, that Darcy edged slowly closer to Elizabeth.

“Miss Elizabeth, I believe we have something to talk about,” he said to her, under the cover of the others’ chatter.

She offered him a selection of miniature cakes. “I cannot imagine what.”

He raised his brows, even as he waved the plate away. “I doubt that.”

“You may doubt all you wish, sir, but that does not change my opinion.” She smiled at her mother and passed the plate to Lydia.

He fell silent, but rather than moving away only manoeuvred a little closer, so he was standing just behind her left shoulder. Mr. Bingley was now ringed about by Bennet women, laughing as they plied him with tea and cakes. Mr. Bennet walked into the room, and there was a minor flurry as he exchanged greetings with everyone, and Kitty was pressed to give up her seat for him. Darcy did not move from his position. “I fear I offended you during our last conversation,” he said at last, in a low voice. “That was not my intention.”

She shook her head. “It is nothing to me what opinion you may have of my relations.”

He fell into a frustrated silence. Kitty came up for a refill, and Elizabeth poured for her. “You cannot think this is easy for me,” he said, when she had left.

“I have no idea what you can mean.”

“I think you do. I think you know exactly what I mean, but you are pretending you do not out of a misplaced sense of pride—”

“Misplaced pride?” Elizabeth whipped her head around to stare at him, her voice rising in indignation. One or two people looked in their direction, and she settled back down, but could not help turning her head in his direction. “If anyone here suffers from misplaced pride,” she hissed, “it is not me!”

He stiffened. “Pride, when it is under good regulation—”

She scoffed.

He pressed his lips together. Conversation around them continued, and Elizabeth joined in. Darcy, despite being addressed several times, would not be drawn into more than short replies; he drifted further away from the group and leaned his shoulder on a window recess. Elizabeth was aware of his eyes following her, for all that she tried to ignore him. She knew she ought to say something else to him, that as little as she liked it, he could not be ignored forever, but she wasn’t ready yet. She did not know when she would be. Perhaps he is right to be sceptical, she thought. How can my soul-mate be a man who thinks me beneath him? It was all very confusing, and she resented him for his ungraciousness.

The situation resolved faster than either of them would have expected when someone had the happy idea of suggesting a walk into town. The younger girls all cried their eager agreement, and soon enough Bingley had been cajoled into joining them with Miss Bennet on his arm, leaving Darcy to follow with Elizabeth.

They neither of them said much as the group set out from the house. Darcy fell into step beside her silently, and Elizabeth’s manners were not so bad that she would walk off and leave him alone. Glancing sideways at him, she saw his face still set in tight lines, and decided that the burden of conversation, at least, would not rest with her.

She soon realised her mistake. Mr. Darcy, it appeared, was perfectly content to walk all the way to Meryton without a word passing between them. Infuriating man! “We must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy,” she said at last. “To walk all the way to town without speaking would appear very strange.”

“I was under the impression you did not wish to speak to me.”

She nearly threw up her hands. “I don’t! But for the sake of appearances, I am willing to do even so much.”

He narrowed his eyes “Far be it from me to burden you with idle conversation, madam.”

“Well I don’t see the point of any other sort of conversation.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean,” she said in a low voice. “We can have nothing to talk of.”

He glanced at their companions, Kitty and Lydia in the lead, Jane and Bingley dawdling behind. “Once again, I cannot agree. You may wish for idle conversation, but I do not. We have more important topics than the weather to discuss.”

“How can you not see,” began Elizabeth heatedly, but at his warning look, lowered her voice. “How can you not see how impossible it is that we
could—that we should have anything in common, when you despise the very people I admire most in the world!”

“I never said I despised them.”

“No, your looks did it for you.”

He was silent for a moment. “As I have never met your aunt and uncle,” he said at last, “I can have no opinion on them. It is only their situation which I found objectionable. If I offend you by saying so, then I am sorry for it, but I think my feelings just, and I cannot apologise for them.”

“And that, Mr. Darcy, is why conversation between us must only and always be idle.”

He bit back some exclamation. “I have not said that I would not—that I cannot—” He paused, struggling for the best way to express himself.

“That I would impute their situation to you,” he said at last. “You are not to blame for your relations.”

“But their situation is my situation,” she cried. “There is no great difference between the tradesman and his niece; in any case, I have no desire to separate myself from them. I am not ashamed of my connections. Indeed, I love them. I love them, and I have no desire to be separated from them. Anyone who wishes to be my friend must also be willing to be theirs.”

He shook his head mulishly, and they walked on, frowning.

“Lizzy!” Lydia ran back to loop her arm through her sister’s. “Kitty and I were just speaking of what flowers we wished to buy to trim our old bonnets with. Do come and tell us your opinion. We can’t agree on anything, but we haven’t enough money to buy two sprays of flowers, so whatever we get, we have to share.” With hardly a glance for Mr. Darcy, she led Elizabeth forward. “Now didn’t I do good?” she whispered when she got her to Kitty. “I rescued you from that boring Mr. Darcy.”

“Lydia!” Elizabeth shook her head but laughed. Kitty took her other arm. “However, I am grateful,” she added under her breath. They walked on to Meryton together, Mr. Darcy trailing behind.

~❤~ Six

Darcy avoided Longbourn for the next three days. Each one of those days, his heart grew heavier within him. Was it his imagination that the fate-mark burned beneath his cravat? He wondered what happened to people who had found their mark mates and then rejected them. Had any such person existed in the history of the world? He searched Bingley’s small library for some volume on soul marks, but found none, only a novel called The Romance of the Mark . He read a few chapters, then threw it down in disgust. It wasn’t like that, he thought. It wasn’t love at first sight. This wasn’t magical, it was painful.

And yet, Elizabeth’s words echoed around in his mind. I am not ashamed of my connections. Indeed, I love them. I love them, and I have no desire to be separated from them. Anyone who wishes to be my friend must also be willing to be theirs. He could see the justice in her declaration; he could even admire her for it. But it was hard, very hard to give up his plans, the expectations he had formed for the match he would make one day, the fortune and connections he had thought would be his. To take a woman such as Mrs. Bennet for his mother, to call those younger girls his sisters. To rejoice in an uncle in Cheapside!

And yet—to have Elizabeth as his wife, with her wit and her eyes and her laughing mouth; to see his mark on her shoulder; to press his lips to it; to hold her in his arms at night; to bring her to Pemberley and Georgiana, and let her bright spirits comfort and elevate all of them.

“I say, Darcy, you’re not ill, are you?” asked Bingley one morning.

He started from his abstraction. “Why, what do you mean?”

“It’s just that you were pressing your hand to your neck just now.” He demonstrated. “I’ve seen you doing that any number of times in the last few days. Is it hurting you?”

Darcy stared at his hand. He had been doing that, and never even realised it. “Yes.”

“Perhaps you ought to see a doctor. I’ve heard Mr. Jones is quite good, or we could send to town for…”

“I don’t think a physician will be able to heal what ails me,” he said, rising.

“But, Darcy! Where are you going?”

“To find the cure,” he said over his shoulder, as he strode from the room.

~❤~❤~❤~

Elizabeth stood in the woods that bordered Longbourn and Netherfield. Arms crossed tightly across herself, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, focusing on the quiet and the smell of the woods. Birds sang; a breeze stirred the autumn leaves, and the rich, damp earth rose to her nostrils; but somehow, none of it brought her the peace it usually did.

She had spent the days since Mr. Darcy’s last visit telling herself that she was better off without him, but in her heart, she could not believe it. What did her future look like now? No man would marry her while she bore another man’s mark. Perhaps she could pass it off as a birthmark, but her conscience rebelled against such an idea. Besides, she and Darcy belonged to each other, didn’t they? She did not know what she thought of him, arrogant and enigmatic as he was. She wasn’t sure if she even liked him—but even so, whatever he was, if he bore her mark then he was hers, by divine right. His presence drew her with a magnetic power that seemed to increase every time she saw him. His eyes, his brow, the set of his shoulders—he reminded her of the great clock in the hall at Longbourn that had so fascinated her as a child: first you had to unlock the case, then you could examine its inner workings.

The shuffle of hooves and the jingle of a bridle alerted her to the presence of a horseman near; in a few moments, Mr. Darcy rode into view. He seemed to be looking for something, but on spotting her under a tree, his shoulders relaxed, and he drew up. “Miss Bennet,” he said, “I have been riding for some time in hopes of meeting you.” He swung down.

Her heart began to pound, and she pressed her hands against her stomach. “Mr. Darcy.”

They stared at each other. Darcy opened his mouth, paused. “Miss Bennet—Elizabeth.”

“Mr. Darcy?”

He clenched his hands. “In vain have I struggled,” he said. “It will not do.”

A smile trembled on her lips. “What will not?”

“You must know.” He took a hasty step towards her. “You do know. The—we—” He wanted her to help him, but she didn’t, she couldn’t. The knowledge filled the air between them, each afraid to speak it first—afraid they would be right, afraid they would be wrong.

With a sudden exclamation, Darcy began to tear at his cravat. Astonished, Elizabeth took a step back, wondering what he could be about—but then he pulled the cravat from his neck, and turned his head, and there it was. The mark. She gasped. Though she had believed he carried it, still, to see it there, on his skin, was overwhelming.

“Tell me at once,” said Darcy. Too overcome to speak, she nodded. He let out a long breath, and closed his eyes. This is it , she thought. This is the moment everything changes . He opened them, and they met hers. “Can I see it?”

His gaze had moved to her shoulder. He knew, somehow. Somehow he knew it was there, and though it was so very far from proper, it did not occur to her to deny him.

With fumbling fingers she undid the buttons on her pelisse, pulled it off, held it in her arms as she turned her back to him. Then his feet, crunching the autumn leaves as he drew closer. The quickness of his breath, filling the silence, stirring the feathers on her bonnet. And the first tentative touch.

~❤~❤~❤~

Darcy pulled his gloves off with his teeth, and thrust them into a pocket. His hands trembled as he reached for her buttons. They were so small—he fumbled them, brushing her skin. She tensed at the touch. One, two, three—how many would he need? How many would it take to reveal her mark to him? Time seemed to stretch on forever under the quiet trees as he pulled and pressed the fastenings of her gown, and Elizabeth’s rapid breaths filled his ears.

There—would it be enough? It would have to be enough. The fabric gaped, and with sudden determination he peeled it back, slid his fingers under the edge of her shift and her stays, pulled them, peeled them all back and down, until her shoulder lay bare. Bare but for the dark, bruise-like mark just there—just under his fingers.

Darcy let out a long breath. “Elizabeth,” he murmured. He studied the mark and, unable to help himself, he touched it again. Elizabeth stirred, but did not speak. Slowly his head drifted lower, and his lips brushed the top of her shoulder.

“Please,” said Elizabeth breathlessly, and pulled a little away.

With an effort, he pulled himself under control. “Forgive me,” he said, straightening. As quickly as he could, he put her clothes to rights, hiding the mark again. Doing up the buttons seemed to take even longer than undoing them, his fingers if possible even clumsier. A bird flew through the tree, squawking, and both of them jumped at the sound. The moment the last button was fastened, Elizabeth moved away, walking rapidly as she pulled her Spencer back over her arms and did up the front. Only when she was a safe distance away and fully dressed did she turn back towards him. Her eyes moved to his neck, still bared.

“What happens now?” she asked.

“Now I go to your father, I suppose.”

She twisted her fingers together. “And so that’s it? Everything is settled, without… further discussion, or consideration, or even a courtship?”

“Do you wish for a courtship?”

“Of course. Any woman would.”

“How long of a courtship?”

“I don’t know. At least… a few weeks. We scarcely know each other.”

“Is that not the point of the marks, though? To make the end predetermined, without the need for further acquaintance?”

Her lips turned up a little. “Are you still determined to debate them with me, even now?”

“I think our need to understand them properly has never been greater,” he said.

“Ah, but will debate between us further our knowledge, or hinder it? Perhaps,” she added hesitantly, “you will decide the marks have no real meaning after all.”

“No.” He spoke firmly. “No, that I do not believe. These few days have been sufficient to convince me that, while I may not understand their power,” his hand moved up to touch his, “it is real.” He held her gaze. “For better or worse, by Providence or fate, for the rest of our lives, we are linked, Elizabeth.”

She blinked rapidly, and her mouth twisted. “Let it be for the better, then, not the worse.”

“That—I trust it may be so. I hope it will be.”

“You have hope, but not faith?”

“I—” He hesitated. She looked almost forlorn in that moment, anxious and uncertain, hurt by his uncertainty. He was making a poor start as a lover, or a husband. “Elizabeth,” he said at last. He walked the distance between them. He reached for her hand, and she gave it, then her eyes grew wide as he drew even closer. Bending, he drew her hand upward, and placed it boldly against his mark. She drew in a sharp breath, but he held it there, his pulse hammering beneath her fingers. “I will purpose to have faith, hope and charity,” he said, “if you will do the same.”

He saw her eyes grow soft. “And the greatest of these is charity,” she murmured.

“It is not my strong suit, I am afraid.”

She laughed. “Nor mine. But hope?” He had taken her other hand as well, and it tightened around his. “Hope I do very well. And truly, I think where there is hope there must be faith too. How can you hope if you have no faith?”

He smiled. “I am sure you are correct.”

Her fingers flexed warm against his skin. “There now,” she said, her smile brighter still, “you are beginning well after all.”

And then he could only laugh too.


~❤~ Seven

Not even to Jane did Elizabeth describe the scene in the woods. But, “I have spoken to Mr. Darcy,” she said. “You were right; he is the one.”

“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane embraced her. “I am glad. Truly, though I know your first meeting did not go well, I think he is worthy of you, if any man can be.”

Elizabeth laughed. “You only think that because he is Bingley’s friend.”

“Not entirely. I have made an effort to observe him, for your sake. It is true he is not so open as my dear Charles, but he is truly amiable, I am convinced of it. And no one can doubt his intelligence or honour.”

She opened her mouth to say something scoffing, but thought better of it. This would be no way to begin, by deprecating him to another. “I hope you may be right,” she said instead.

“I am sure that I am. But how do you feel about him, now that you know? Do you like him?”

“Like him? I suppose I shall grow to like him, once I have had a better chance to know him. We have been so busy trying to find the other out, it has not left a great deal of time for ordinary conversation. But he has agreed we ought to have a period of courtship, and now that that matter is settled, perhaps we may make better progress in actually liking each other.”

Jane smiled and hugged her. “I am very happy for you, Lizzy.”

“And you, dearest? I am surprised that Mr. Bingley has not actually proposed yet.”

She blushed. “He spoke to my father today. We are to make the announcement tomorrow.”

She embraced her sister and congratulated her, but her mind was on the touch of his fingers at her back, the way he had smiled and cradled her hand against him. She was anxious to see him again, anxious indeed to know how well they would like each other.

~❤~❤~❤~

That Mr. Darcy had revealed the truth to Mr. Bingley, at least, was apparent as soon as the men arrived. Bingley was beaming even more brightly than usual, and he greeted Elizabeth with so much eagerness, and pressed her hand with so much significance, that he might have appeared a suitor, if he had not then turned to Jane with the most fatuous expression imaginable. She hid her smile, and turned to greet his friend with tolerable composure, only the heightened colour on her cheek revealing how her thoughts were on the scene in the woods.

Darcy followed her to a seat at one side of the room. “I hope you do not mind that I told him.”

“Not at all. Jane, of course, has always known, and that is almost the same thing now.” She looked fondly at the couple, who gazed raptly into each other’s eyes as Mrs. Bennet exclaimed over the excellence of the match. “She always favoured you, you know, when we were trying to determine who it might be. I thought it impossible, but she insisted—and she was correct.”

“Impossible? Why do you say that?”

She debated what answer to give him, and decided on the direct one. “I heard what you said about me at the ball.”

He coloured. “Forgive me. That was unpardonably rude.”

“It was, rather. However, I suppose it must be forgotten now, except—”

“Yes?”

Impossible to say it, but it must be said. “I would not like you to be disappointed—to find yourself with a wife you do not adm—”

“I assure you. That is not a concern you need have.” His flush grew darker.

“Oh?”

“Indeed.” He looked her in the eyes. “I spoke in error—I was quite mistaken. I came to realize very soon that I was mistaken.”

“Oh.” She sat back. “I am relieved to hear it.” Despite her casual tone, her own cheeks darkened, and she could not help but cast him glance from under her lashes. He was watching her intently. She smiled a little and saw how his eyes followed the movement of her lips. Her smile grew wider.

~❤~❤~❤~

“I have been considering what you said,” he told her later, when they had escaped with Jane and Bingley for a walk around the shrubbery.

“About the Luddites? It was a rather well-made point—I am not surprised you found it worthy of a second consideration.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Not that—although I admit that you expressed yourself well. No, rather, I was considering the concern you stated earlier, in the parlour.” He gave her a look. “Over a foolish and hasty comment I made on the night we first met.”

“Ah. That foolish and hasty comment.”

“I hope I do not make so many of them that there could be much confusion.” He raised his hand as she opened her mouth. “Please—spare me your wit for this one moment.”

Elizabeth smiled but remained silent.

“After much consideration, I believe that under the current circumstances the solution—that is the best course of action—” He hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I would like to kiss you.”

She gasped. “Mr. Darcy! We are not engaged yet!”

“I disagree. Just because we have not informed many others of our understanding does not mean we do not have one.”

“We don’t even have my father’s permission.”

“Do you anticipate him refusing me?”

“No, but—”

“Are you intending to refuse me?”

She huffed. “No.”

“Then we are engaged,” he said firmly. “As I was saying earlier, you have, understandably, expressed concern over an unfortunate comment which I made at the very beginning of our acquaintance. I wish to convince you that I feel very differently on the matter now, but recognizing that my words may seem suspect under the circumstances, I have determined that a demonstration is most likely to have the desired persuasive effect.”

Elizabeth stopped and stared at him. “You wish to demonstrate…?”

“My admiration, yes.”

“By kissing me.”

“Yes.”

“And you feel this will be… effective?”

“Well,” he smiled ruefully, “if it is not, I will have no one but myself to blame.”

“I see.” Elizabeth walked a few more steps, and he followed along. “Well,” she decided finally, as they came to stop beneath a particularly shaded bower, “let it never be said that I denied you your opportunity for atonement. We did agree we would practise charity, and I know no greater charity than allowing a sinner the opportunity to repent properly of his sins.”

Darcy laughed. “You are, without a doubt, both charitable and charming,” he said, as he wrapped his arm around her.

~❤~❤~❤~

Darcy drew her close. She came without resistance and rested against him, her brilliant eyes gazing quietly up at him as she waited. With a hand that shook, he cradled her jaw, stroking the soft skin of her cheeks and lips. “Loveliest Elizabeth,” he murmured. Her brows rose a little at the endearment, and the crease at the corner of her lips deepened into a smile. Without delay, he tilted her head, and bent to apply himself to the task before him.

~❤~❤~❤~

As Darcy’s mouth moved against her own, Elizabeth found her mind seemed inclined only to slide off into a kind of distant haze. She gripped his lapel and pulled him a little closer. Perhaps it was her imagination, but for a moment, the place where her mark rested throbbed like a heartbeat.

At last he drew back. “Elizabeth,” he said, his voice uneven, “if you do not object too much, I think I ought to speak to your father today after all.”

She nodded. “I still have relations in Cheapside,” she said a few moments later, defiantly.

He choked on a laugh. “I know.” He kept on kissing her.

“I will want to visit them.”

“I know.”

With determination, she drew back. “I should not like you to act against your character simply because we share a mark. I do not want to marry a man who despises my family, or will resent me because of them.”

He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “I am not sure what to say. We neither of us chose this, it’s true, but that does not mean that I do not desire it. I do desire it, more each time I meet you. As for your family, I will not try to keep you from them, and I will endeavour, for your sake, to see them as you do. More than that, I cannot promise.”

It was a considerable concession from a man of his stamp, and Elizabeth did not want to seem ungracious. She took his hand. “You will like my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. They are delightful people, truly.”

“I am sure if you say it, then it must be so.” Darcy endeavoured to place his arm around her waist again, and found her not unwilling.

“There you go again! What a charming husband you shall make, always telling me I am right.”

He drew her closer. “And you, Elizabeth? I have told you my wishes, but you have yet to say anything of yours. Can you—” He hesitated, suddenly vulnerable. “Jesting aside, can you like me as your husband?”

Her lips twisted a rueful half-smile. “The marks have said it, have they not?” Looking hurt, he began to draw back, and she hurried on, blushing. “Of course I can.” She gripped his coat. “Of course I do, and I will. What kind of woman would I be if I didn’t? Only—” she drew a breath. “That is, I wish—”

“Yes?”

“For strictly practical purposes, you understand, and in order help assure our happiness… I do wish that you would kiss me again.”

He smiled. “Kissing for the increase of affection now? I believe I may assist you with that.”

“Good.” Her fingers tightened their hold. “I feel certain of its efficacy.”

“As do I, Miss Bennet,” he murmured, as he gently tilted her head. “As do I.”


~❤~ Eight

The announcement of Jane’s engagement surprised no one, but the announcement of Elizabeth’s surprised everyone. They told the truth about their marks only to Mr. Bennet, who saw no reason to repeat it—but Sarah the maid, who had so faithfully kept Lizzy’s secret during the last weeks, could not resist the opportunity to broadcast her knowledge now. In consequence, the rumour soon spread around the region of Meryton that Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth were fate marked. Mrs. Bennet, once the story was explained to her by Lady Lucas, had no hesitation in confirming it, and so the truth was known after all, though very few people presumed to ask the great Mr. Darcy so personal a question.

Mr. Collins, their cousin and future heir of Longbourn, arrived in town a few days later, and was quite nonplussed to discover that the two loveliest of his cousins were already engaged to be married. He was even more dismayed to discover one of them intended to marry the nephew of his revered patroness, Lady Catherine, since Lady Catherine herself had told him that Mr. Darcy was to marry her daughter. His attempts to remonstrate with Darcy were not well received.

A further few days after Mr. Collins’s appearance, Captain Denny of the local militia regiment brought back a friend from London—a particularly handsome and charming fellow known as Mr. Wickham. An encounter in the street led to Darcy telling Elizabeth about how Wickham had conspired with Miss Darcy’s companion last summer to make her believe they were fate-marked, and so nearly lured her into an elopement. “And that is part of why you were so sceptical,” she said with new understanding.

“Yes. I let one man’s deceit colour my perception of the entire matter.”

“But you must have known that yours was real.”

“I did know. I did know, but I feared it—even as you did as well, my sceptical Lizzy.” He stroked her hair.

She laughed. “Oh dear, what a pair we made! If only we had half of Jane and Bingley’s candour, we would have settled it all so much sooner.”

“Indeed. But for my part, I cannot regret it, not really. We recognized each other in the end, after all.” He smiled smugly, and Elizabeth laughed again.

Mr. Wickham’s claims of being wronged by Darcy were met with polite incredulity by Meryton society; after all, he was the fate-matched of Lizzy Bennet, which made him nearly one of their own, and everyone knew Elizabeth’s morals were above reproach. He did not remain in the neighbourhood long after that, and last they heard of him, he was being pursued by the army for desertion.

Mr. Collins soon proposed marriage to the third Bennet sister, Mary, but having been encouraged by her older sisters’ experiences to hope that she, too, might receive a fate mark one day, she refused him. He carried his grief to Charlotte Lucas, and she consoled him all the way to the altar, much to Elizabeth’s chagrin.

“You deserve better, Charlotte,” she said earnestly.

“It is not a matter of deserving but of accepting, Eliza. I am happy for you, but—not everyone is fate-marked for love.”

“You might be, you don’t know.”

“I am seven-and-twenty. I think that if I was going to receive a mark, it would have happened before now—or else what would be the use anyway? Mr. Collins is respectable and he can provide me with a comfortable home, which is what I really want anyway. I will be quite content to leave undying love to the more romantic.”

“I am hardly romantic.”

“You are very romantic. You always have been, you know. You would never have been happy with Mr. Collins—which is why it is well that I will be marrying him, not you.”

Fortunately for Elizabeth’s feelings, she was not required to attend the wedding, having so recently married herself.

As for Kitty and Lydia, they determined that they, too, must be destined for Great Love—though that was no reason, of course, not to practise flirting with the officers in the meantime.

~❤~❤~❤~

“Take a look at this, my love.” Darcy handed Elizabeth an open book as he sat next to her. They were in the sunny front parlour which Elizabeth had taken for her own at Pemberley.

“Love from the Gods,” she read from the title page. “Who is Sigmund Heisenbauer? Have you heard of him?”

“A little. This is the only volume I have found that appears to study the matter of soul-marks in anything like a comprehensive fashion.”

“A surprising oversight, to be sure, considering how prevalent their influence has been.”

“Perhaps if more scholars treated the subject with seriousness, fewer among the educated classes would question them as well.”

“Perhaps. Did you find anything of interest?”

“Much of interest, though little to really surprise me. We have experienced their accuracy in predicting love, after all.”

“Predicting it?” She smiled brilliantly. “So you no longer believe they have the power of causing love?”

“My dear Mrs. Darcy,” he answered, pausing to set aside the book and take her in his arms instead. “I am firmly convinced that it would it take a power greater than any these marks possess to prevent me loving you.”

“Pooh.” She smoothed his coat with a satisfied hand. “You would never have even looked at me if you had not been searching for your soul-match.”

“You are wrong. The marks undoubtedly saved us a great deal of time, but I cannot believe they changed the ultimate outcome. Even before I knew, I knew it was you,” he said, cradling her face in his hand. “How could it be anyone but you?”

“ I found he whom my soul loveth, ” she whispered in reply. “ I held him, and I would not let him go .”*

He smiled, and drew her close.


_____________

Song of Solomon 3:4