Beginning , Section II, Next Section

Chapter 3 ~Continued

April curtsied slightly before going to the dressing room to attend to matters. Mary eagerly broke the wax seal before reading the letter:

Dear Miss Farthington,

My deepest apologies for neglecting to write to you sooner. Business of the utmost urgency regarding your late guardian's estate detained me. Rest assured that all matters are well in hand and that your future is secure.

A most welcome event occurred during my first days in London that have made the visit more worthwhile where you are concerned. While attending to business in London, I was privileged to meet Lord Farthington's nearest blood relations, his cousins Mrs. Beatrice Peterson and her son Mr. Derek Peterson. The Petersons are a fine and elegant family who hold your late guardian in high esteem and supported his endeavors in the movement here in London. I regret that you were unable to make their acquaintance during our time in London as the Petersons were out of town. This I was able to relate to them upon our meeting and they expressed equal regret, having heard much of your growth and development from Lord Farthington's letters. Mrs. Peterson herself insisted on writing you to in the near future to extend to you an invitation to join them in Brighton during the summer months. They are quite eager to meet one whom they regard as a cousin.

I regret that business further prevents me from returning to Derbyshire in the near future but should you need assistance in anyway, do not hesitate to ask me. You may reach me through the address on this letter. My most sincere prayers for your health, happiness and safety.

Sincerely yours,

Thomas Brambles, Esq."

On Saturday afternoon, the ninth day of Mary's confinement, Dr. Edwards returned to Pemberley to check on her progress. Much to Mary's delight, he proclaimed her ankle sufficiently healed to resume scampering about the countryside. As soon as she was able, Mary donned her coat, bonnet and gloves to take a short turn in the now barren west facing gardens before nightfall. Mary was pleased at the freedom to walk about Pemberley once again and relieved to be free from Colonel Fitzwilliam's daily visits. Following Elizabeth's advice, Mary worked to quell her affections for Fitzwilliam. However, she found enduring his visits, filled with intent stares and flattery, were exhausting to her resolve. It appeared that no matter how Mary worked to ignore his pretty words and appear unflustered by his smiles Fitzwilliam remained unmoved, continuing his visits and even conniving to increase the length of his stay. Although the visits continued unabated, Mary did begin to notice some changes in the Colonel on the previous morning's visit. Fitzwilliam dropped the pretense of merely escorting young William or staying simply to appease his young cousin. His speech was colored with less flattery and pretty words and marked by more silence and stares. Mary found this new mode of intercourse even more unnerving, growing flustered and embarrassed under Fitzwilliam's steady gaze. Whenever Mary chanced to look up from young William, she was met with Fitzwilliam's dark blue eyes fixed upon her. Mary began to wonder if Fitzwilliam was more than just a natural flirt and especially took pleasure in her discomfort, choosing an alternate strategy of vexing her.

That morning's visit was much of the same. Soon after his arrival, Fitzwilliam took his place by the fire, leaning with one arm on the mantle as he watched her steadily. When Mary chanced to look up some moments later, she found his position altered but his gaze unchanged, now sitting across from her, his head propped on one bent arm. After the story was finished and Mary dismissed young William, Fitzwilliam lingered for a moment. He took a seat across from her, looking at the fireplace with a somewhat pained expression on his face.

"Fitzwilliam, whatever is the matter?" Mary asked as she rose and stepped towards him.

Moving as if startled, Fitzwilliam turned to regard her before quitting his seat and stepping back from her. "Forgive me, Miss Farthington. I fear I have lingered too long causing you undo stress. I take my leave of you, but let me express my happiness at your renewed health," at this Fitzwilliam took her hand and bowing, softly kissed the back of it before leaving abruptly.

Mary could still feel the warmth of the Colonel's lips on her hand as she made her way down for dinner. While she was eager to sup once again with the entire family, she looked to meeting again with Fitzwilliam with some anxiety. Much to her pleasure, Mary was not seated next to Colonel Fitzwilliam, but by Georgiana. Dinner passed with little conversation offered by Fitzwilliam who sat across from her and Mary was content to chat with Georgiana and Elizabeth throughout the meal. The effort of making conversation distracted Mary from the rising feeling of vexation that Fitzwilliam's constant gaze prompted in her. Mary was relieved when the ending of dinner allowed for her escape to the sitting room where more distance could be put between them. However, distance was denied her when a game of whist was called for by Georgiana. Much to Mary's consternation, she soon found herself a loser to a surprisingly expert Georgiana.

"Well, now that my little sister had caused us all to look the fool by trouncing us in a game of whist, I think it is time for a little entertainment," Darcy announced as he rose from the card table to seat himself by the fire.

"Yes, yes," Elizabeth agreed enthusiastically. "Mary, would you favor us with playing a song? You play so beautifully and we have not had the pleasure of hearing you for some time."

"Darcy has told me much about your talent, Miss Farthington, and I have been all anticipation to hear you for myself," the Colonel added, becoming more animated as he rose and stood before Mary. "I wonder if your voice is as enchanting in song as it is in reciting tales of fancy," he added in a lowered tone for Mary's ears alone.

Mary flushed inwardly despite herself, before muttering her intention to play. Taking Fitzwilliam's offered arm, Mary allowed herself to be escorted to the pianoforte.
Seating herself before the instrument, Mary began to play and sing a folksong her father had been fond of and had asked her to play often after they had finished their evening meal:

When Mary had finished her song, everyone applauded loudly asking that she favor them with another. Mary agreed, but asked that she not be forced to sing. When she began playing once again, Georgiana, Elizabeth and Darcy began to chat quietly among themselves while Fitzwilliam made his way to Mary's side. He stood silently by the instrument, leaning ever so gently against it as he watched her. Mary's annoyance returned at his renewed inspection of her person, prompting her to return his look with some irritation.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam. Tell me, is there something about my playing or my appearance that is objectionable to you?" Mary challenged flashing him an angry look, her voice deceptively even.

"Why would you suppose a thing like that?" Fitzwilliam questioned in reply, sipping lightly from his glass of brandy as he grinned wickedly.

"I have noticed that there have been but a few moments this evening when I am not under the scrutiny of your eye. What else am I to suppose but that there is something about my person you find offensive?" Mary replied, before returning her attention to her playing. She had already misplayed several notes, her hands slightly shaking from nervousness and ire.

"Ah, you are a perceptive one, Princess. I confess that there has been one aspect of your person that has caused me great consternation as of late. For my part I am dumfounded as to why you persist in wearing that awful bombaze. The look of mourning does not suit you."

Mary started at this, misplaying another note as she lifted her chin in defiance before replying in a barely civil tone. "I was unaware that you were so well versed in women's fashions, Colonel. Perhaps you should consider a change of occupation."

Fitzwilliam seemed to take little notice of her increased anger, laughing gently in response to her thinly veiled insult. "I must contradict you on that point, Princess. Women's fashions hold little interest for me. I am much more inclined to occupy myself with the observation of the beauty of a certain lady."

Mary gasped audibly before quickly ending her song. The room broke out in light applause, their companions having seemingly taken little notice of their heated exchange.

"May I escort you to your seat, Miss Farthington?" Fitzwilliam asked, offering his arm with all politeness.

Mary curtly nodded her consent, lightly touching her hand to his bent arm and walking with him to her seat. Mary could barely focus for the rest of the evening, her mind engaged thoughts of Fitzwilliam. While the man had intrigued her before, now she found him positively infuriating. Yet, she realized that she was more disappointed in her reaction to his teasing than angry at the Colonel. She could not fathom how he easily elicited such strong reactions from her. Since his arrival, she had experienced such emotions that were unlike her, from infatuation to embarrassment and now anger. Mary considered apologizing to the Colonel for her incivility, but could not bring herself to look at the gentleman much less to speak to him.

Mary was more than relieved when the night finally ended and she could retire to the sanctuary of her rooms. She looked forward to attending services in the morning, having missed service last Sunday due to her injury. Mary made a note to especially pray for patience on the morrow.

Chapter 4

Posted on Monday, 1 August 2005

Sunday morning brought relief to Mary's fevered mind. She had spent a good deal of the previous night in restless sleep over Colonel Fitzwilliam. Mary resented that he could put her into such a state with seemingly little effort on his part. Church for Mary presented the perfect opportunity to calm her thoughts and she looked to it with great expectation. Mary was one of the first to be dressed and ready for services that morning, being seated in the morning room for breakfast a full half hour before the others. Mary did not mind the solitude, taking the opportunity to read through her prayer book.

Mary was displeased to find herself seated next to Colonel Fitzwilliam once at church. She had hoped to be seated beside Georgiana and William, offering her a welcome respite from the gentleman. Mary's discomfort increased when at the start of worship Colonel Fitzwilliam sought permission to share her prayer book as he had forgotten his own. Mary begrudgingly assented to his request, despite the increased intimacy such an arrangement would demand. Fitzwilliam favored her with a disarming smile in thanks, causing Mary to flush inwardly and turn away with embarrassment. Mary became more flustered when the opening hymn began. She found it difficult to focus on the words of the hymn as she was so affected by Fitzwilliam's singing. His voice was strong and harmonized perfectly with Mary's soprano, a rich tenor that swelled and seemed to fill Mary's senses. Mary was relieved when the hymn came to an end and Parson Geoffries rose to the pulpit. Her disposition and focus was greatly improved by the sermon, with Parson Geoffries delivering a rousing homily urging them all to acts of charity during the upcoming season. Mary was surprised to find the Colonel equally as engrossed in the message as herself. Yet, the impact of his sermon on her mood was somewhat lessened by the disapproving glares Mary occasioned to notice cast in her direction from other parishioners. Mary wondered at the meaning of these looks but endeavored to ignore them and to focus on the service.

After the service ended, Mary walked out with young William in tow, Georgiana being escorted by the Colonel and Elizabeth by her husband. As usual, the family was soon surrounded by neighbors wishing to pay their respects to the family of Pemberley. Parson Geoffries followed the family out of the church, pulling aside Mr. Darcy for a word once he had performed his obligation of shaking the hands of a few passing parishioners.

"Mary, where has papa gone?" William asked, pulling at Mary's skirt as she stood off to the side of the crowd, watching Elizabeth and Georgiana greet fellow parishioners.

"He has gone to have a word with the parson, William. We must not disturb him," Mary replied patting the young boy on the head.

"But, I only want to ask him a question," William replied, before heading off in the direction he had seen his father go.

Mary sighed deeply before following William, worried that he would get himself into some mischief. William had just entered the nave of the church before Mary caught up with him.

"William, I told you we must not disturb your father," Mary whispered in the boy's ear. "Now, go off and pester your uncle."

William pouted dramatically and turned to do as he was told, eliciting a silent chuckle from Mary. She made to follow him until she heard her name mentioned by the parson. Mary walked closer to where Mr. Darcy and Parson Geoffries were conversing by the pulpit in order to hear what was being said.

"Mr. Darcy, you must understand that to allow Mary to continue sitting in the front pew will only cause more discord among the congregation. I don't bring these claims to you because one or two local bumpkins have complained, but other families of importance have come to me with their concerns," Parson Geoffries stated sheepishly.

"Well, parson," Mr. Darcy replied curtly, "I do not understand what business it is of theirs to be concerned about the goings on in my home or who sits in our pew during service. The young lady, for all purposes, is a member of the Darcy family and has every right to attend services at this church."

"Mr. Darcy, please pardon me if I have misled you," the parson interjected, his voice shaking slightly. "Miss Farthington is of course more than welcome to join us in worship here. Every child of God is welcome in His house. Rather, the issue is that she sits in the front pew. If you would be so kind as to instruct her to sit in the rear of the church with the servants. That would be the reasonable..."

"With the servants!" Mr. Darcy cut him off hastily, his voice never rising but taking on a more authoritative tone. "Miss Farthington is a gentleman's daughter and is living under the guardianship of a gentleman who, if I may remind you, is responsible for the financial upkeep of this parish."

Parson Geoffries started, all color draining from his face. "But Mr. Darcy, she is a negress and it is highly..."

"Parson Geoffries, you have said more than enough. Miss Farthington will continue to sit in the front pew with the Darcy family. Also, let me advise you to have a word with your parishioners in their treatment and discussion regarding the lady. Miss Farthington is to be given all of the deference and respect given myself and Mrs. Darcy. If for some reason this poses a problem for you, then I strongly advise you to begin searching for another position! Do I make myself perfectly clear, Parson?"

Mr. Darcy spat the title out with contempt, his face flushing slightly and his posture seemingly growing more tall and foreboding in the delivery. Parson Geoffries was clearly affected, hurriedly voicing his agreement before shrinking away from the man.

Mary quickly turned to rejoin the family. She could hardly believe what she had just heard. The whispers, the silent rebukes, the looks she had received all returned to her remembrance, understanding crashing on her like a great weight. Tears began to stab gently at her eyes as she hastened for the carriage. Mary was too distraught to notice Colonel Fitzwilliam's approach and ran directly into the gentleman.

"Ahh, Princess, I was looking for you. I see that once again you are not looking where you are going," Fitzwilliam smiled down at her, reaching out one arm to steady the lady.

"Please excuse me, Fitzwilliam, I must return to the carriage," Mary choked out as she tried to avoid his eyes, a few tears escaping from her own. The Colonel was one of the last people she wished to see. Mary did not want him to see herself in her present state; surely he would think her weak from her display of emotion.

"Good God, Mary, whatever is the matter? Are you ill?" Fitzwilliam asked in a low earnest tone as he took her gently by the shoulders.

"No, I...I just need to get away from this place and from these people!" Mary replied in anguish, her effort to contain her tears proving futile.

"Of course," Fitzwilliam responded as he offered his arm to her. "Come, we will take a short walk down the lane so that you may compose yourself and we will be off for the house at once."

Mary nodded her agreement, leaning heavily on Fitzwilliam's offered arm. However much she might have distrusted the gentleman, Mary was all too eager to escape at once. After instructing the driver of the coach to meet them once the others were collected, Fitzwilliam led Mary down a tree lined road just off from the church. Spying a wooden bench a dozen yards down the lane, Fitzwilliam guided Mary towards it, willing her to sit.

"There," Fitzwilliam whispered as he placed her on the seat. "We will rest here a bit before joining the others for home. Here, dry your eyes with this."

Fitzwilliam drew a white handkerchief from his coat pocket and offered it to Mary. Taking the cloth, Mary mumbled a quiet "thank you" as she dabbed her cheeks and eyes. Fitzwilliam knelt on the ground before her in quiet agitation as Mary struggled to contain her tears. After a few moments, Mary began to become herself again.

"I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I did not mean to impose upon you like this."

"Please, offer no apologies, Miss Farthington. I am happy to be here to offer any help or comfort that I may."

"Thank you," Mary replied looking up at him, her eyes still wet with tears.

"You are quite welcome, Miss Farthington. Now, tell me, what has upset you so?"

Mary shook her head as if to deny his request. Fitzwilliam sighed, taking her gloved hands into his.

"Please, Miss Farthington, tell me what has happened? Perhaps I can make it right. "

Mary regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, relishing in the feel of his warm hands surrounding hers. She was unsure if she should disclose all to the man that had been her tormentor, but the gentleness of his response and the earnestness of his look spurred her to trust him. Upon hearing Mary's explanation, Fitzwilliam rose and paced distractedly back and forth in front of Mary, quietly uttering oaths beneath his breath.

"This defies reason! Nay, it defies every sense of Christian decency and decorum," Fitzwilliam said angrily as he continued to pace. "To besmirch you so; it cannot be borne. I will speak to my cousin directly and we will have this parson turned out on his ear!"

"No," Mary objected rising from her seat, somewhat surprised by his impassioned response. "That will not do, Fitzwilliam. The parson is not the source of the problem. Would you also bar the entire congregation from the church as well so that I might be comfortable?"

Fitzwilliam quit his pacing and faced her, before throwing his hands up in resignation and sighing deeply. "No, you are correct, but what else is to be done?"

"There is nothing to be done," Mary resumed her seat, wringing her hands in her lap. A long silence settled between them as Mary sat deep in thought.

"I have behaved like a naïve child," Mary began after a few minutes of silence. "I have been sheltered all my life, indulged by my father to believe that I would always be respected and admired wherever I go. New Sussex was such a place. I'd walk through town with my father to be greeted with such sincerity and warmth. No one thought it strange that I should call him father" despite our contrasting shades. London, to be sure, lacked such warmth but when I arrived at Pemberley...," Mary paused to catch her breath, tears threatening to spill forth once more. "I have been so happy here and made to feel so welcome. I forgot that the rest of the world is not as kind."

"Miss Farthington, I will not stand by as you unjustly abuse your own character," Fitzwilliam interjected solemnly, taking Mary's gloved hands into his and bidding Mary to look him in the eye. "This matter with the parson is no reflection on your character, but rather brings to light the faults of others. All those who know the goodness of your heart cannot help but to admire you."

The arrival of the carriage and horses soon interrupted their solitude. Mr. Darcy was the first to alight from his horse, soon followed by a footman who led Beauregard by the reigns. Mr. Darcy's countenance was one of concern mixed with anger as he walked towards the pair.

"Miss Farthington. Fitzwilliam. I trust that all is well."

"No, all is not well, cousin," Fitzwilliam replied as he escorted Mary from the bench towards the carriage.

"You are not ill, Miss Farthington?" Darcy inquired, his anger dissipating to worry.

"No, sir. I am well,' Mary replied, her head lowered to shield her eyes.

"Then why did you both depart on your own from the church and not wait for the carriage as expected?"

Mary stammered an inaudible reply, unsure of how to answer him truthfully. Fitzwilliam squeezed her arm lightly, indicating that he would speak for her.

"Cousin, let us discuss this once we are back at Pemberley," Fitzwilliam interceded, a hint of irritation in his voice. "I am sure Miss Farthington is growing chilled and much desirous of returning home."

Darcy agreed to this arrangement, mounting his horse and riding ahead of the carriage. Fitzwilliam handed Mary into the carriage where Elizabeth and Georgiana were already seated, concern etched over both of their faces.

"Miss Farthington," Fitzwilliam whispered, still holding her gloved hand as he leaned into the carriage. "Do not worry about Mr. Darcy. I will discuss all with him."

Mary nodded her reply, favoring Fitzwilliam with a hesitant smile as he firmly shut the carriage door. She was most grateful when the carriage finally began to move toward Pemberley. The ride home was thankfully a quiet one, Elizabeth and Georgiana satisfied to wait until another time to discuss what had occurred. Mary's emotions were in too much turmoil for her to attempt conversation without tears. Mary was both angry and hurt by what she had heard. Part of her desired to do nothing more than to lock herself up in Pemberley and never venture into society again. However, she knew that to do so would do her more harm than good. She could not forgo all the delights the world had to offer because some people wholly unconnected with her found her unacceptable.

Mary reflected on Colonel Fitzwilliam's kindness to her, unconsciously fingering his handkerchief as she leaned her head against the carriage window. Mary's only comfort in the morning's events had been Fitzwilliam's kindness to her. He was different from the man who had driven her to distraction over the last few days and so much more like the man who had been so caring and attentive when they had first met. She watched him as he rode beside the carriage, admiring his form. He seemed to fit the role of a soldier perfectly, his figure tall, lean and broad shouldered, his posture perfectly erect as he rode tall in the saddle. Even in profile, Mary could see that his expression was stern as he seemed to glare down the road before him. Her heart twisted at the realization that he was still very upset by what had occurred. She had been surprised by the strength of his anger, reacting to the slight as if it had been leveled against himself.

The Colonel turned as if aware of her inspection, his severe countenance softening as he noticed her watching him. Mary held his look for what seemed like several long minutes, surprising herself by her unwillingness to look away. Finally, Fitzwilliam broke the gaze, tipping his hat as he rode ahead to join Mr. Darcy.

The ride back to Pemberley was too short for Colonel Fitzwilliam; a good hard ride was what he needed to settle his mind and quell his ire. Fitzwilliam could not think back on the morning without hurt and anger battling for supremacy in his heart. The sight of Miss Farthington in tears had felt as if someone had twisted a knife in his gut. Her large brown eyes, usually sparkling with wonder and spirit, were then dull with pain and reddened with suppressed tears. She had looked so fragile then. It was a look similar to that which overcame her at the prospect of riding Beauregard when they had first met. Then he had the luxury of being able to be of assistance to her whereas now there was little he could do to heal her of this fresh wound. His impotence to right the wrong further fueled his frustration.

Sensing his cousin's displeasure, Darcy bid him to join him in the library as soon as they arrived at Pemberley. Fitzwilliam agreed, following his cousin with a look of agitation.

"Fitzwilliam, now that the ladies are safely returned to the warmth of Pemberley, perhaps now you would be so good as to provide me an account of what transpired today," Darcy began as he poured two glasses of brandy.

"Cousin, the heart of the matter has already been laid before you! This morning after services I came upon a distraught Miss Farthington who wished nothing more than to be as far from the church as possible. You cannot be at a loss for what the cause of her distress was?" Fitzwilliam questioned, his face reddened slightly from his anger.

"Parson Geoffries..." Darcy replied after a moment's thought, "The poor girl must have heard it all."

"Yes, she did indeed hear every word and was understandably most distraught."

"Well, perhaps she can be comforted with the news that I have already spoken with the parson," Darcy replied as he seated himself by the fire, sipping his brandy casually.

"You are not calling for his immediate dismissal!" Fitzwilliam replied, his voice rising noticeably as he moved to stand before his cousin, "Do you propose to let the man go unpunished for his slight?"

"No, I am not seeking to replace the parson. The matter is well in hand, cousin."

"‘Well in hand'," Fitzwilliam repeated incredulously. "I am sure if Georgiana had been the one offended, you would act differently!"

"You are wrong on that account, Fitzwilliam," Darcy replied, his voice tight from anger. "I would have conducted myself in the same manner had my sister been involved. I am not insensible to the fact that Miss Farthington has been unpardonably offended. How would you have me act, cousin? Should I challenge the parson to a duel?"

"Of course not, Darcy, let's not play games! There must be something more to be done than the bandying about of a few harsh words!" Fitzwilliam countered animatedly.

"All that can be reasonably done has been done. In this you must be satisfied!" Darcy stated firmly, his voice raised in anger.

The Colonel uttered an oath beneath his breath as he turned from his cousin. "I cannot stand by and do nothing to alleviate her suffering," he sighed as he ran one hand through his dark mane.

Darcy rose from his seat, eyeing his cousin thoughtfully for a few moments. "Cousin, it strikes me as very peculiar that you have taken such a passionate interest in this matter. I have not seen you so angered for quite some time."

Fitzwilliam straightened at this, turning to face his cousin. "I am simply concerned for her well being. Wouldn't any gentleman be angered when a lady is so disrespected? The thought that anyone would suggest that a lady of her stature sit with the servants! My word! "

"Yes, any gentleman would be affronted," Darcy replied, looking at his cousin intently. "But a gentleman would also act within the bounds of reason. I wonder cousin, is there something you are not telling me regarding Miss Farthington?"

"Are you accusing me of some sort of impropriety? If you are, sir, speak it plainly now so that I might have my justice," Fitzwilliam challenged, his voice deceptively even.

"Heavens no, Fitzwilliam! Despite your purported reputation as a wooer of ladies I know you are no cad! However, your interest in Miss Farthington has caused me some concern, not so much for the lady as for yourself!"

"For myself?" Fitzwilliam repeated incredulously. "Whatever could you mean, Darcy?"

"Only this cousin," Darcy replied as he stepped toward him, his face flushed from their exchange. "You appear in great danger of losing your heart, nay, even your good sense if you persist in your attentions to a lady so far below your own status."

Fitzwilliam stared at his cousin in disbelief. The Colonel was at a loss to understand why Darcy would conclude that he was considering attaching himself to Miss Farthington. He was further dumfounded to hear Darcy speak of the danger of attaching oneself to a woman of low social rank, when he had withstood the wrath of both Aunt Catherine and Lord Matlock to secure the hand of Elizabeth.

"You look at me now, cousin, as if I am in possession of two heads. However, you cannot think me blind to the signs of your growing attachment. You have visited the lady every day of her confinement and once she was pronounced well, you attended her as a most dutiful suitor. Elizabeth has noticed this as well," Darcy challenged, pacing the room slowly and eyeing his cousin angrily as he spoke. "I have also noticed a change in your demeanor. You have been noticeably pensive and distracted, especially when Miss Farthington is in the room. Your eyes barely leave her person and your conversation is littered with praises for her. Is it no wonder that I believe you are in danger of forming a most unsuitable alliance? Your behavior this morning, nay, during this very conversation confirms all of my suspicions."

Fitzwilliam turned from his cousin, walking over to the fireplace and leaning against the mantle. He could not deny the veracity of Darcy's conclusions. He found himself enchanted with Miss Farthington upon their first meeting and his admiration for her only grew with each subsequent encounter. While he did find her uncommonly beautiful, he also was drawn to the liveliness of her mind, her shyness, her way of rallying courage when she was confronted and her motherly and affectionate way with young William. He found that he could not keep himself from seeing the lady every day or from monopolizing her attention through some moment of teasing or flattery. His feelings had been so new and had seemed to form so naturally that he had yet to name them.

"I have no wish to deny these charges," Fitzwilliam replied, turning to look at his cousin earnestly. "I dare say that I am very well on my way to being very much in love."

Darcy started at this confession, crossing his arms over his chest as if he were chastising a child. "You cannot be serious with these claims, Fitzwilliam! An alliance between yourself and Miss Farthington would simply be unacceptable, you must see this!"

A new anger rose in Fitzwilliam's chest as he quit his place by the fire and stood firmly before his cousin. "I do not see this! Why should I see this?"

"Come, cousin, you are a man of the world. You cannot be insensible to the ways of society or the duty due to your family. She is rich to be sure, but what of her family or her parentage? Yes, she bears Lord Farthington's name but this is all she shares with the gentleman!"

"You speak of duty to one's family and connections! How ironic to hear these words from you, Darcy," Fitzwilliam spat out.

"This is not about me, cousin. Our situations are in no way similar. Mrs. Darcy's sire is a gentleman while that of Miss Farthington is a slave. How would Lord and Lady Matlock react? Or better yet, what sort of reception would your beloved receive when presented to the ton! What you experienced today is only a small taste of the censure you both would receive. I cannot even begin to think of the children. You must consider their prospects as well."

"I believe you have spoken enough," Fitzwilliam replied through gritted teeth, turning from his cousin and heading for the door.

"Richard," Darcy caught his cousin by the arm bidding him to halt his escape. "I do not say these things to hurt you nor to insult Miss Farthington. Indeed, Mary has become a much treasured friend and member of this household. I would do nothing to harm her or to impede her happiness. However, you must concede that to marry her would be beyond the bounds of reason. You cannot deny or escape who she is."

Fitzwilliam was too angry to offer his cousin a reply. Shrugging off his grip, Fitzwilliam left the library with determined steps. In his anger, he barely acknowledged Georgiana standing in the hall before the library doors, her face drawn in worry. He managed a few clipped words of greeting before brushing past her to descend the stairs. Georgiana watched his flight with alarm, following his figure as he called for his coat and horse and hurriedly quit the house.

As soon as she arrived home, Mary made her way to her rooms, refusing to speak with Elizabeth or Georgiana despite their renewed entreaties. More than anything, Mary wanted to be alone, instructing April to allow no one admittance and to inform the household that she would forgo her afternoon meal. Mary fell back onto her bed, curling her legs toward her chest as she bent her head to meet them. A deep longing for her home overcame her, causing fresh tears to fall from her cheeks. Mary did not know how long she lay like that, passing in and out of sleep, before a gentle knock at the door caught her attention.

Mary was surprised to find Georgiana at her door holding a tray full of all sorts of good things to eat as well as a pot of hot tea. Georgiana smiled tentatively, thanking April for allowing her in, as she made her way over to the table by Mary's bed.

"I hope you do not mind a visitor and are not too angry with April. She told me when I visited earlier that you were forgoing food and company. I convinced her that it would be cruel to allow you to starve of both food and guests," Georgiana chirped brightly as she placed the tray before Mary.

"How very clever," Mary replied, a faint smile registering in her eyes. "I guess I have no choice but to enjoy both the company and the meal."

Georgiana chuckled as she handed Mary a cup of tea, "I suppose that will have to do for an invitation."

"I apologize. I am not feeling myself today," Mary murmured sipping her tea lightly.

Georgiana sighed deeply, looking from her cup of tea to her friend with concern. "Mary, will you please tell me what happened today. I have been so anxious for you. You looked upset in the carriage."

"Oh Georgiana, I can barely stand to repeat it without crying," Mary replied rising from her seat.

Georgiana rose from her seat to stand beside her friend, her brow knit with worry. "It must have been awful. Richard and Fitzwilliam had a terrible argument over it soon after we arrived."

"Arguing? Over me?" Mary exclaimed, her eyes widening.

"I have never seen Richard so angry as when I passed him in the hall. He was in quite a state and quit the house directly. No one is sure where he has gone," Georgiana continued, not noticing Mary's growing alarm.

"No, this will not do! I did not mean to be the cause of such a fight," Mary exclaimed, turning from her friend and walking towards the window. A heavy snow had begun to fall, coating Pemberley in a fresh coat of white powder. Mary grew more alarmed over Fitzwilliam's sudden departure. "I...I should not have even told him. I have already been the cause of enough trouble today."

"Mary! I am sure you are not to blame. Why would you ever blame yourself?" Georgiana asked, crossing the room towards her.

Moved by Georgiana's concern and unwilling to cause her friend more anxiety, Mary related all that had occurred that morning. Georgiana was shocked and angered by what she had heard and also confused. She refused to believe that Parson Geoffries was capable of such behavior, but she also could not doubt Mary's account. Georgiana was also surprised by the conduct of her neighbors and acquaintances, being completely unaware of the whispers and rude treatment Mary had suffered. However, Georgiana was encouraged by her brother's defense of Mary and the Colonel's kindness to her.

"I am so sorry, Mary," Georgiana began after the two had sat in silence for some minutes.

"Sorry for what, Georgiana? You have done nothing but been a good and loyal friend."

"I could have done something, Mary. Those were my neighbors and friends that treated you that way. I should have defended you or been there to protect you, but I wasn't even sensible enough to notice what was going on. I have been a terrible friend to you."

Mary smiled weakly, before hugging Georgiana tightly. "Oh, Georgiana, you have been the best of friends to me," Mary replied, fresh tears forming in her eyes. "You have welcomed me here as if I were a sister and treated me with such kindness. I should have confided in you. I did not want to burden you with my problems, but all I have done is cause you to worry,"

Mary paused, observing her friend thoughtfully. It would not do for them to go back and forth over who was the worst friend. Mary grinned mischievously, having come up with a solution. "If you will agree that you are indeed a superb friend, I will pledge to tell you everything as a friend aught."

Georgiana smiled broadly, nodding her head in agreement as the two embraced. Mary and Georgiana laughed gently at the sight of each other's tears. They were then content to enjoy their luncheon, occupying themselves with discussion of happier subjects.

Mary soon found herself in better spirits thanks to Georgiana's gentle attentions, the unpleasant events of the morning being forgotten for the moment. However, she could not help but be concerned over Fitzwilliam's argument with Mr. Darcy, taking all the blame for it upon herself. Mary's concern only grew when Colonel Fitzwilliam did not return to join the family for dinner. The snow had begun to fall more heavily and showed no signs of abating before sunrise. Neither Elizabeth nor Georgiana had received any word from the gentleman and Mr. Darcy looked in no mood to entertain her inquiries regarding his presence. Dinner was mostly silent and awkward, increasing Mary's unease. Elizabeth ventured to offer some conversation during the meal, but most of her efforts were returned with silence.

After the meal, Mr. Darcy opted to adjourn to his library in solitude for the remainder of the evening, leaving the ladies to entertain themselves in the sitting room. Mary sat with Georgiana and Elizabeth until about nine in the evening, attempting to employ her energy in reading. As the minutes passed, Mary's agitation grew until she bid her companions good night and made to retire to her chambers. On the way to the stairs, Mary was surprised and pleased to encounter Fitzwilliam just returning for the night.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," Mary greeted him, a look of relief spreading across her features as she hurried towards the gentleman.

"Good evening Miss Farthington," Fitzwilliam replied, returning her greeting with a sad smile as he bowed to her.

Mary gazed at his face in concern. His blue eyes which normally seemed to sparkle with mirth were now weary and drawn. His hair was disheveled and a light stubble lined his face, lending to his overall unkempt appearance. It pained her greatly to see him in such a state, even more so at the thought that she may have contributed to the cause.

"Are you well, Fitzwilliam? We were all so anxious when you did not return for dinner. And with it snowing so heavily I feared for your safety. The roads, were they very bad? You do not look well at all," Mary confessed, her words spilling out in a rush as she wrung her hands.

"Were you very concerned, Princess?" Fitzwilliam inquired in a low voice, his lips curving into a sad smile as his eyes searched hers.

"Georgiana told me that you had a fight with Mr. Darcy," Mary replied as she held his gaze, her eyes becoming wet with unshed tears. "I began to be afraid that you would not return and that I had a hand in driving you away."

Fitzwilliam's face fell as she spoke these words, his brow furrowing slightly. He took a step towards her, closing the small distance that separated them, as he stretched out one hand to caress her cheek. "Mary," Fitzwilliam whispered as he bent his head towards her, "you could never drive me away unless it was your most earnest wish."

Mary leaned into his touch, shivering slightly at the heady mixture of his closeness and the sound of her Christian name on his lips. While Mary was frightened by the strength of the feelings that coursed through her, his expression frightened her more. She saw in his countenance a look of such longing and desire that she did not trust herself to fully comprehend its meaning. Elizabeth's words of warning surfaced again to give her pause, but they were silenced by her heart's protests.

Mary was not sure how many moments they were employed thus before Georgiana and Elizabeth's collective gasp broke the spell. Mary instantly drew back from the Colonel, her eyes darting from the gentleman to her guardian and friend. Mary suddenly felt ashamed for allowing Fitzwilliam such liberties and for her response to his touch. She cast him an imploring wide eyed glance before running from the foyer for the safety of her rooms.

Chapter 5

Posted on Sunday, 25 September 2005

Colonel Fitzwilliam stormed out of the library, Darcy's words still ringing in his ears. Fitzwilliam could not believe that Darcy had spoken so about Mary or had been so vociferous in his condemnation of their attachment. Hastily calling for his horse from the bewildered footman who scurried behind him, Fitzwilliam made his way towards the stables and Beauregard. He needed to put some distance between himself and his cousin before he said something that he would later regret. As soon as his horse was ready, Fitzwilliam mounted his steed and rode off at a quick pace down the main road towards the gates of Pemberley. Longing for such a ride, Beauregard responded with enthusiasm to his master's urging, quickening his stride into a maddening run. Fitzwilliam allowed himself to be caught up in the sensation of the quick movement, the cold winter air lashing through his hair and against his face, Beauregard straining beneath him as he fought to keep up with his master's demanding pace. He passed nearly two hours in such activity before his temper was cooled and his mind was cleared. He was quite a distance from Pemberley then, perhaps thirty miles or more. Looking about his surroundings to get his bearings, he found himself near an overlook with a view of rock-studded hills and a gentle winding river below it. Dismounting his horse, Fitzwilliam patted Beauregard affectionately before walking towards the edge of the ridge.

Fitzwilliam gazed out over the landscape, the wind sending his coat tails streaming from behind him. A little distance away he spotted a small town nestled by the river. The town had the appearance of all that was peaceful and quaint with small thatched roofed cottages lined along its dirt roads and a few buildings of some significance scattered about it. Sighing as he took in the prospect, Fitzwilliam seated himself on a large rock to take a rest. His mind wondered to the events of the morning, causing him to shake his head in disbelief at both his own behavior and that of his cousin. He could not remember ever having had such an argument with him before. Darcy and Fitzwilliam had always been close, even closer than he was with his own brother Henry, and usually of the same mind. Their proximity in age served to make them fast playmates as boys. They would scamper about the grounds of Pemberley or Allendale House, his childhood home in Matlock, looking for mischief and adventure. They took special pleasure in vexing the housemaids by tracking all manner of mud and dirt into the house and secreting frogs into the kitchen. As they grew in maturity and put aside their boyish pursuits, their relationship had changed to one of mutual respect and confidence. By the time Darcy's father had died during their final years at Cambridge, it only seemed fitting that both be named guardian of Georgiana. Since then, Fitzwilliam had been a steady source of support and aid to Darcy through all manner of troubles such as the ordeal with Georgiana and Wickham, Darcy's search for Miss Lydia Bennet and Darcy's struggle to win the acceptance of Elizabeth into the family. In all of these struggles Fitzwilliam had been a most trusted advisor, advocate and agent. Fitzwilliam's heart ached over the realization that the one for whom he had been such a source of support would now refuse to lend his own.

The cold bite of the afternoon air soon began to affect Fitzwilliam, causing him to shiver unconsciously. He had not realized how long he tarried on the hilltop surveying the scenery distractedly. The sun had already begun its lazy retreat into the west.

"It will not do for me to freeze to death," Fitzwilliam sighed aloud, turning from the scene before him and walking towards Beauregard, who released a weary neigh as he neared. Fitzwilliam's stomach growled loudly in response, causing him to laugh aloud despite himself.

"Don't worry old boy," Fitzwilliam replied as he gently stroked the animal's side, responding to both his stomach and his horse. "We shall get you some rest and hay anon."

Fitzwilliam made his way down towards the small town he had spied from the hilltop in search of a tavern or inn where both he and Beauregard could find sustenance. The sun had already set as he reached the outskirts of the village. Warm light cast by newly lit lanterns illuminated the road before him. As he neared the town square, shopkeepers could be seen busying themselves with preparations for closing.

"Excuse me, good sir," Fitzwilliam called to a merchant busily engaged in sweeping the steps in front of his shop, "could you direct me to the nearest saloon or inn where I might find refreshment for my horse and myself?"

"Sir, I'm afraid we don't ‘ave no saloons as it were. This be but a small village. We do ‘ave an inn just a quarter mile down the way. It ain't quite fit for such a fine gentleman but the ale is cold and the stew is hot."

"That will serve me well enough," Fitzwilliam murmured before nodding his thanks.

The merchant affected an awkward bow in return as Fitzwilliam spurred Beauregard towards the inn. He found the shopkeeper's description of the inn apt. It was a very small establishment of merely two stories in height that could not have held more than five or so guestrooms. Despite the small size of the inn, the service was adequate. As soon as he dismounted, a boy met him to take Beauregard to a small stable in the rear of the establishment where he would be provided with water, hay and a relatively warm place to tarry. Fitzwilliam found the appearance of the inn as well managed as the service. The décor was simple as were the furnishings, and the inn was kept impeccably clean. The floors were freshly scrubbed, as were the windows that glowed warmly from the candles placed before each one. At the bar a few older men with gray hairs and rounded bellies sat nursing pints of ale and exchanging local gossip. A matronly woman with a round pleasant face kept bar, watching over her patrons as would a mother hen. The entire establishment had the air of a pleasant country inn, quite the opposite of the rowdy smoked filled officer's clubs that he was accustomed to. There would be no drinking himself into a stupor this night. Spotting a table tucked away towards the back of the room, Fitzwilliam sat down hoping that his luck in finding a well managed inn would extend to being offered an edible meal and an adequate selection of spirits.

A rosy-cheeked girl of no more than fifteen years greeted him with a smile. "Good evening, sir. What can I get for ya?"

"A glass of brandy will suit me as well as a hot meal. Would I be lucky enough to be able to have some roast lamb or mutton?"

"Oh, I'm sorry sir, but we don't ‘ave any roast tonight," the waitress replied, shaking her head and sending her blonde curls dancing. "But, we do ‘ave shepherd's pie and some roast carrots. That'll do ya just as fine as any roast. My ma makes the best shepherd's pie this side of Derbyshire."

"Well, then shepherd's pie it is," Fitzwilliam smiled weakly, unsure if the girl's statement really did much to recommend the dish to him. "And just bring the entire bottle of brandy."

The girl curtseyed shyly before running off to her task, leaving Fitzwilliam to brood as he saw fit. His homey surroundings were unable to penetrate the blackness of his mood, although the pleasant smells wafting from the kitchen caused him to reassess his previous judgment of the shepherd's pie. The girl soon returned with a glass and a bottle of brandy, which Fitzwilliam accepted with pleasure. Pouring himself a cup of the strong spirits, Fitzwilliam sighed with a strange contentment. Perhaps it was better this way. What he needed most of all was a quiet place to collect his thoughts rather than a flowing tap to numb them. After having one glass of the stuff, Fitzwilliam debated pouring himself another before resolutely pushing the bottle away. It had been two solid weeks since he had imbibed to the point of drunkenness, seeking to dull the ache of memories he wished long forgotten.

Fitzwilliam's thoughts turned to his deployment in Louisiana, one of the former American colonies where one of the most devastating battles of the so named War of 1812 was waged. Fitzwilliam still bristled from the irony of his being dispatched to a pointless war a few scant months before Napoleon escaped from Elba. Fresh from battling Napoleon during his first reign of terror on the continent, Fitzwilliam had been deployed for over a year to this southern state to take part in the ill fated battle of New Orleans, home to festering swamp lands, withering summer humidity and some of the most troubling memories of his reckoning. It was there in January of 1815 where he saw so many of his men fall to a ragtag amalgamation of American soldiers, militiamen and Jean Lafitte's band of pirates. He was forced to watch helplessly as the Americans shot one of his men after another from the safety of their garrison as General Pakenham blindly continued the assault. Dashing, young and a quick rising star in both the military and society, Edward Pakenham had fought alongside Fitzwilliam in the Napoleonic campaigns. Pankenham's successes there showed him to be a capable leader; however his promise as a military strategist was soon cut short. Exhausted, dispirited and lacking in both supplies and confidence in their young general, the men were ill prepared and little able to mount a strong defense much less storm the American ramparts. The ladders his men had spent the better part of a week constructing had been ordered left behind in Pakenham's lust for battle. At least Colonel Fitzwilliam was able to ensure that his men were properly outfitted with rifles and sabers. Other regiments were less prepared, barely arriving at Chalmette in proper uniform. Pakenham had predicted an easy victory before leading his men to their defeat and his own death. He fell to an American musket ignorant that the battle was a fruitless effort; the Treaty of Ghent had been signed days before effectively ending the war in a draw. More than 700 British soldiers lost their lives with another 2,000 captured and wounded. A paltry 71 Americans met similar fates.

Fitzwilliam returned to England a man of changed demeanor and outlook. His thoughts permanently fixed on the events of January 1815. He could not close his eyes without encountering the pale ashen faces of his troops haunting him from the grave. Sleep evaded him and his waking moments were spent reliving the events of that day. While he had thought the hustle and bustle of life in London would be a welcome distraction, he soon found the society there grating. He could no longer play the role of the charming and witty younger son of an earl. Balls, dinners and nights at the opera became a chore where the only thing that enabled him to appear the picture of civility was a flask of brandy. The nights where his attentions were not demanded by the ton were spent at the officer's club. Even more exhausting than playing the role of his former pleasant self while in society was doing so for his closest relations. Lady Matlock had been the only one not fooled by his charade, recognizing his change in demeanor as soon as he set foot in the house. Fitzwilliam had done his best to avoid a discussion with his mother, spending the majority of his time the officer's club or on various errands about the town. However, his efforts proved useless in the face of his mother's concern. Fitzwilliam remembered the eventual confrontation with some shame.

"You are not happy, son," Lady Matlock began after closing the door to the morning room behind her.

"Mother, whatever do you mean?" Fitzwilliam replied, turning from his mother to lean against the mantle of the fireplace, his customary retreat when he felt put upon. "I have never felt better. I couldn't be more pleased to see London and my family after such a long absence."

"Richard Anthony Fitzwilliam," his mother began assuming a voice of mock anger. "You do remember that lying is a sin, do you not? You cannot fool me, Richard. You are miserable and it pains me greatly to see it. You have been home for nearly a month and it is plain to see that you are not yourself."

Fitzwilliam sighed deep in his chest before turning to face his mother. "And what if I am not myself, mother? Do I not have the right to be a little miserable?"

"I am worried, Richard, and so is your father. We were so afraid for you when you were sent to that awful war. I know that it must have been a horrible experience. I understand..."

"Please, do not tell me that you know anything of how I am feeling," Fitzwilliam interrupted her, his voice laced with bitterness. "You cannot begin to understand the things I have seen. Have you ever seen your friends slain before your eyes and their bodies thrown without ceremony into shallow mass graves? No, I do not think you have, mother. I do not think you have ever held a man while he lay struggling for his last breath. When you have lived one moment outside of your gilded cage then you can presume to tell me how I feel!"

Fitzwilliam's rant was met with a cold silence from her ladyship, who stood before him looking years older. Hurt and anger struggled for supremacy over her countenance as she stood looking at her son as if he were a stranger. He had never seen his mother look so small or bewildered as she did then and he immediately regretted both his harsh words and his tone.

"Mother, I am sorry. I..." Fitzwilliam began, his voice having lost the bitter edge of before.

"Do not ever presume to speak to me in that manner again," his mother began her voice a near whisper as she regarded him with sad grey eyes. "Yes, I have never known the suffering that you have experienced, Richard, nor do I desire to. However, I do know how to be grateful to those who have given me all that I have."

Fitzwilliam watched dumbly as his mother turned from him and exited the room quietly. For the next few days, he could hardly bear to look his mother in the eye. It was then that he decided to quit his parent's home for the quiet of Pemberley. He left London without sending word of his early arrival, seeking immediate rest for his mind that had been so addled by war. He was drawn back to the silent frost covered gardens of Pemberley; the long varied paths through quiet forests that he knew awaited him there, a fitting landscape for his dark mood. He had never expected to find his source of peace in the form of a young woman, especially one who was herself in mourning.

Fitzwilliam pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration before reaching once again for the brandy. He had promised himself not to give way once again to the bottle, but surely one extra glass of spirits would do him little harm. He had managed to down little more than a few gulps before his cheery waitress was by his side again with a tray of steaming food. Acknowledging the food, Fitzwilliam mumbled his thanks in a low tone before taking a bite of the offering. He was surprised to find the food more than tolerable and was moved to offer a sincere smile to the girl who stood by his table waiting expectantly for his reaction.

"I believe I am now inclined to agree with you, miss. This is perhaps the best shepherd's pie I have ever had the pleasure of eating."

The girl smiled broadly in response, before scampering off towards the kitchen to inform her mother.

Fitzwilliam let his mind stray to more pleasant thoughts of Mary as he silently devoured his meal. When he had first happened upon her only a few short weeks ago, he had no idea that he would find his solace in the countenance of a gentle fairy. Yes, that is what he had thought her then, when he nearly trampled upon her there by the lake. She had seemed to grow right out of the frost covered ground like some dark winter sprite, all clad in somber black with such bewitching brown eyes that he was immediately rendered speechless when he first looked upon them.

Fitzwilliam closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat, taking another sip of brandy as he recalled every detail of the lady that had captured his heart. He found Miss Farthington to be so very different from the ladies of the ton with whom he was accustomed. Fitzwilliam thought most of the ladies of his acquaintance overly talkative, prattling on incessantly with the latest gossip or opinions on the fashion and the like. Miss Farthington, however, was usually quiet and reserved, yet when taken with flights of fancy or speaking of her childhood home she overflowed with such a torrent of words that if spoken by another they would seem foolish but when coming from her lips were each turned a treasure. While other ladies of his acquaintance received his attentions with coyness, Mary's darting eyes and quick intakes of breath at his flirtations or touch attested to her virtue and delicate sensibilities. Mary's voice further belied the gentleness of her spirit, her tones both light and soft yet not requiring one to strain to hear her. He remembered his surprise upon first hearing it, supposing that his first notion of her being a fairy was correct as he found himself constantly enraptured by whatever words passed over her lips. During her daily stories with young William, Fitzwilliam found the sensation of listening even more delightful than the vision of her seated before him. That is not to say that he did not find her beautiful, although that is not the word he would use to describer her appearance. Beautiful had the notion of something that needed to be caged or cosseted to preserve its value. Mary's beauty was not that of one forever under the shade of a parasol but was all that was natural and fresh; her sun kissed nutmeg complexion defiant of the frost of the English winter.

If there was but one feature that Fitzwilliam could affix the beginnings of his infatuation to it was Mary's eyes. He could now understand Darcy's fixation with the eyes of his wife. Indeed, a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman was a thing to be admired. Mary's eyes were large and unguarded dark brown pools that shone with warmth and earnestness. Every turn of her mind or heart could be seen in them. They sparkled with wonder and mischief during her stories for little William, easily bewitching both of her listeners. When afraid, they seemed to grow impossibly larger and more beautiful revealing the vulnerability of a woman who strove to ever have the appearance of composure. When she was miserable and helpless, as he had found her that morning, they had the power to draw any man to her defense, making her sorrow his own and willing him to make all well at any cost.

While he had only known Mary for a short time, it was enough for him to be sure of his own heart. The past two weeks had been some of the happiest and most peaceful of his recent memory. He had not known that he could find such pleasure in listening to children's tales or by simply being in someone's presence. He smiled to himself as he pushed his now empty plate away from him. Six years ago he thought it impossible that he would again have the option to marry for love. A moderately pretty woman with a comfortable fortune was all he desired in a wife. Elizabeth and Darcy had shown him the hollowness of such a desire. At that time his cousin had the courage to do what Fitzwilliam would not do, as well as an income sizable enough to make such a union possible.

Darcy. Fitzwilliam found himself growing more disappointed with his cousin than angry. Fitzwilliam wondered why Darcy would not support him in doing the very thing he had done. Indeed, his marriage to Elizabeth brought on the disapproval of a few powerful people in his family circle, including the Earl of Matlock. Yet, Fitzwilliam's parents had warmed to Elizabeth after a few months and with the birth of William Bennet, their previous objections were forgotten. The ton was also cold in their initial reception of Mrs. Darcy, but quite a few parties were won over when the character and merits of the lady were demonstrated. Mrs. Darcy was not liked by the entire ton, to be sure. Some ladies were still sore that a country girl of little social standing was able to wrangle a catch such as Darcy when their charms proved inadequate.

Fitzwilliam was not silly enough to think he would not face similar or even greater resistance from his family and society in marrying Miss Farthington. While no one could raise his or her nose at Miss Farthington's wealth or accomplishments, Darcy was correct in his estimation of the censure his marriage to a black woman would bring. Although parliament had abolished slavery in England and the African heritage of Queen Charlotte was widely known and even celebrated in verse and art, Fitzwilliam was well aware that the opinion of the common man was not in keeping with that of parliament or the crown. However, Fitzwilliam regarded the love of Mary as more valuable than the good opinion of anyone. Fitzwilliam had little desire to be received at balls or assemblies and he no longer found pleasure in the hollow social life of London. All he required to make him happy was a comfortable house to live with the wife of his choosing and their children.

Placing a few coins on the table in payment, Fitzwilliam rose from his chair with an air of determination about him. He would not let Darcy's displeasure keep him from the object of his affection. He would take his one chance at happiness and secure Mary as his wife.

The return to Pemberley was more arduous than Fitzwilliam had expected. A heavy snow had begun to fall during his tarry at the inn and the roads grew more hazardous by the minute. It took him nearly four hours to arrive at the front steps of Pemberley, his muscles sore from the ride and his aspect altogether disheveled. He desired nothing more than a hot bath and a warm bed as the footman divested him of his overcoat that was wet with snow. He was surprised to find Mary just crossing the foyer as he entered.

Her warm greeting and smiling face chased the chill of his long ride from his limbs as he watched her hurry towards him. Her brown eyes squinted with worry as she examined his person and treated him to a barrage of anxious questions. Fitzwilliam smiled despite himself at her display of concern, pleased that she missed his presence. His smile disappeared pleasure mingled with pain at her confession that she thought she had a hand in his sudden departure.

He took a step towards her, closing the small distance that separated them, as he stretched out one hand to caress her cheek. Her skin was warm and soft as silk.

"Mary," Fitzwilliam whispered as he bent his head towards her, "you could never drive me away unless it was your most earnest wish."

Fitzwilliam's heart raced at her response to his touch. Her eyes never left his as she leaned into his touch, her lips parted slightly in an inaudible sigh. She could not have known what a pleasing picture she made then, her eyes wide and searching and her head bent gently to the side. Before he knew what he was about, he found himself drawing closer to claim her lips in a kiss. The entrance of Elizabeth and Georgiana prevented him from achieving his goal. As he watched Mary's figure advance up the stairs and out of sight, he silently cursed himself for both his lack of discretion and the timely entrance of his cousins.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, would you care to explain what has transpired here tonight?" Elizabeth asked Fitzwilliam, her cheeks slightly flushed from the shock of what she saw.

"Mrs. Darcy, I...I assure you there is no need to be concerned. Miss Farthington and I were just...we were simply engaged in an innocent conversation," Fitzwilliam replied, slowly recovering himself as he became more aware of the impropriety of what had just taken place.

"Conversation? Is that what they are calling it these days? Well, it appeared to me as if you were about to kiss Miss Farthington. Is this assumption incorrect, sir?" Elizabeth's voice was even as she sternly addressed him, but Fitzwilliam thought he detected a glimmer of amusement in her brown eyes.

"I... I assure you, Mrs. Darcy that we were indeed conversing. However, if you would like to discuss this matter further, may I suggest that we retire to the music room?" Fitzwilliam had suddenly become aware of the footman and butler who had attended him upon his return and who undoubtedly witnessed the entire event. He suddenly felt more like a silly chit of sixteen years rather than a gentleman of nearly four and thirty.

Elizabeth assented to Fitzwilliam's request, bidding Georgiana goodnight as she began to lead the way to the music room. Georgiana frowned at her apparent dismissal before mounting the stairs determinedly to her chambers. Fitzwilliam watched this display of his young cousin with some surprise, before Elizabeth's gentle clearing of her throat recalled him to his purpose. Fitzwilliam followed Elizabeth into the music room; his jaw set tight expecting the worse. As Miss Farthington's guardian, Elizabeth had the right to be most severe in her judgment of his scandalous behavior. It was even within her right to force him to marry Miss Farthington, a sentence he would undoubtedly be happy to carry out. However, Fitzwilliam was unwilling to bring censure to Miss Farthington and so strove to appear the picture of contrition.

"Elizabeth, I must extend my sincerest apologies for my reckless and imprudent behavior this afternoon," Fitzwilliam began, dropping his shoulders and speaking in his most earnest tone. "However it may have appeared, you must know that I would never think of compromising Miss Farthington. I await your good judgment as to my sentence. I am fully prepared to do my duty as a gentleman."

Fitzwilliam waited for Elizabeth's response, watching the woman expectantly. He was surprised to see her determined frown inch towards a smile before breaking out into a full-blown laugh. Fitzwilliam was taken aback by this display, as it was quite the opposite of what he had anticipated. When Elizabeth's mirth showed no signs of abating, Fitzwilliam soon found his feelings shifting from astonishment to offense.

"I fail to see what is so humorous, Mrs. Darcy," Fitzwilliam stated firmly, his pride slightly wounded.

"It is you that I find amusing, dear cousin," Elizabeth managed between deep breaths as she fought to regain her composure.

Fitzwilliam frowned in response, finding the offered answer to his question a further affront to his dignity. Noticing the dramatic turn of his countenance, Elizabeth erupted into another bought of laughter.

"Richard, you are indeed Fitzwilliam's relation. You both detest being laughed at," Elizabeth offered once her laughter had subsided. "But, how is one expected to react to such a speech? You know me well enough, dear cousin, to know that I would only find amusement in such an oration. From what I observed of your ‘innocent conversation' a forced marriage to Miss Farthington would not be the unwelcome sentence you describe. "

Fitzwilliam sighed in relief, comforted by Elizabeth's ability to find humor in any situation.

"Oh, do not suppose that you are to go unpunished," Elizabeth continued, noticing his sigh of relief. "While I know you well enough to have no cause to fear for Miss Farthington's reputation, I do find this whole situation rather confusing. For the first time in quite a while I find myself completely uninformed of what is going on in my own home. Something happened this morning at church, of that I am sure, for it must have triggered the other goings on of today. I promise to absolve you of all guilt if you would be so kind as to inform me of all that you know."

After bidding Elizabeth to sit, Fitzwilliam went on to explain to her all that had occurred from Mary's experience overhearing the parson to his subsequent argument with Darcy and flight from Pemberley, leaving out the portion of his argument concerning his feelings towards Miss Farthington. Fitzwilliam did not want to distress Elizabeth with details concerning the words they exchanged nor was he anxious to hear more arguments against his courtship of Mary. Throughout the narration, Elizabeth's countenance displayed a range of emotion from sadness to anger to bewilderment. Fitzwilliam felt his own emotions being stirred in the relation, causing him to rise from his seat and begin pacing about the room.

"Well, that certainly explains a great deal. Mary's unrest this morning, my husband's ill temper, your absence from dinner and the exchange between Mary and yourself in the hall," Elizabeth replied in low tones, her eyes downcast. "Tell me Richard, do you truly love Mary?"

Fitzwilliam abruptly quit his pacing, turning towards Elizabeth with a look of disbelief. He did not recall speaking of his affection for Miss Farthington, having endeavored to avoid the subject if possible.

"Do not look so surprised, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth answered his questioning look, rising from her chair and regarding him with a warm smile as she walked towards him. "I had an inkling that there may be some sort of attachment growing between the both of you. However, it was not until this evening that I was assured of your feelings regarding Mary."

"Have I been that transparent?" Fitzwilliam smiled ruefully. "I must say that I am heartily disappointed in myself. My years of military training have not served me well in the art of subterfuge."

Elizabeth smiled broadly at this declaration, before taking her cousin by the hand and leading him towards a couch.

"Your face betrays it all, cousin. But, take heart and rest assured that your skills as a soldier in the King's army are not in question. I am sure that you can conceal matters of state well enough, but matters of the heart are all together different. They have a way of making a man not quite himself," Elizabeth smiled sweetly, as if recalling some pleasant memory before continuing. "Richard, I confess I am somewhat surprised for I cannot recall when I last saw you so smitten with any lady, and this after spending three seasons with you in London."

Fitzwilliam regarded Elizabeth thoughtfully for a moment. He had missed his conversations with her during his long absence. Elizabeth had an easy and open way about her that made him feel instantly at ease. He remembered their first conversations at Rosings with fondness. Then he had felt like he had found a kindred spirit with whom he could let down his guard and be at peace. He had fancied himself in love and had spent the next five years chastising himself for not acting on his feelings and securing her hand before his cousin ever thought to. Now he knew better than to dwell on the past and curse his inaction. If he had been bolder then, less concerned with the good opinion of the ton and securing a comfortable life, he would not have had the chance to meet Mary.

"Yes, I suppose it is rather surprising. My heart may have not been easily touched in the past," Fitzwilliam sighed deeply. "May I speak candidly with you, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, of course, Richard, you know that," Elizabeth replied with a gentle smile.

"I have not been a happy man for quite some time. I will not go into all the details now, but until I rode into Pemberley a fortnight ago, I had not known such happiness or such heartache as I do now. I had thought that joy and I would forever be estranged from each other until I met Miss Farthington," Fitzwilliam paused, rising from his seat to stand by the nearly extinguished fire. He tossed another log onto the fire and poked the embers distractedly.

"This may sound foolish, but to even be in her presence brings me such a contentment and peace that I never wish to leave her side," Fitzwilliam continued before turning to face Elizabeth. "She is truly everything that is lovely and desirable in a woman and although I am sure I do not deserve her affection, I would be the happiest of men is she would consent to be my wife. Neither Darcy's displeasure nor any supposed familial censure can sway me from that course."

The serene smile that had graced Elizabeth's face during Fitzwilliam's confession was quickly replaced by the pursed lips and furrowed brow of confusion. "Fitzwilliam told you he was against your attachment?"

"Yes, he told me in no uncertain terms that he would not support me in seeking her hand. Darcy thinks that our alliance would be ‘beyond the bounds of reason' and that I should be wary of aligning myself with a woman whose status is decidedly below my own," Fitzwilliam repeated his cousin's condemnation in a tone laced with bitterness and irony.

"No, cousin. That cannot be right. My husband would not say such a thing," Elizabeth replied, her good humor gone in an instant.

Fitzwilliam sighed, "For your sake and my own, Elizabeth, I wish I were speaking an untruth."

"I still fail to see why he would say such a thing. He supported Anne's marriage to Mr. Thackery despite his relative poverty of both income and connections not to mention our own marriage. Unlike Mr. Thackery or myself, Mary does not lack fortune..."

"But she lacks connections, Elizabeth," Fitzwilliam interrupted wearily. "In this aspect I fear that your husband is of the same mind as Parson Geoffries. Neither of them can see beyond her skin. The daughter of a merchant Darcy could support. Nay, even the daughter of a barkeep would be more palatable to him than the daughter of a slave."

Elizabeth sank into her chair, disbelief and grief written over her features. Fitzwilliam watched Elizabeth with some concern, desiring to bring his friend some comfort but not knowing what to say. They sat for several moments in silence, each lost in their own thoughts on the subject. Fitzwilliam wondered if it were indeed wise to reveal all to Elizabeth as her mood was markedly altered by his confession.

"Richard," Elizabeth began, turning to her cousin with an earnest look. "I must confess that I am much grieved by my husband's opinion on the matter. I know his consent is necessary for you to court and wed Mary, but beyond that, I could not bear to see your friendship suffer for this or to have our family forever divided."

"Elizabeth, do you mean to tell me that you are against my attachment for the sake of family peace?" Fitzwilliam sighed, his heart sinking at her words. He had thought that in relating all that he might secure Elizabeth as an ally.

"No, Richard. You mistake my meaning. I support you in this, surely I do. However, I cannot bear to witness any bitterness between you and Fitzwilliam. I intend to speak to my husband, plead your case and perhaps help him to see reason."

"Elizabeth, you cannot begin to understand how happy you have just made me," Fitzwilliam beamed, kissing his cousin's hands in thanks.

"There is one other matter that we must discuss before I petition my husband on your behalf," Elizabeth began once her cousin had released her.

"Yes, of course. Anything, cousin." Fitzwilliam replied, the smile never leaving his face as he resumed his seat on the couch next to her.

"It is clear that you are very sure of your own heart, but are you sure of Mary's regard for you? I can believe the sincerity of your declarations, but before we battle the collective will of my husband and your parents, we should be sure that Mary is as much in love with you as you are with her."

"Mary's regard?" Fitzwilliam replied with a look of confusion laced with doubt. "I...I am sure that she would receive my attentions with pleasure."

"Are you very sure, Richard?" Elizabeth replied. "Miss Farthington has known you for a scant few weeks. While I have detected some partiality on her part, I wonder if she has had the time to truly known her own heart. I remember a certain gentleman who being very sure of receiving a positive response to his solicitation ended up very surprised and disheartened at a certain lady's vehement refusal."

"Do you speak of that Collins fellow? Darcy told me of his ill fated and comical quest for your hand. Do you mean to compare me to that foolish chap?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"No. I am sure that no one could find any resemblance between the two of you save for you both being men and my cousin," Elizabeth laughed, her humor returning. "No, I mean to compare you to your esteemed cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"Darcy!" Fitzwilliam exclaimed. "Do you mean to tell me that he applied for your hand only to be refused?"

"Yes, it is true," Elizabeth replied with a broad smile. "I am very surprised that Darcy never told you that particular story! However, I suppose a gentleman would be more forthcoming with tales of another man's folly than with his own. It all took place at Hunsford. Mr. Darcy proposed rather badly and I resolutely turned him down. At the time, I couldn't have been more surprised or offended by such a proposal while he could not have been more surprised by my vehement refusal."

"That is a shocking story, indeed," Fitzwilliam replied shaking his head in disbelief. "However, I can believe my cousin capable of delivering a botched proposal."

"It was not the manner of the proposal that won my refusal," Elizabeth continued, regarding her cousin seriously. "Rather, I was offended that he should presume to propose at all. You see, although I knew of Mr. Darcy, I really did not know him as he should have been known. With a little more communication and time, my eyes were opened and I was able to see that he was the very best of men. When he renewed his addresses, I happily accepted them knowing that I truly loved him."

At the conclusion of her tale, Fitzwilliam appeared to be very out of sorts. While he himself had just this morning named the feeling that was growing within his breast upon first meeting Miss Farthington, he had assumed that the lady joined him in a mutual regard. The thought of Mary disliking him or even being indifferent troubled him greatly.

"You think that Miss Farthington would reject my proposal of marriage?"

"I could not say one way or the other, Richard. My advice is only that you allow her every opportunity of knowing you better. She will know her own heart in time."

"In time..." Fitzwilliam replied, rising from his seat dejectedly. "Time is one of the things that I do not have mastery over."

A short silence settled between them as Fitzwilliam ruminated over all that had passed between them. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, the fatigue of the evening catching up with him. Elizabeth's support had given him cause to hope again. Yet, those hopes were now threatened by doubt.

"Richard, I have an idea," Elizabeth began. "I have been formulating a plan to have a Twelfth Night ball here at Pemberley. I know we had originally envisioned a quiet holiday, but I thought a ball would be an excellent way to prepare Mary for all of the social events of the season. Several families of note from throughout the area would be invited, including your brother the Viscount and his wife Lady Rebecca. There remain eighteen days between now and Twelfth Night. During that time I will prevail upon my husband and you can be about the business of divining the feelings of Miss Farthington."

Fitzwilliam readily agreed to Elizabeth's idea, encouraged by her support despite his growing doubt as to Mary's regard for him. Elizabeth entreated him to take heart that all will work out for the best. On that note, Fitzwilliam bid his cousin goodnight after escorting her to her chambers and headed toward his own with a lighter spirit.

Elizabeth entered her bedroom chamber with a weary body but a mind too engaged to easily allow her sleep. Her spirits were very much disturbed by what Richard had related to her. While she was surprised to learn the depths of her cousin's feelings for her charge, she was more surprised by her husband's vehement opposition to such a union. She had never known Fitzwilliam and Richard to be in such disagreement and while the familial strife vexed her greatly, she was more saddened over the reason for the discord rather than the discord itself.

Five years into their marriage, Elizabeth had grown to believe her husband was truly the best of men. While they had their occasional spirited disagreements, she knew her husband to be of a fair and temperate mind. All vestiges of undo pride and pretension had long been erased from his character. He was a fair and generous employer and landlord as well as an ardent philanthropist. He supported a variety of charities and causes from abolition to homes for the rescue of wayward girls even when the support of such causes was not popular in their social circle. Yes, he was the very best of men in all these areas. Elizabeth never had cause to be ashamed of or disappointed in her husband until now. For the first time in their marriage she began to doubt if her husband had truly changed from the man who had offended her so at Hunsford.

Laying down her brush, Elizabeth eyed the door adjoining her chamber to that of her husband with some trepidation. As always, the door was unlocked. The pair had seldom slept apart save when Mr. Darcy was away on business or she was visiting friends or relations elsewhere. Other than those necessary occasions, she had only locked her door during their bitterest disputes. One such disagreement found them feuding with one another for nearly a week, her door remaining locked the entire time. Their reconciliation had been particularly poignant, with each promising to never let the sun set with their anger still in high tempest. However, this night Elizabeth could not bring herself to speak with her husband; much less share the same bed with him. With a sigh, Elizabeth rose from her seat and firmly locked the door.

Chapter 6

Posted on Saturday, 21 January 2006

"You could never drive me away unless it was your most earnest wish," Richard replied breathily as he caressed Mary's cheek with one hand.

Mary sighed with contentment, her eyes closing as she leaned into his touch. Upon opening her eyes, she was surprised by the intensity of Richard's gaze. His blue eyes were fixed upon her with a look of complete ardor. Mary grew alarmed, but did not make to protest as Richard slowly bent his head to capture her lips in a gentle kiss. The kiss soon grew from a tentative peck to a passionate assault upon her mouth that stole her breath away. They parted after what seemed like several minutes, each panting heavily from the exertion. Mary and Richard regarded each other thoughtfully, an unspoken invitation and acceptance passing between them. Lifting her with little effort, Richard carried Mary up the stairs and toward his chambers.

Mary woke with a start, her cheeks hot with embarrassment. She slid quickly from her bed and stumbled towards her nightstand. Mary washed her face with cool water, regarding her reflection carefully in the mirror as she wondered what had become of her. For the second time that night, Mary had woken herself from dreams of Fitzwilliam that had grown steadily more intense. They all had begun the same, a version of her encounter with Fitzwilliam the evening earlier. Yet they all ended differently growing from a chaste kiss on the cheek to more carnal expressions of affection. Mary was quite surprised by her ability to conjure such vivid dreams.

After drying her face, Mary pulled her comforter off of her bed and pulled it around her shoulders as she made her way over to the window. Dawn was just arriving and the faint orange yellow light of the sun made the snow covered ground shimmer. Mary observed the thick blanket of white with some trepidation. She had looked forward to an early morning walk to collect herself before facing the rest of the household and the consequences of her behavior. However, her plans were somewhat dashed by the sight of a good two feet of snow covering the ground.

Mary turned from the window and sat before the fire, tucking her legs beneath her and drawing her blanket tight. She could not help but to wonder what sage advice her father would have for her in her present situation. Lord Farthington had rarely spoken to her about matters of the heart or how to deal with gentleman admirers beyond the Biblical instruction he gave. She knew from Proverbs that the fear of the Lord was a valuable feature of a virtuous woman, more so than beauty or charm. She had listened dutifully to exhortations on modesty and obedience and had studied diligently the stories of women of virtue in the Bible. Beyond these moral lessons, the only other instruction he had given her was of an academic and artistic nature as he valued the development of talents and intellect as highly as the development of a strong moral core. Myths of antiquity provided little insight on proper behavior as the exploits of the gods and goddesses of Greek lore were anything but moral. Mary now wondered at her father's lack of instruction on these matters.

While Lord Farthington had been remiss on instructing his daughter in matters of the heart, he was careful to shelter her from anything he presumed harmful, including the few would be suitors she had in New Sussex. Her beauty and fortune had won her the admiration of a few young men on the island. Sometimes after returning home from church or from the rare social function she was permitted to attend, flowers and trinkets from her admirers along with the occasional note would await her. Her governess would always intercept these items on instructions from Lord Farthington. Thus, Mary was hardly aware at her suitor's failed attempts at courtship, receiving their attentions to her at church and about town with kind indifference. Now Mary found herself responding to a certain male's attentions with anything but indifference. She found her new situation quite frustrating.

Mary could not reconcile Elizabeth's account of Fitzwilliam with her own perception of the man. Elizabeth had warned her of the Colonel's flirtatious manner and ability to render any lady thoroughly besotted while his heart remained untouched. His teasing and forward behavior throughout most of their acquaintance had lent much credence to Elizabeth's characterization. Yet, his behavior on Sunday had mirrored his behavior when they had first met, renewing her growing affection for him. Rather than the rake who found pleasure in vexing her, Fitzwilliam was protective, gentle and kind. Mary shut her eyes and smiled despite herself at the memory of the touch of his hand upon her cheek and the sound of her Christian name on his tongue. While those actions could also be attributed to a rogue, the look in his eyes could not. Mary had seen a depth of emotion and feeling in his look that made her tremble. Perhaps Elizabeth did not really understand Fitzwilliam either. Maybe Fitzwilliam was a good man who genuinely cared for her.

Mary's contemplations were interrupted by a light knock at the door. Mary was pleased to find April at the door along with two housemaids with buckets of hot water for her morning bath. Mary greeted her with a smile ready to begin her day.

Darcy woke up in a foul mood. He spent a sleepless night in an unfamiliar bed; his own. Darcy rarely slept in his bed, the piece of furniture functioning more as decoration than a place to sleep. In addition to his weariness, anger over Elizabeth's actions compounded his ill temper. When he first attempted to enter her room and found he door locked, he was immediately stricken with worry, having assumed that Elizabeth was ill. However, her maid reported that her mistress did not report any ailment when she attended to her. Darcy could only assume that Elizabeth was angry with him, but Darcy was at a loss for the cause. He reviewed his behavior toward her with care and found it to be blameless. What vexed him the most was that he and his wife had long since made a promise to one another to not let the sun set on their anger and to readily relate to one another their displeasure.

Darcy entered the breakfast room and was pleased to see that Elizabeth was there breakfasting alone.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," Darcy began as he entered the room. "I hope that your evening was a pleasant one."

"Yes, thank you," Elizabeth replied in a low tone, her eyes fixed on the plate in front of her. Darcy could tell from this action that something was seriously the matter. Normally when Elizabeth was merely angry with him, her ire could be read in the fire in her eyes and the defiant set of her shoulders when she faced him. Darcy found that the resentment he had harbored when he woke up began to fade as he became sincerely concerned for his wife. An angry Lizzy he could handle, but a Lizzy in pain was another matter.

"I am surprised to hear that seeing as I found your door locked last night. As your maid did not report any ailment to me, I can only assume that something else was troubling you."

Elizabeth took a sip from her cup of tea, her features schooled to be indifferent.

Darcy sighed, before pulling out a chair and seating himself beside his wife, "Elizabeth, won't you tell me what is troubling you so? I cannot repair the situation if I do not know what is bothering you."

At this final sentence, Elizabeth turned to look at him, her eyes showing some of the fire he was more accustomed to, but her voice betraying a deeper hurt. "I fear that you are well aware of the cause of my ‘trouble,' William. In fact, it is of your creation."

Darcy replied with a look of confusion. "I am sorry, Elizabeth, but I do not understand your meaning. I cannot think of anything in particular that would have upset you so. If you would simply tell me what I have done..."

"William, tell me plainly. Why won't you allow Fitzwilliam to court Mary?" Elizabeth turned to look at her husband fully, her eyes wide and questioning.

"I have not forbid him from courting Mary. He has never come to me seeking permission." Darcy replied, taken aback.

Elizabeth set her tea cup firmly on the table. "However, you have clearly told him of your disapproval of his choice which has all the strength of forbidding him from courting her!"

"So this has been the source of your discontent?" Darcy replied as he quit his seat and paced to the other side of the room. "I am surprised, madam, that you have such strong objections to a conversation that did not concern you."

"I beg to differ, Mr. Darcy. The conversation is of my concern as it affects the happiness of a dear cousin and friend and that of a sweet and completely suitable young woman who is my charge," Elizabeth replied passionately as she quit her seat to stand before her husband, her eyes flashing angrily.

"Good morning," Colonel Fitzwilliam greeted brightly as he entered the breakfast room. His smile faded as he observed the scene before him. "I seem to have come for breakfast at an inopportune time. If you will excuse me."

Darcy raised his hand to halt his cousin's retreat. "Please, Fitzwilliam, do sit and enjoy your breakfast. Mrs. Darcy and I will continue our conversation in my study."

Fitzwilliam watched them depart with some concern before being distracted by the lovely smell of fresh bacon wafting from the sideboard.

As soon as they entered the library, Darcy shut the door firmly behind them and bid his wife to be seated. Elizabeth gave him a withering look before planting herself in the offered chair and folding her hands in her lap as if waiting to be answered. Elizabeth steeled herself for the confrontation that she knew would have to take place.

"May I ask how you have come to the conclusion that I forbade Richard from seeking Mary's hand?"

"It is not as if I simply imagined this situation," Elizabeth replied passionately, "Richard told me that you have pronounced the prospect of their union to be ‘beyond the bounds of reason.' Were those not your words or did Richard tell me a fiction?"

"Yes, those were my words. I am not ashamed to claim them."

Elizabeth stared at her husband aghast. "You may not be ashamed to claim them, Mr. Darcy, but I am ashamed that you spoke them," Elizabeth replied as she rose to face her husband, her voice wavering slightly. "William, how can you stand by such words given our history? Did you not once consider our union to be unreasonable?"

"This is not the same!" Darcy replied with a raised voice as he turned away from his wife. "Why do you and Fitzwilliam persist in making that comparison? You are a gentleman's daughter and I am a gentleman's son. In essentials we are the same. That is not the case for Miss Farthington. No matter how dear she may now be to us, there is no way of denying that she is..."

"That she is what?" Elizabeth replied angrily as she walked around her husband so that she faced him once again. "That she is black? That her mother and her father where slaves?"

Darcy looked at her dumbfounded, surprised by her passion.

"Mr. Darcy, no matter how much you wish to deny it, our situations are essentially the same. I was not able to choose the family into which I was born. And while my family was reprehensible to you at one point, my family did not change who I was nor did our lowly status prevent us from being essentially good and honest people. Neither were you able to choose to be born into a life of power and privilege. Your position in life is simply an act of providence. Your wealth, your family prestige, your Cambridge education does not make you any better of a person than the lowly merchant or stable hand..."

"Elizabeth, I think you have said enough..."

"I do not think that I have. Could Mary choose her parents or her race? Would she be more sweet or more dear to us if she were born a Darcy or a Fitzwilliam? Would she be any better in the essentials?" Elizabeth demanded as she faced him. "Would you have loved me less if I were born a haberdasher's daughter rather than that of a country gentleman?"

"Of course not, Elizabeth," Darcy replied. "But we must be reasonable and think about what is best for Mary and our family. Mary must not marry Fitzwilliam; she simply cannot. We must be realistic."

Elizabeth looked up at her husband in disbelief. "I knew that you had your pride, Mr. Darcy. But I did not know that you were a bigot as well."

"Is that what you think of me?" Darcy replied in a low tone, his hurt evident in his features. "I did not think that you could regard me so meanly, Elizabeth." Darcy sat down heavily in his chair.

"William, I did not mean..."

"No, please stop," Darcy cut off her reply, his normal tone recovered. "Perhaps your assessment of me is not so off the mark, Mrs. Darcy. However I believe you may be forming your opinion out of misinformation, or rather from a lack of information. Please, sit down and allow me to better explain myself. Then, perhaps by the end of my tale you may think better of me."

Elizabeth nodded her agreement before taking a seat opposite her husband. Darcy regarded her silently for a few moments, his eyes saddened by their exchange. Taking a deep calming breath, he began his explanation.

"As you are aware, Miss Farthington was very distressed after leaving church yesterday morning. But, you may not be aware of the cause of her distress. After the service, Parson Geoffries told me that it was his desire and that of several members of the congregation, that Mary not sit in the front pew with us during services. He found it highly improper for a ‘negress' to sit up front and thought her better suited to sit with the servants. I, understandably, was very displeased by this and told Parson Geoffries so. I made it clear to him that if he could not treat Mary as a Darcy and would not speak to his parishioners about proper Christian conduct regarding her, that he should seek another position.

"Unbeknownst to me, Mary overheard our entire conversation and was quite distraught. Fitzwilliam was somehow there to console her and once we were home confronted me about the situation. We disagreed over how it should be handled and then found ourselves in the very conversation that has upset you so. Fitzwilliam admitted that he loved Mary and intend to seek her hand. I freely admit that my response was meant to discourage him from seeking her hand. It was my intent to demonstrate how their different social status would impact their life together. My language and tone, in hindsight, may have been overly strong. However, I did not speak so out of any dislike of Miss Farthington nor from some bigotry regarding her heritage. I acted as I saw fit to protect her and to protect Fitzwilliam."

"To protect them?"

"Yes, to protect them from society, from our family, from a life of pain and scorn. No matter how we feel about Mary, society will look on their union with derision. They will be shunned from society and cut off from our family. Their children also will be unable to escape censure and would never be received by the ton," Darcy rose from his seat and began to pace.

"I should hope that they would always be welcome at Pemberley," Elizabeth replied.

"Of course they would be, Elizabeth. However, you must understand that Mary and Richard would be in a situation very different from ours. My family and the ton could forget the source of their displeasure when your charm and wit was displayed before them. However, Mary cannot conceal what they find offensive; they merely have to look at her to discover it.

"As long as it is in my power, I will not let Mary face such unnecessary pain," Darcy paused as he poured himself a glass of brandy, finding he needed its soothing effect despite the early hour. "Remember the censure you received when our engagement was announced? I remember it clearly. Even with your wit and strength, it sometimes reduced you to tears. Now consider yourself in Mary's place but facing venom three times as potent as what you endured. How would you fare if you had Mary's gentle temperament? She does not have your strength, Elizabeth. She is far too sweet and her heart is easily wounded. You have seen this for yourself. What happened with the parson is just a small taste of what she may face."

"William, she may not need such protection. You cannot shelter her from every ill word or purpose."

"Yet, it is my duty to protect her," Darcy replied, voice slightly raised. "I promised to protect her as her father strove to do during his life and I intend to keep that promise."

They sat in silence for a few moments, absorbing what had passed between them. Elizabeth regarded her husband thoughtfully, acknowledging the truth of his words as she remembered their engagement and first year of marriage. She again saw her husband as the honorable and caring man with whom she had fallen in love. She began to regret some of her harsh words. Elizabeth smiled remorsefully at her husband, tears forming in her eyes.

"You are right, William. It is your duty to protect her. Yet, should we deny those we care for their chance at happiness? I am sure that they will face difficulties, yet love is worth fighting for...I know that we were worth fighting for."

At this, Darcy rose from his seat and wrapped his wife in a warm embrace, stroking her hair.

"Shhh, my love," Darcy comforted her, "Come now, you know that I cannot stand to see you cry. Our love was worth fighting for. I would face a thousand Lady Catherines all in high dudgeon to be with you."

"Would not Richard do the same for the woman he loved?"

Darcy loosened his hold on her and looked down at his wife. Her face betrayed both the strength of her emotions on the subject and her determination to plead her case with success. He could not deny the truth of her arguments yet he was reluctant to put aside his concerns on the matter.

"I will think on what you have said," Darcy replied after a few moments. "Right now that is all I can promise."

"That is enough," Elizabeth replied as she stepped closer to him to resume the closeness of their embrace. Darcy kissed the top of her head, breathing in the familiar scent of lavender.

"I was in misery without you last night," Darcy whispered into her hair after several long moments. "I can never sleep without you by my side."

"You do look worse for the wear, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied as she turned her head to look up at him, smiling impishly. "I wonder what can be done to improve your spirits."

Darcy grinned his reply before kissing her deeply on the mouth.

"Never shut me out again," Darcy breathed as they parted.

"I promise, my love," Elizabeth replied as she kissed him again. "I will try not to assume the worse in the future."

"Now, that will never do, Mrs. Darcy," Darcy replied as he looked down at her roguishly.

"Why not?"

"If you did not jump to conclusions, my Lizzy, we would have less opportunity to reconcile, and that would be a pity."

"Yes, quite a pity," Elizabeth replied as their lips met again.

Fitzwilliam was disappointed to have missed seeing Mary at breakfast. His interview with Elizabeth the night before gave him a reason to hope yet also unearthed doubts that he had not previously considered. He despaired that he had been too forward with Mary, forgetting himself after the stress of the day. He remembered the look on her face before she fled with some pain. It was a look of both alarm and questioning. While Elizabeth did not censure him for his action, perhaps Mary did. As soon as he finished breakfasting with Georgiana, Fitzwilliam began roaming the halls of Pemberley in search of Mary. He was surprised to find her alone in the solarium rather than absconded in the library or visiting Master William in the nursery as was her habit. He entered the room quietly, enjoying the sight of Mary walking among the plants and flowers, her head bent in thought and her fingers running absently over the foliage as she passed. He wondered what occupied her mind and secretly hoped it was thoughts of him.

As if sensing his presence, Mary looked up from her contemplation and turned towards him, her face absent of the smile Fitzwilliam had hoped to receive.

"Good morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Mary greeted him.

"Good morning, Miss Farthington," Fitzwilliam replied, crestfallen by her return to formality. "You are looking very well this morning. I trust that you rested well."

Mary smiled slightly, "In truth, I found that my rest was much disturbed, but I thank you for the compliment. I hope your night was more restful, Fitzwilliam."

Fitzwilliam suppressed his smile, "I too found my sleep much disturbed last night. I hope that yours was disturbed by dreams as pleasant as mine."

Mary started at this, turning from him and proceeding with her walk about the solarium. Fitzwilliam silently cursed himself for his comment, recollecting his primary purpose for seeking Mary out.

"Miss Farthington, may I join you in taking a turn?"

"Yes, you are very welcome," Mary replied avoiding his gaze.

Fitzwilliam thanked her for the courtesy and offered his arm to her. Mary glanced at his arm and then up at him as if she were unsure before taking it. They walked silently for a few moments, each unsure what to say to the other. Growing uneasy of the silence, Fitzwilliam ventured to begin some sort of conversation.

"How did you find the prospect of a snow covered Pemberley this morning, Miss Farthington?"

"Well, the view from my rooms was quite lovely this morning, although I fear so much snow has quite ruined my plans for the morning. I had hoped to take a walk this morning, but the sight of so much snow frightened me away. Does it always snow so much in England?"

"Well, Derbyshire winters do have their share of snow. However, I would rank last night's precipitation as being heavier than usual."

"I suppose that is some comfort then. I fear that I shall never grow accustomed to this weather."

Silence descended upon them again as they completed one circuit around the room. Fitzwilliam took the opportunity to savor the closeness of her, memorizing the feel of her hand pressed against his arm, the smell of her hair scented with rosewater and the slight downward curve of her lips as a slight frown graced her features. He found himself slightly saddened by her reception of him. While she was polite and obliging, he could tell that she was disturbed in someway. He sighed in disappointment, thinking that perhaps she found his actions from the other night objectionable. Not one to allow himself to suffer needlessly in torment, he stopped their progression around the room and turned toward her with a look of sincere regret.

"Miss Farthington, you must allow me to apologize if my behavior last night offended you in anyway. Indeed, it was not my intention to cause you any distress. My behavior was presumptuous and forward and I must beg your forgiveness if it was indeed unwelcome."

"There is no need for your apology, Fitzwilliam. Last evening we were both not ourselves," Mary replied, smiling weakly as she quickly averted her gaze.

"Were my attentions to you unwelcome?" Fitzwilliam asked, almost pleadingly, as he took one of her hands into his.

"No." Her reply was nearly inaudible as she bent her head to study her hand in his. Fitzwilliam allowed the smile he had earlier fought to suppress to overtake his features. Mary's terse reply was all the encouragement he needed.

"Mary," her head shot up to meet his gaze at the use of her name, "nearly as soon as I met you, you have impressed me as a woman of many accomplishments whose gentle spirit and kind heart have set your apart from all others. Your beauty and grace only add to your charms..."

"Fitzwilliam, I..." Mary interrupted, turning her gaze towards their intertwined hands once more.

"Please, Mary," Fitzwilliam stopped her reply. "I do not presume to now ask you the one question that has long been my heart's desire. I merely beg of you a simple favor. While this may appear to be an odd request from one who shares the same dwelling as yourself, I ask your indulgence nonetheless. Will you permit me to call upon you at your leisure? All I desire is the opportunity to win your affection and to convince you of the violence of mine."

Fitzwilliam waited for her response, unconsciously holding his breath as he watched her. Mary continued to study their joined hands for several moments, her face indiscernible, before she whispered her consent. Fitzwilliam smiled broadly before gently raising her chin with his free hand, bidding her to meet his gaze.

"I am sorry, I am afraid that I did not quite hear. Would you remind repeating that, Mary?" he questioned teasingly.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam," Mary smiled up at him. "Nothing would give me more pleasure."

Delight and relief flooded Fitzwilliam's face at her reply. The only thing that would have made him happier at that moment would have been if she had agreed to marry him. However, he was more than content for now.

"Mary, you do not know how happy you have made me," Fitzwilliam replied as he moved his hand from her chin to caress her cheek. He smiled as she instinctively moved into his touch, her eyes never leaving his. His look became more intense as he rubbed his thumb gently over her lips. Mary responded by parting her lips slightly, closing her eyes on a sigh. Fitzwilliam decided to complete the happy task he had set out to complete last night, bending his head towards hers to claim her lips in a gentle kiss. Her response was tentative and shy, confirming his suspicions that she had never been kissed. Fearful of frightening her away, he forced himself to move from her lips to gently kiss her upon each closed eyelid before ending with a soft peck upon her forehead. He pulled away from her to regard the impact of his touch on her. She gazed up at him with a look of both embarrassment and delight.

"Now that you have taken to addressing me so informally, may I call you by your first name as well, sir?"

"Yes, by all means, Mary," he laughed, humored by her formal reply after such an interaction.

"Then I shall call you Richard when we are as we are now. Richard is so much easier than Fitzwilliam."

Fitzwilliam laughed again, before bringing her hands up to his lips to kiss. "Yes, I suppose it is. Yet you must admit, madam that Farthington is quite a mouthful as well."

Mary laughed and then gasped as Richard turned her hands over to bestow a kiss in the palm of each. Mary laughed again as she pulled herself out of his grasp and continued to walk around the solarium. Fitzwilliam stood watching her for several moments, overwhelmed with joy at her reception of him. He knew now that she was far from indifferent and began to hope that in time her admiration would grow in fervor to match his own. He could only hope that Elizabeth was having as much success in convincing Darcy to allow him Mary's hand.

Continued in Next Section