Chapter Thirty-Eight

Posted on: 2008-11-27

“Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked, entering his study. “Mrs. Brenton said Mr. Bingley has returned to his own home. Did everything go well?”

“Yes. How was your day?” He rose to kiss the top of his wife’s head.

“It was lovely, but I have had my fill of Mayfair for today. Now, please tell me what you can of Mr. Bingley.”

Darcy chuckled, as his wife sat on the settee with eager attention, and announced, “Bingley is returning to Hertfordshire.” He again felt the success of the morning’s business, and stood proud while his tone was ripe with satisfaction.

Elizabeth’s jaw dropped open and her eyebrows hit her hairline. “He is? For what purpose? Netherfield is to be let again. My mother told me while she was here.”

Perhaps, in years to come, Darcy might recognize the brief silence and facial expression as the precursor to having to admit he was wrong, but for now, he only creased his brow, confused at Elizabeth’s reaction. “I assume to court your sister,” he said slowly.

“He would not!” she hissed loudly. “What makes him think he can toy with a woman like that?”

“I thought you would be pleased.” His frown creased his brow deeply, and he suddenly felt unsure if he had done the right thing. Would nothing go as he expected today?

“Why would I be pleased that a man who has already hurt my sister, and has shown no strength of character, would attempt to court her? Do you not think it an arrogant presumption on his part to think that she has been waiting for his return all this time?”

Darcy groped for words. “Bingley is a very eligible suitor,” was the feeble reply.

“Jane does not need an eligible suitor. She needs a suitor she can trust and depend upon; one who has proven his affections for her will not wane.”

“Bingley has been pining for her all these months. It is the reason for his odd behaviour.”

“If his attachment was so great, what reason did he give for his abandonment last autumn?”

Darcy sat speechless. “He was… unsure of himself.”

“What makes him so sure of himself now?” Without a ready response, Darcy was left to watch a play of emotions cross her face. He could tell the moment realization dawned. “He did not think Jane was high enough born,” she exclaimed hotly. “But now that we are married…”

“That was not exactly it,” Darcy interrupted. “Whatever his reason, he has seen the error of his ways. He loves Jane, and wants to make amends.”

“And what of Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst? I was not blind to the way they treated Jane. Oh, they were all kindness when she was in the room, but do not ask me to believe they would sincerely welcome her as their sister.”

“Bingley is his own man. He may marry where he chooses.”

“But Mr. Bingley has always been eager to please them.”

Darcy felt his temper rising, even though he knew Elizabeth spoke the truth. “He is truly remorseful for hurting Jane. I would not have sent him back to Hertfordshire if I did not believe he loved her.” When Elizabeth did not say anything, he added, “Jane will be good for Bingley. He needs someone who will keep him focused.”

“How can you be so certain he will not abandon her again? You say he loves her, but love was not enough to prevent him from leaving the first time.” She paused only long enough to take a calming breath. “How can you be certain Mr. Bingley will defy his sisters’ wishes this time?”

For a long moment, Darcy said nothing. Elizabeth nodded, accepting he had no explanation, and then stood. “Excuse me. I need to see about lunch.”

“Elizabeth…” Darcy implored, but it was too late.

Not surprisingly, Elizabeth took her mid-day meal in her rooms, leaving a morose Darcy at the whims of Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley. Though he tried to appear upbeat, his silence, coupled with Elizabeth’s absence, made it evident not everything was well.

The remainder of the day, Darcy shut himself in his study. How had he erred so grossly? Had his concern for his friend, overridden his duty to his family?

Carefully, he reviewed his conversation with Elizabeth. She had not said Jane was not attached to Bingley, only that Bingley was not worthy of her sister. That was at least a little promising. On the other hand, if Jane did feel anything for Bingley, Elizabeth would have been more apprehensive than angry, would she not?

He rubbed a tired hand over his face. After all the times he had scolded Elizabeth for trying to interfere, he had gone and bungled things in the worst way. Now Elizabeth was angry at him. And if Bingley did not follow through with his intentions, all the Bennets would have every right to hate him.

Why had he not followed his own advice?

Of course, he could not undo the past, so the question was what to do now? Should he try to stop Bingley from going Hertfordshire? Or should he let things run their course and hope for the best?

A return to Hertfordshire had given his friend new hope, a reason to climb out of the bottle. How could he take that away? He had nothing to offer in return. He could drag Bingley to Pemberley as a possible diversion, but that would no doubt bring Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. That was certainly no way to rectify things between him and Elizabeth. He needed another alternative.

He rubbed his temples, feeling a headache taking root.

It was not until dinner that evening that Darcy saw Elizabeth again. They both had spent the afternoon avoiding one another, but both were too stubborn to hide away in their rooms for long.

The frigid atmosphere made dinner conversation far from lively. Georgiana attempted to draw them out, speaking of the morning’s activities, and a new drawing she had started, but received only modest nods and smiles for her effort. As for the married couple, they hardly looked at one another, much less said anything.

After dinner, Elizabeth claimed she had matters of the house to attend to, and sequestered herself in her private parlour.

Darcy remained with his sister a bit longer, but then, unwilling to let things fester any longer, he went in search of his wife. After a gentle rap on her white, wooden door, he entered tentatively.

“Elizabeth, we can not continue like this.” When Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, his heart nearly broke.

“Tell me what to do to fix it,” he implored.

Elizabeth turned away for a moment, gathering her composure. “Tell me, Fitzwilliam. Would you allow Georgiana to be courted by a man who had abandoned her?” Darcy closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the ceiling, knowing precisely what he would do. He would thrash the man just before throwing him out of the house.

“You did not see him, Elizabeth. Bingley was but a shadow of the man I know.”

“I saw him being overly friendly with another woman on the streets of town! What more do I need to see?”

“Elizabeth, please. Bingley is in a bad way; I did not know what else to do. The merest ray of hope to see Jane again, and to speak with her, was incentive enough to pull himself together. He wants to be worthy of her, and is willing to do whatever it takes. Can we not give him that chance?”

For several moments Elizabeth said nothing. She was being asked to choose between her sister and her husband. She understood Fitzwilliam’s point, but how could she allow Jane to go through so much heartache again. “Very well,” she said just above a whisper.

Darcy grabbed both of her hands and kissed them. “Thank you, my dear. I know it is more than Bingley deserves, but I swear, if he disappoints her again, I will call him out myself.”

Elizabeth looked up at him. “Next time you see Jane, you can thank her. I considered what Jane would say. She would tell me that all men deserve forgiveness, and I do not know all the circumstances around his leaving.”

“Jane is a very good woman.”

Elizabeth only nodded, but her sombreness showed her reservation in her decision.

“Fitzwilliam, what shall you do if Jane rejects Mr. Bingley?”

“Do you think it likely?”

“I do not know.” She looked over at him to gauge his reaction when she said, “I believe she formed something of an attachment towards Colonel Fitzwilliam before he left for the continent.”

Darcy’s eyes widened. “I had not heard of any understanding. Surely, you know if I had, I would not have sent Bingley to Hertfordshire.”

“Your cousin said nothing to you of being disposed towards Jane?”

Darcy hesitated. “He mentioned it, but I did not take it seriously. He is a second son!”

“Jane has granted him leave to call on her when he returns.”

Darcy shook his head. “What the devil can he be thinking?” He muttered a bit louder than intended.

“Perhaps that he loves my sister!” Elizabeth shot back, her eyes suddenly ablaze.

“Elizabeth, please. That is not what I meant.” He let out a grunt of frustration. “It is just that Richard can not provide for your sister as she deserves.”

“Jane does not need much. Do you think her affection so shallow she would turn away a man simply because he lacked wealth?”

“You are purposefully misunderstanding me.” Seeing Elizabeth staring at him hotly, with her arms folded across her chest, he sent his eyes skyward. Good Lord, is this be what it will be like when Georgiana comes out? “I know Jane is not mercenary, but Richard was raised the son of an earl. He can barely afford his standard of living on his income. How will he support a wife and a family? Truly, dearest, I am only thinking of Jane’s well being.”

“If they love each other, they will adapt.” With a twinkle of mischief in her eye, she added, “And thankfully, they will have a generous and rich brother and sister to turn to if things become difficult.”

Darcy shook his head. He had been forgiven, but he wished to hear the words. He gathered Elizabeth to him. “Elizabeth, you do know I never meant to harm you or your sister, do you not?”

He sighed in relief when Elizabeth laid her head against his chest. “I do, Fitzwilliam.”

“If you truly wish me to speak to Mr. Bingley, I shall.” he murmured into her hair.

“It is done. If Jane does not feel anything for Mr. Bingley, we will leave it for her to say, and hope Colonel Fitzwilliam is able to return for her soon.”

“I am forgiven then?”

Elizabeth looked up at him teasingly. “On one condition. From now on, you must leave matchmaking to others; you are very ill at the game.” She let out a squeal when Darcy scooped her up in her arms, and let out a growl against her neck.

The following day passed as though nothing was amiss. Meals were once again a lively affair, and Elizabeth and Darcy spoke easily with one another. The disagreement the previous day had truly been forgotten.

That evening, after returning from a dinner party, Elizabeth sat at the desk in her rooms, working on her correspondence. She had a few dinner invitations to extend, and wished to complete them before she retired for the evening. Finding her ink well dry, and no spare, she made her way to Darcy’s rooms, since it was much closer than her private parlour, and she was in but her nightshift and dressing robe.

Not surprisingly, her husband had yet to make it to his rooms; he too had a few items of business he wished to finish before retiring. She opened the top drawer of her husband’s desk, and easily found an unopened bottle of ink. She was about to close the drawer when she noticed a folded piece of paper with her handwriting on it. It did not appear to be one of her letters though, so she could not imagine what it would be. Curiosity overtook any reservations of invading her husband’s privacy, and she was mortified by what she saw.

Unsure of how he had come in possession of the item, or why he had kept it, she resolved to confront him on it. He would be retiring soon; she would ask him then. For the time being though, she had missives to pen.

Another half hour passed before Elizabeth heard a knock on the door. Quickly finishing her last invitation, she tucked the purloined piece of paper in the pocket of her dressing robe, and made her way to his rooms.

Patiently, she waited until they were both situated comfortably on the settee with some chamomile tea.

“Fitzwilliam? Where ever did you get this?” She handed him the paper from her pocket.

It took Darcy but a moment to recognize it; he reddened immediately. He snatched the paper from her hand and tucked it into his own pocket. “You were not supposed to find that,” he grumbled.

“But I have, and must know where did you get it?”

Darcy hesitated. “The day I came upon you practicing your letters at Lanelle House.”

Vividly remembering that day, it was Elizabeth’s turn to blush. “But why would you keep it?”

“Because…” Darcy stammered. “Does it matter? I wished to keep it; that is all. Would you prefer I burn it?”

Elizabeth could think of only one reason to keep something of that nature, and that was to humiliate her at a future date. Surely, her husband was not planning for something of that nature! “Yes!” came the emphatic cry.

“I can not.”

Elizabeth stared him down, letting him know she was expecting a explanation.

Finally, he pulled the paper out, unfolded it, and handed it to her while pointing to the place where she had written her name - Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Darcy. “Because of this.”

Elizabeth’s brow crumpled in utter confusion. “I do not understand. It is my name.”

“At the time, I expected you to break our engagement.” He looked down at the floor. “It was the only proof I had that you were still considering marriage to me.” He turned away from her, trying to hide the evidence of the torture of those weeks. “When I had doubts, I would pull out that piece of paper. Now you may laugh at me.” His tone was a mixture of embarrassment and dejection.

Laughter, however, was the last reaction Elizabeth thought to have at such a heartfelt confession. Carefully, she refolded it and slipped it and her hand into the pocket of his dressing robe. “That is perhaps the sweetest thing you have ever said. I would never deprive you of such a prized possession.”

Darcy wrapped his arms around her, holding her possessively. No more words were necessary.

After a few minutes, and reassured of her affections, he pulled back. “Now, madam, do you care to explain what you were doing rifling through my desk?”

Elizabeth giggled merrily. “I was looking for a new ink bottle. Mine had run dry, and I did not want to bother a servant.”

Darcy nodded suspiciously. “I see. I shall have Mrs. Brenton see that from now on, your desk is well stocked with pens, ink and paper.”

“But how else am I to uncover your secrets, my dearest husband.” She looked up at him coyly, though her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“I have no secrets from you, my Beth.” He pressed his lips ardently against hers, which she readily accepted.

They spent the rest of the night baring their bodies, hearts, and souls to one another.

The next few days passed with little fanfare, except for an early arrival of the summer heat. The warm weather brought talk of an early end to the Season. The putrid smell of the Thames made those who could easily escape for the cool clean air of country estates seriously consider the matter.

Those not fortunate enough to own a country estate were relegated to making frantic calls on friends and family in hopes of receiving an invite.

It was not at all surprising to Elizabeth that calls to Arryndale increased during this time. Though it was well known that invitations to Pemberley were only extended to the closest friends of the Darcys, with a new mistress, people were hopeful there would be a change to that policy.

As sociable as Elizabeth was, however, she was not of a mind to entertain guests all summer long. Indeed, she wanted nothing more than to return to Pemberley with Georgiana and Darcy, and pass the summer away quietly.

Not only that, her short time at Pemberley after their wedding had hardly been conducive to making her acquaintance with the other families in the area. It was a matter that would have to be remedied upon their return. As such, she had absolutely no intention of inviting other guests to their estate.

This, however, did not stop calls and the thinly veiled hints.

“Mrs. Hurst, Miss Sutton and Miss Bingley,” Mr. Cardwell announced, minutes after the departure of two other ladies. Elizabeth suppressed a heavy sigh, and had them shown to the parlour where she and Georgiana were having tea.

Miss Bingley entered the room with familiar ease, and greeted Elizabeth as if they had been life long friends. Still unaccustomed to the change, Elizabeth took a moment to return the greeting.

Miss Bingley looked around the room. “I simply adore what you have done with the room, Mrs. Darcy. Why the Pomona is the perfect colour!” With a semi-sincere smile directed towards Miss Sutton, she added, “And it is so nice to see you have maintained an English style. Mrs. Hartley did her parlour in a Spanish décor, and it looks very ill, indeed.”

Elizabeth smiled politely. “Thank you, Miss Bingley. I understand you will be doing some redecorating of your own.” At Miss Bingley’s stricken look, she added, “Mr. Darcy told me of your brother’s purchase of Wortham.”

Miss Bingley shot an alarmed look towards Mrs. Hurst before smiling politely at Elizabeth. “Yes. Wortham. I do wish he would have taken my advice and found an estate more in the north. It would make visits to the Peaks and Lakes so much easier.”

An uneasy silence fell on the group, as everyone found it a good moment to take some tea. “Do you plan to travel at all, Mrs. Darcy,” Miss Sutton asked, reviving the conversation.

“I believe we shall be visiting the Lakes for a bit,” Elizabeth replied “but most of our time will be spent at Pemberley.”

“I do adore Pemberley this time of year,” Miss Bingley enthused, with a plaintive smile towards Elizabeth. Mrs. Hurst quickly seconded the notion. “Miss Sutton has never visited, but who could not appreciate such a fine estate?” Mrs. Hurst added.

There was more discussion on the splendours of Pemberley before Elizabeth inquired after Miss Sutton’s plans for the summer. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst’s veiled attempts at an invitation to Pemberley became even clearer when Miss Sutton spoke of plans to stay with friends in Somerset and Devon. It appeared the other two ladies were likely to be stuck at their brother’s estate without an invitation to Pemberley.

Nearly a week had passed since Elizabeth and Darcy’s argument. Darcy had received word that Bingley had returned to Hertfordshire as planned, and had taken Miss Bingley with him, shedding new light on Miss Bingley’s attempts to secure an invitation to Pemberley or anywhere else.

Elizabeth, Darcy and Georgiana were in the sun parlour, eating lunch, when Mr. Cardwell entered with a message for Darcy. “The messenger is waiting for a response.”

Darcy’s brow furrowed, and he tore open the message, easily recognizing Lord Matlock’s handwriting. He felt his blood drain to the floor upon reading. In an effort to gather himself, he pretended to continue reading. The news was not good.

“What is it, Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked.

“I… am needed at Lanelle House, immediately.” He handed the missive to his wife.

Elizabeth gasped and tears welled in her eyes as she read. Together, husband and wife reached for Georgiana.

“Tell my uncle I will be there shortly, and have Franklin pack a few days’ worth of clothes.” Darcy ordered to the nearby servant. Turning to Georgiana, he said, “It was from Uncle Marcus. Richard is on his way home.” Seeing Georgiana’s eyes light up made his next words even more difficult. “Pea Head, he was injured. We do not yet know how severely. I am going to Lanelle House, where I suspect Uncle Marcus and I will leave for the ports as soon as possible.”

Tears immediately gathered in the young girl’s eyes, and Elizabeth squeezed her hand. “We must not get ahead of ourselves.” she said soothingly. “Richard will have a good laugh at us if he finds out how we carried on for nothing more than a twisted ankle.”

Georgiana nodded, but the tears continued to flow.

Anxious to be on his way, he exchanged a look with Elizabeth. Silently they agreed Darcy should go, and that Elizabeth would stay with Georgiana.

“I will send word as soon as may be.” Darcy said, before giving them both a quick kiss on the head.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Posted on: 2008-12-25

After seeing her husband off, Elizabeth returned to the music room, where Georgiana was attempting to distract herself at the pianoforte.

The two exchanged forced smiles before Elizabeth took a seat at the nearby writing desk. For several moments, she simply let the music wash over her, calming her bevy of emotions. Then, taking out a quill and some paper, she began to write. There were a number of invitations that she would now have to decline, but those could wait; a more important letter required her attention first.

Jane was to arrive at Arryndale in a se’nnight, but with today’s news, that would be impossible. No matter Colonel Fitzwilliam’s condition, the Darcys would likely take this opportunity to retire to Langford or Pemberley.

With hopes that Jane could find accommodations with the Gardiners, she put ink to the parchment.

Arryndale House, London
June 1, 18—

Jane,
Forgive the brevity of this letter, but time is of the essence. Unfortunately I write with ill tidings.

We have just received word Colonel Fitzwilliam has been injured in battle. The extent of his injuries and condition is unknown; we have only been told he is on a ship bound for England. Fitzwilliam and Lord Matlock left this morning for the Cinque Ports. If the colonel is well enough to travel, they will transport him to the Fitzwilliam home in Matlock.

Georgiana and I are to close up Arryndale and will join the family. I do not believe I will be able to receive you when you are in London. I am sorry. I will write as soon as I know more. Until then,

Elizabeth Darcy

She reread the letter, paying special attention to its wording. She did not wish to worry her sister, but there was no gentle way to explain why a stay at Arryndale on her way to visit Charlotte Collins at Hunsford was impossible.

Satisfied with the epistle, she sanded, folded, and with a sigh, sealed it. She was very much looking forward to Jane’s visit. They had not had much time to speak in private before the ball, and now, more than ever, Elizabeth was curious as to where Jane’s affections tended. Had Mr. Bingley apologized, and had he been successful in his endeavours? Or was Jane’s heart pulled towards a certain colonel in his Majesty’s army, as Elizabeth suspected?

The music came to a stop, and Elizabeth clapped quietly in appreciation. “That was beautiful, Georgiana.”

“It is one of Richard’s favourites,” came the sullen reply.

Elizabeth stood, then took a seat next to her sister. “He will be glad to know you have been practising it. He will surely wish to hear it when you see him next.”

Georgiana gave a small nod, obviously wondering if there would be a next time.

Attempting to pull the girl, and herself, from such morose thoughts, Elizabeth engaged Georgiana into some more playful duets, and for a short time, the distraction was sufficient. However, the day wore on, and the absence of Fitzwilliam from the dinner table brought the gravity of the situation back full force.

Darcy and Lord Matlock rode in silence towards the ports. Despite the gentle wind, both men and beasts had worked up a good lather. Still, they continued onward. There would be no stopping until a ship’s mast could be seen.

Not surprisingly, when they arrived, they found the area surrounding the Cinque Ports teeming with activity. Three naval ships could be seen in the harbour, along with a few merchant and passenger ships. Finding it increasingly difficult to navigate the area on horseback, Darcy and his uncle stabled their horses, and made the rest of the way to the docks on foot.

The trek was slow; soldiers, both wounded and healthy, men, women, and children of every class bumped shoulders with them, and that was to say nothing of the noise. The din of the area rivalled that of town; heartfelt cries of joy mingled with the ear piercing wallows of anguish and sorrow, and over all of that were the bellows of shop keepers and dock workers.

Darcy and Lord Matlock made several inquiries about the location of the wounded, and were finally directed by a young lad towards the warehouses.

Cutting their way through the bustling crowd, they made their way to a large, red brick building where a number of wounded men could be seen exiting. They entered, and were nearly knocked backward from the sounds and smells contained within it. The stench of rotting flesh and fresh blood was coupled with groans of pain.

Simultaneously, Darcy and Lord Matlock reached for handkerchiefs, using them to cover their noses and mouths. That Colonel Fitzwilliam was amongst this!

There was a brief exchange of grim nods before they continued on their mission. Cot after cot, row after row, the two searched for the colonel.

Not meeting with any success, a change in plans was required. With little discussion, it was decided that Lord Matlock would continue searching for Richard, while Darcy looked for the man in charge.

Unfortunately, Darcy found his new goal almost as impossible as his previous one. The area was incredibly understaffed, and whoever was in charge was either not about, or was one of the handful of people tending to the scores of wounded.

As he was walking down one of the lines of cots, he was approached by an elderly woman. “I beg your pardon, sir,” she said with a low bow. “Officers are in the warehouse next door.”

“I am looking for Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam,” Darcy said by way of inquiry.

“I am sorry, sir. I do not know that name. All officers are next door though, sir.”

Darcy nodded and flipped the woman a half crown in thanks, and after relaying the information to his uncle, the two headed for the exit.

The next warehouse, while busy, was not nearly so crowded. Darcy could not help but note that despite having fewer patients, there were more doctors and women on hand to tend to them. It brought a little relief, but very little. The place was still in a state of disarray, and though the number had been greatly reduced, it would not be easy to find his cousin amongst the sea of nameless cots.

Some long minutes passed before the colonel was found, and the gravity of his situation was both better and worse than feared. He was alive, but from the looks of things, only by the grace of God. What little of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam’s face was not wrapped in bandages was flush with fever; below the thin blanket that covered him, a splint all along his leg could be made out, and it appeared his shoulder was also wounded.

With a tenderness Darcy had never seen from his uncle, Lord Matlock kneeled next to his son and took his hand. “Richard.” Lord Matlock whispered.

Silently, Darcy went in search of one of the doctors, giving father and son a few moments alone. After sufficient time had passed, Darcy, with a doctor in tow, returned to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s side.

“He contracted a fever aboard the ship,” the doctor said with a weary shrug. “Or so I have been told. Not sure how long he’s been this way.”

“Will he live?” Lord Matlock asked. His brow was deeply creased in concern.

“A cool cloth would help with the fever, but we are short of supplies.” He looked around the room, “And nurses.” Nothing more needed to be said, it was all in the doctor’s expression. There was no one to provide the care Richard required, and if it was not already too late, without such attention, survival was unlikely.

“Can he be moved?” Lord Matlock asked.

“It is risky,” the doctor replied, “but he managed to survive the ship.”

Lord Matlock exchanged a look with Darcy. It did not take a genius to guess his uncle’s thoughts. Though the idea made Darcy cringe, it was in his cousin’s best interest. “I will arrange transportation, and send a missive to her ladyship, informing her of our arrival,” Darcy said.

Lord Matlock nodded in thanks. “I shall write Catherine though, Darcy. Send the rider to me with a pencil and paper.”

While Darcy and Lord Matlock, with a listless and injured Colonel Fitzwilliam, were slowly making their way to Rosings, Elizabeth was busy seeing to the last minute details that were required for closing Arryndale. The express she had received that morning from her husband, while bearing some good news, had also included a summons for her and Georgiana to Rosings.

Dearest Elizabeth,

Forgive the brevity of this note, but know you are never far from my thoughts.

Lord Matlock and I have seen Richard. He has sustained some injuries, but only time will tell their severity. Though he is feverish, we have decided to move him to Rosings, where he will be able to get better medical care.

Close Arryndale, and bring Georgiana with you to Rosings.

Lord Matlock is penning similar missives to Lord Fitzwilliam, who is in residence at Langford, and Lady Matlock.

I await your arrival, my Beth.

F.D.

Elizabeth and Georgiana parted ways that morning, each preferring solitude to putting on airs of contentment. Elizabeth sat at her desk, diligently writing a few last minute missives. There were a several friends she had been unable to take her leave of in person, and not wishing to give offense, resolved to send her apologies via courier.

Somewhat haphazardly spinning the quill between her fingers, she stared at the blank page in front of her, contemplating her words. Outside her parlour, she could hear servants moving to and fro, carrying out her orders; checking carriages, closing rooms, and packing trunks.

Despite the heavy activity, the house felt empty. He was but a half a day’s journey away, and yet it felt as though he were on the other side of world! With a light snicker, she pushed those thoughts aside. How her father would tease her if he could see her now!

Returning to the task at hand, she signed her name, sealed the missive and moved on the next one. A few more, and she could in good conscience be on her way to Kent.

“Marcus.” Lady Catherine greeted. With a frosty glare, she nodded to Darcy. “Fitzwilliam.” She introduced the doctor, and then at her signal, four footmen made their way to the wagon. Under the eagle eye of their superiors, the footmen carefully moved Colonel Fitzwilliam to a room that had been prepared for him.

As they waited for the doctor’s prognosis, Lord Matlock, Darcy and Lady Catherine gathered in a nearby parlour. It was a smallish room, and though its location ensured it would only be used by family, its ostentatious décor made it anything but comfortable.

Making do, Darcy poured himself and his uncle some restorative as they listened to Lady Catherine soliloquize on what she perceived to be the proper course of care for her nephew, and extolled the praise of her doctor. “He has been serving the de Bourghs for several years, as had his father before him.” She then went on to tell all that she had done in preparation.

“I have prepared your usual rooms.” She turned to Darcy. “Georgiana will be arriving, I presume.” Though the words were ones of inquiry, Lady Catherine’s tone made it clear she expected nothing less.

“Of course,” Darcy replied. “Georgiana will arrive with Elizabeth this afternoon.”

With vehemence that surprised both Lord Matlock and Darcy, Lady Catherine exclaimed, “You dare to bring that woman to my home! Have you no decency?”

“As Elizabeth is my wife…”

“Is it not enough for you disappoint Anne? Must you flaunt that upstart in front of her?” Lady Catherine interrupted.

“I never gave Anne any indication that we would be wed.” Darcy ground out. “Nor is it my intention to exacerbate her disappointment, if she is, indeed, suffering misguided hopes. Elizabeth is my wife, and shall stay with me and my sister.”

“I forbid it!” Lady Catherine stated as a matter of fact. Her chin rose in challenge.

Darcy looked to his uncle, who had opened his mouth, no doubt to weigh in as head of the family. However, not wishing to hear his uncle’s thoughts on the subject, one way or another, Darcy cut him off. “Then as soon as there is word from the doctor, I shall go about finding other accommodations.”

“What of your duty to your family? You will make us carry the burden of Richard’s care alone?” She looked to Lord Matlock, clearly expecting her brother to take her side. Lord Matlock hesitated for a moment, but then simply turned and looked out the window.

Darcy replied as calmly as possible, “It is not my preference, but I will not allow you to insult either my wife, or myself, any further.”

“Very well, Darcy,” Lady Catherine sniffed. “It is clear you have lost all sense of duty and propriety. I will not allow the same to happen to Georgiana. She shall stay at Rosings, where she will have the company of women more fitting her station.”

Seething, Darcy stared down his aunt with a penetrating glare. “I am Georgiana’s guardian. She will stay with me. If you wish her at Rosings, then you will also welcome my wife.”

Lady Catherine was about to say something more, but just then, the doctor interrupted with a loud clearing of his throat. All eyes turned to him, and for a moment, the previous argument was forgotten. “He is weak from the fever, but I did not find any other signs of infection. I have done all I can for him,” the doctor reported.

Lord Matlock asked, “Will he live?”

The doctor drew in a deep breath of hesitation. “It is too early to tell. Colonel Fitzwilliam is strong though. If the fever can be brought under control, his chances of survival are greater. Beyond that, I dare not venture a guess.”

There was a collective nod of understanding before Lord Matlock stepped forward and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you.”

“I will stop by again in the morning. My residence is not far, should you require my services this evening.” With a low bow, the doctor exited as quickly as he had appeared. Lord Matlock, too, hastened to excuse himself in favour of his son’s room.

Before Lady Catherine could say a word, Darcy stood tall, and with a piercing glare, said, “I shall bring Georgiana to visit daily, but neither she nor I will remain under this roof, until you give my wife her due.” Not waiting for a response, he turned and headed for his cousin’s room.

When the Darcy coach arrived at Rosings, Darcy was outside, waiting. Elizabeth smiled at him in greeting, which he returned with a brief one of his own. Instead of handing her down, however, he climbed into the carriage.

“There is a small town with an inn but a few miles from here. We will be staying there.”

At Elizabeth’s look of intrigue, he simply replied, “I will explain later.” He then quickly launched into an explanation of the doctor’s prognosis of Colonel Fitzwilliam.

When they arrived at the inn, they found it nearly full with travellers seeking the cool country air. Fortunate for them, however, the innkeeper was more than happy to rent out the small cottage behind the inn, and provide a servant or two – for a price.

After seeing Georgiana settled, Elizabeth and Darcy retired to the only other room in the cottage. It took Darcy but a moment to pull Elizabeth into his arms.

For several minutes, no words were spoken. Darcy clung to his wife, slowly letting the emotions of the previous days seep out of him. “I did not wish to leave you, but…” he murmured into her hair.

“You need not say anything more.” She looked up at him lovingly. “I know you would not leave of your own accord.”

He leaned over kissed her deeply. “I love you, my Beth.” He moved them over to the settee and pulled her into his lap. Finally, taking in their surrounding, he shook his head slowly. The room was sparsely furnished; there was a bed, an armoire, an unsteady looking sideboard, the settee upon which they sat and another chaise. The wall fabric was faded and the curtains thin. It did not speak well for the rest of the cottage. “I am sorry, dearest,” Darcy said, “You deserve better than this. Tomorrow, I shall…”

Before he could go on, Elizabeth had silenced him by placing her finger over his lips. “I do not need fancy rooms covered in lace and silk. We have a roof over our heads, and a hearth to keep us warm should we need it. But perhaps, this would be a good time to tell me why we are here and not Rosings.” When Darcy hesitated, she looked to the floor. “It is because of me, is it not?” she said lowly. “She is still angry at you, and will not welcome me.”

“She is a stubborn old bat, who is still trying to impose her will upon me,” Darcy spat. He took a calming breath and pulled his wife close to him again. “Her opinion does not matter, dearest. My place is with you. Now and forever.”

“What of Colonel Fitzwilliam and your family? You should be with them.”

Her unselfish concern was rewarded with a fervent kiss on the forehead. “I shall visit Rosings, and take Georgiana with me. The Fitzwilliams will understand.” He smiled down at her. “Perhaps you can visit with Mrs. Collins. I know you have missed her company.” Elizabeth smiled up at him and then rested her head against him again. He knew her so well.

“I would like to see her very much, but would not wish to put her in an uncomfortable position.”

Darcy sat back and smiled at her. “Mr. Collins might not object if Georgiana and I were to accompany you the first time?” He chuckled. “Perhaps I might be able to sway his opinion on the matter.”

“You are too good to me, dearest husband.”

They engaged themselves as lovers often do for some time. As it was still the middle of the day, however, before their passions grew out of control, they separated and composed themselves in a more presentable manner.

“Pray, how is Colonel Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked, searching for a more neutral topic. “And you need not spare me any of the details you spared Georgiana.” She walked over to the window and looked, appraising the view.

Darcy smiled at his observant wife. “It was no place for a lady.” Even now, the memory of the place caused an involuntary shudder. He then relayed the scene at the ports and the details of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s condition.

Seeing how sullen her husband had become again, she walked over to him and placed a comforting hand on his arm. “We must have faith he will be well again.” After placing a gentle kiss on his cheek, she said, “Come, Georgiana will be looking for us soon, and I would like a cup of tea.”

The following morning, after a hearty breakfast, Elizabeth, Darcy, and Georgiana climbed into the carriage. They first stopped at the abode of Mr. and Mrs. Collins.

“Mr. Darcy!” Mr. Collins greeted with a low bow. “It is a great honour to welcome you to Hunsford.”

“Mr. Collins, Mrs. Collins.” He then turned to assist Georgiana out of the carriage. Behind him, Mr. Collins elaborated on how dreadful it was to hear of Colonel Fitzwilliam’s condition, how diligently he and Mrs. Collins were praying for his speedy recovery, and that he had instructed his parishioners to do the same. His monologue, however, stopped abruptly when Darcy handed down Elizabeth.

“Cousin Elizabeth!” Mr. Collins gasped. “er, um, Mrs. Darcy.” He looked nervously between Elizabeth, Mrs. Collins, and Mr. Darcy. “I… um… Lady Ca…”

“Eliza,” Charlotte Collins greeted. She stepped forward and welcomed her friend with a warm embrace. “It is so good to see you.” She then turned to Georgiana, and greeted her with a polite curtsey. “Miss Darcy, welcome to Hunsford.” Turning to her husband, she added, “Mr. Collins, perhaps our guests would like some refreshments.”

Mr. Collins nodded vigorously and led the way.

Elizabeth took Mrs. Collins’ arm. “Charlotte, I do not wish to cause you any trouble. I can return to Brandyhatch.”

“It shall be fine. It is so good to see you.” She led Elizabeth into the house, arm in arm.

Mr. Collins showed the Darcys into the front parlour, careful to point out all the care he had taken with the house and gardens. “Her ladyship has been very generous with her advice and attention to us.” He looked expectantly up at Darcy, who returned the much hoped for nod of approval in return.

The five spoke over tea, though conversation was often stilted. Charlotte offered her congratulations to Darcy and Elizabeth on their marriage, causing Mr. Collins a great deal of consternation, thus vetoing all discussion in that corner. There was a little talk on the Lucases, Bennets, and Hertfordshire, but since it had been some time since either Charlotte or Elizabeth had been to the area, that topic, too, soon lost its zeal. Thus, the only seemingly safe topic of conversation was the gardens of Hunsford.

When that topic was thoroughly exhausted, Darcy stood. “I do not wish to break up this happy reunion, but we are expected at Rosings.”

It took but a look between the two former friends to convey the unsaid words. “I do wish you could stay, Eliza,” Charlotte offered sincerely. “Would it be a terrible imposition to ask you to delay your visit to the great house? Surely, the Fitzwilliams will understand?”

Ignoring the stuttering protest of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth gratefully accepted. “I would like that very much, Charlotte. Thank you.”

With a few more words on the length of their intended visit, Georgiana and Darcy left for Rosings, leaving Elizabeth in the company Mr. and Mrs. Collins.

“So, Fitzwilliam. You have returned.” Lady Catherine said, her nose superiorly pointed in the air. She then took a long, appraising look at Georgiana. “Are you practicing your pianoforte daily, as I have instructed?”

“Yes, your ladyship.” Georgiana replied with a short curtsey.

“I am glad to hear of it.” Lady Catherine sniffed. “You shall play for us after dinner this evening.”

“Has there been any change in Richard’s condition?” Darcy inquired, changing the subject. He had no intention of remaining for dinner, but that bit of information could wait.

“He is much the same, but I expect he will improve shortly. I have seen to everything.” She stood silently, as if waiting for thanks.

“Has there been word from Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam?”

“No, but I expect they shall arrive on the morrow.” Lady Catherine’s comment was followed by something about duty to one’s family, but it went unheard by either of the Darcys, as they were already moving above stairs to the family apartments.

Upon arriving at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s rooms, they were greeted by Lord and Lady Matlock.

Lady Matlock embraced them both, and then led them to her son’s bedside. “His fever still runs, but I believe he is improving. He mumbles a bit now, but we can not make out the words.” Her voice was ripe with tears and weariness. Darcy laid a comforting hand on her shoulder, while his other held his sister’s.

Together, the family sat speaking in low whispers. Every so often, a nurse would come and change the cooling cloths, and occasionally, they were also joined by Lady Catherine.

As the days wore on, the vigil by Colonel Fitzwilliam’s bedside had been reduced to just one or two family members at a time. Since his time at Rosings was limited to respectable calling hours, and he had little interest in being in the company of Lady Catherine, Darcy spent most of his time at Rosings in the solitude of his cousin’s room. With no partner for discussion, he passed the time reading. He was therefore startled when he heard a dry, weak voice call to him.

“Richard!” Darcy exclaimed, nearly jumping from his chair. “You are awake! How are you feeling?”

“Water,” Fitzwilliam rasped, and then licked his lips. Instantly, Darcy moved to the sideboard and poured a small amount into a glass. After a moment of consideration on how to best assist the infirmed man to take a sip, he carefully propped up his cousin’s head and assisted him in taking a few sips.

“Where are we?” Colonel Fitzwilliam breathed, after settling back against the pillows.

“Rosings,” Darcy answered, retaking his seat. A snicker nearly escaped at the way his cousin’s lip curled in distaste.

“Might I be fortunate enough to have Lady Catherine away?”

This time, the snicker could not be held back. “It is good to see your sense of humour remains intact. I am sorry, but your fortune ends there. Lady Catherine is not away, and has taken a rather personal interest in your recovery. Which reminds me; I should inform the rest of the family you are awake. You have had us quite worried.”

“Not yet.” He made a feeble attempt to raise his hand in protest. “I am not ready to see them.”

“Very well, but only for a moment,” Darcy acquiesced. “The family is very concerned.”

“Who is here?” Fitzwilliam closed his eyes and breathed deeply at the effort it took to speak.

“Lord and Lady Matlock, Stephen, Lady Fitzwilliam, Lady Catherine, Anne, Georgiana, and Elizabeth.”

At the pronouncement of Georgiana’s presence, Colonel Fitzwilliam’s eyes flew open. “Georgiana is here?”

“She is staying with Elizabeth and me.” Darcy then quickly explained the separate residences, and promised to bring his sister by tomorrow for a visit.

“And how does Georgiana like her new sister?” Fitzwilliam asked. The eye that remained uncovered by bandages was filled with mischief.

“Very much. I can hardly get a word in at dinner.” Though he tried, when Fitzwilliam chuckled, he knew he was unsuccessful at hiding his own pride and joy in his union.

“I would like to see that,” the colonel breathed, as he once again closed his eyes. “How long have I been asleep? I do not remember leaving the ship.”

Darcy’s demeanour turned grave once again. “Three days. You were feverish when you arrived, else we would have been away to Matlock.” Recalling the concerned look of his uncle when they had first found the colonel, Darcy knew he needed to impart the good news immediately. “Enough of your stalling, I need to inform the doctor and the family you have woken.”

This time, no protest came. Colonel Fitzwilliam had fallen asleep again, or simply did not have the strength to respond. Either way, Darcy left the room in search of his aunt and uncle.

After sharing the colonel’s improved condition with those at Rosings, Darcy returned to Brandyhatch to inform his sister and Elizabeth.

Chapter Forty

Posted on: 2009-01-01

It was mid-afternoon when Darcy arrived at the cottage. Just as he was handing his horse to the groom, he saw a curricle pulling away. Surprised that Elizabeth would be entertaining, he hurried into the house. Looking about and not finding anyone, he cursed. If he were at Arryndale or Pemberley, his housekeeper or butler would have greeted him at the door and informed him of all that had occurred that day.

Unable to find anyone, he hurried to the room he shared with Elizabeth. Finding it empty, he muttered an oath under his breath. Then remembering Georgiana had been ill that morning and had begged off visiting Rosings, panic took root. In such a state, he barged into Georgiana’s room, startling both of its inhabitants.

“Fitzwilliam!” they cried in unison. Georgiana’s exclamation was followed by loud sneeze.

Darcy stared at the two wide-eyed inhabitants. Georgiana was still in a morning dress, reclined in bed with a coverlet neatly over her legs; next to her on the bed, sat Elizabeth. “Are you well?” he asked. He pointed blankly towards the front of the house. “I saw a curricle leaving.”

The two women giggled, re-focusing his attention. “Georgiana felt a bit feverish, so I thought it best to have a doctor examine her,” Elizabeth replied, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You must have seen him leaving.”

Shaking himself, Darcy went to his sister’s bedside, sitting on the edge near his wife. “Are you sure you are well?” He looked first to Georgiana, then to Elizabeth.

Georgiana blushed and smiled. “I am fine, Fitzwilliam. It is just a cold. I shall be fine by tomorrow.”

“And before you barged into the room,” Elizabeth added, with an arch of the brow, “I was telling your sister a story.”

Darcy let out a visible sigh of relief, and then took his wife’s hand. “Forgive me,” he said solemnly. “I feared the worst.”

Elizabeth gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “I believe your sister and I can find it within our hearts, can we not, Georgiana?”

Georgiana giggled and nodded before sneezing once again.

Darcy smiled charmingly. “If you will oblige me a moment longer, I have good news to impart.”

Georgiana bolted upright, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Is it Richard? Has he woken? Has the fever broken?”

“He has, Pea Head. I believe the worst is over.”

Unable to help herself, Georgiana launched herself at her brother, throwing her arms around his neck. After a moment, she pulled back, her face lit with a brilliant smile. “I must get dressed! Will you take me to see him?”

“Perhaps it should wait until tomorrow. You are not well yourself. I do not think Richard would thank us for giving him a cold, just when he is beginning to mend.”

Georgiana visibly deflated, but conceded to her brother’s wisdom, and began to situate herself under the coverlet again.

“Perhaps Elizabeth could finish the story I so rudely interrupted.” Darcy recommended.

Elizabeth pursed her lips together for a moment. “I was telling Georgiana of the time you had fallen ill at Pemberley during one of my visits.”

Darcy laughed aloud, recalling the incident quite well. “It appears my arrival was rather fortuitous then.” He winked at Georgiana before saying, “I should like to clarify any misconceptions that may have been suggested.” He looked pointedly at his wife and then back to his sister. “Did Elizabeth by chance tell you why I asked to see the Reverend?”

“The reverend? She had not mentioned that part yet,” the younger girl replied diplomatically, all the while biting her lip to keep from laughing. “Were you very ill?”

Elizabeth had the grace to blush, but Darcy chuckled. “Not much more so than you are now.” Darcy looked to Elizabeth with a playful admonishment. “Your dear sister, however, told me I was dying, and since I could not remember ever being more ill, I believed her.”

“I only wished for you confess it was your idea to pin my doll to the archery target,” Elizabeth interjected defensively.

“As I told you then, it was Stephen’s idea.”

Georgiana listened to the banter between the two, her head moving back and forth, and began giggling.

“But you were the one who took it from my room,” Elizabeth shot back.

“How do you know it was me? It could have been Richard or Stephen.”

Elizabeth looked pointedly at her husband, but then turned back to Georgiana, who was burying her laughter in a handkerchief. “That is neither here nor there. To finish the story, when I saw the reverend depart from the house, I thought perhaps your brother truly was dying. I ran to his room and confessed it had all been ruse on my part, and pleaded with him to get well again. He did not believe me, and told me I could have his pony.” She turned and smiled at Darcy before resuming. “I was so upset, I skipped dinner that night to stay by your brother; and after my father finally sent me to bed, I snuck back into his room. I was certain Fitzwilliam was going to die in the middle of the night, and it would be my fault. I spent all night hidden under his bed, so I would not be found out, and ended up with a chill myself.”

By this time, Georgiana was nearly in stitches, laughing heartily between fits of coughs. “What did mother and father say?”

Unable to help herself, Elizabeth let out a light trill. “Nothing at first. When I was well again, however, my father gave me a stern scolding. It was one of the few times I can recall my father truly angry at me; that was when I learned death was never something to be taken lightly. My father even went so far as to threaten never to bring me back to Pemberley. I also learned much later on, that your parents had figured out what was going on, and had brought the reverend to make things appear graver than they really were. ”

Georgiana giggled, and then let out a yawn.

Taking that as a cue to let the girl get some rest, Elizabeth and Darcy both stood. After seeing her comfortably settled, they each kissed her on the forehead and then departed.

The following day, Georgiana had improved, but was still unequal to visiting Rosings, so Darcy once again visited alone. He had barely rid himself of hat and gloves, when Lord Matlock greeted him. “Darcy, I would speak to you a moment.”

Together, the two made their way to family parlour. The general mood of the great house was decidedly uplifted, no doubt due to Colonel Fitzwilliam’s improved health. Darcy took a seat and accepted the glass of wine his uncle gave him.

“I wish for you and Georgiana to dine with the rest of the family tonight,” Lord Matlock stated after dispensing with the usual pleasantries.

Darcy froze for a minute. This was not what he had expected. Carefully, he asked, “Does this invitation extend to my wife as well?” He sipped his wine, watching his uncle’s reaction. When Lord Matlock took a drink before responding, Darcy knew it did not. Still, he waited for his uncle to confirm it.

“I am not at liberty to extend that offer,” Lord Matlock replied evenly.

“Then you know my answer. Until my wife is welcome, neither I nor my sister will dine at Rosings.”

“Darcy, be reasonable. You are doing yourself no favour in refusing to even dine here.”

“I am here for Richard’s sake, and his alone. Were his situation not so grave, my family and I would depart for Pemberley on the morrow.”

“A single dinner at Rosings would go a long way in healing the breach between Lady Catherine and yourself. Surely, you can see the wisdom of that.”

“Lady Catherine’s disappointed hopes are of her own making. I will not disrespect my wife to placate my aunt’s ego. If there is not anything else you wish to discuss, I shall take my leave.”

“I do not comprehend you, Darcy. You will throw off your entire family for a woman of inconsequential means whom you married only to avoid marriage to Anne?” Darcy turned such a dark glare towards his uncle that Lord Matlock immediately retreated. “I can not blame you in that regard. Truly. Elizabeth is an intelligent woman; surely she would understand and not take offence.”

“My reasons for marrying Elizabeth are inconsequential,” Darcy said between gritted teeth. “She is my wife. Regardless of her connections, she is Mrs. Darcy and Mistress of all my properties. Until Lady Catherine recognizes that fact, I will not remain at Rosings any longer than necessary.” His voice softened, as he added, “You and Lady Matlock, and Stephen and his wife are, of course, welcome to dine with us at any time at Brandyhatch.”

Lord Matlock was silent for some time, his lips pursed in agitation. Finally, he sighed heavily in resignation. “Very well. How long do you intend to stay in the area?”

Darcy took a sip wine, steadying his emotions. “I have not decided. I am told Elizabeth’s sister will be arriving at Hunsford this afternoon, and Elizabeth is anxious to see her. I suspect we will remain in Kent for at least a few more days.”

“Very well, Darcy. But think on what I have said. This… situation… is not good for anyone.”

Darcy nodded, and then took his leave, intent on visiting with Colonel Fitzwilliam. On his way, he ran into Stephen. It took but a shake of the head to answer the question visible in his cousin’s face, but so there could be no misunderstanding, Darcy clapped Stephen on the shoulder. “She is my wife, Stephen.” He could not help the smile or the way his dimples peeked out as said the word wife. “That is all that needs to be said.”

Stephen’s lips curled into a secret smirk, but he simply said, “I told father you would not relent.”

“Your father should have listened to you. It would have saved us both time and agitation.”

The topic was dropped, and the two made their way upstairs.

The following day, Elizabeth was up early. Jane had arrived at Hunsford, and she was anxious to see her sister. She would be infringing on Charlotte’s time, but was certain her friend would understand.

“You are anxious to be off this morning, dearest. Have you become bored with me already?” Darcy teased.

Elizabeth greeted her husband with a kiss on the cheek. “Of course not. It is only I have not seen Jane in nearly two months, and I am anxious for… news from Hertfordshire.”

Darcy raised a brow, showing he understood his wife’s meaning. “I had a letter from Bingley the other day.” As expected, Elizabeth gave her husband her full attention. “He reported some progress on the improvement he was doing to Netherfield, but there was little mention of your sister.”

Elizabeth’s brow wrinkled and she frowned.

“He mentioned he had visited your family, but not much more.”

Elizabeth was silent for several minutes, as she tugged at a loose curl. Then somewhat abruptly, she looked up at her husband. “I shall see what Jane has to say.” She quickly amended her comment. “If she still harbours an attachment to Mr. Bingley, I shall be happy for both of them.”

Darcy kissed his wife’s forehead and then said, “I have a surprise for you.” He grinned as Elizabeth’s eyes lit up. “Fitzwilliam, you should not have.”

“I must confess to some selfish motivation in this, but come, let me show you.” Grabbing his wife’s hand, he led her outside to a waiting phaeton.

“I rented it for the duration of our stay. You should be able to come and go as you please, especially now that your sister is nearby.”

Elizabeth threw her arms around her husband. “Fitzwilliam! You are too good to me.”

Darcy planted a firm kiss on her lips and then said, “You will promise to drive carefully? I could not bear it if something happened to you.”

“I shall be very careful. Come,” she said, pulling him towards the vehicle. “We can go for a ride this morning, and you can judge my skills for yourself.”

The two climbed into the waiting vehicle, and as the rest of the countryside awakened with them, a feeling of complete contentment fell over Darcy. Here he was in a rented vehicle, living in a small, worn cottage, devoid of his fine possessions, and without the convenience of his servants; yet he could not have been happier or felt more blessed.

That morning, after seeing Georgiana and her husband off to Rosings, Elizabeth drove her phaeton to Hunsford. As this was her first time driving alone, she was a bit nervous, but after a short while, found her rhythm and began to enjoy the freedom.

Quelling her excitement long enough to exchange courtesies with the Collinses, Elizabeth threw her arms around Jane in greeting. “I have missed you.”

Jane laughed in return. “As have I.”

The three ladies shared a morning cup of tea before Mrs. Collins excused herself to duties of the manor. Wishing to take advantage of the pleasant weather, the two sisters escaped the house for a walk through Hunsford gardens and the surrounding area.

After giving Elizabeth a general update of the goings-on in Meryton, Jane spoke to her about what was most on her mind, Mr. Bingley and his return to the area.

“I have forgiven him, Lizzy. Truly I have. I suppose I should be flattered by his attentions to me, but…” She paused for a moment. “I do not think I can so easily forget the past.” She dropped her eyes to the ground guiltily.

“Perhaps you should learn some of my philosophy. Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure.”

“If only it were so easy,” Jane murmured. “If he had left because he was uncertain of his affection, I could perhaps understand. I can not, however, so easily forget our interactions in town. He was so cold and indifferent,” her voice lowered considerably to the point of being almost inaudible.

“Jane, do you still have feelings for Mr. Bingley?”

“I… I… Oh! I do not know what to think anymore.” She turned a troubled look. “Mama, of course, is determined to see us married, and I am unlikely to meet another man of such means.” She paused and then looked to Elizabeth. “I do not wish to become a burden to anyone.”

“Jane. Dearest, Jane. You could never be a burden. If you think your future happiness lies with Mr. Bingley, I would certainly not begrudge you. But I beg of you, do not accept him because you feel any obligation to him or the family.”

“Last autumn I believed myself quite in love with him. Now, I am less certain it was love. Perhaps I was just flattered that a man of his stature paid me particular attentions.” She looked to Elizabeth searchingly, as if her sister might hold the key to the events of last autumn. When Elizabeth was silent though, she said in a flustered tone, “Oh, let us not speak on it any more. How does Mr. Darcy’s cousin fare?” She stooped abruptly to pick a flower and held it to her nose.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” Elizabeth said slowly, noticing the blush that crept into her sister’s cheeks, “is faring well. Fitzwilliam thinks he may be able to sit below stairs for a spell in another couple days.”

Jane nodded, still paying unusual attention to the blossom in her hand. “I am glad to hear it. For you and my brother,” she quickly amended, though the flush of her cheeks spoke of a deeper meaning. “I am sorry about Lady Catherine, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth smiled, her suspicions somewhat confirmed. “It is of little consequence. With the colonel on the mend, we are not likely to remain in the area for much longer. Fitzwilliam is anxious to return to Pemberley, and I must confess, I am as well.” She took her sister’s arm. “You will visit though, will you not?”

Jane leaned her head against her sister’s arm. “If you wish it, and father does not mind.”

When they returned the house, they were greeted by Mr. and Mrs. Collins setting out the noon meal.

“I have wonderful news, Cousin Jane.” Mr. Collins said excitedly. “Lady Catherine has invited us to dine at Rosings in a few days time.” He smiled smugly in Elizabeth’s direction. “The family is celebrating Colonel Fitzwilliam’s recovery, and have invited us to take part in it. I have told Lady Catherine of our diligent prayers on her nephew’s behalf.” He then went on to tell Jane about the fine furnishings of Rosings, and how honoured he was by the invitation.

Everyone listened politely, but soon after Collins’ monologue was complete, Elizabeth took her leave, promising to visit again soon.

While Elizabeth was enjoying the company of her sister, Darcy was having a less pleasant conversation with his cousin, Lord Fitzwilliam.

“He is going to resist, unless the entire family expresses their support of my father’s decision,” Stephen said.

“I can not imagine why,” Darcy replied wryly. “Besides, it would be rather hypocritical of me.”

“It was different for you, Darcy. You are your own man, with your own fortune. Richard is not, and my father does not wish to see Rosings back in the hands of the de Bourghs.”

Darcy hemmed at his cousin’s argument. Everything Stephen had said was true. Still, he had been unwilling to marry Anne; how could he persuade another? “Richard could live fairly comfortably off his inheritance.”

“But how would he support a family?”

This grabbed Darcy’s attention. “Has he shown any inclination in that area?”

Stephen hesitated, but then shook his head. “Richard’s head is always turned by a pretty face. I imagine he will marry at some point.”

“Surely he can find some heiress then. He is the son of an earl.”

“Darcy, you know that to be unlikely with his injuries, and being a second a son, and all.”

With a smirk, Darcy suggested, “You could renounce your title and give it to Richard.” He laughed when Stephen glared at him.

“I do not believe my wife would appreciate your sense of humour.” Stephen replied.

Becoming more serious again, Darcy said, “I will speak with Richard, and make the arguments for marrying Anne. If he chooses not to, however, be warned, I will support his decision.”

Stephen shook his head. “You have become quite the radical since your marriage, Darcy. I suppose you are entitled though, newly married as you are. It is all still roses for you.”

Darcy shrugged, trying to appear nonplussed by the accusation. “There is nothing radical about wanting a felicitous marriage. It is why you courted Lady Fitzwilliam rather than the Marquis daughter, is it not?” He was tempted to add he loved his wife, but that was a notion Stephen likely would not understand. Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam got on well enough, but their marriage had never been about love and admiration; that was evident to anyone who saw the two of them together.

“If you will excuse me, I would like to go speak to your brother.” With that, he exited the room. He walked slowly, giving himself some time to figure out just what he would say to his beleaguered cousin. Stephen’s arguments made sense, but did not Richard deserve some happiness? He, nor anyone, would never be happy living under Lady Catherine’s thumb.

A twinge of guilt pricked his conscience. Could he have prevented this? He had thought once he was married, Lady Catherine would take Anne to London and make a match there. He never dreamed she would pawn her daughter off on Richard.

He stopped by the game room and picked up a board game and the morning paper as a way of forestalling the inevitable. Before he had formulated his words though, he was standing in front of Richard’s door. Hoping the words would come to him, he knocked for admittance.

Richard bid entry almost immediately, giving Darcy little time to effect a more cheerful demeanour.

“If you have come to tell me your tale of woe, you can spare your breath,” Richard growled. “I have better things to do than listen to your how your perfect life has lost its lustre.”

Darcy’s eye widened at the unexpected behavior from his usually jovial cousin. “Forgive me. I only thought you might be in need of some distraction.” He lifted the newspaper and backgammon set that was tucked underneath his arm.

Richard sighed heavily. “Forgive me, Darcy. I am in a foul mood today.”

Darcy shrugged and continued towards the chair next to the bed. “So I have heard. Molly was in tears trying to explain the full tray to Mrs. Roberts on her way to the kitchen.

“I will apologize to her when I see her next.”

“Do you wish a game, or should I leave you be?” When Richard nodded towards the board, Darcy went about setting up the table. Like the preparations, the game was played in silence. After several turns, Richard said abruptly, “Lady Catherine and my father have decided I should marry Anne.”

Darcy took a silent deep breath, and slipped into a façade of indifference. “So I have heard... It would be a good match, unless you have some other way to conjure a fortune.” He continued studying the board, unable to look at his cousin. How he wished he had not promised Stephen!

“I have income enough. I do not wish to marry Anne any more than you did.” Richard sneered.

Darcy shot a glance at the door, ensuring it was shut. The last thing either of them needed was for a servant or Lady Catherine to overhear their discussion. “I understand, Richard, but your father has a valid argument. Marriage to Anne would mean your independence.” His words sounded hollow, even to himself. He wondered if Richard noticed their emptiness.

“Darcy, no one who marries Anne would be independent; not while Lady Catherine draws breath.” He shook his head slowly. “I would rather live off my father’s charity than marry Anne.”

Darcy raised his brow, in part to Richard’s adamant tone, and in part to Richard’s unusual acceptance of charity. “Well, it seems to be the appropriate time to bring this up then. I wanted to extend to you an invitation to Arryndale and Pemberley for as long as you like, whenever you wish.” He felt a twinge of guilt, but rationalized it away; he had presented Richard with the arguments for marriage to Anne, had he not?

“Thank you, but if my father will forward me my inheritance, I shall be comfortable at Shoreview.”

Darcy nodded and continued with the game. He needed time to think. Richard was acting strangely; willing to live off Lord Matlock’s charity, but not his. Why? His cousin had always preferred Pemberley to Langford. “The wheelchair arrives tomorrow, and the weather should hold. The fresh air will do you some good.” Darcy said, wanting to drop the subject for now.

Fitzwilliam pursed his lips and nodded just a bit.

The game ended, with Darcy easily winning. When he inquired about it, Richard simply shook his head and declared nothing was wrong. Unconvinced, but unable to ferret anything more out of his cousin, Darcy called it a day.

That evening, Darcy entered the room he and Elizabeth were sharing. Elizabeth was in her night clothes, and was sitting at her vanity brushing out her hair. She appeared lost in thought, but a small frown marred her mien.

Quietly, he stripped himself of his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat, all the while watching his wife. He walked up behind her and gently took the brush from her hand. “Allow me,” he murmured as he kissed her cheek. Elizabeth smiled at him, and sat up a little straighter.

“What troubles you, dearest?” Darcy asked, as he ran his hand the length of her soft locks.

“Forgive me. I was only thinking on a conversation I had with Jane today. Did you say something earlier?” Darcy replied in the negative, and inquired over the conversation, which Elizabeth easily summarized for him. As it came to a close, she turned to gauge her husband’s reaction when she said, “I think Mr. Bingley’s behaviour in town has destroyed any regard she had for him.”

Darcy’s lips pursed tightly for a moment, and then he nodded. “For Bingley’s sake, I hope his persistence will have a favourable impression.” At his wife’s look of confusion he added, “Bingley was determined to do all he could to win Jane’s heart. It must be the reason he remains at Netherfield.”

The two fell into silence, not wishing to air their old argument.

After several minutes, Elizabeth asked, “How is Colonel Fitzwilliam? Mr. Collins mentioned he would be coming downstairs soon.”

“Physically he is quite well.” He hesitated for a moment and then explained, “Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock have decided now that I am married, Richard should marry Anne.” He set down the brush, and much to Elizabeth’s surprise, began separating her hair in sections to plait it. “It is a good match for Richard; he needs a wife with a fortune.”

“From your tone, it sounds like Richard does not look so favourably upon the match.”

Darcy began the meticulous motions required to knot her hair. “He has refused thus far, but I do not understand why. It is not as though he has any other prospects.” At his wife’s pointed look, he rolled his eyes. “I did not wish to marry Anne either, but I was not in need of fortune.”

Elizabeth smiled pertly up at him. “Perhaps Richard does have another prospect, and has simply not told you about her.”

Darcy raised a curious brow. “You mean your sister, or have you become one of Richard’s confidantes?” Elizabeth blushed and shook her head.

After tying her hair neatly with a ribbon, Darcy took both of his wife’s hands, helped her to stand, and pulled her close to him. “Does our sister harbour any feelings towards Richard?”

To this, Elizabeth dropped her eyes to the ground.

“As I thought. Nor do I know Richard’s heart. So let this be the end of it. If there is an attachment, let them work it out for themselves.”

When Elizabeth nodded in agreement, he leaned down and kissed her soundly on the lips. His hand stroked the length of her plait. When he reached its end, he lifted it to his lips, and inhaled its scent. “I believe I could get used to sharing a room,” he said huskily.

Elizabeth snaked her arms around her husband’s waist. “You make a very excellent abigail,” she teased. “Wherever did you learn to plait hair?”

Darcy leaned his forehead against hers. “I was mother and father to Georgiana for many years. I had to learn many things.”

Elizabeth cupped his cheek with her hand. “You are the best of men, Fitzwilliam Darcy.” She kissed his lips. “I believe I too could become rather accustomed to this.”

Darcy responded the only way a man desperately in love with his wife could.

Chapter Forty-One

Posted on: 2009-01-09

The next few days provided the area with some needed rain, as well as cooler temperatures. Darcy welcomed the rain as a matter of principle, but that was as far as his gratitude extended. The precipitation had relegated him to a small cottage with barely enough room for its inhabitants, and he was impatient for it to cease.

Elizabeth and Georgiana seemed to keep distracted easily enough, but without his library, billiard room, or even a nearby fencing club, Darcy prowled the cottage like a caged animal. He had already written to everyone he could think of: Lord Blakeslee, Bingley, Woodall, and some other friends, a few professors at Cambridge with whom he kept an acquaintance, and even some distant Darcy relations that had sought out fortunes abroad. Now, his primary diversion was sorting strands of silk for his wife and sister. How his friends would laugh at him if word ever got out!

Thankfully, on the third day, the rain ceased. Though the muddy roads made travel by carriage difficult, a single horse would have no problems. Darcy could no longer bear the indoors, and when the sun hit the top of the trees, he took to the saddle.

A few hours later, exhausted, and completely covered in mud, he entered the cottage. “Good morning,” he sang to Elizabeth, who was assisting in putting the morning meal on the table.

After a mere glance at he him, she scolded, “Fitzwilliam!” Her lips formed a firm line, and her fists were planted firmly on her waist. “Do you realize how impossible it will be to clean those clothes?”

It was only then he took in the full consequences of his actions. He looked down at his mud spattered breeches and jacket, and then uneasily rubbed his neck. “I… uh… suppose I had not thought that far.”

With a heavy sigh and her head wagging, she said, “I shall have to pay the maid at the inn double. I do hope you at least enjoyed yourself.”

Darcy chuckled. “I did.” He then reached for Elizabeth’s arm, and she deftly avoided him.

“Not until you are cleaned!” she screeched. “I will not have you ruin my morning dress as well!”

Darcy laughed merrily and left to change.

The next four and twenty hours were void of any rain, and the summer sun dried the roads of their puddles. So the following day, normal activity for the Darcys resumed. After a hearty morning meal, Georgiana accompanied her brother to Rosings, while Elizabeth visited Hunsford.

At the beginning of her visit, she was forced to listen to Mr. Collins expound on how good the rain would be for his vegetable garden, though he was grateful it had stopped in time for the dinner at Rosings. Mention of the grand house then led him to wax eloquent on what a divine hostess his patroness was for several more minutes.

Finally, Mr. Collins took his leave, in favour of meeting with one of his parishioners who was in need of some Christian guidance. Elizabeth took the opportunity to suggest a ramble through the grove, to which Jane quickly assented. Charlotte declared she could not accompany them, and Maria, still afraid of muddying her frock, chose to attend to some correspondence. So, the two sisters donned bonnets and gloves and made their way outside.

“So tell me, dear sister,” Elizabeth began as soon as they were out of earshot of the house, “how did you enjoy your dinner at Rosings? Were the boiled potatoes as fine as they are at Longbourn?” The two girls laughed.

“I am sorry you could not be there, Lizzy.”

“It matters not. I quite enjoy my small, intimate dinners with Fitzwilliam and Georgiana.”

Jane smiled, but it did not touch her eyes. “I am pleased to see you so happily situated. I was concerned when you first told me of your engagement, but Col...” she paused. “I am just very happy for you.”

Elizabeth had discerned something was amiss when she arrived at Hunsford that morning. Jane’s reluctance to mention Colonel Fitzwilliam by name clued Elizabeth in to the nature of her sister’s malcontent. “So not everything went well while you are at Rosings.” The tone was a mixture of inquiry and fact.

“Everything was fine, Lizzy.” Jane looked away for a moment, and then drew herself up again. Trying to appear cheerful, she said, “It was very good to see Mr. Fitzwilliam so well recovered.”

Elizabeth nodded, wishing her sister’s bonnet did not hide her face so well. “Yes, we are all quite thankful for that. I have been told he will be walking again soon.”

“Is it certain he will marry his cousin?” Jane uncharacteristically blurted out.

Elizabeth guided them to a nearby bench, where they stopped. Jane was becoming emotional, and Elizabeth did not wish her to trip or turn her ankle. “Fitzwilliam does not believe so,” Elizabeth replied gently, “but nothing has been said definitively. He believes Mr. Fitzwilliam to be waiting until he is well enough to travel before informing his aunt and father. I have already sent ahead to Arryndale and Pemberley to have a room made ready for him.”

Jane gasped. “His family would not…”

“No, I do not think Lord Matlock would disinherit him.” Elizabeth took her sister’s hand and squeezed it for reassurance. “It may, however, be uncomfortable living under the same roof for a bit.”

An uneasy silence fell between them as Elizabeth considered her next words. She had promised her husband not to meddle, but she could not so easily dismiss Jane’s distress. Deciding that it was not interfering to confirm her suspicions over where her sister’s heart tended, she asked, “Jane, do you have feelings for Mr. Fitzwilliam?”

A tear trickled down Jane’s cheek. “It does not matter,” she whispered. Then, taking Elizabeth by surprise, Jane buried her face in her shoulder and began to cry. “Oh, Lizzy. I would not mind so much, if only he would tell me he does not love me. But I saw such a look in his eye… Maybe I was mistaken again?” She pulled back only long enough to glance at Elizabeth, and then returned to her previous position. “I wish…”

Elizabeth was just about to say something soothing, when Jane suddenly sat up and dried her cheeks. “Forgive me, Lizzy. I shall be fine.” She forced a smile and took a few deep breaths to compose herself. “Will you do something for me, Lizzy?”

“Of course, dearest.” Elizabeth replied, unsure how to react to such a display from her most un-perturbable sister. It was obvious Jane was hurting, but at the same time was trying to be strong and do what was expected of her. Elizabeth was left unsure if she should encourage Jane to speak her mind, or allow her to keep up the façade of serenity. The decision was made for her when Jane said, “When his engagement is decided with certainty, will you tell me right away? I do not wish to be left wondering.”

Elizabeth embraced her sister tightly. “Of course.” For a moment the two were silent, but Elizabeth’s curiosity and concern got the better of her. “Does Mr. Fitzwilliam know of your feelings?”

“There has been no opportunity to discuss it.” Jane said just above whisper. “There may not be time.”

Elizabeth nodded, thinking If only… Then, remembering her promise to her husband, pushed those thoughts aside.

The two rose from the bench and wandered a little while longer in the grove, speaking on less emotional topics. Jane’s spirits had lifted slightly, and when she was equal to being in Charlotte and Maria’s company again, they returned to the house.

The following day, Elizabeth once again drove to Hunsford. When she arrived she was informed that the women and had gone out on some errands, but would return shortly.

Not wishing to return to the cottage so quickly, she took advantage of her location. It had been weeks since she had been able to take a long, meandering stroll. While in London, she and Darcy had often visited Hyde Park and the Gardens. Since her arrival in Kent, her exercise had been much more limited. The inn and cottage were located on a main road, making a lone female easy pickings for gypsies or any ill intentioned man.

That, coupled with newness of area, had made Darcy uneasy, and Elizabeth had promised him not to go walking alone. The grove that ran between Hunsford and Rosings, however, was perfectly safe.

Elizabeth strolled leisurely, taking note of the beautifully groomed paths, and humming to herself. Believing herself to be quite alone, she was startled when she looked up and saw her husband. “Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed, her eyes aglow.

“I have been walking in the grove for some time.” Darcy said with a smile that lit his entire being. He pulled a small bouquet of wild flowers from behind his back and presented them to her.

Elizabeth squealed in delight, and buried her nose in the blossoms. “Where ever did you find these?”

Darcy wrapped his arms around his wife. “That is my little secret.” He leaned down and captured her lips. Cognizant of their public location, the kiss lasted but a moment. After placing another brief kiss on her forehead, he stepped back and proffered his arm. Together, the two followed the path talking and laughing with one another.

“I shall be glad to return to Pemberley.” Elizabeth commented. “I have missed walking about.”

“Richard is fully on the mend, so I see no reason why we can not leave, though I had thought you wished to visit with Jane.”

Elizabeth laid her head affectionately against her husband’s arm. “It is so very good to see her, but we need not remain much longer.”

Darcy covered her hand with his. “Then shall we say in a week’s time? I would like to give Richard a little more time to decide where he intends to reside.”

“I shall write Mrs. Reynolds to have the house prepared for us.” She looked up at Darcy. “How did you know to find me here?”

“The doctor was seeing Richard, and I did not wish to remain in the house with my uncle and aunt,” Darcy replied easily, evading the question. He directed her behind a large oak off the path. After planting a kiss on her cheek, he whispered softly in her ear, “Are you disappointed?”

Elizabeth’s breath stuck in her throat, and all she could do was shake her head.

The next moment, their lips were passionately engaged else-wise. “I love you,” Elizabeth breathed, when they broke apart.

Darcy rested his forehead against hers and murmured, “I love you too, my Beth.”

Though full of feeling, their interlude was short, and before long they were once again walking along the path. As they neared the gated entrance to the grove, they stopped once again, neither wishing to quit each other’s company. However, knowing their absence would soon be noticed by the residents of both Hunsford and Rosings, they kissed briefly and parted ways.

Elizabeth returned to Hunsford, where Jane, Charlotte, and Maria were already having tea. She was eagerly invited to join them.

“A parishioner’s dog just had puppies, and we wished to see them,” Charlotte said, explaining their earlier absence.

“They were so small and precious,” Jane cooed. “Mrs. Evans said they make ideal house dogs, but I do not think our father would approve.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I think you are quite right, Jane. Though if it were a male dog, he might not feel so outnumbered.” To this, they all laughed.

Elizabeth watched Jane, and to her dismay, despite her sister’s attempts, she could see a general sadness about her. “So Charlotte, will you and Mr. Collins be obtaining one of those fine creatures?” she asked, turning her attention back to her hostess.

Charlotte quickly shook her head. “No. Lady Catherine does not approve of animals within the house. She believes all creatures carry disease, and with Miss de Bourgh’s health...”

“Then I do hope the Prince Regent does not decide to take up hunting in the area.” Elizabeth commented wryly. “I have heard he has several hounds that follow him throughout St. James.”

“Lizzy!” Jane admonished.

“I am only pointing out the Prince Regent would likely be loath to leave his dogs in the stables while he visited Rosings.”

“I do not think father would mind if I had one.” Maria remarked.

To this, Charlotte immediately objected, stating any number of excuses, including her belief that the pups were too young to be taken from their mother just yet.

The ladies chatted a while longer, and when they could think of little else to say, they took up some sewing. Though Elizabeth had brought none of her own, Charlotte had what appeared to be two months’ worth.

“There is no shortage of need.” Charlotte explained sheepishly.

Elizabeth shrugged, and carefully saw to the task she had been given. Every once in a while, one of the ladies would pause to relieve an aching back or arm, refresh a teacup, or interject a comment or two.

Elizabeth could not help but pay special attention to her sister, especially when Maria made an off-hand comment about Anne de Bourgh and her marriage to Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Jane was making a valiant effort, but Elizabeth, knowing her sister’s moods well, could almost see the unshed tears. At that moment, Elizabeth knew she had to do something; she determined to speak with her husband on the matter.

The following morning, Elizabeth remained at Brandyhatch. The headache that had sent her to bed early last night had left her feeling rather lethargic. Darcy was about to summon a doctor, but Elizabeth convinced him she required nothing more than rest and a quiet morning. To further ease Darcy’s concerns, Georgiana had agreed to stay with her, and between the two ladies, they had managed to push Darcy out the door.

Grudgingly, he arrived at Rosings, determined not to stay a moment longer than necessary. He was almost to Richard’s room when he heard, “Darcy, I would speak with you a moment.”

He stiffened, but was relieved to see Lord Fitzwilliam approaching. Marvelling at how much Stephen could resemble the earl, he wordlessly followed his cousin into a sitting room. After offering Darcy a glass a wine, the viscount began pacing in front of the unlit hearth.

Darcy settled into a nearby chair, watching his cousin with no little amount of curiosity.

Suddenly, Stephen turned to him and blurted out, “Is she worth it?”

Darcy choked on a droplet of wine that caught at the back of throat by his cousin’s abrupt question. “Worth it? To whom are you referring?”

“Your wife,” Stephen said, exasperated, as if Darcy should have been able to read his mind.

“Are you asking me if I regret my marriage to Elizabeth? The answer is no. I would not give her up for all the land in England.” He watched as Stephen turned slowly and began pacing, albeit much more slowly this time, all the while nodding slowly as though he was having a conversation with himself.

“You want to know the best part?” Darcy asked, unsure if he should interrupt. When Stephen stopped and looked at him, Darcy answered, “If I were a pauper, barely able to keep a roof over her head, she would love me still.” He could not help the way his eyes glowed and his lips curved.

Not sure how he expected Stephen to respond to such a statement, he watched in amazement as the man seemingly withered in front of him. His cousin had always been a proud man, and carried himself with all the importance of a future earl. At the moment, however, Lord Fitzwilliam resembled something more of a young lad arguing with a seasoned scholar at the university. “What about the censure of the family?” The viscount muttered, seemingly to himself. “Not just Father, but Mother too. Not to mention the talk in town. And where would he live if Father disinherited him?”

“May I ask where these questions tend?” Darcy asked. There was no immediate response. Finally, Stephen took a seat on the settee. “I need your help.” An air of confidence had seemingly returned.

Darcy said nothing, allowing Stephen to continue.

“I presume you are aware of the attachment between Richard and Miss Bennet.”

“Still?” Darcy asked. The word was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“So you knew something of it while they were in London.”

“I thought it to be one of Richard’s passing fancies.”

Stephen shook his head. “She is why he will not marry Anne.”

It was Darcy’s turn to rub the chagrin off his face. Everything was suddenly becoming clear. “Yet, he will not offer for her, because he has but a small income, and she has no fortune.” And he would rather live at Langford than risk seeing her at Pemberley.

“That is the general issue, but fortune need not be a concern.” Stephen nervously toyed with his pocket watch, wrapping its chain around his index finger and then releasing it again. “He is stubborn, and in spite of my advice, he intends to leave for Langford as soon as the doctor deems him well enough for travel. I need your assistance in securing an interview between Richard and Miss Bennet.”

“Are you certain Miss Bennet would accept him?” Darcy asked, wanting desperately to put an end to such scheming. There was no way he was going to get involved; not after what happened with Bingley. He had given up matchmaking, and more importantly, had promised Elizabeth he would not meddle.

“I saw them together the other night. They did nothing but stare at one another when they thought the other one occupied.” An odd sadness came over his countenance. “They had the same look you do, when someone even mentions Elizabeth.”

Darcy’s lips twitched of their own accord, causing Stephen to shake his head slowly. “Yes. That look.”

Darcy cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, attempting to appear more serious. “Why not let them work it out?” His mouth opened and then closed again. “I am sorry, but I can not help you.”

“Why?” Stephen demanded.

“Because I promised Elizabeth I would not.”

“I can not believe your wife does not think Richard a good enough match for her sister? He is the son of an earl. Or perhaps she has us all fooled and truly is nothing more than a fortune hunter. Perhaps she has someone with a larger income in mind for her sister?”

“Be careful what you say, Stephen.” Darcy warned with murder in his eye. “That is my wife you are speaking of.”

“Then tell me why your wife would make you promise to not assist in bringing Richard and her sister together.”

Darcy was trapped. He could not allow Stephen’s misgivings about Elizabeth to continue, yet confessing his previous attempt at matchmaking was not an option either.

“Have you spoken to Miss Bennet?” Darcy asked. His tone had returned to normal levels, now that his indignation was moderated.

“No, but it was plain for the entire room to see. I am only surprised Lady Catherine did not have Miss Bennet thrown from the house.”

“How do you intend to break the news to Lady Catherine, or your father for that matter?” Darcy asked, pouncing on the opportunity to divert the conversation.

“I will figure that out after there is something to announce. Now will you assist me?”

Darcy hesitated once again. Then, finding a good compromise, he said, “If you speak to Miss Bennet, and can be assured of her attachment to Richard, I will assist you.”

Predictably, Stephen’s brow creased. “Would it not be easier for Elizabeth to learn her sister’s wishes?”

Darcy shrugged. “Likely so, but Miss Bennet is likely to be more honest with you, as she will be less concerned about your expectations.” With that, he stood, anxious to end the conversation.

Stephen shook his head. “Very well, Darcy. I shall speak to Miss Bennet.”

Two days later, while the sun was just peeking over the horizon, Darcy found himself in his coach, with Elizabeth and Jane. He prayed some sort of decision would be made this morning. If things continued in such uncertain terms, especially after the discussion he had with Elizabeth over this meeting, he would have no choice but to return to Pemberley, and let Stephen figure things out.

He looked over at his wife, who was holding her sister’s hand supportively. Jane did look particularly anxious, and he both hoped and dreaded it was anticipation in seeing Richard. If she truly loved Richard, he would wish them joy, but at the same time, could not help wondering what it would mean for Bingley.

If he was truthful, he would admit that Elizabeth had spoken the truth the other night. He would not have been so quick to send Bingley back to Hertfordshire were it not for his friend’s income. And, he had to admit part of his unwillingness to bring Richard and Jane together stemmed from his concern for Bingley. He had hoped Jane would eventually see Bingley for the good man he was, and they would marry. Jane would steady Bingley, and keep him focused, and Bingley would provide well for Jane. It was a very good match.

The carriage came to stop, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. He stepped down, and then handed down his wife and sister. Stephen was nowhere in sight, and for a moment, he thought perhaps that infamous Fitzwilliam stubbornness had prevailed.

Not more than ten minutes later, though, sounds of another vehicle could be heard, and it was not long until he saw a curricle approaching. Curious to determine Richard’s attachment to Jane with his own eyes, Darcy watched as his cousin was assisted to the ground.

Richard struggled for a moment or two with his crutch, but his eyes never left Miss Bennet’s form. In fact, Richard appeared so distracted, Darcy was unsure if his cousin was even aware of his presence.

A tug on his arm grabbed his attention. It was Elizabeth, gently leading him away from the couple now situated on the stone bench.

“If that stubborn ox does not declare himself, I swear I will leave him in the closest ditch,” Stephen jested.

“He did not look a bit surprised by our presence,” Elizabeth commented.

Stephen grinned smugly. “I decided he would put up less of a fight if I told him where we were going.” He snickered in laughter. “I was right, too.” To this they all laughed.

“It is in their hands now,” Darcy commented. He looked sideways at Lord Fitzwilliam. “If word of our matchmaking gets back to London, you and I will not be able to show our faces.”

Stephen chuckled. “Then it is a good thing that no one knows of this but us.”

The three walked a bit further, before sight of the sun filtering through the tree branches spoke of the rapidly approaching morning. As they returned to the carriages, they could see the couple on the bench in an intimate embrace.

That evening, after giving Elizabeth sufficient time to ready herself for bed, Darcy entered their room. He was surprised to find a tray of biscuits and a small bottle of cordial.

“To what do I owe this?” he asked playfully. “Are you not too old to be stealing sweets from the kitchen?”

“I did not steal these,” Elizabeth replied smugly. “Though I happen to know you have been guilty of such a charge many times.”

Darcy laughed, easily remembering the nights he had snuck into Pemberley’s kitchens to retrieve late night snacks for them. “Yes, but I had a debt to fulfil, and a gentleman never goes back on his word,” Darcy replied, with as much solemnity as the occasion permitted. After discarding his cravat and tailcoat, he settled onto the sofa next to his wife. “I know for certain, you have no such debt to redress.”

“True.” She smiled smugly, and took a bite of her biscuit.

“I have always wanted to ask how it was you were never caught when you lost a wager.” He put his arm around Elizabeth. “I swear Mrs. Anderson counted the biscuits; she always knew when I had stolen some.”

Elizabeth giggled and pursed her lips tightly together. Casually, she dipped her biscuit into the fruity concoction and after taking a bite, let out a satisfying “Mmmmm.”

“Elizabeth…” Darcy groused.

“Upon my honour, Fitzwilliam, I can not reveal that secret.”

Darcy raised a brow, while sipping his drink. “And pray, dear wife, why can you not?”

“It would be most improper.” Seeing Darcy would not relent, she sighed. “Oh, very well. But I do not like speaking ill of the dead.” Darcy continued to press her, so Elizabeth explained her agreement with Mrs. Anderson, Pemberley’s former cook. When Darcy remained silent, she became confused. “Fitzwilliam?”

“Do you know how many pots I had to scrub?!”

Elizabeth laughed heartily; so much so, that she nearly choked. “And I thought you to be a clever sort of man.” She squealed as Darcy roughly pulled her to him.

“I shall show you cleverness, Madame,” he growled. He then engaged in the one activity he knew could silence her laughter.

After a most delightful interlude, with a devilish smile, Elizabeth said lowly, “Will it make you feel better if I told you Mrs. Anderson asked me to help strain the berries for the cordial, if I was going to take some?”

“How do you do it, Beth?” he whispered, in between sweet kisses. “How do you so thoroughly bewitch everyone around you?” The question was rhetorical, and before Elizabeth could even attempt to respond, his lips had captured hers.

After a few moments, Elizabeth rested her head against his chest. “I love you, dearest husband.” Darcy’s only response was to kiss the top of her head.

She looked up at him. “If Jane and Richard are even half as happy as we are, they shall do very well together.”

Darcy merely grunted his agreement.

Feeling her husband’s distraction, she asked, “What troubles you? Do you not approve of their engagement?”

“It is nothing so horrible as that, dearest. It is evident they love each other, and I am very happy for them.” He paused and let out a soft sigh. “I was only thinking of Bingley.”

“Do you think he will react badly?”

Darcy shook his head. “I am uncertain. If it were me…” He tightened his arms around Elizabeth, as though he was afraid she might disappear.

“You could invite him to Pemberley for a visit,” Elizabeth suggested, loosening his grip so she could breathe.

“Even if it meant Miss Bingley and the Hursts?”

Though she answered in the affirmative, there was a noticeable hesitation. Darcy tightened his embrace once again, and kissed her hair. “I love you, my Beth.”

Chapter Forty-Two

Posted on: 2009-01-17

A week later, after a brief stay in London to attend to some business, the Darcys, along with Jane, were once again on the road. Though instead of Pemberley, their carriage rolled on towards Hertfordshire! Provided Mr. Bennet gave his consent to Mr. Richard Fitzwilliam to marry his eldest daughter - something all but the intended groom believed would be readily given - there was a wedding to attend!

Darcy looked on amusedly as Jane taught Georgiana a new stitch for embroidering flower petals. They teased and laughed at one another's attempts at the feat in the swaying carriage, and in general behaved as sisters. Warmed by such a scene, he could not help but wonder if the whole Ramsgate incident might have been avoided if Georgiana had had friends like Jane and Elizabeth over the years.

He looked to his right, where his wife was nodding off to sleep. It had not even been a full year since they had become reacquainted, and the change in Georgiana was undeniable. And, if he was honest, he had changed as well. Elizabeth had taught him how to laugh at himself again. More importantly, she had shown him how to do his duty, despite the burden of being a Darcy; he had learned to enjoy the life of privilege to which he had been born.

As the passing scenery indicated they were nearing Meryton, a sense of dread came over him. The task that lay before him was rather unenviable. Worse, he had no idea how Bingley would react to the news.

If Bingley was aware of Miss Bennet's opinion of him, the severity of the blow might be mitigated. If not, there was no telling what he might do. The fact that Miss Bennet's betrothed was his cousin did nothing to help matters. Bingley might understandably be angry at him, forever dampening their friendship.

Still, it would be best to hear this news from a friend, rather than the hens of the neighbourhood.

After seeing Elizabeth and Georgiana safely settled at Purvis Lodge, and Jane returned to her father, Darcy made his way to Netherfield, using the miles from Longbourn to rehearse what he would say.

Before the words had solidified into coherent sentences though, the familiar edifice came into view. His stomach clenched. He consoled himself with the fact Bingley was not violent in nature. The proceeding would likely not come to blows.

Darcy was shown into the drawing room, where Bingley was studiously hunched over a table.

"Darcy! So good to see you!" Bingley exclaimed happily upon seeing him. He vigorously shook Darcy's hand and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Bingley. It is good to see you." His friend's jovial mood was doing nothing to make his task easier.

"Is Mrs. Darcy or Miss Darcy not with you?" Bingley looked about in expectation.

"They are both at Purvis Lodge with my cousins."

After showing Darcy to a seat and pouring him a glass of wine, Bingley said, "You are welcome to stay at Netherfield. I have rooms for your cousins."

Darcy nearly snorted at the ironic invitation, but repressed it. "I would not wish to impose on you so grievously."

Not surprisingly, Bingley waved him off and pressed him one more time. Again Darcy declined, and then quickly changed the subject to general pleasantries. After assurances of their families' health and well being were exchanged, Darcy nodded towards one in the line of pistols that lay on the table before them.

"It is a German Flintlock Pistol from the early seventeen hundreds." Bingley crowed, handing over the piece. "I acquired it at an auction, just before arriving in Hertfordshire."

"A splendid piece," Darcy remarked. He examined it with the expertise of a seasoned proprietor of antiques, checking its weight, balance, and firing mechanism. "The owner must have been loath to part with it."

Bingley let out a sly grin and said, "He was, but he was more than happy for the pounds he received in exchange."

"And how is Wortham?" Darcy asked, avoiding the purpose for his visit just a little longer.

"Splendid, if my steward is to be believed," Bingley beamed. "I can only hope the neighbours are as agreeable as they are in Hertfordshire." Darcy nodded. "But enough of Wortham," Bingley said. "Tell me of Kent. Colonel Fitzwilliam is well?"

Darcy's heart stopped in his chest. How had Bingley learned of Colonel Fitzwilliam's engagement to Jane? The next moment however, he realized the inquiry was but a casual reference. "He… uh… he has retired from the service, but is healing well enough." Darcy replied, gathering his composure. Knowing he could not stall any further, he anxiously stood and walked about the room before grasping the back of a chair to quell his agitation. "I need to tell you something," he said slowly.

When he was certain Bingley was listening, he began. "When I advised you to return to Hertfordshire, I was concerned about you. You… you were not yourself. You seemed to have lost your way. I thought that perhaps with some time away from town, you would pull yourself together, and it seems as though you have." He forced a wan smile, instantly regretting this line of approach. Saying all this could not mitigate his own part in this affair, and Bingley certainly did not need to be reminded of his past misdeeds at the moment. He was about to press onward, when Bingley interrupted.

"You were correct, I was not myself, but... Darcy, it would be easier if you just spoke your mind," Bingley said in a tone that hinted of his embarrassment.

Darcy drew in a breath. "It concerns Miss Bennet."

Bingley stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair. "Is she well? She did not fall ill, did she?" He looked as though he might run to Longbourn immediately.

"She is well." Darcy reassured. "She is engaged to be married. To my cousin, Richard. I am very sorry, Bingley. I did not know her affections had changed." The words rushed out of him, and unsure of what else to say, he stood mutely, waiting for Bingley's reaction.

For several moments, Bingley did nothing. Then, looking like he had been punched in the gut, he dropped back into his chair. "I… I… Thank you for telling me," he murmured. He stared blankly at the line of pistols on the table in front him.

Seeing the direction of his friend's gaze, a grim chill gripped Darcy. He quickly walked over to his friend and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. "I am truly sorry, Charles. If I had known…"

"No… no… it is not your fault." Bingley muttered, shrugging off Darcy's hand. "Please… I would like to be alone."

Not wishing to leave things as they were, Darcy did not move.

Bingley turned and looked up at him. In a stronger voice, he said, "I will be fine. I… it is just unexpected." After a few more minutes, he added, "I should have Snyder pack my trunks."

Darcy struggled for words. He never knew what to say in awkward situations such as this. For all his education, he had never learned what to say after crushing his friend's hopes. He placed his hand on Bingley's shoulder once again, and with a sympathetic squeeze, said, "Of course. If there is anything…"

Not surprisingly, Bingley dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

With no other option, Darcy left the room. He paused just outside the doors, wishing he had something to say that might lessen the blow. Without any other recourse though, Darcy left Netherfield, but resolved to call on Bingley again soon.

That evening, while reclined comfortably in bed, Elizabeth and Darcy quietly reflected on the day's events. They had once again chosen to share a room, and aside from a few raised eyebrows or smug smiles, the arrangement provided a more amenable room to guest ratio.

Darcy had just finished relaying the contents of his conversation with Bingley to Elizabeth, and though neither voiced it, both were concerned for the man.

He absently stroked his wife's arm, while she rested with her head nestled against his shoulder. When neither had spoken for some time, Elizabeth asked, "What are you thinking, dear husband?"

Darcy squeezed her tight for a moment. "I was only thinking how much things have changed."

Elizabeth shifted and looked up at him expectantly. He gave her quick peck on the forehead and explained, "The last time I was in this room, was the night before our wedding. I hardly slept. I wanted nothing more than for the ceremony to be completed and us to be on our way to Pemberley."

Elizabeth stretched just enough to place a kiss on his cheek. "God has been good to us."

"A year ago, I was content with my small fiefdom. I believed Georgiana and myself safe, untouchable, above scandal and ridicule, almost above my fellow man. Then Ramsgate happened." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "It was humbling to learn all my security and self righteousness was but an illusion; that my defences were not as impenetrable as I had thought. Georgiana was nearly lost to me, and scandal was on my doorstep. For the first time, I did not know what I was supposed to do, and nothing I did made things right."

Elizabeth listened patiently to her husband. It was not often he voiced what was in his heart like this, and she would do nothing to discourage him. She nestled closer to him, a silent action of support.

"I owe Bingley a great deal. I wish I could repay the service somehow." He paused, and let a loose lock of her hair fall through his fingers. "It was Bingley's actions that brought you back into my life, and to Georgiana's." He shifted so he was now lying with a clear vision of her. "You changed everything for me, my Beth. I needed a friend, someone who would not judge me, or speak to me of duty and the family name. I needed you."

Elizabeth eyes shone with love and understanding. "I love you, Fitzwilliam." She cupped his cheek with her hand, and was not at all surprised when he turned his head to kiss her palm.

"I do not know what I would have done if I had lost you." He brushed the hair off her forehead. "I … Bingley…" he sighed, unable to put into words what he wanted to convey.

Elizabeth placed her hand against his chest. "Fitzwilliam, Bingley could not have known what waited for you in Hertfordshire. Just be his friend. That is all any of us can be to one another. Even we were friends first."

Darcy kissed his wife on the forehead. Then with a rakish smirk, he pulled her close to him. "Come here, friend."

The next few days were filled with visits to friends and neighbours of the neighbourhood, and of course, to Longbourn. Mrs. Bennet took great delight in entertaining and showing off her esteemed relations. Elizabeth and Darcy bore the attention with as much equanimity as possible, and did their best to see their guests, Lord and Lady Matlock and Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam, were not overly put upon by their curious neighbours.

When they were not obliged to entertain friends, family or neighbours, the two spent time visiting Elizabeth's favourite places. There were a few trips to Oakham Mount, walks through the fields of Longbourn, and quiet rides on horseback through the paths of Hertfordshire.

On one particular outing, Elizabeth led Darcy down a cart road a few miles away. "This is the place," she said, sliding down from her horse.

Darcy looked around, not finding anything particular about the area. The road looked vaguely familiar, but he could not place it.

"This is where your father's carriage wheel broke." Elizabeth explained, relaying Mr. Bennet's perspective of the event.

Tying her horse to nearby tree, she took a seat on a fallen tree. Darcy followed suit. "Your father was on his way Pemberley when a spoke in his carriage wheel broke. My father happened to be coming home from the Wiliford's place, just over yonder." She pointed towards an unknown destination northwest of their current location. "It was too late for your father to return to London, so my father invited your father to spend the night at Longbourn. They placed your father's trunks on the farm cart, and then followed the shortcut we took to Meryton." She smiled at Darcy's surprised look. "Your father never told you how our fathers came to know one another?"

Darcy shook his head. "I always assumed they had met at the University or in town."

Elizabeth grinned. "My father was never fond of town, not even when he was in his prime."

Darcy chuckled.

"As it turns out, a storm blew in that night and kept your father at Longbourn for nigh a se'enight. Our fathers remained friends through correspondence and occasional visits, and when I was born, your parents agreed to be my god parents."

"It all came down to a broken carriage." Darcy said in wonder.

"Of course when I was young, the story was a bit different." Elizabeth replied, not wanting the mood to become too serious. She let out an amused trill. "Back then, my father was a peasant who had saved your father, a prince, from an evil dragon that only ate royalty and rich people. Afraid that the dragon might return, the prince gave his favourite daughter, me, to the peasant for safekeeping on the condition that the peasant would bring the girl to the palace, Pemberley, each year to visit."

When Elizabeth finished her story, she laughed in embarrassment. "So there you have it."

Darcy laughed with her and kissed her hand. "That story is not so far off. Pemberley is not exactly a palace, and I am not exactly a prince, but your father did give up his favourite daughter for my safe keeping."

Mischievously, Elizabeth replied, "I think I preferred the story when I was a princess!"

Darcy laughed heartily. "Very well, my princess. I think we should return to our guests." He stood and then bowed dramatically as he offered Elizabeth his hand in assistance. Elizabeth laughed, but took it. A few moments later, they were on their way to Purvis Lodge.

Roughly a week after the Darcys arrival in Hertfordshire, Meryton welcomed another guest, Lord Blakeslee. Darcy and Elizabeth were both present to welcome him.

"Wesley," Darcy greeted, with a firm handshake and clap on the shoulder. "You are looking well."

Lord Blakeslee returned the affectionate actions while replying, "Good to see you as well, old man. I see you are still wearing that insufferable grin." Darcy chuckled, while Blakeslee turned his attention to Elizabeth.

"Mrs. Darcy, a pleasure as always," he said with a flourished bow.

"Welcome to Purvis Lodge, Lord Blakeslee." Elizabeth returned with an elaborate curtsey. "I hope your travel was not difficult."

"Aside from being called from the comfort of Trentholm, it was no burden. Naturally, when I heard one of London's self proclaimed bachelors was to be married, I set out to confirm it myself." He shared a chuckle with Darcy.

"Lord Blakeslee, you must be hungry." Elizabeth interjected, wanting to move the reunion indoors. "Please, allow me to show you to your room so you can refresh yourself, and then I shall have some tea and cakes set out."

An hour later, Elizabeth joined the others in the drawing room. She was surprised to find Georgiana and Lady Fitzwilliam present as well. When the tea service arrived, she poured the tea, and with Georgiana's assistance, saw everyone was served. After pouring her own cup, she took a seat in the corner, next to Georgiana, content to simply watch the interaction of the others.

She smiled at Lord Blakeslee, Lord Fitzwilliam, her soon to be brother and her husband's banter. Every once in a while, Darcy would glance in her direction, and they would exchange a look.

Overcome with the emotion of seeing her new family merrily gathered together, she reached over and squeezed Georgiana's hand. She had a husband who worshipped her, and a new sister whom she adored.

She could not help but think of her friend Charlotte Collins, who was married to a man she merely tolerated for her own security. It was such a sharp contrast to the warmth and affection she felt in this room. A shiver ran through her, as she considered just how easily that could have been her, had her father acquiesced to her mother's wishes.

While her engagement, like Charlotte's, had been formed out of convenience, she and Darcy had married out of love for one another. A wave of sadness washed over her, as she realized Charlotte would likely never know the pleasure of loving her husband, or having him love her in return.

She truly was blessed.

Two days before the wedding, Elizabeth timidly approached the study in Purvis Lodge. Her husband had sequestered himself in that room to address a few issues his steward had sent him, and generally did not respond well to interruptions when tending to matter estate matters. However, delaying this particular conversation would not be prudent. Things would be rushed as it was. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door, and cringed at the distracted but annoyed call to enter.

"Fitzwilliam," she said as she entered. "I have been thinking."

Upon seeing Elizabeth, Darcy sat back in his seat and smiled.

"The house in Bath has been left unoccupied by the family for several years now, and I would like to see it put to some use."

Darcy nodded. "You wish to visit Bath? I suppose that could be arranged."

"Not exactly." She sat in the chair across the desk and smoothed her skirts. "I was thinking that with the house in town, and Pemberley, and your other holdings, we do not need that house."

Darcy's brow wrinkled. "You wish to sell it?" Suddenly, his mien turned stormy. "You are not being blackmailed are you? I demand you tell me who it is! I shall run the rogue through!"

Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her lips to keep from laughing. "Have no fear, dearest. It is nothing as grave as that. I am perfectly well." She gently cleared her throat. "I wish to give the house to Jane and Richard, as a wedding gift."

Seeing that his wife was truly not in any danger, he relaxed again. "That is very generous of you, dearest, but I doubt Richard would accept such a gift. Even if he did, I will not have you giving away your future security."

Seeing his wife's downtrodden look, he walked around the desk and took the seat next her. "But, my ever perceptive wife, I believe you are correct." He took her hands in his. "The house currently has no residents, and the treatments available in Bath could be very beneficial to Richard's recovery." After taking a few moments to consider the options, he proposed the following: "Why do we not offer to allow Jane and Richard to live in the house, rent free. It would allow them to put some money towards improvements on Shoreview, and increase their income."

He smiled, seeing his wife brighten. "I have just been looking at the accounts, and I believe there are adequate funds to allow your sister to do some redecorating as well." He kissed the back of her hand. "As you said, the house will surely be in need some new wall fabrics or something of the sort. Jane will torment Richard quite delightfully with nothing but talk of lace and silk."

Elizabeth slapped at her husband playfully. "Fitzwilliam Darcy!" she admonished.

"Is this sufficient?" He asked.

Elizabeth thought for a moment and then smiled. While it was not exactly what she had in mind, it was an excellent compromise that served everyone's needs. "You are the best of men, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

With that pronouncement, Darcy stood. After placing a peck on Elizabeth's head, he returned to his original seat behind the desk. "I shall discuss this with Richard later. I am certain he will be most grateful."

Pleased with the results of the conversation, Elizabeth took her leave.

Finally the day of Jane's wedding arrived. Not unexpectedly, Mrs. Bennet was a bundle of nerves, and spent much of the time before the ceremony complaining about how much more grand things would have been had she been given sufficient time to prepare.

Darcy sat in the front pew next to his wife, and watched his cousin sitting across the aisle nervously tug at his tail coat, gloves, and waistcoat. He exchanged an amused smirk with Lord Blakeslee; one that said, "It will be your turn soon."

He would have liked to say that on his wedding day, he had not been as nervous, but he remembered that day vividly. It had been all he could do not to run to Longbourn and carry Elizabeth to the church. He consoled himself by reasoning that if he had the benefit Richard did - had he known nothing short of a great calamity would have kept Elizabeth from the church that morning - he would not have been nearly so flummoxed.

The sound of the church doors opening, and the entrance of the bride, broke his reverie. He watched as Richard did his best not to limp as he walked towards the altar to meet Jane. Murmurs of how beautiful Jane looked wafted to his ears, and he agreed, Jane did look quite resplendent. Still, he could not but think Elizabeth had been even more so, on their wedding day.

As the marriage vows were being recited, Darcy felt all the emotions of his own wedding day come to the forefront. Surreptitiously, he took Elizabeth's hand and squeezed it. From the corner of his eye, he saw her smile, and then dab her eyes with her handkerchief. Her thoughts were not far from his.

He watched as his cousin placed a ring on Jane's finger, a look of complete adoration graced both their faces. His cousin had chosen wisely. Jane was no heiress, but as Darcy had learned, some things are worth more than their weight in rubies.

As soon as the vicar pronounced Jane and Richard man and wife, a warm applause rose, and congratulations from everyone was given. The wedding breakfast passed with little fanfare, and it was not long until the guests were tossing slippers at the back of the bridal carriage.

The following morning, just as Darcy, Stephen, and Lord Blakeslee were returning from a morning ride, an express rider arrived at Purvis Lodge.

Concerned something had happened to his cousin and new wife, Darcy tore open the express. What he read took him by complete surprise. Without even taking his leave, or even ensuring the groom had taken his horse, he headed inside.

Bypassing all his usual greetings, he addressed the nearest servant, "See that mine and Mrs. Darcy's trunks are packed immediately, and tell Mrs. Darcy I wish to speak to her. I will be in the study."

He did not have to wait long before Elizabeth entered, her voice wrinkled in concern. "Fitzwilliam, is something wrong? The housekeeper thought it was urgent."

Not quite master of his emotions, he remained with his back to his wife, and continued staring out the window. "Bingley is dead," he uttered.

Elizabeth's hand flew to her mouth and she dropped into the nearest chair. "How?"

Darcy took a deep breath in an effort to remain composed. "There was a fire at Bingley's townhouse."

Silence reigned, as the news hung thickly in the air.

Finally, Elizabeth stood and went to her husband's side. She laid a gentle hand on his arm, and was not at all surprised when Darcy turned and pulled her into a tight embrace. After a few minutes, with a shuddering breath, he stepped back. "Mr. Hurst has requested I come to London at my earliest convenience. I have already ordered our trunks packed."

Realizing Darcy expected her to leave Hertfordshire immediately along with him, she asked, "What of Georgiana? What of our guests? We can not leave them."

"They had intended to leave on the morrow, and can bring Georgiana with them. They will understand the need for our early departure." Though it was a statement, the questioning look in Darcy's eye spoke of his inner conflict on the subject.

"Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth argued gently, "if you were to leave now on horseback, you could be in town before dusk. It would be well past dark if we went by carriage."

Darcy nodded slowly, and then pulled Elizabeth to him again. "I wish you to be with me," he said softly.

"I wish it too, dearest husband." She rested her head against his chest. "I am afraid I would not be much use to the Hursts tonight though. I will see to our guests, and then join you as soon as may be, tomorrow."

Darcy hesitated, but knowing his wife was correct, acquiesced.

The next half hour was spent preparing for Darcy's departure. Elizabeth walked outside with him. Not caring that they were in plain sight of the road, Darcy pulled Elizabeth into one last embrace.

With tear-filled eyes, Elizabeth whispered, "Be careful, dearest husband."

Darcy smiled, and kissed her forehead. "No later than noon tomorrow," he ordered in return. Then, with a final kiss on the hand, he mounted and spurred Achilles into action.

Chapter Forty-Three - FINAL CHAPTER

Posted on: 2009-01-22

Darcy raced the setting sun to London. The household staff would be surprised to see him, but his requirements would be small. Some water for ridding himself of the dirt from the road and a light meal would be sufficient. And mourning clothes.

Bingley was dead! He wondered how long it would take for that to sink in. He had just seen the man! Sure, their parting had not be under the best of circumstances, but dead?

Guiltily, he wondered if he had been so distracted with Elizabeth that he had forgotten his duty to his friend. Since Bingley had left Netherfield, Darcy had written him, but had received no reply. London was but a few hours from Meryton, an easy trip with a well sprung carriage. He could have gone and returned the following day. He should have gone, but he was loath to leave Elizabeth. And now Bingley was dead!

Dead. The word rang in his head like a school bell calling children to class. He had experienced his share of death, starting with the deaths of his own parents, but those had been long, drawn out deaths. He had just seen Bingley, whole and hale!

Signs of the city sprung up around him, so he shook the dreary thoughts from his mind and turned them towards more practical ones. Part of him knew he should go to Arryndale, clean up and wait for Mr. Hurst to show him the wreckage, but the further into town he rode, the harder it became to dismiss his curiosity. Disbelief won out, and he could not help steering Achilles to Grosvenor Square.

As he neared the location of Bingley's town house, shock took over, causing him to pull hard on Achilles' reigns. The once proud house was but a pile of rubble; the remnants of brick and stone were charred black. Wafts of smoke still rose from the debris, and the scent of ash overpowered all the usual smells of the city.

Numbly, he slid from the saddle and walked toward it. Bit by bit, the rubble became recognizable: the back of a chair, the leg of Bingley's billiard table, the frame of a china cabinet, a once beautiful gilded picture frame.

Struck with the reality of the situation, his stomach wretched and left its contents on the street. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he returned to Achilles. It was too much. In one swift move, he mounted and pressed the beast on towards Arryndale with a single thought playing in his head: Bingley was dead. It was no ruse, no sick joke. He had seen the carnage with his own two eyes. Bingley was dead.

When he arrived at Arryndale, it was apparent that news of the fire had preceded him. The servants were prepared for his arrival, and welcomed him home with their usual efficiency; his butler had even gone so far as to lay out his mourning clothes. So, after a quick meal of cheese and dried meats, Darcy made his way to the Hursts' residence.

Relieved to be properly attired for the solemn task ahead, Darcy climbed the stone steps. A black wreath hung on the door spoke of the family's loss. Without even needing to give his card, he was ushered into the Hursts' drawing room.

"Mr. Darcy." Hurst greeted. "It was good of you to come on such short notice."

"My deepest condolences on your loss," Darcy replied. "My wife arrives tomorrow, but also sends her sincere sympathies."

"Thank you." Hurst shook his head slowly, and then, after showing Darcy to another nearby seat, returned to his chair. "Very sad business this is," he muttered. "Louisa and Caroline have retired."

Hurst relayed all he could about the night of the fire and then went on to discuss the funeral plans. "Charles would have wanted you to be a pallbearer."

"I would be honoured," Darcy replied against emotions gathering in his breast.

After some more details were discussed, a sombre silence descended on the two. As Darcy was preparing to leave, he said, "If there is anything I can do to be of assistance…"

Hurst eagerly accepted. "I do not have much experience in matters such as these. I know how to manage my accounts well enough, but Charles purchased an estate."

Darcy swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering Bingley's exuberance for it. "Wortham," he whispered hoarsely.

Mr. Hurst nodded. "I imagine it will have to be sold off or something of that nature. I would appreciate your expertise in that." He hesitated for a moment, before adding, "There is also the issue of the servants. I am afraid Mrs. Hurst is not up to the task just now."

"Mrs. Darcy will be in town tomorrow, and will help you find situations for all of them." He cleared his throat. "Snyder, Bingley's valet…" He was uncertain how to raise the subject, but knowing his valet, Franklin, was a friend of the man, he felt obliged to inquire after him specifically.

To his surprise, Hurst replied, "We have not seen hide nor hair of him or his family…" He shook his head slowly again. "I guess I am not surprised. Caroline spent the entire night screaming about having all the servants dismissed without recommendation. She blames the fire on them."

Taken aback, Darcy asked, "Are there many others… missing?" An accurate servant count was important; they could have easily perished in the fire.

"Snyder's relations and a few others." He looked up Darcy, and noticing his alarm, added. "We searched the rubble and found a few others near the servant quarters."

Darcy nodded. The details did not need to be spoken. "Any servants you can not house here are welcome at Arryndale until new positions can be found."

Mr. Hurst graciously accepted the offer. Since there was nothing else that could be resolved that night, Darcy took his leave, with a promise to return the following day.

As promised, Elizabeth and Georgiana arrived at Arryndale the following day. It was a bit past noon when the Darcy carriage rolled up to the house, causing Darcy a fair amount of consternation; but his relief at seeing them both alive and well brushed aside any ill tempered thoughts.

After seeing their trunks unloaded, and taking a short luncheon, Elizabeth dressed in clothes most suitable for mourning, and accompanied her husband to the Hursts' home. On the way, Darcy informed Elizabeth of the plans and Mr. Hurst's request she assist in placing Bingley's servants and arranging their travel to their new situations.

As they neared their destination, Elizabeth gasped loudly. Too late, Darcy realized they were passing the ruins. He had meant to follow a different route, but in his haste, forgot to inform his coachman.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam!" Elizabeth cried. "That is not…"

Darcy quickly gathered her to him, trying to shield her from the grim scene. "Forgive me, dearest. I had not wanted you to see that." He silently berated himself for his inattentiveness.

"I will be well, Fitzwilliam. It only took me by surprise," she said after taking a moment to collect herself. Then, unable to help herself, she looked out the window, straining her neck to see the ashes once again. "All of their things… reduced to embers. And Mr. Bingley..." Tears formed in her eyes, which she dabbed away with handkerchief.

A few moments later, they were climbing the steps to the Hursts' townhouse, where again they were shown to the drawing room. They were greeted cordially by Mr. Hurst, and then Mrs. Hurst. Miss Bingley also gave a teary greeting, until she saw Elizabeth.

Upon seeing the woman who had ruined all her hopes of becoming Mrs. Darcy, Miss Bingley seemingly transformed into another being. "You!" she cried as she stood. "How dare you show yourself here!" She marched quickly towards Elizabeth, shocking everyone in the room. "This is all your fault!" she screamed.

Before anyone comprehended what was happening, Elizabeth felt her cheek burning, and she was stumbling backwards.

Darcy managed to catch her before she fell to the floor, and after taking a moment to ensure she was well, he turned a thunderous glare towards Miss Bingley. "You forget yourself, Madam!" he roared.

"It is all her fault!" came the insistent screech. "Her and that strumpet of a sister! They killed my brother! They killed Charles! He was your friend! How can you defend her?"

As Miss Bingley's accusations filled the room, a mortified Mr. and Mrs. Hurst jumped from their seats and inserted themselves between the Darcys and Miss Bingley. "Caroline, you know that is not true." Mrs. Hurst said, trying to calm her sister. She looked to Darcy, pleading for his understanding, despite Miss Bingley's continued rant.

Unfortunately for the Hursts, Elizabeth's flaming red cheek kept Darcy's ire well stoked, and with hardly a curt goodbye, he gathered his wife in his arms and left the house.

Once back at Arryndale, Darcy saw that a cold cloth was applied to Elizabeth's cheek. As his wife lay on the chaise, he paced back and forth, muttering oaths against Miss Bingley and the Hursts.

Having heard enough, or perhaps simply tired of watching her husband antics, she discarded the cloth and stood. "Fitzwilliam, cease this immediately," she said loudly. "I am well."

"She was out of line!" was the sharp retort. "We offer to assist them, and this is the thanks we receive?" He snorted. "I shall attend Bingley's funeral, out of respect for our friendship, but that is the last time my card shall grace their salver. Miss Bingley can go to the devil for all I care!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, and then approached him. "Fitzwilliam!" she said sharply. Certain she had his attention, she said calmly, "Miss Bingley is mourning her brother, and trying to make sense of her loss. Can you not lend her a little understanding?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it again. After a brief pause, in almost a petulant tone, he said, "She should not have struck you."

"Perhaps. But if she had not, what excuse would you have for holding me so intimately in their home? I believe seeing that diminished any satisfaction Miss Bingley might have received in striking me."

Darcy could not but chuckle. "Are you truly unharmed?"

"I am quite well. If the Hursts and Miss Bingley apologize, I see no reason why we should not continue to help them."

"You are beginning to sound like Jane," Darcy teased. He pulled his wife close to him.

With the arch of a brow, Elizabeth replied, "Shall I consider that a compliment? I have heard from your own lips, Jane is very wise." She laid her head against his rumbling chest.

After the dinner hour, the somewhat anticipated call from Mr. Hurst came. He was shown into Darcy's study.

"My sincerest thanks in seeing me, and at such an hour." Mr. Hurst said, his voice and demeanour full of contrition. When he received only a curt nod from Darcy, he hastily continued. "My wife and I offer our sincerest apologies for our sister's behaviour. I do hope Mrs. Darcy came to no harm."

"She is well," Darcy clipped.

Mr. Hurst squirmed in place, enviously eying the chair near the desk that had not been offered. "I… I…" He shook his head and sighed heavily, clearly uncertain what to do or say next.

Taking pity on the man, Darcy stood from behind his desk. "My wife has convinced me, out of respect for my friendship to Bingley, to accept your apology, if it was offered."

Mr. Hurst seemingly let out a breath he had been holding. "I trust Miss Bingley will wish to personally apologize to my wife." He raised a brow in question.

Mr. Hurst nodded violently. "Of course. She is feeling very… ashamed of her behaviour," he stammered.

"Very well. My wife and I shall depart with the rest of the funeral procession tomorrow." He pointed to a chair, which Mr. Hurst gratefully accepted. After seating himself, Darcy asked for the details in any progress made in settling Bingley's estate. To his surprise, Mr. Hurst flushed.

With a rough clearing of his throat, Mr. Hurst said, "It seems Charles had no intentions of seeing his investment diminished, nor the estate divided, and made provisions in his will. The estate is entailed." At Darcy's look of shock, he shrugged. "The heir will be the firstborn male of either Mrs. Hurst and myself, or Miss Bingley. Should neither of us produce an heir, it will be inherited by one of his cousins in Scarborough." With a smirk, he added, "A bit ironic, is it not?"

Darcy could not help the chuckle that escaped. Perhaps there was more to Mr. Hurst than he let on.

"I… uh…" Mr. Hurst hesitated. "As one of the trustees of the estate, I would like to spend the rest of our mourning at Wortham. I… um… was hoping you could perhaps uh… That is… I know very little about running an estate."

Darcy stopped the man's stammering with a wave of his hand. "Mrs. Darcy and I intended to return to Pemberley after the funeral. It would be no inconvenience to remain at Wortham a few more days, provided…"

A clearly grateful Mr. Hurst interrupted. "My sister will be on her best behaviour." He snorted. "I control her account and her allowance now."

The gentlemen talked a few more minutes before Mr. Hurst stood. "I thank you again for receiving me, but I believe you have long desired my absence." Darcy saw Mr. Hurst to the door, and then rejoined his wife and sister in the music room.

The following morning, the Darcy carriage joined Bingley's funeral procession to Wortham. They arrived before the other funeral guests, to get the unpleasant business between Elizabeth and Miss Bingley resolved.

Elizabeth and Darcy were shown into the front parlour, where they were greeted gracefully, if not a bit more deferentially by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Though she required prompting from her sister, Miss Bingley stepped forward and offered a well spoken, if not entirely sincere, apology to Elizabeth.

With that business completed, everyone turned their attention the upcoming events.
Darcy saw his wife to their coach, and then returned to the house to convey the coffin to the funeral carriage. At the same time, Mr. Hurst checked over the horses, while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley saw the house was properly closed up.

Then, after securing the casket, Darcy joined his wife. As they neared the church in Bingley's London parish, the bell began to toll; four and twenty in all, reminding everyone the solemn purpose of their journey.

Any levity that might otherwise have been present during the carriage ride, was easily dispelled by the reminder of the black clothing or a simple glance at the black carriage that led them.

It was a two day trip to Warwickshire, but upon arriving at Wortham, Darcy once again assisted in carrying the casket into the house's front parlour, while Elizabeth assisted Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley in arranging the rest of the room, along with the tea and biscuits, for the viewing.

As the Bingleys were relatively new to the area, the number of visitors was small. Only a few of the tenants showed themselves, and a neighbour or two, whom Bingley had presumably met on previous visits to the estate. With so few visitors, the day after their arrival at Wortham, Charles Bingley was laid to rest in the chapel yard.

After a short service, the gathered men moved outside to the grave site. Taking one of the ropes, Darcy carefully assisted in lowering the casket into the ground. A lump formed in his in his throat as the vicar read the committal words. "We therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."

Memories from the course of his association with Bingley flooded his mind. Regretfully, he remembered his cool greeting when they first met. He had grudgingly accepted the engagement to counsel a young man as a favour to his father's friend. In return, Bingley had offered him friendship. And in the end, all Darcy could do was offer the handful of dirt he held in his hand.

In his turn, he threw the dirt over the wooden box. "Thank you, Charles," he mouthed. Goodbye somehow seemed inappropriate. He would always remember his friend. His goofy smile, and his jovial spirit; at every ball, he would hear Bingley's encouraging him to dance; and he would miss receiving his friend's blot filled letters.

After the last mourner said his farewell, the men quietly returned to the house, while the chapel bell once again pealed the mourning song.

Some of the guests departed from Wortham immediately, others remained until the following day, until only the Darcys remained with the Hursts.

Darcy did his best to assist Mr. Hurst in getting his bearings on estate management. The steward, though espousing a few misguided ideas, seemed competent and eager to carry out the new owner's instructions. Unfortunately, Mr. Hurst - an indolent man by nature - was a more difficult student than Bingley. Where Bingley had been eager to look over the estate and meet the tenants, Hurst saw it as a chore, tired of it quickly, and gave airs of not wanting to be bothered by their problems. The difference was both disturbing and saddening. How long would Bingley's dream survive under such lacklustre management?

Elizabeth was not faring much better. Though Mrs. Hurst seemed friendly enough, her brother's death hurt her acutely, and her grief was evident. Worse, due to the lack of attention and change in her circumstances, Miss Bingley's tongue got the better of her, more than once. During these times, Elizabeth was accused vociferously of her culpability in the death of Mr. Bingley, and subjected to Miss Bingley's sharp ridicule of her person and her family.

Under the circumstance, it was a relief to both Darcys when the time came to return to Pemberley.

Some time had passed since Bingley's death though they still wore black ribbons in remembrance of him. It was late summer, and Elizabeth and Darcy were enjoying the pleasures Pemberley had to offer, strolling through the grounds. After a while, they sat and lounged against a big oak tree that provided plenty of shade from the summer sun.

Unexpectedly, Darcy began to chuckle. When Elizabeth looked up at him, he blushed. Knowing he had to confess his thoughts, he added, "It was by that tree over there where I decided we could be friends. You were hanging upside down from a branch by your knees, and taunting a cat who was batting at your hair. At that moment, I decided that my mother may have been right, and it would be all right to have a girl for a friend."

Elizabeth laughed heartily. "I remember that day! You were very boorish about it. You practically marched up to me and said 'You can play with me, but I do not play with dolls.' Then you turned and sat for dinner."

To this Darcy laughed. "Perhaps I was a bit full of myself, but it was the best decision I ever made." He smiled lovingly at her.

"We shall have to teach our son to be more kind."

"Indeed," Darcy replied. Then noticing the faint blush on Elizabeth's cheeks, and the way she was avoiding his gaze, his eyes widened. "Elizabeth?" he choked out.

She simply smiled in return.

THE END