Posted on: 2009-09-24

Chapter Fourteen

It was dark under the pergola, there not being torches or lanterns within, and the only light that illuminated the way for Georgiana and Caroline was the moonlight that filtered through the greenery that formed the canopy above their heads. When they emerged on the other side, Caroline and Georgiana were both a little surprised to be greeted, then, by brightness beyond what the moon offered. The blinding lights came from flaming braziers set on either side of a pair of doors that stood several yards from the pergola.

The doors were oddly situated, in that they were standing on their own in the middle of a garden path, with no wall or fence, or even a hedge on either side through which they might be said to offer a means of egress.

"What are those doors doing there?" Caroline asked Georgiana, who looked at her as if she were mad for asking. And perhaps she was.

"I do not know," Georgiana replied with a shrug. "We do not have doors in our gardens at Pemberley."

"Have you gardens like this at Pemberley?" Caroline wished she had taken the opportunity to tour the gardens on her previous visit to Mr. Darcy's home, if only so that she would not currently be feeling so much like she had no idea where she was. She wanted to know if she should feel as disoriented as she did.

The garden in which they found themselves was more rustic than Caroline would have expected to find at Pemberley, which is why she asked if it was one belonging to the estate in the real world. She was aware that Mr. Darcy did not have very refined taste, and that he tended to let nature dictate the design of his grounds, but somehow the use of rocks in their natural state, and the meandering paths that wound around the rather amorphous flower beds, the small, dark pool in which she could see the forms of actual living fish moving under the water... it all almost looked uncultivated. Surely Mr. Darcy had better taste than that? If one wanted to wander in the wilderness, why have a garden at all?

Georgiana had taken tentative steps towards the two doors, and Caroline grudgingly followed her. They were heavy, wooden doors of a gothic style, having pointed, arched tops, and were very ornately carved, both the doors themselves and the jambs surrounding them, depicting flowers, and animals, and sailing ships. The jambs were of stone, and had words in some foreign alphabet carved around them. The two ladies did not even think to try the handles and pass through them, but they walked around to the other side, only to be startled when they found themselves suddenly in the company of two men.

The men were young, gentlemen around Mr. Darcy's age, almost identical in feature, to the point that it was difficult to tell them apart, and absolutely pinks of the ton. Which is to say, they looked ridiculous. Coats and trousers in garish colors, collar points of formidable height, Hessian boots with prodigiously large tassels, and conspicuously elaborate knots in their neck cloths marked them as dandies, and their highly affected bows when they saw the two ladies only made them look more droll, causing Georgiana to giggle - their hats were the only items of their attire that she thought her brother would ever be caught dead in. Her mirth was repaid with a pair of impudent smirks. Georgiana shrank back in an attack of shyness and embarrassment.

"Well, well, well, and who is this scared little rabbit?" one of the gentlemen asked, eyeing Georgiana impertinently through his quizzing glass.

Caroline recognized the two men, having been introduced to them some years earlier, not long after her debut, and she did not like them. Threading her arm through Georgiana's, she attempted to lead the younger lady away.

"Do you know them?" Georgiana asked as she peeped cautiously over her shoulder only to see that the two men were still smirking at her. She had heard the expression 'a wolfish grin,' but never had it seemed so warranted a description of a man's features.

"I am slightly acquainted with them - that is, we have been introduced, but I do not acknowledge them." Caroline actually shuddered in distaste. The two men were notorious flirts, and if she had examined her heart, she would have found that what she disliked in them was that they had never tried to flirt with her. Not that she would have encouraged such behavior, but a lady does like to be flattered by the attempt.

"Who are they?"

"Fortune hunters, rakes - Mr. Darcy would not thank me for introducing them to you."

"Darcy?" one of the putative rakes cried out. "Why, this is not the famous Georgiana Darcy, is it? I say, the whole world awaits her debut - or at least, the debut of her thirty thousand pounds! Allow me to introduce myself - Tweedingham, at your service. And my friend, Tweedlehurst."

Tweedingham swept an exaggerated bow. The other of the two gentlemen sniggered, and bowed likewise, with a leer, and Georgiana gasped. She gripped Caroline's arm tighter, and Caroline quickened her pace. She truly did believe that Mr. Darcy would be displeased with her if he knew she had allowed those gentlemen, if one could truly use the word to describe such a pair of disreputable fellows, to have any kind of converse with his not-yet-out sister. But what the men said next stopped her in her tracks.

"That is not the way to go!" the men called after the retreating women.

Caroline turned, eyeing the dandies warily, and Georgiana attempted to hide herself behind the older lady.

"How do you know where we are going?" Caroline asked suspiciously.

"It is not so much that we know where you are going-," Tweedingham began.

"...As we know a better way to get everywhere," Tweedlehurst concluded.

Georgiana ignored Caroline's tug on her arm, and walked cautiously back toward the doors.

"Please do tell us," she asked politely, "have you seen where my brother went? That is where we want to go."

"No, we have not seen your brother," Tweedingham started.

"But we can help you find him," Tweedlehurst finished.

"Do not believe them, Georgiana. They will only tell you what you want to hear - you cannot trust them to tell the truth," Caroline warned her companion, not liking the smiles on the men's faces.

"But if they can tell us the way-"

"That they may not do, or it may not be true," said another voice, raspy and deep, and Caroline and Georgiana looked around for the source. There did not appear to be anyone else in the garden. They looked to the two dandies, and saw that they were looking up at an ugly stone gargoyle perched above the two doors. It immediately became clear that it was the gargoyle who had spoken, as he began to speak again.

"If you would travel where e'er you wish,
The Wishing Doors you'll want to ope.
But which door success will accomplish?
One question can fulfill your hope.
Not every man deserves your trust,
One of these lies, the other's true.
Choose wisely now, and soon you must,
Decide which door to travel through."

"What does that mean?" Georgiana asked from behind Caroline, where she was peering over her shoulder.

"It means-" Tweedingham began to speak, and was abruptly silenced when Tweedlehurst smacked him in the head with a club.

"You cannot tell them!" Tweedlehurst cried, smiting his companion again.

"Oh I cannot, can I? Well, you cannot tell them either!" Tweedingham produced a club of his own, and dealt his attacker a retaliatory blow.

"I can tell them, if I want to," came the smug reply, followed by another blow. Bits of the club flew off, and Georgiana gasped, gripping Caroline's arm in terror that the force behind the blow must have been severe. She was not accustomed to witnessing violence, now she found herself a spectator to a second physical altercation in the space of one evening.

"I have as much right to tell them as you have!" Tweedingham said in what might have been called a shriek if it were considered at all masculine to shriek.

This declaration was followed by the exchange of a flurry of blows, none of which seemed to cause much injury or pain to either of the men, but the same could not be said for their splendid clothing. Both men's hats were early casualties of the battle, and the clubs left smudges on their coats, flecks of something in their now-disheveled hair, and utterly destroyed neck cloths and collar points.

"They are hitting each other with fish!" Caroline cried out in disgust, drawing the attention of the two combatants and causing them to halt their strange duel. They looked at Caroline with distinctly incredulous countenances. By this time they were so disheveled, and had shifted places so often in the scuffle it was impossible to remember which was which.

"Naturally," one of the dandies stated, as if it was, in fact, perfectly commonplace to be working out their differences by whacking each other with fish.

"Nothing but the best smoked haddock!" the other declared proudly, hitting his compatriot across the cheek.

Caroline shook her arm free of Georgiana's grasp and moved closer to the two gentlemen.

"I have had enough nonsense this night - did you not say that you could tell us the best way to get where we are going?" Caroline forgot for the moment that she and Georgiana had not yet agreed where they ought to go.

"Yes!" one of the men shouted, as the other cried out, "No!" They smacked each other across the face with their respective fishes.

"Well, which is it?" Caroline did not disguise her impatience, and the two men looked at her with a mixture of mockery and disdain.

"You should ask a bit more politely, Caroline Bingley, if you want someone to help you," one of the men smirked, as they both whacked her in the head with their fish.

"AAAAH!" Caroline screamed, and grabbing their fish, started beating at both of them simultaneously. The two men threw up their hands to protect themselves from her furious onslaught, which was vigorous enough to cause the complete disintegration of the smoked fish with which Caroline carried on her assault. She tossed away the remainders, and then wiped her hands on the coat of one of the unfortunate dandies, who was no longer looking quite so dandy. "Now, are you going to tell me how to get where I am going, or not?"

"I told you once before, you have to choose a door... Oh, hang all this stupid rhyming business!" The Gargoyle stretched out his stone wings and gave a little hop from his perch, gliding to the ground with surprising grace for one made of stone. He stood at Caroline's feet and looked up at her. "Here's how it works. These are the Wishing Doors. One of them will take you wherever you wish to go. The other will make you wish you had chosen the other door. To find out which one is the correct door, you may ask one question, of only one of the doormen. But you must know that one of them always tells the truth, while the other one always lies. I can neither tell you which is which, nor which door is which Wishing Door. So you must choose your question, and whom you ask, very carefully."

"He always lies," Tweedingham and Tweedlehurst said together, each pointing accusingly at the other.

"Oh, I know how this goes!" Georgiana cried excitedly, clapping her hands. "This is a famous conundrum. Fitzwilliam taught it to me when I was a little girl. You simply have to ask either one of them which door the other would tell us to choose, and then-"

"I told you, Georgiana, that neither one of them is to be trusted, these doors obviously do not go anywhere," Caroline sniffed, and to prove her point she grabbed the handle of one of the doors, yanked it open, and strode through.

Her shriek, which came back through the still-open doorway, made the two dandies fall to the ground laughing. The gargoyle walked away in disgust.

"I need crabapples."

"Well then," Darcy replied, "We will not have far to go, and will be able to find them on foot, no rhyming couplet required - the trees surrounding this little glen are all apples and crabapples, and we have only to find out which are which."

"But the trees are all in flower, they will not have fruit on them."

As she spoke, both Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy looked up at the trees that ringed the clearing and realized that it was no longer true - the flowers had all fallen. They were too far to see in the dim light whether or not the flowers had been replaced by fruit, but they hurriedly climbed back up the hill to investigate, Darcy remaining close to Elizabeth's side in case she fell again. As they reached the closest tree they saw that it was indeed the case that the tree had produced a fine crop of apples in the time they had been at the bottom of the slope collecting wildflowers. Elizabeth, however, needed crabapples, and continued past the tree towards the next to search for the smaller, tarter fruit.

Darcy, as it happened, needed an apple for his own list, and plucked one from the tree. The smell of it was tempting, and reminded him that it had been many hours since dinner. He quickly wrapped the apple in a handkerchief to secrete it in his satchel, and pulled out two other apples, which he had brought with him through the looking glass, heeding Fitzwilliam the Centaur's admonition that he must not eat anything in the Looking Glass World that he had not brought there himself. Darcy wondered if there was also a reason that a person from the Looking Glass World might not eat food from the real world - it would be impolite to eat an apple in front of Elizabeth without offering her one, but he did not wish to give her something that would harm her, and could not ask her if she would be able to eat it either. But before he could come to a conclusion of how he might best approach the situation with politeness, he heard Elizabeth exclaim in shock.

"Jane!"

That the elder Miss Bennet should appear on the grounds of the Looking Glass Pemberley should not have been surprising to Darcy, but somehow she was someone whom he would not have expected to see there, she having no connection to the place; still, when he had hurried to where Elizabeth was standing, looking up into a tree, he understood why Miss Bennet was there. For perched together upon a branch in an unusually tall apple tree were Miss Bennet, and Darcy's close friend, Charles Bingley.

Darcy also understood why Elizabeth had sounded so shocked when she had called out her sister's name; it was not only out of surprise at finding her sister there, or even, he surmised, that her sister was perched high in a tree, but the overly... familiar way that Miss Bennet and Mr. Bingley were... well, there was no other way to view it, they were caressing, they were whispering and giggling, they were rubbing noses, they were... kissing. Darcy heard Elizabeth give a sharp little gasp, and reached out and placed his hand upon her arm, for what reason he did not know.

"Jane Bennet!" Elizabeth cried again, with a distinct tone of disapproval this time, but her sister ignored her. Darcy was just about to appeal to his friend to consider propriety and the lady's reputation when he was interrupted by a chorus of high-pitched voices chanting a rather impertinent rhyme.

"Jane and Bingley sitting in a tree,
K-I-S-S-I-N-G,
First comes love, then comes marriage,
Then comes a nursemaid with a baby carriage."

The two lovers in the tree ignored the chanting as completely as they had ignored the two people watching them from below, but Darcy and Elizabeth were startled by the voices, and looked around to see who was there; they could not see any other person among the trees, much less the throngs necessary to provide the multitude of voices. It was Elizabeth who eventually discovered the source of the teasing rhyme.

"It is the tree frogs!" she cried in amazement.

Darcy was less impressed. He had been warned to expect oddness in the Looking Glass World, and he was not surprised to find it. It seemed incongruous to him, though, that Elizabeth should express surprise; surely she should be inured to the peculiarities of the place. But perhaps chanting tree frogs were especial to that particular part of the Looking Glass World, and she had never seen them in whatever part of it she normally inhabited - Looking Glass Hertfordshire, no doubt. He returned his attention to the couple in the tree, and, his expectation of oddities notwithstanding, was a little unnerved to see that his friend and Miss Bennet were undergoing some sort of change. If asked, he could not have described to anyone what exactly he was seeing, but Bingley and Miss Bennet were shifting in shape, and changing in color, and, after a great deal of what looked to be uncomfortable distortions of their persons, gradually became, instead of a man and a woman, two large doves, perched together on the branch. Darcy was aware that he was gaping at the sight above him, but somehow he could not tear his eyes away until he heard Elizabeth speak.

"I have heard of couples in love billing and cooing, but this is the first time I have witnessed any doing so quite literally," she murmured, causing Darcy to release a short laugh, in spite of Elizabeth's deep frown. He felt a considerable urge to comfort her.

"You ought not to allow the behavior of your sister and my friend to distress you, Miss Bennet. After all, that was not really them, and they must both be too respectable to ever behave in such a fashion." Darcy felt foolish saying it, and Elizabeth's puzzled expression confused him. Surely she must know the nature of these apparitions? Or did she think he was excusing Bingley and Miss Bennet having turned into birds? Darcy was not quite sure himself what he was speaking of. Something about this Looking Glass World turned nonsense to sense, and sense to... confusion. He had been coming to enjoy it for a time, particularly as it had provided him with a heretofore inexperienced facility for flirtatious banter, such as it was, but now he felt uncomfortable with the evident displeasure of the Looking Glass Elizabeth with he knew not which aspect of her sister's and his friend's publicly and improperly displayed affection. He wondered if she was chagrined by his own presence during such a display, after his condemnation of the behavior of her other family members. After all, Miss Bennet and Elizabeth herself were the only two whom he had spared from criticism, and here was Miss Bennet - the image of Miss Bennet, at any rate - behaving most scandalously. Elizabeth must, he thought, be reassured by his words, but she showed no evidence of lessened discomfort. He struggled to find something else to say, cursing himself for having returned to his accustomed awkwardness.

"No, no, you are right. Jane would never behave in such a fashion," Elizabeth said slowly, and Darcy wondered at her emphasis on her sister's name. He also wondered something else.

"Is... is your sister still... attached to Mr. Bingley?" he asked, tentatively.

"Unfortunately, yes," was the rueful reply.

"Why unfortunately?" Darcy was puzzled.

"Do you not think it unfortunate to love someone who does not love you in return?" Elizabeth gave a start when she apparently realized what she had said, and to whom. "Oh, Mr. Darcy, I am sorry, I did not mean... that is, I..." she floundered to a stop.

"Yes, it is unfortunate, but I do not think it is the case where your sister is concerned. I did not say anything to Bingley in the spring, when you informed me that I had been wrong in my estimation of your sister's feelings, because I thought that Bingley had moved on, and that it must, after all, have been yet another infatuation on his part, and that it was indeed your sister who had made a fortunate escape. But since I have seen Bingley in your company, and heard his queries to you, not to mention his incessant mentions of your sister since we returned from visiting you at the inn, it has occurred to me that he has, until today, not been his usual animated self in recent months, and that he must still care for her. And if your sister still retains her affection for him, and might be expected to forgive him for his desertion of her in the winter, which was not entirely his own doing, I think it could be in my power to convince him to return to Hertfordshire when our party here breaks up. Do you think he might hope for a favorable reception if he were to return?"

"I am certain of it," Elizabeth's smile positively glowed.

"And... might there be some hope for me? That is to say, if I were to return to Hertfordshire with my friend, might... does it necessarily follow that a person whose love is not returned must never expect a change of heart from the object of his affections?" Darcy's heart pounded against his ribs as he waited for an answer to this bold, even reckless inquiry.

"Circumstances change, and people, rational people, reasonable people must change with them," Elizabeth replied, looking charmingly abashed, and causing Darcy no small amount of pleasure for not only her answer, but for having the power to create such a reaction in the normally indomitable Elizabeth Bennet. She continued, "After all, when once one begins to believe the world is round, one need not fear falling off the edge of the earth when one undertakes a journey to unknown lands."

Before Darcy had a chance to respond to this bit of philosophy, a noise from the lovebirds in the tree drew their attention once again; the two doves were flapping their wings and together took flight, their snow white feathers giving them a look of moonlight taking wing as they disappeared into the night sky together. Darcy cleared his throat, about to speak, when Elizabeth anticipated him.

"Crabapples," she said, and turned away from him, her eyes peering into the trees once again in search of the desired fruit.

Darcy sighed and followed her.

Chapter Fifteen

Darcy's continued attendance on Elizabeth was revealed to be fortuitous when they finally found a crabapple tree some distance from the glen full of wildflowers, for it was a tall specimen of the variety, and with no fruit on the lower branches, and Darcy's height was required to retrieve the fruit, though he suspected from the way she glanced at the tree trunk upon discovering that she could not reach the tree's bounty, that had she been alone, Elizabeth might have climbed the tree to obtain what she wanted. In the event, he did not doubt that she would have found a way to harvest what was required, but he was gratified nonetheless at having this opportunity to be of service to her.

While Elizabeth was stowing her bounty in the rapidly filling bottle in her reticule, Darcy became aware that he could hear music in the distance; glancing at his companion, it was evident from the way she looked up from her task and searched the area with her gaze that she, too, heard the lilting melody that was carried to them on the breeze. Looking in the same direction, Darcy could see lights bobbing through the trees, and he offered his arm to Elizabeth once again; with an unspoken accord the two of them temporarily abandoned their individual missions and set off together to find the source of the music.

They had not far to walk before they came to a clearing that Darcy instantly recognized, though it was not where it should have been, and once again it contained a structure that should not have been there. He and Elizabeth had emerged from the trees onto the Pemberley tennis lawns, a seldom used portion of the property, as Darcy was not fond of the game; the grass courts were only kept in their excellent condition because his Fitzwilliam cousins liked to play when they visited their Darcy connections.

The scene presented much for Darcy to take in. The real Pemberley boasted two tennis courts, between which was situated a small summerhouse where spectators to the matches could enjoy cool shade as they observed play. The two courts in the Looking Glass World remained, but the summer house had obtained gargantuan proportions; it was easily the size of the Pemberley ballroom, and could, indeed have been called an open-air ballroom, its roof supported by gilded pillars with ornately carved capitals, its floor a gleaming parquet of intricate pattern. Darcy recognized the design of the structure from a drawing that had been presented to him by his aunt along with a suggestion that to have one built on his property would be a fitting tribute to his future bride as a wedding present. She had intimated that she had made a similar suggestion to his father when the late Mr. Darcy had married Lady Catherine's sister, and that while he had not had the monument constructed for his bride at the time of their wedding, he had always intended to do so some day, and it was only right that Darcy should carry out his father's plan when he solidified the expected union with his cousin. Darcy had always doubted every aspect of the story, including Lady Catherine's assertion that her sister would have loved such a gift; the difference in decoration between Pemberley's refined elegance and Rosings' garish opulence belied any suggestion that the two sisters shared the same taste.

It unsettled Darcy not a little to discover how much Lady Catherine held sway over his property in the Looking Glass World, though he was aware that it was probably an accurate reflection of that formidable lady's wishes in the real world. He wondered for a moment whether if he returned to the Looking Glass World on another occasion, or made multiple returns through the looking glass, would he find the world reflected there the same every time? Darcy brushed the notion away; if he was successful in his endeavors that night he would not have to return ever again, and he did not want to know if Lady Catherine would always be such an intrusive presence on his estate. An idea suggested itself to him that it was the absence of his Looking Glass self that allowed her to hold sway over his domain - surely the Looking Glass Fitzwilliam Darcy would not countenance so much intrusion any more than he did in the real world.

For the ornate edifice that occupied the tennis lawns could be called nothing if not intrusive; it nearly eclipsed the two courts, leaving less than half of each playing surface unencumbered. The nets were each attached to their poles as usual on one end, the outer end, but the opposite ends of both nets were fixed to posts that protruded from the dance floor of the pavilion; as the summer house was raised up several steps from the level of the grass, so the nets, too, rose in a slant. It was an arrangement that was convenient to neither the tennis players nor the dancers, for both were present; a throng of revelers attempted to navigate their steps around the two nets which protruded into their realm, fortunately leaving a gap between the two barriers of several yards, while meanwhile the tennis players gamely pursued their sport, crying out in vexation when the ball bounced off of either the building or its occupants and strayed in an unfortunate direction, rather than sailing over the net.

"Do you know all of those people?" Elizabeth broke into Darcy's thoughts.

Darcy looked around, at the athletes and the dancers. The courts and the pavilion were brilliantly lit, as had been the gardens and Lady Catherine's Colosseum, with torches and paper lanterns, so Darcy had no difficulty in viewing those assembled, even from a distance. There were two tennis players on each court, and Darcy did recognize them - they were all four the oldest of his cousins, the Viscount of ----. Darcy wondered what it meant that his cousin should appear as four persons, all competing with each other, but he decided he did not want to know what that might mean about his cousin, whose position as the heir made him a considerably less agreeable person than his younger brother, the Colonel. Darcy decided it was just as well to see the Viscount play himself in tennis - he habitually cheated, and was a disgracefully poor loser, and no one else ever wanted to play against him anyway. In fact, as Darcy watched, one of the four Viscounts suffered a bad bounce, with the ball ricocheting off a pillar, the head of a dancer, and a violin - causing the instrument to issue an irritating squawk in response - and the unfortunate athlete flung his racket onto the ground and stomped on it in a most unseemly tantrum for the heir to an earldom. One of the duplicate viscounts fell over onto the grass, holding his sides and laughing. Another stuck out his tongue at the one pitching a fit, a gesture Darcy recognized from his childhood. The last stood with his hands on his hips and shook his head in a most disapproving manner. All perfectly in character with his cousin, Darcy recognized. He laughed quietly to himself, relieved that Elizabeth did not know that the spoiled, childish man was one of his relations - she would surely raise an eyebrow to know that he had relatives who were every bit as embarrassing as hers.

Darcy turned his attention to the ball underway in the pavilion. The dancers were not immediately recognizable for the ball was evidently a masquerade, and all of the guests' faces were concealed with masks. Further scrutiny allowed Darcy to realize, however, that he did recognize them; a particular gentleman's distinctive coat, a lady's un-disguisable hair, the peculiar gait of a tall, ungainly fellow - these were all acquaintances, if not friends, of Darcy's. The ton were well represented in the Looking Glass World, and were it not for the unusual setting and the tennis balls that caromed off the guests, Darcy could easily have believed himself at any of a number of social gatherings he had attended since reaching his majority.

"Yes. Yes, I do know them," Darcy finally replied, though he did not bother to explain to Elizabeth who they all were. Just then the song ended, and unlike at a normal ball, the orchestra immediately launched into another, and the dancers did a most shocking thing. The gentlemen all seized their partners around the waist with one arm, while grasping them by the hand with the other, and en masse, they began to twirl around the dance floor in pairs, evading the nets, and tennis balls, and other couples, with impressive grace.

Darcy heard Elizabeth gasp.

"What are they doing?" she asked, her voice nearly a whisper, trembling with wonder. Darcy eyed her keenly; her eyes were wide and her cheeks flushed, her jaw slackened with amazement. Darcy could not help a smile at her becoming naiveté.

"That is the waltz, Miss Bennet. Would you like to dance?"

Elizabeth turned her shocked gaze upon him. "You waltz, Mr. Darcy?" Darcy wondered whether her amazement was due to his knowledge of the scandalous new dance, or the fact that he admitted to dancing it. His question was partly answered by the lady immediately. "I suppose you could not help it, though you appear to me to be the kind of man whom it would be difficult to force to do anything he did not wish. That is to say, I would be surprised to hear that there was ever a time when you found yourself unable to control your own actions."

Darcy was drawn to her quizzical expression, and he fervently wished that he knew what was in her mind that produced that thoughtful countenance.

"Perhaps to say that I only dance when I cannot help it was a misstatement -"

"How prone you are to those, Mr. Darcy!"

He was chagrined. "I have not known myself to be, in general, and always try to be careful to think before I speak -"

"Admirable goal."

"... But I have admitted to you once that I am not easy in the company of strangers, and the consequence has been, on occasion, that I have said something I do not really mean. Unfortunately, you have happened to be witness to those occasions, and, paired with your own perverse tendency to misunderstand me intentionally, I have given you an incomplete understanding of my feelings on certain subjects. Allow me to correct a few of those misapprehensions of yours. Though I do not, as a rule, enjoy dancing, when I have the opportunity to partner a lady in whose company I find pleasure, it can be an agreeable exercise. And as I find your company pleasurable, I have, on several occasions, felt the temptation to dance with you. But you have not answered my question, Miss Bennet."

"What question was that, Mr. Darcy?" Her puzzlement was charming.

"Would you care to dance with me?" He held out his hand to her, smiling, and was highly gratified by her confusion.

"I... I am afraid I do not know that dance, and I have heard that it is not proper - indeed, I can see why, the way the gentlemen hold the ladies in their arms..." Elizabeth's voice trailed off, and Darcy noted that she looked from the swirling dancers in the pavilion to his own form, and could not help but think that her gaze held a trace of longing. His heart began to pound.

"I used to think so myself, Miss Bennet, though I did suffer myself to be taught the dance once on a visit to my uncle's estate, my uncle being a very upright man, but one who desires his family to be in the first fashion at all times, and I assure you that I will do nothing untoward, nothing to make you uneasy. As to not knowing the dance, I know you to be a fine dancer, and I will lead you through the steps - I believe you will be able to catch on to the basic movements quite readily. So..." Darcy held out his hand to her once again, "Shall we, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth accepted his hand this time, and Darcy led her across the lawn and up the steps to the pavilion, dodging tennis balls with as much dignity as he could muster. Once they had gained the dance floor, Darcy took Elizabeth into his arms, gingerly, gently, and demonstrated the basic steps of the dance. As he predicted, Elizabeth showed a facility for learning them, and in no time was able to execute the patterns somewhat effortlessly, except for a tendency to want to watch her feet, which Darcy had experienced himself when he had first waltzed. For Darcy the dance was the most exhilarating he had ever had the pleasure of engaging in, notwithstanding the need to evade the tennis balls that flew past every few moments. In fact, the erratic projectiles added somewhat to the delights of the dance, as Darcy on more than one occasion, in the interest of protecting his partner from being struck, was forced to pull her closer to himself, or suddenly twirl her out of harm's way, and, in one instance, bend her backwards while he ducked towards her, eliciting a gasp from the lady that sent his heart pounding. By the time he had been required to execute this maneuver Elizabeth had gained enough skill and confidence in her performance that she was no longer preoccupied with the movements of her feet, and the wide-eyed look of surprise and feminine blush that graced her features bewitched him so that he was several seconds in remembering to right himself and his partner to the proper dancing form. Darcy expected her to offer a protest, and to express a desire to quit the dance altogether, but she said nothing.

The entire dance, in fact, had proceeded in silence once Darcy had finished explaining to Elizabeth how to perform it - in spite of the lady's once having professed a preference for conversation while dancing. Instead, they merely looked, a form of intercourse in which Darcy felt much more proficient; he had, in that endeavor, indulged in constant practice. And yet, Darcy had to admit himself completely unable to read the expression of Elizabeth's fine eyes; he could not tell what she was thinking. The only thing he could be certain of was that she no longer hated him - she displayed no disgust, no unwillingness to be with him, no disdain... but... Darcy was unable to convince himself that those limpid orbs expressed any love, either. He sighed softly, which evoked a flicker of something new in his partner's expression, still equally incomprehensible.

As for himself, Darcy knew exactly what he was feeling, which was a desire to continue in such a way forever, for never had he known such happiness as he experienced at that moment, with Elizabeth in his arms. A fleeting idea coursed through his mind that he could remain forever in the Looking Glass World if such were the pleasures to be enjoyed in that place, but he knew it could not last, and the desire to hold the real Elizabeth just so only increased his determination to succeed in wooing her in the real world. He allowed himself in the meantime to lose himself in her facsimile's gaze, the music wrapping around them and caressing them, and the rest of the world falling away, as if they were the only two dancers in that extraordinary ballroom, no other swirling couples, no tennis balls to evade, no nets to navigate around, and when the music ended, and they each managed to finally break that captivating connection of their eyes, they found that it was true. They were alone, but for myriad tiny, twinkling lights that glowed about them, which, when one flew close, Darcy could see emanated from an insect, an incredible little glowing being such as he had never seen before - he had never seen anything remotely like it! The effect was enchanting.

"Curiouser and curiouser," his bewitching partner said.

Darcy was inclined to agree.

"It really is very logical, Miss Bingley, as Fitzwilliam taught me. You see, if you ask the one who always tells the truth, let us say, for the sake of explanation, Tweedingham, which one the one who lies, which would then be Tweedlehurst, would tell us to take, he will tell us the door that is the wrong door, because he is being truthful, and he knows his friend will lie. But if we asked the liar, say, Tweedlehurst, which door the truthful Tweedingham would suggest, he will also point to the wrong door, because he will lie about which door his truthful friend would advise. And so, in either case, the wrong door would be pointed out to us as the right door, and so we would only have had to take the other door in order to have found our way here. And you could have avoided stepping into that mud puddle. I think you must truly have wished then that you had chosen the other door," Georgiana prattled on, to the great consternation of her companion, who, aside from not wanting to dwell on her own mistake, was having some difficulty walking, due to the fact that her shoes, and her dress up to the knees, were caked in heavy mud. "I wonder if Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet had to go through those doors - one of those men said they had not seen him, but we do not know if that was the one who was telling the truth, or the liar. But of course Fitzwilliam would have made a different wish when he went through - how wonderfully simple it is to only have to say 'I wish to go to where my brother Fitzwilliam is,' and walk though a door, and here we are... except I do not see him, do you, Miss Bingley?"

Caroline did not see him, and she was concerned about the reason why; she and Georgiana were crouched behind a bush, watching people dancing in a pavilion set up on the Pemberley tennis lawn. The reason they were hiding from view was because Georgiana was too shy to make an entrance into the pavilion full of strangers, and Caroline was too humiliated to be seen covered in mud up to her knees. How they were to find Mr. Darcy, and attract his attention, and extract him from the festivities, neither had yet begun to contemplate. Caroline had a suspicion that the reason they had been brought to that spot was because Mr. Darcy and Eliza Bennet formed one of the couples dancing the scandalous waltz in the pavilion. She peered at the dancers, many of whom she recognized as members of the ton in spite of the masks they wore, people with whom she was acquainted, and even friends. She felt a slight twinge of envy that there was a ball going on that she had not been invited to; she did not know who the host and hostess of the party were, but from the people who were there, it was not unreasonable that she might have expected to be included. Even the remembrance that she was in the Looking Glass World, not the real world, did not remove the feeling of having been snubbed, especially when she realized that the ball being held on Mr. Darcy's property meant that it must be he who had excluded her from the festivities. It shocked her that a man like Mr. Darcy would allow the waltz to be played at a ball he hosted. It could only be that wanton Eliza Bennet's influence, though Caroline would not have thought such a country nobody would be au courant enough to even know the shocking new dance. It comforted her to think that Eliza's ignorance would mean that Mr. Darcy could not be waltzing with the insolent chit. Caroline did not know how to do it, so how could Eliza Bennet?

Life can be so cruel, sometimes. No sooner have you found a comforting thought, something to soothe your disquiet, when life smacks you in the head with a smoked haddock. For Caroline Bingley, one of those cruel moments came to her as she crouched behind a bush watching dancers swirl past at a ball to which she had not been invited.

"Look!" Georgiana cried excitedly, "It is my brother and Miss Bennet! Oh, does not my brother dance splendidly? He will not let me learn the waltz, but he does it exceedingly well himself - and Miss Bennet, too! How well they look together!"

Caroline would have charged into the pavilion at that moment to separate the offending couple, muddy skirts notwithstanding, but when she stood up from her ignominious crouch, she discovered that her companion was standing on the hem of her dress. This unfortunate impediment to movement was revealed with an ominous tearing sound, and a loss of balance, which pitched Caroline into the bush behind which she and Georgiana had taken refuge. Georgiana attempted to assist Caroline in removing herself from the bush, which was not a simple feat, with the thorns with which the plant was generously endowed catching at her hair and gown, but the younger lady was too distracted by the scene in the pavilion to give much of her attention to removing thorns from muslin. Caroline would have screamed in frustration if she did not want so desperately for her undignified position to remain undiscovered by anyone else - particularly a certain chit from Hertfordshire whom she knew to be very fond of laughing at the misfortunes of others. Therefore, Caroline expressed her displeasure in a surprisingly measured tone. That is why she was able to hear Georgiana when she made an exclamation of surprise, and happened to look up at the pavilion to see a sickening sight.

Eliza Bennet and Mr. Darcy were the only people remaining in the pavilion; all the others had vanished, and the man of Caroline's dreams continued to dance around the floor, his arms around that horrid woman, and all around them swirled twinkling lights that floated on the air like so many glowing motes of dust. It would have been a splendid sight, had the couple in the center of it all not been composed of those particular two people.

"Miss Bingley, have you ever seen anything so wonderful? I think this place must be magic!"

For Georgiana, the sight before her was enchanting and hopeful. She had all the love of romance of a girl her age, but she had learned not to trust it the year previous, at Ramsgate. She had spent a lifetime being told that she must someday marry a certain kind of man, and for entirely too practical, prosaic reasons - family, fortune, connections... no one ever suggested that love ought to be part of the equation. Then when she had found someone who told her differently, well, she could not resist the lure of love. But it had all gone wrong, and Georgiana Darcy, at fifteen, was left without trust in herself, in love, or in men, but... she would have to marry some day anyway. And she was terrified of the idea of marrying for a reason other than true affection, maybe not even to a man of her own choosing, but she did not know if she could trust in a choice based on affection anymore.

However, there was one thing Georgiana Darcy knew she could always trust, and that was a particular man - her brother. And there he was, in front of her eyes, obviously head over heels in love with Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And if Fitzwilliam believed in love, and trusted it, and wanted it to be part of his life, then Georgiana could only believe that it was real, and that someday - when she had learned to better recognize the real thing - Georgiana knew that she would be able to marry someone for love, too. The man whom she watched dancing a waltz with Elizabeth Bennet as if she was the only person in the world, would never make his sister marry someone for a fortune alone, or for position, or family, or anything so dispassionate.

Fitzwilliam Darcy did not know it, but as he danced with the woman who had captured his heart, he was giving his sister back the part of her own that she had lost.

Suddenly Georgiana did not want to rejoin her brother. She could not bear for him to have to separate from Miss Bennet only to take her and Miss Bingley back through the mirror to Pemberley. Even if Miss Bingley had not been with her, she would have been reluctant to intrude on Fitzwilliam's obvious happiness, but having Miss Bingley there only made the necessity of disturbing the lovers that much more unbearable. Just as Georgiana had made this determination, Miss Bingley managed to free herself from the thorn bush, and, to Georgiana's dismay, took a deep breath and opened her mouth, clearly with the intent to call out to the couple in the pavilion, no doubt destroying at once their absorption in each other.

With barely a thought, Georgiana clapped her hand firmly over Miss Bingley's mouth. That Miss Bingley was surprised to be thus assailed was evident in the widened eyes visible over the offending hand, and she struggled against her friend's grip, but Georgiana had grown since the spring, and was taller, and bigger in frame than her captive, and she was able to hold her ground long enough; when she released Miss Bingley, after a scuffle that really only lasted a few seconds, Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet had vanished.

Posted on: 2009-10-01

Chapter Sixteen

A poetic jump later found Darcy slicing at the bark of a beechnut tree with a knife, while Elizabeth plucked a few needles from a nearby spruce. They were deep in Pemberley Woods, and the moonlight was barely able to penetrate to the forest floor; Darcy was grateful that he had bothered to keep the lantern with him all the while, and that he had brought additional candles against emergency. Still, not knowing how strict was the edict to collect all of his ingredients by moonlight, Darcy made sure to collect the bark from a patch on the trunk where the silvery light trickled down through the dense woods. Having cut off a large enough piece, Darcy set to scraping off the inside of the bark, catching the shavings in one of his many handkerchiefs. Both he and Elizabeth required this inner bark, and it struck Darcy again as an interesting coincidence that he and Elizabeth seemed to be searching for the many of the same things, but it occurred to him that perhaps it was the combination of his search and his desire to see her and spend time with her that had brought her to Pemberley that night. He truly had no understanding of the intricacies of the Looking Glass World, and the movements of its denizens when out of the view of a mirror, in spite of all the information in Fitzwilliam the Centaur's letter. Darcy thought with chagrin that he had more of an understanding of Darcinia, a place he could not even remember.

Carefully folding his handkerchief to contain the scrapings of bark, Darcy turned his attention to his bewitching companion. She had been somewhat subdued since the end of their dance, and he would have been worried about that state of things were it not for the subtle smile that had curved her lovely lips since then, and the fact that he could hear her softly humming the tune to which they had waltzed as she went about her collecting. He wondered if she knew he could hear her. He wondered if she cared. He wondered if she even realized that she was humming - his sister, in quiet moments when she was deep in concentration, would sometimes hum snatches of some favorite tune that she was learning on the pianoforte, and after he had commented on it once or twice, and noticed her embarrassment that he had observed it, he realized that she was quite unaware that she was even doing it. Darcy leaned against the trunk of the tree to watch Elizabeth; in the dark woods she was but a pale form hovering around the base of the spruce tree, as she searched for tender shoots of needles. Once in a while she would move into the moonlight for a brief second, giving Darcy a fleeting glimpse of that beloved face. He considered offering to help her in her search, but somehow could not bring himself to disturb either her concentration or his own contentment.

Gradually, however, a sense of unease began to creep over him, and Darcy had the unaccountable feeling that he was being watched. The uncomfortable notion of a Jabberwock suggested itself to him, only to be banished as silly, but there could be countless other dangers in the woods - though Darcy reminded himself that Fitzwilliam had informed him that none of the inhabitants of the Looking Glass World could truly harm him, and he presumed that non-human creatures were included in that protection. Still, the sensation that he and Elizabeth were not alone persisted, and Darcy cautiously raised his lantern and turned to survey the woods around him. He saw nothing, and was about to settle himself back into his comfortable position against the tree when he heard and unmistakable "Ahem," somewhere in the vicinity of his feet.

Startled, Darcy leaped away from the tree, whirling around at the same time, and nearly dropping his lantern in his rush to thrust it between himself and the interloper. He could not have said who, or what, he expected to see there, and given that he had spent several hours by that time in the Looking Glass World he should by then have been immune to surprise, but he was nonetheless at least a little bit amazed to see, emerging from a heretofore unnoticed hole at the base of the tree, a badger dressed in a rather fine, though slightly shabby dressing gown, carrying a book in one claw, and a candle in the other. As unusual as this attire and these accouterments were in and of themselves, the most startling aspect of the badger was definitely his unmistakable resemblance to Elizabeth's father, Mr. Bennet.

Darcy was not well acquainted with Mr. Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire; he had been in company with the gentleman at several social events during his sojourn there the previous autumn, and had never engaged in any particular discourse with the older gentleman, but he was certain that he at least knew him well enough by sight to recognize him in the shape of a badger. And if Darcy had difficulty in knowing what to say to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, he felt infinitely less qualified to recommend himself to that lady's father, badger or no, as a partner in conversation. Just as Darcy was about to call to Elizabeth that they had company, the badger spoke to him.

"Do you care for the poetry of Wormsworth?" it said, in what Darcy recognized as Mr. Bennet's voice, a voice that managed to be jovial and yet slightly mocking at the same time.

"Do you mean Wordsworth?" Darcy corrected him.

"If I meant Wordsworth, I would have said Wordsworth," the badger said more good-humoredly than his words would seem to require. "I always thought that a funny name for a poet, ironic, eh? What are words worth, after all, especially poetry, which often uses them ill? Hard to catch their meaning, sometimes, rather a lot of nonsense - could lead to disaster, eh, if you mean to tell a young lady that you love her, and she thinks you are calling her a stinging nettle. That is why I prefer Wormsworth - he speaks to those who live under the ground, none of your love-struck wallowing. Listen to this," and at that the badger set down his candlestick on the ground, and then fumbled in the pocket of his dressing gown for a moment, coming out with a pair of spectacles, which he perched upon his nose. He then used his long claws to deftly leaf through the book until he found the page he wanted. The badger cleared his throat with a gravelly sound, and announced, "The Grub, by Wiggliam Wormsworth," and began to read:

The badger set down the book and peered over the top of his spectacles at Darcy, the candlelight dancing in his eyes and giving them a look of merriment incongruous with his grizzled face.

"Well? What do you say to that?" the badger asked.

"I think I understand now how a certain lady of my acquaintance developed her disdain for poetry. She is here with me now, if you care to hear her opinion on the subject."

The badger chortled at his evasion, but it was not he who replied to Darcy's statement, it was Elizabeth, who had come up behind Darcy unseen and unheard.

"My disdain for poetry? What can you mean, Mr. Darcy? I am fond of poetry," Elizabeth said as she emerged from the gloom to join the conversation. She started when she saw with whom Mr. Darcy was discussing her reputed opinion of poetry. Darcy nearly laughed at the puzzled frown that creased her forehead. "Papa?" she inquired of the badger.

"Ah, my Lizzy! What are you doing, wandering the forest at night with a young man? If your mother finds out, we shall probably never recover from her hysterics. And you do not even like this particular gentleman, I understand - but I warn you, child, I think he is fond of you - eh, Darcy?"

Darcy was mortified on Elizabeth's behalf; he remembered that his impression of Mr. Bennet in Hertfordshire had been that he was eccentric, and had a tendency towards impropriety - and tolerated a great deal of it from his wife and youngest daughters as well. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth, afraid that he might see a look of humiliation upon her countenance, but he was pleased to find instead that she was angry - he recognized that look from that horrid evening in Hunsford.

"Papa!" Elizabeth chided her badger-cum-parent. She lowered her voice, but Darcy was still able to hear what she said next. "Mr. Darcy has been very kind to me this evening; indeed, ever since I have met him again here in Derbyshire he has been most civil and attentive, and it is most uncivil - not to mention provoking - of you to say such a thing to him!"

Mr. Bennet only laughed at her remonstrance. He did not see the need to lower his voice. "You do not want him to know of your dislike, eh? Well, he would be a fool not to have noticed."

"If you must know, I already told him so myself, but that is not the point, and it is no longer even true. But even if it was, there can be no reason for you to offend him in this way when-"

"Since when have you had any scruples about that, my child?"

Exasperation with her father seemed to get the better of her then, and Elizabeth forgot to speak in her lowered tones, nearly shouting her reply, "Since I found out that he is a good man, and I am a fool who ought to be more cautious in making judgments about others!"

Darcy could not but be gratified by her answer, but his personal satisfaction was subsumed by anxiety on behalf of the lady; the badger chortled, not only at her answer, Darcy surmised, but also in satisfaction at having caused Elizabeth to lose her composure and expose herself in that way. Darcy felt for her - he did not like to be laughed at himself - at least, he had never liked it before, though there were times lately when it was beginning to feel oddly appealing to provide moments of amusement for a certain person, even at his own expense - but he thought it most unkind in a father to ridicule his own daughter before another person. He could imagine how Georgiana would feel in a like circumstance. Darcy wanted to comfort Elizabeth, but knew not how, lest anything he said should be twisted by the badger to somehow make her mortification worse. He need not have worried about Elizabeth, however, as she recovered nicely, no doubt having been used to such teasing her entire life.

"What were you saying just now about poetry?" Elizabeth asked, her eyes traveling from the badger, to Darcy, and back again.

"I was reading my favorite poem to your young man here, and he was telling me that you do not like poetry."

"I do not believe I ever said any such thing!" Elizabeth retorted.

"But you did," Darcy interjected, "I distinctly recall the occasion; your mother and younger sisters had come to Netherfield when you were staying there to care for Miss Bennet, and when your mother told a story of a man who had written what she called 'very pretty verses' about your sister, you claimed that it was the force of these verses that had killed off his affection for her. Let me think, how did you put it? 'I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love?' And then when I suggested that poetry was more often considered the food of love, you declared that one good sonnet would starve it entirely away."

"Did you really say that, Lizzy? Ah, you are an unromantic one, my dear, is she not, Darcy? You have your work cut out for you there! But here is something from your Wordsworth - take heed, my little Lizzy:

Not all bad, is it, young man?"

Darcy was somewhat surprised and impressed that the badger - Mr. Bennet - was capable of such a recitation. He was not, indeed, all nonsense, as he had seemed before. It was almost enough to make one forget the sly, embarrassing little allusions with which he peppered his speech - Darcy knew exactly what he meant by 'you have your work cut out for you,' and he hoped that Elizabeth would not comment on it. At any rate, she was not finished with their principal subject.

"And now I am to be held to account for a careless remark I once made only to change the subject? And at such a distance in time, too! If you were to form a portrait of my character from that, you would make a very ill likeness. But have you not said yourself that you know the enjoyment I find in occasionally professing opinions that are not in fact my own?"

"I think I may have said such a thing once, yes." Darcy smiled very sheepishly, though he had seldom enjoyed himself more than at that moment.

"You did. And as it happens, I have been misrepresented in this account - you have not recounted everything I said. I admitted that for a stout, healthy love, poetry might be nourishing fare, it is only that I think that in the case of infatuation, the writing of sonnets will not encourage a greater affection, and the man - or woman, I suppose - who finds himself concentrating on finding rhymes for his beloved's finer points is spending too much time with his pen, and not enough with the subject of his odes. Thus his writing of them will burn up his affection entirely. In such cases indeed, I think that the lover is more enamored of his own genius than the subject of his tributes - though I do feel that there are few things worse than amateur poetry. There, you see? There is some truth to my assertions after all."

The badger chortled again, clearly enjoying the exchange. Darcy ignored his amusement and addressed Elizabeth.

"But if the writing of the sonnets keeps the subject at the forefront of one's thoughts, the vision of the mind's eye - love will not fade, but increase -"

"Tried it, have you?" Mr. Bennet interjected wryly.

Darcy blushed furiously, stepping back into the shadows to disguise his discomfort, and wondered if he had really just confessed what he appeared to have confessed. He looked at Elizabeth, she had averted her gaze in a manner that suggested he truly had. Her discomfort was only increased by her father's next jab, delivered nonchalantly as if it was merely another musing on the subject.

"What, are you shy, young man? Faint heart never won fair lady, as they say. Well, well, I guess that is how you can tell the difference between mere infatuation and true love, eh Darcy? A sort of poetic jousting? Or iambic pentameter at twenty paces?"

"Perhaps," was Darcy's only response. He knew not how to continue without making himself or Elizabeth further fodder for Mr. Bennet's amusement, and yet he could not but feel that his failure to respond was as amusing to the creature as anything he might say. Darcy may have begun to welcome a bit the flirtatious teasing of Miss Elizabeth, but this badgering of her father's was just the sort of thing he disliked to be subjected to. He preferred to understand why he was made a joke.

"All the same," Elizabeth broke the brief, uncomfortable silence, "It does not follow from any of this that I do not like poetry."

Darcy moved back into the circle of light created by the badger's candle. "Perhaps I misunderstood you, Miss Bennet, but it was not willful on my part." Her eyes darted to his face, and he was pleased - and relieved - to see the humor return to her expression.

"No, that would be my defect," she said with a quiet laugh.

To Darcy's great relief, the badger said nothing.

As Elizabeth and Darcy made their adieus to the furry Mr. Bennet, who retreated part way into his hole, and walked away from his continued observation, preferring not to have him as an audience as they considered a rhyme for their next poetic leap, they were both quiet, but it was not an awkward, embarrassed silence as the encounter with the badger Mr. Bennet might have been expected to inspire. It was both thoughtful and companionable. Once again it was Elizabeth who broke the silence, after she had finished adding the bark shavings Darcy had given her to the solution in her bottle. Drawing Darcy back from a contemplation of the puzzle that was her father, and a curiosity about how Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth had grown up with any sense of decorum at all, Elizabeth asked him a dangerous question.

"Shall I ever be allowed to see your attempts at sonnet writing, Mr. Darcy, or have they all been consigned to the fire?"

To say that Darcy was startled by the question would be to inadequately express his surprise. He attempted to read his companion's countenance, but the moon was behind them as they walked, so her features were shadowed. Her voice, as well, was unreadable, a measured, even tone that did not hint of teasing, nor of mortification, nor of vexation of any kind - only curiosity. He considered what he should answer her - there was only one way he would ever allow her to see his pathetic attempts at love verses, and that was if she were to become his wife, which is to say, if he could be certain that her affection for him was 'stout' enough to withstand the hearing of them. He wondered if she was aware of such constraints, and if her request to examine his efforts was a sign - a deliberate one! - that she was currently disposed in his favor. He smiled at the hope that took wing in his heart.

"Perhaps."

Caroline Bingley was one of those people who like to insist, when one has offended, that they will never speak to one again, and will then carry on at great length about it. I am sure you know the type. The threat to cut off all communication is always an empty promise, repeated during a lengthy harangue detailing all the reasons one deserves no further attentions from the injured party.

Thus, as Georgiana and Caroline traipsed and stomped, respectively, through a copse, in the direction where they believed the house to lie (a determination that had taken some argument to reach), Caroline was engaged in a very thorough and loquacious diatribe about the grievous insults she had suffered at the hands of her friend, all of which were unforgivable, and ought therefore to result in a complete rupture of their relationship.

Georgiana was only half listening to Miss Bingley's rant. It just so happens that she entirely agreed with Miss Bingley's indictment of her character, and felt the tiniest bit guilty for what she had done, but for all that she could not really regret it. It had been for a good cause. She knew her brother would thank her for it, and so would Miss Bennet, if they ever learned of it - the more so because Georgiana had a suspicion, though the subject had not been canvassed between them that morning at the inn, that Miss Bennet did not like Miss Bingley any more than Miss Bingley liked Miss Bennet. How could she? Granted, Miss Bennet was probably not jealous of Miss Bingley, because it was patently obvious that she had no reason to be, but Georgiana would have wagered her new pianoforte that Miss Bingley did not hide her dislike from the object of it - at least, not successfully. It would not be her way. Georgiana wondered if, when Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet were married, Caroline Bingley would be invited to Pemberley ever again. It would depend, she supposed, on how well Miss Bingley was able to swallow her mortification and behave with civility to the new Mrs. Darcy, but if it ever happened, Georgiana could not but feel that it would reveal Elizabeth Bennet... Darcy to be a truly gracious woman indeed. Georgiana could only hope to be invited to visit somewhere else if, and when, it ever happened.

"I said I was sorry," Georgiana interjected into Caroline's tirade, when Caroline took a pause for breath, but the apology was ignored, and the indictment continued. Georgiana did not mind it a bit. She found that at the moment, she could not bring herself to mind much of anything. She truly could not understand what had come over her. For the last several hours, ever since she had fallen through the looking glass with Miss Bingley, she had not been quite herself. She felt... stronger, somehow. Nothing she had done felt like herself. In the real world she would never have spent half the night wandering the grounds practically alone. She would never have defied Miss Bingley in the myriad ways she had done. She would have felt afraid - as she certainly had in the first moments after entering the strange world - but why had she not remained in the ballroom, cowering by the mirror, waiting for Fitzwilliam to return to help her? The moon was not full, it could not be attributable to lunacy, but there was definitely something in the air...

Suddenly, what was in the air was another frustrated shriek issuing from the mouth of Caroline Bingley. Georgiana returned her focus to her surroundings, and saw that they had just exited the copse, and were right back in the gardens again, where they had been when they had exited the maze.

Georgiana began to laugh. Lacking either information about where Fitzwilliam and Miss Bennet had gone, or a means to find them without knowing their destination, there had been no alternative but for her and Miss Bingley to return to the house to wait in the ballroom until Fitzwilliam should return. That he would eventually return was the one thing not disputed between the two accidental adventuresses, and it had occurred to Georgiana that they would be in real trouble if Fitzwilliam returned before they did. He did not know they were there, not having been aware that he had been followed through the mirror, and so it would not occur to him to sit and wait for them if he reached the ballroom first. So, they had set off in the direction they thought would be the shortest way, the unnecessary walking Caroline had already been forced to undertake that night being one of the indignities attributed to Georgiana's list of faults. But they had not come out where they had expected, and now they found themselves back in the gardens, still a considerable distance from the house. Somehow, the more Miss Bingley found to annoy her, the more amusing Georgiana found the entire situation. Of course, she was not the one who had walked through a wishing door into a knee-deep mud puddle.

The Wishing Doors! The thought of them was a useful reminder that there was another way back to the house, one that would take no more than the blink of an eye. Georgiana wondered if the Wishing Doors worked like genii in lamps - was one limited to the number of times one could call upon them for help? There was only one way to find out.

"Miss Bingley, the Wishing Doors!" Georgiana cried, interrupting Miss Bingley's rant, and running to the very convenient structure which she could see, still standing over by the pergola through which they had exited the maze. Georgiana wondered if the Wishing Doors were a permanent fixture in the gardens of this Pemberley, and if the same two gentlemen spent all of their time guarding them.

Her second question was answered as soon as she found herself in front of the doors again, as neither Mr. Tweedingham nor Mr. Tweedlehurst remained at their posts; not even the gargoyle still kept watch. Warily, not knowing if the same door was the good door always, Georgiana grasped the handle of the one that had taken them to the pavilion where she had seen her brother upon wishing to be reunited with him. The door was locked.

"I believe I can guess what new piece of bad news you are about to deliver," Miss Bingley drawled as she sauntered insolently up to where Georgiana was staring at the doors in a state of perplexity.

"Perhaps there is a key somewhere," Georgiana did not bother to deliver the 'news' that Miss Bingley already knew, and began to look around on both sides of the doors for someplace a key might be hidden.

"Even if there is, I am not going through those doors again without someone to vouch for where I will end up." Miss Bingley did not deign to assist in the hunt for the key, instead standing with her arms crossed and her face fixed in a stubborn glare.

"Oh, but this time we would look first, before going through, and if there was any mud on the other side-"

"It is not the mud that is the issue," Miss Bingley averred with the air of someone who will brook no argument, "It is that in my experience, walking through doors without some assurance of where you will be on the other side is not wise. Admittedly," Miss Bingley's tone turned bitter, and she looked down at her ruined dress, "I have come to this conclusion a little late, but I have had enough experiences to know that doors to unknown places are best not ever opened."

Georgiana could not even begin to understand what Miss Bingley meant, if she was not merely referring to stepping through the wrong Wishing Door earlier. "But Miss Bingley, we will know where we are going - it will send us where we wish to go!"

"Yes, and you will wish to go to Pemberley - but which Pemberley will it send you to? The one here in the Looking Glass World? The one in the world we came from, where we belong? Or some other Pemberley, the one in Dar- in some other strange place? We cannot be sure, can we? And would we even know what Pemberley we had arrived at? Would we be able to get away from there if it was dangerous in some way?"

"Dangerous! How could Pemberley be dangerous? And what other Pemberleys could there be, besides this one and the one we came from?"

"You have no idea," Miss Bingley rolled her eyes.

"We could just wish to find my brother again."

"And then what? Watch him make love to that stupid Eliza Bennet and then let them vanish again without letting your brother know we are here?"

Georgiana stared at the ground abashedly. "I... I did not want to disturb them - I did not know that they were going to disappear like that!"

"Yes... I would love to know how they are doing that," Miss Bingley mused. "Regardless, I am not walking through either of those doors again, not without some assurance that I will be safe."

"But you did not trust Mr. Tweedingham or Mr. Tweedlehurst anyway," Georgiana protested against her companion's irrationality, "Of course, if you let me ask the question this time, I will-"

"Georgiana, if you say one more word about how to find out who is lying, and who is telling the truth, I... I... well, I do not know what I will do, but it will hurt. Now, you may keep looking for a key, or you may linger here in the hopes that one of those Tweedldeedee men return, but I am going to walk back to the house this instant."

And Miss Bingley might have done exactly that, if she had not heard someone calling her name, in a distressingly familiar voice.

* See The Thorn, by William Wordsworth
** See Scorn Not the Sonnet, by Wordsworth

Chapter Seventeen

"Ah! Caroline Bingley! What a wonderful surprise to see you here! For so long you have not been to my shop! I think you are buying your chapeaux from someone else now!"

Caroline fixed a smile on her face and turned around to face the newcomer. Of all the people she knew, the last one she would have expected to see wandering around the grounds of Pemberley in the middle of the night, even the Looking Glass Pemberley, was currently bearing down on her like a flamboyantly plumed bird of ill-omen.

"Madame Ruban! How absolutely delightful to see you! You cannot know how much I regret not having been able to visit you for so long, but it is such an age since I have been to Scarborough-" Caroline simpered. Madame Ruban was the proprietress of a hat shop that, until she knew better, had been Caroline's primary source of millinery. Unfortunately, Madame Ruban had taken the unusual step of emigrating to the north of England when she had fled her home country of France, instead of setting up her milliner's shop in London. In Scarborough, the bonnets made by Madame Ruban were accepted as the height of fashion. However, what Caroline had discovered when she removed to London was that the height of fashion in Scarborough was no such thing in London - she had been under the impression that being French automatically conferred impeccable taste on a milliner. She had learned that the two things could be mutually exclusive. Caroline had been subjected to a lot of sniggering among her classmates at the exclusive ladies' seminary she had attended with her sister, and it had interfered with her feelings of self-importance. The Bingley family's humble origins were a sore point with Caroline, and a circumstance she tried studiously to forget - it was, after all, the reason she had separated her brother from Jane Bennet, not feeling that Jane's connections were sufficiently elevated to lift Charles, and therefore Caroline, into a higher circle, and allow their antecedents to be forgotten. She did not ever want to relive the feeling of humiliation of being mocked for her lack of fashion as she had been at school. It had not been long before she had discovered that her bonnets were the source of her schoolmates' amusement. Caroline had vowed never to don another of Madame Ruban's creations ever again, and had made an effort to avoid the woman herself, as well. Somehow it seemed all of a piece with the luck she had been having all night to have to run into the woman in such a place.

"It is fortunate, I think that we have met - you and your friend, you have no hats! It is scandalous to be seen like, like, I do not know the word, but now, I am here, and I will help you!"

Caroline chanced a look at Georgiana, who had watched the whole exchange in a silence borne not just from shyness, but from interest. And it was no wonder that Georgiana should be curious, Caroline thought, to see her fashionable friend, who was something of a model for her, accosted by this peculiar stranger - and there was no question that Georgiana would consider Madame Ruban peculiar. Even in the real world, Madame Ruban was a little eccentric, but in the Looking Glass World...

'Darcinia was never as strange as all of this!' Caroline mused as she took in the outlandish attire of the lady who quivered with servile excitement before her. Madame Ruban was a tall, thin lady who looked a bit like someone who had once been a shorter, rounder person who had been stretched and pressed. She always dressed somewhat garishly, in colors and prints that did not enhance her complexion, but now she was dressed in a gown that used multitudes of those untasteful fabrics, each individual segment of the dress having been cut from a different bolt of cloth, without regard for complementary colors and patterns; the skirt was of different colors front and back, and the bodice boasted at least four colors that Caroline could see, not to mention the sleeves being constructed of three separate colors - each. Madame Ruban looked like a walking piecework counterpane. Still, it was not so much the piebald dress that made Madame Ruban's appearance so eccentric, it was the bonnets she wore on her head. There were at least three of them, piled one on top of the other, with all of the ribbons tied under her chin, engulfing her face in multicolored bows. The stack of bonnets wobbled a bit when she moved her head, the embellishments of each not allowing those on top to nest neatly within each other. Nor were they pretty bonnets, or fashionable (which are not always the same thing), but very, very ugly. Caroline shuddered to think that Madame meant to 'help' her in her bonnet-less state by forcing one of those monstrosities on her, and she positively recoiled when the woman moved to take her hand, for who knew what purpose.

"I thank you for your kind attentions, Madame Ruban, but as we are just returning to the house, I believe it will not signify that our heads are uncovered; we shall not meet anyone to be shocked. Indeed, we had not even intended to come out, which is the only reason we find ourselves so ill-attired for an outdoor excursion. Your adherence to both propriety and fashion are always admirable." Caroline did not know why, but Madame Ruban always brought out her most polite and considerate side - when she could not avoid her company - it seemed the best way to create distance between them. Though she no longer respected the woman's taste or talents, Caroline could not but treat the lady, who had been one of the first to treat her with the deference her family's growing fortune deserved, with condescension and patronizing civility. When all was said and done, Caroline liked people who looked up to her and were anxious to serve her. She just did not necessarily want them around her. "We would not wish to deprive you of your exquisite adornments when you are looking so... striking this evening."

"Oh mademoiselle, you are too kind - but I would never expect you to wear something so bourgeoisie! No, I make something beautiful only for you. Come!" Madame Ruban managed to gain possession of Caroline's hand, and Georgiana's as well, and led the two of them down a winding path among the blooming, fragrant beds of the garden, chattering on in her accented English as she walked, relating gossip about the ladies who frequented her shop. Caroline supposed that if she still lived in the north, the names would be familiar to her, but she had moved on to better things, and the gossip she heard from milliners in London was about much more illustrious ladies, who were more worth hearing about. Even Madame Ruban's gossip was inferior.

Soon they passed through an arbor and found themselves in a little alcove teeming with the strangest plants Caroline had ever seen. In the center of the little clearing were two enormous purple toadstools with bright orange spots, and Madame Ruban forced the two ladies to sit upon them; Caroline did as she was bid, while she tried to think of a way to extricate herself, and in the meantime cast a disdainful eye around her.

The little alcove where they sat was enclosed by a ring of trees, upon which grew enormous blooms that looked just like giant straw hats. The leaves on these curious arboreal specimens were shaped like long, flat streamers, in an entire rainbow of colors and more; they fluttered gaily in the slight breeze. Caroline could see that her young companion was enchanted by the place, and formed an irrational disgust that Georgiana was so pleased with everything she encountered in the Looking Glass World. Nothing, it seemed, could repulse the child! She was like a female version of Charles Bingley, right down to her unaccountable admiration for a Bennet sister. Caroline could only imagine Georgiana's raptures if she ever happened to meet the insipid Jane Bennet.

While her 'customers' took in their surroundings, Madame Ruban had been busy with a pair of pruning shears, and suddenly, without warning, Georgiana and Caroline found themselves with giant blossoms from the strange trees perched on their heads like exaggeratedly large hats. Caroline was not pleased, and moved to doff the monstrosity, but found that she could not move her hands; looking down she saw that while she had been sitting there on the toadstool, vines like wide ribbons had silently grown up around her, and she was now bound to her toadstool seat and unable to move. A glance confirmed that Georgiana, too, was made captive by the mad milliner's sinister garden. Caroline had one fleetingly smug thought, that the look of fear on the younger woman's face proved that finally they had encountered something in the Looking Glass World that Georgiana could not like.

Of course, Caroline did not like it either. "Madame Ruban! What is the meaning of this?" Caroline demanded of the milliner, who, after plunking the unwieldy 'hats' on their heads, had turned back to the trees with her pruning shears and was busy lopping off handfuls of the long, ribbon-like leaves.

"Why, Miss Bingley, whatever can you mean?"

"You must cut us loose immediately, Madame!"

Madame Ruban either did not hear, or did not choose to listen, and Caroline could not but be a bit alarmed by the crazed look in the milliner's eye as she approached with handfuls of the ribbon leaves she had cut.

"Now, any true lady wishes to have an air of mystery, non? So let us keep this a surprise!" She reached for Caroline with a wide, purple ribbon, and Caroline screamed in protest as the band was placed across her eyes. Screaming turned out to be a bad idea, however, when another ribbon was swiftly applied to her mouth as a gag. Unable to see or speak, or even move very much, Caroline sat fuming, only able to listen to the movements around her, and the frightened whimpers of Georgiana Darcy. She wondered if Georgiana had been gagged as well; her whimpers did not tell the tale, as it was entirely conceivable that the younger woman would be too cowed to say anything, and it is possible to whimper with a ribbon tied across one's mouth. So Caroline merely sat in silence, fuming, and plotting revenge against Madame Ruban. Unfortunately, she could think of no greater retaliation than to shun the woman's shop in the real world, and she had been doing that already for years. The acknowledgment of her impotence only added to her rage.

As the night wore on, and the moon made considerable progress in its descent, Darcy and Elizabeth made poetic jumps all over the estate together. They talked easily much of the time as they searched, and Elizabeth happened to mention a plan she and her aunt had agreed upon to visit Georgiana the next morning. She claimed it was an attempt to repay Georgiana's excessive civility in calling on them so soon after her own arrival in the country, but Darcy could not but feel flattered himself by such an attention, as his vanity, which he tried so hard to control, whispered that it was for him, too, that she made such an effort at civility. Darcy wondered if the plan was truly one of the real world Elizabeth, and looked forward to having her company at Pemberley the next day; though he was to join Mr. Gardiner and the other gentlemen of the house in fishing, he could certainly take the time to visit with Elizabeth - and her aunt, of course - if they came to call. The thought brought a smile to his face as he searched for nuts in a hedgerow.

Though they still had never discussed the purpose behind their individual efforts at collecting specimens, Darcy and Elizabeth had both become more open about the fact that each had a lengthy list that they were consulting from time to time, and they had even begun to compare lists and discuss the best strategies for finding their bounty. Elizabeth, not knowing the grounds of Pemberley very well at all, had not arranged hers in the same manner that Darcy had done, as an orderly, planned-out tour of the appropriate sites (a methodology that Darcy had quickly been forced to abandon, in any case, requiring greater attention to his list to be sure that everything was accounted for as he searched for them in such a random fashion); Elizabeth's list was arranged according to the type of specimens needed: flowers, roots, nuts, leaves, seeds, fruit, and so on. Between them they had collected an impressive inventory of the flora to be found on the estate, Elizabeth even accompanying Darcy to seek certain items that were not on her list, nor in places she needed to go to obtain things she required; she merely went along because their activities had evolved from two separate missions into a shared excursion. Neither said so, but Darcy had a suspicion - a heartwarming one - that Elizabeth felt the same sense of disappointment as he when it was noted that there were very few items remaining to be sought on either list.

"Walnuts, dandelion leaves, mushrooms, fern roots..." Darcy scanned his list for what he still needed, checking off ingredients with his pencil. There remained only two items, which he knew he would have to visit the lake to acquire. "What else do you need, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth finished stirring her bottle to incorporate the blackberries she had just added, and consulted her list. It revealed that they would have to return to the gardens for some flowers that she had neglected to acquire when they had previously visited there, having not distinguished on her list a difference between flowers to be found in the garden, and wildflowers. Elizabeth was struggling to compose a rhyming couplet that would take them there, avoiding the rose garden, lest the revelers who had been there earlier remained, and yet would also allow them to avoid being lost once again in the hedge maze. As much as neither was anxious to depart the other's company, both were equally aware that the moon would eventually set, putting an end to their opportunities to complete their collections that night. Again, they had not spoken of this, but Darcy did not want to have to return to the Looking Glass World again in order to complete his antidote - he did not wish to wait an additional day to recover his memories of Darcinia, and he did not know if the place would be the same if he came again another night.

As Elizabeth pondered possible rhymes, Darcy meanwhile perused her list, double-checking to see if there was any excuse to prolong their encounter. There was an entire section of herbs listed, but Elizabeth had made no mention of needing any of those items, and Darcy surmised that she had acquired them before he had encountered her under the oak tree. He felt a stab of disappointment to realize that she had been in his kitchen garden earlier in the night, and he had missed seeing her there. It struck him that he was fortunate to have encountered her at all, considering the size of the estate, and the various places they had both been required to go, some being necessary for one of them, but not the other.

It was useless to regret any missed opportunities, or to fret about what may have been, but was not, so Darcy went back to trying to decipher Elizabeth's list. It was difficult, because some of the little notes Elizabeth had written were cryptic, and used abbreviations, and some of the types of flowers, though spelled out in full, seemed nonsensical to him. He expressed his amusement at the names of some of the blooms as he studied Elizabeth's neatly written list.

"Johnny-Jump-Ups? Are there truly flowers called Johnny-Jump-Ups?"

"Of course - would I have written them on the list if there was no such thing?"

Darcy could not be too sure - with a name so nonsensical it could very well be that there were no such flowers in the real world, and it was Elizabeth, not he, who needed them. He found it curious that there could be species of flowers that were exclusive to the Looking Glass World, but then again, with Jabberwocks and talking badgers, the Looking Glass World could very well differ from the real world as much in flora as it did in fauna.

Suddenly, as if she had read his thoughts, Elizabeth asked, "Do you think we shall encounter a Jabberwock when we return to the garden?"

Darcy smiled at her. "I begin to doubt whether Jabberwocks really exist. Have you ever seen one?"

"You must know I have not, as I do not even know what it is."

"I do not think you have anything to fear, Miss Bennet. And if we do meet a Jabberwock, I promise you that I will protect you. I... I know that I have failed in that once before..." He paused; she would not know that he referred to the attack of the flying monkeys in Darcinia, but in truth, he felt the need to reassure himself that he would not fail again.

"Have you?" Elizabeth cocked her head to the side and eyed him keenly. She looked more thoughtful than puzzled.

"Yes. And I shall not fail again. I swear to protect you, Miss Bennet, for better or for worse."

Elizabeth smiled mischievously. "That is an interesting choice of words, Mr. Darcy. And you say you have failed me before, but I have every faith in you. Well, you and your vorpal sword, of course. You have already rescued me from a dangerous beast, so I know that you are perfectly capable of a heroic rescue."

"Have I?" Darcy could scarcely believe his ears - she must remember Darcinia and the P.R.O.B.! But could that mean that the real world Elizabeth remembered as well? He hardly knew what to say, how to ask her if that was what she referred to, if she remembered that harrowing event, and equally if she remembered that she had loved him then, but before he could frame the question, she punctured his excitement.

"But of course! How can you not remember? It has only been a matter of a few hours -"

"A few hours?" Darcy was at a loss to understand what she meant.

"Yes - but perhaps you do not consider the dispatch of a giant spider with the head of that scoundrel to be an act of heroism, and maybe he could not have harmed me, or my sisters, or those other ladies, but I believed you to have an impulse to protect me - and the others - from that horrid man, and I have no doubt you will be equally heroic in the face of whatever danger may lurk in the gardens, even if the Jabberwock does turn out to be nothing more than a garden beetle. After all, there are some insects that sting, and it is a comfort to me to know I shall not face them alone."

This charming speech was delivered with such a beguiling mixture of archness and sweetness, sincerity and mockery, that Darcy did know not whether he should laugh or abandon all claims to propriety and gentlemanly behavior, and sweep her into his arms and kiss her soundly. That last was the most appealing choice, but not the most wise, he conceded.

"Shall we ever be well enough acquainted, do you think, that I shall be able to discern when you are teasing me?" Darcy asked.

"We can only hope."

"Do you hope?" Darcy held his breath as he waited for a reply.

"I do. But I daresay all you need is a little more practice."

Darcy sighed. "I used to think myself an educated man, but lately I find that I fall short in so very many areas."

"No one admitted to the privilege of knowing you could find anything wanting," Elizabeth smiled, turning his own long-ago compliment to her back on him.

"You have bewitched me, Elizabeth," was all the reply he could make, even though it did not seem apropos to what they had been discussing.

Elizabeth laughed and took his arm, and they jumped to the garden once again.

Madame Ruban hummed and muttered to herself in French as she worked, and Caroline could hear her moving around her. Every once in a while the weight of her hat would increase, and once something very heavy was placed on the crown of the hat, causing Caroline no little discomfort. She itched to get her hands free so she could remove the offending chapeau from her head and fling it at the head of Madame. To her irritation, she heard Georgiana giggle; apparently she was not blindfolded.

Eventually, Madame Ruban finished, and with a triumphant cry of "Voila!" Caroline's blindfold was removed with a flourish, and a mirror was thrust in front of her eyes.

Caroline was speechless, even as she heard Georgiana's giggles.

What further indignities would she be forced to bear?

Chapter Eighteen

Posted on: 2009-10-08

The garden was deserted when Darcy and Elizabeth arrived; neither human nor animal, nor any strange amalgam of both was to be seen. The part of the garden they had chosen, on Darcy's speculation that what Elizabeth needed was to be found there - though he was not familiar with any of the flowers that remained on her list - was a glorious collection of flower beds, not formally arranged in precise geometric patterns, but more naturally embracing the contours of the land, making use of rocks, and natural rises and depressions of the ground, the paths winding, with short flights of stone stairs leading up or down as the landscape required. Even the occasional pieces of sculpture tucked among the verdure managed to look like they belonged, as if they, too, had grown out of the earth, rather than having been placed by the hands of man. The garden was lit, as the other gardens had been, with both torches and lanterns, giving the entire enchanting site a festive, fairy-like air. And then there were the flowers, a bounteous array of blooms, in every color, in generous abundance, fascinating the eye, and perfuming the air with an ambrosial scent. Darcy nearly burst with pride at Elizabeth's evident delight with the place.

"Mr. Darcy, this is simply breathtaking! I have never seen a place where nature has been so little counteracted by rigidity and an awkward taste! How very fortunate you and your sister are, to have such a paradise for your personal sanctuary. Why, if I had a garden like this, you would scarcely see me indoors from April to October!"

From any other woman such pointed praise would have annoyed Darcy as a most unsubtle hint of her desire to have the garden, as a portion of his worldly goods, offered to her in a proposal of marriage, but Elizabeth's true raptures with the scene he could interpret as nothing more than sincere pleasure in her surroundings.

"I would be happy to make such an arrangement for you, Miss Bennet," he said with a knowing smile, and was pleased to see her blush, though she said nothing. "Tell me," he continued, "does the beauty of this garden make its owner any less repulsive?" It was an impertinent remark, one he could not believe he heard himself make, and he held his breath in wait for a reply. He expected, at the very least, impertinence in return, if not outright indignation. He received neither.

"He has no need of a beautiful garden to effect that," Elizabeth replied, almost shyly, without raising her eyes to his face.

Darcy was convinced that his heart was going to burst - surely she could hear it pounding within his breast? He took her hand and raised it to his lips. Chuckling at Elizabeth's obvious confusion, Darcy decided to ease her abashment.

"Now, did you not have several more flowers to acquire here?" he asked with what he hoped was a flirtatious tone.

"Yes, Sweet William," Elizabeth said, a touch of humor in her voice.

Darcy was startled by her coy term of endearment, and even more by her assuming the intimacy of calling him by his Christian name, not to mention her familiarity in shortening it.

"Oh?" he gulped, a flush of pleasure reddening his features. Of a sudden, his cravat seemed uncomfortably tight, and the night seemed to grow warmer.

"Yes, you see right here? Sweet William," Elizabeth confirmed, showing him her list, where the name Sweet William was written in her delicate hand, right in the middle of the list of blooms she sought. Her accompanying laughter only increased Darcy's mortification, and yet he was pleased by the exchange. He liked that they could be so easy with one another, and if he had not quite yet acquired completely the knack for flirting with her, he was certainly enjoying the exercise. He could not wait to try it on the real Elizabeth. But the Looking Glass Elizabeth was not finished with her badinage on the name of the flower, and she was completely recovered from her earlier embarrassment.

"I had not thought to find Sweet Fitzwilliam here tonight, but that only demonstrates how little I know of the gardens of Pemberley - or at least, their master."

It would be absurd, Darcy knew, to ask this Elizabeth, this apparition, this mere reflection of the woman he loved, a product of the nonsensical Looking Glass World, if he had reason to hope. He knew not what aspects of the real Elizabeth were reflected by this charming doppelganger, but her vivacity and spirit, so like the real Elizabeth, only deepened his determination to win her love and bring her to the real world version of this garden, and present it to her as her own haven. Even if the antidote failed, and he never regained his memory of their previous extraordinary adventure together, and he never was able to truly remember that moment when she confessed her affection for him, he was determined that she would one day confess it again, and it would be a moment he would remember for the rest of his life.

Meanwhile, as Darcy was professing this vow within his heart, the object of it was tripping gaily down the path, finding the blossoms she was searching for, harvesting day lilies, carnations, and hollyhocks - and sweet Williams, naturally - and adding them to the bottle with all the rest. The strange concoction no longer smelled so strongly of vinegar, Darcy noted as he drew near to the bench where Elizabeth was performing what was now a familiar ritual, so many additional ingredients having been added. Its new aroma was difficult to describe, not exactly pleasant, nor particularly palatable, it was at least not repellent, a strange aromatic blend of earthiness and floral balm.

"Are you going to drink that?" Darcy asked Elizabeth, abandoning his resolve not to inquire into her purpose that evening, and realizing belatedly that his questioning her intentions would give her license to ask him in return the reason for his own eclectic harvest.

She appeared to consider the question. "Do you not think it looks appetizing?" She sniffed the contents of the bottle, and wrinkled her nose. "No, perhaps not. But it is meant to be a very beneficial restorative..."

"I hope you are not ill, Miss Bennet," Darcy felt instant concern, and regretted the damp night air, and the dewy grass that wetted her boots.

"No, I am not ill, I am never ill. And yet... I hope to benefit from this..."

As she spoke, Elizabeth plucked a few more flowers that were growing beside the bench upon which she sat. Darcy thought they looked like little blue star bursts. Elizabeth pulled off the stems and sepals, and dropped some of the petals that remained into her bottle. Then, with a wicked glint in her eye, she offered one to Darcy.

"Do you need any of these?"

Darcy consulted his list; he had not listed any flowers to be obtained from that particular garden, and he did not recognize it, nor know the name of it. "I do not think so - what are they called?"

"Bachelor buttons," Elizabeth giggled, a sound he did not think he had ever heard her make. Still, he was taken aback by her question - was it meant to hint that she would not consent to help him shed his bachelor status? He did not think she would be so cruel, not now. He decided to try if he could discompose her equally.

"Perhaps you can tell me, Miss Bennet. Will I need bachelor buttons in the future?"

Elizabeth colored, and yet she laughed as well, taking his teasing in good spirit.

"I should imagine not," she riposted airily. "A handsome young man, with a fine estate like this? What lady would not be happy to exchange your bachelor buttons for a bridal bouquet?"

"I think you are mistaken. For I was told by one lady in particular that I was the last man in the world she could ever be prevailed on to marry."

"She must have been a fool! Why, I myself can think of any number of men whom I would think much worse choices as a husband. But perhaps this lady did not know what a good, kind man you are? And perhaps you did not treat her with the same gracious manners you have shown me since I came into Derbyshire? No lady who knew you as you are now could think anything but good of you."

Darcy was half hope, half agony. If this was any kind of reflection of the true feelings of the real Elizabeth, who, granted, he had not just spent the entire night wooing, then he had every cause to believe that she would accept him should he ask again for her hand. And yet, he remained in agony precisely because this was not Elizabeth, and he could not go down on one knee and offer for her again, because it would do him not the least bit of good. Even if she said yes, he would return to the real world and it would be as if it had never happened; indeed, to the real Elizabeth it would not have happened. However, half hope was a vast improvement over his condition but a week since, and he sighed happily.

"I am glad to hear it," Darcy said.

It seemed that they had come to some kind of understanding, and the collection of flowers to add to Elizabeth's bottle continued in a friendly fashion until only one type of blossom remained to be collected.

"Now all I need is a sprig of lavender," Elizabeth said, using Darcy's pencil to mark her list.

"You will not find lavender in this garden, it is grown in the kitchen garden. I do, however, have a sprig of it myself that you may have, as I do not need it for... it is not on my list." Darcy removed the sprig from his pocket and held it out to Elizabeth. She hesitated to accept it.

"The conditions under which these specimens are collected are very specific - may I ask, was this picked by the light of the moon?" Elizabeth asked.

"It was."

Elizabeth smiled, and reached for the fragrant spray. It was only then that Darcy realized that if he had not offered it to her, he could have prolonged their time together by including a return to the kitchen garden with Elizabeth to his evening's ever-evolving itinerary. The distraction of his thoughts caused him to drop the sprig of lavender just before Elizabeth could take it from his hand; as is, perhaps, inevitable, they both bent to retrieve it from the wet grass at the exact same moment, with the predictable result that their heads knocked together, leaving both clutching their heads in pain, and seeing coronas of stars circling about each other's grimacing visages. It was at this precise moment that a fleet shadow crossed the moon, and the air was filled for but a few seconds with a whiffling sound, a most peculiar noise that both Darcy and Elizabeth heard and attributed to the blows they had received to the head. By the time the shadow registered to either of them and they thought to look up, there was nothing to be seen. Darcy tentatively reached out a hand and ever so gently stroked Elizabeth's forehead. He wished he could kiss it. The constant temptations presented to him all evening were wearing on his gentlemanly resolve.

Darcy cleared his throat self-consciously.

"Are you well, Miss Bennet?"

"Quite well," Elizabeth answered with a curiously breathless voice.

Darcy flattered himself that he was not the only one suffering under temptations, and the thought brought a smile to his lips that, had he but known it, made his companion's suffering that much the worse.

"Quite well," Elizabeth repeated, so quietly Darcy almost did not hear her.

But, he did.

The travels, or what might perhaps be better described as wanderings, of Caroline Bingley and Georgiana Darcy through the grounds of the Looking Glass Pemberley had taken on a kind of rhythm; there were long silences during which Caroline would stomp angrily, having abandoned long past any attempt at a ladylike something in her manner of walking, while Georgiana would trip gaily along, enjoying her strange adventure and contemplating the pleasure she soon expected from acquiring a sister. But these comparatively peaceful interludes were interrupted by periods of contention, either arguments about where they were going, or how to get there, or just angry grousing from Caroline, which Georgiana sometimes chose to ignore, or merely listen to in silence, sometimes chose to attempt to placate, and sometimes chose to dispute, this last usually occurring when it was Elizabeth Bennet who was the target of Caroline's vituperation.

Georgiana began by listening quietly to Caroline's diatribe when they had escaped the ersatz hat shop. After all, Miss Bingley did have a point - it was appalling that they had been held captive by the mad milliner, and forced to wear hideous and unwieldy hats, which were heavy, uncomfortable, and so tightly knotted about their necks with the ribbon leaves that they found they were unable to remove them. Miss Bingley had been further imposed on when she had been blindfolded and gagged, neither of which injustice had been inflicted on Georgiana, who was able to watch the whole outlandish hat embellishment process, even if she had been too intimidated to put up a protest, or make any comment, until it became impossible to refrain from seeing humor in the construction of Miss Bingley's hat. Unfortunately, her amusement at her companion's expense let her in for some of Miss Bingley's wrath, now that they were free again - no thanks to Madame Ruban, who had fled in a storm of tears when Caroline let loose her indignation about her situation, and her disapproval of the fruits of Madame's labors.

And then the manner in which they had gained their freedom had made matters worse; hundreds of colorful little beetles with stripes and spots had crawled out of the ground and chewed through the ribbon vines that held them to their mushroom stools. Georgiana had thought they were beautiful, and they had been very helpful little critters; she was not sure, but she thought that perhaps they had been trying to say something to her when a few of the pretty little bugs had perched on her shoulder making chittering sounds. Miss Bingley, however, was not the least bit charmed by her rescuers, and the moment she was free of her bonds had frantically brushed them all off her person. She tried to stomp on the ones on the ground, too, but her enormous hat threw her off balance, and so, to Georgiana's relief, she did not managed to crush any of the helpful beetles under her feet.

Needless to say, Georgiana's suggestion that they try to get the beetles to chew through the 'ribbons' that bound the horrendous hats to their heads was not greeted with enthusiastic approval.

And so, the two ladies found themselves wandering in the gardens, hats firmly attached to heads, Caroline on a rant against her former favorite milliner, and Georgiana growing suspicious that they were walking in circles, and wondering what would happen if she mentioned that to Miss Bingley. In any case, they did not seem to be finding a way out of the gardens and back to the house.

"... And how are we supposed to get these ridiculous hats off?" Caroline seethed. "Madame Ruban should have left us those pruning shears she used to cut these ribbons, or leaves, or vines, or whatever they are!"

"She might have if you had not screamed at her so furiously, and said she was the worst milliner in the world," Georgiana mumbled.

Caroline either did not hear, or did not choose to acknowledge the remark. "I cannot go back to the real world looking like this! And what if we should encounter someone of my acquaintance here? There were several people whom I recognized at that... ball where your brother and that Bennet wanton were doing that scandalous dance - what if we meet some of them? Those were influential members of the ton, and it would positively ruin my reputation as a lady of fashion to be seen looking like this! I stopped patronizing Madame Ruban's shop for that very reason, and she never produced anything this unfashionable! I will be the laughingstock of the fashionable world! I-"

"Miss Bingley, I do not think that you need concern yourself with being seen - I do not think that the people here are real, that is to say, they are not the same as the people from our world. And as soon as we find my brother, he will be able to help us remove our hats - he keeps a small penknife in his pocket, and that should cut through the, um, ribbons."

"Perish the thought! I cannot let your brother see me like this!"

Georgiana was genuinely confused. "Why ever not?"

Caroline stopped walking and whirled around to face Georgiana, who almost bumped into her, or rather, her hat almost bumped into Caroline's hat.

"Do you think your brother would marry a woman who would wear a hat like this?" Caroline spat the question at her while she gestured violently at the outlandish specimen on top of her head.

Georgiana contemplated several answers. She knew that her brother, when he heard the tale of how they ended up with the hideous millinery, would not by any means attribute the choice of the hats to either her taste or Miss Bingley's. She also suspected that taste in head wear was not high on her brother's list of important qualities to consider when choosing a wife - though to be honest, she did not think he would want a wife who would wear a hat like Miss Bingley's. But something, perhaps frustration, perhaps a tiny flame of vindictiveness, perhaps a need to be truthful, compelled Georgiana to give a different response than any of these.

"I do not think my brother will ever marry you regardless, Miss Bingley."

Caroline turned white, and locked gazes with Georgiana, who managed to remain impassive under Caroline's furious glare, though she was grateful that her shaking knees could not be evident. Between their preoccupation, and the broad brims of their hats, neither lady saw the shadow that crossed the moon, and if either of them heard the whiffling sound that passed overhead, neither said a word about it.

Caroline, for all her loquacity on other subjects, found she had nothing to say about Georgiana's prediction, and merely spun on her heel and stomped off again.

Georgiana followed her with a sigh.

The intimate moment between Darcy and his love was broken before another word could be spoken by either of them as suddenly, Darcy and Elizabeth became aware of the approach of voices; thinking that it must be the same ladies who had earlier been cavorting in the rose garden, Darcy took hold of Elizabeth's arm and quickly guided her into a shady bower formed by carefully trained woody vines. The voices grew nearer, and though their words were indistinguishable, they were soon recognizable to both of those concealed in the alcove as Georgiana Darcy and Caroline Bingley. Darcy's first instinct upon hearing his sister's voice was to emerge from the bower where he was hiding, and meet her on the path - he was concerned that she should be out so late at night wandering the grounds. But before he could act, he recollected where he was, and thought of all the other people whom he had met in his wanderings that night, and decided that the Looking Glass Georgiana might think it a peculiar thing to be accosted by her brother and sent to bed. However, if he was completely honest with himself, he would have had to admit that it was the presence of Caroline Bingley with his sister that truly kept him rooted to his spot in the bower with Elizabeth. He had no desire to meet the Looking Glass Caroline Bingley. He had no way of knowing in what way, if at all, she differed from the real Caroline Bingley, but as it was too much to hope for that the Looking Glass counterpart of the irritating lady was not interested in attaching him, he would avoid meeting her if he could, especially in the presence of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, even a Looking Glass version of her.

They did not have to wait long for the two ladies to come into view, and when they did, their concealment in the bower was nearly revealed when Elizabeth made a slight choking sound. Alarmed, Darcy looked to see what was the matter and saw that she had both hands pressed over her mouth in a desperate attempt to suppress the laughter that threatened to burst forth. He could see that laughter dancing in her eyes, though, and for a moment forgot all else in contemplation, not for the first time, of the very great pleasure to be derived from the sight.

Presently, though, Darcy thought to investigate the source of her amusement, and his first glance of his sister and her companion made it all too clear. Both women were dressed much as they had been for dinner earlier that evening, though Caroline's dress, instead of being white, was now a very unbecoming pattern, mixing white with a shade of drab brown that Darcy could not remember ever seeing Caroline wear. But it was not Caroline's hideous dress that arrested the attention and inspired mirth, for each of the ladies had perched upon her head an enormous, outrageous... well, the only word he could think of to describe the items on their heads would be hat, or maybe, in a stretch of the imagination, bonnet would do, but hat or bonnet, the ornaments were peculiar. Strangely, on Miss Bingley the ridiculous contraption did not seem wholly out of place, but as an embellishment to Georgiana's delicate, youthful features it was a monstrosity.

The hats had wide, flat brims almost the size of carriage wheels; though they were fastened with extremely wide ribbons, tied in enormous bows under the chin, their exaggerated diameters caused them to wobble precariously atop their wearers' heads, and at one point, when the two ladies walked too closely together, they bumped hat brims, knocking each rakishly askew and causing both Caroline and Georgiana visible struggles in righting their formidable headgear.

It was not merely the size of the hats, however, that made the two onlookers in the bower struggle to contain their laughter, but the embellishment of the outlandish millinery. Georgiana's hat was piled several feet high with giant flowers the size of dinner plates, in every color of the rainbow. Surrounding this floral pyramid were bows perched along the edge of the brim, ribbons trailing over the edge. Darcy almost revealed his position out of concern when Georgiana tripped due to her impaired vision, but she managed to right herself with an embarrassed look, and he relaxed again. After all, she was not really his sister, and no harm could really come to her, he reminded himself.

Caroline Bingley's hat was even more startling to behold. Sitting directly atop her head was a stuffed swan, its wings outstretched as if it would take flight any moment, and its beak wide open, giving the impression that it had been on the verge of a cry of alarm before it had been stuffed and plonked on top of Caroline Bingley's head. Surrounding the swan, in what must be supposed to be an attempt at millinery verisimilitude, were clusters of reeds, through which the swan's gaping beak protruded; the entire effect being spoiled, however, by the brightly colored ribbons that festooned all, swan and reeds alike. The bright pink bow atop the swan's head preserved Miss Bingley from appearing as if she was wearing a small pond atop her pate.

It was difficult to understand what they were saying, but there was no mistaking the fact that Miss Bingley was angry and that Georgiana was... annoyed. The expression of irritation that graced his sister's countenance was unfamiliar to Darcy - in general she was too shy and self-effacing to allow herself to be annoyed with anyone. Darcy could not help but wonder if this unusual circumstance was because she was not the real Georgiana, but a reflection of her, or if the Looking Glass Caroline Bingley was so obnoxious that even Georgiana found her aggravating. Darcy's mind was instantly made up, however, he would not reveal his presence to them; he had no desire to meet either the Looking Glass Caroline or his Looking Glass sister. They were both too strange for him to want to face them when his time, according to the low-hanging position of the moon, was beginning to wane - he shuddered at the thought of finishing his mission with Caroline Bingley clinging to his arm, trying to separate him from Elizabeth. He allowed the two ladies to pass his hiding place without hailing them.

"Curiouser and curiouser," Darcy murmured.

"Indeed," Elizabeth chuckled, and it suddenly occurred to Darcy that of all those he had encountered that night, she was the only one who was not unusual in any way - well, aside from some of the puzzling things she said, and an appearance of a more obvious liking for him than he had seen in the real Elizabeth. She was different, but not... odd. But her amusement at the folly that had just traipsed past was pure Elizabeth Bennet.

When the voices of Georgiana and Miss Bingley had faded away, Darcy and Elizabeth emerged from the bower and Darcy consulted both of their lists once more, while Elizabeth retrieved the sprig of lavender from where it had landed on the grass, and added it to her bottle.

"We both require cattail roots, Miss Bennet, and you also are in need of some tea," Darcy announced, sadly disappointed to know that their excursion would soon be over.

"I assume there are cattails by the side of the lake?"

"Yes, yes there are."

"And then I do not know how I shall manage with the tea... it must be collected by moonlight, but how am I to obtain tea in the moonlight?"

"Well, let us consider it as we collect the cattails. Shall we proceed to the lake?" Darcy asked, offering his arm to Elizabeth.

"Yes," the lady replied, laying her hand in its accustomed place, "Now, for a rhyme..."

"Allow me, this time, Miss Bennet, as you have had the burden of composing all of the other rhymes. I think I understand by now what is required. Let me see..." As the appropriate words formed in his head, Darcy, in a kind of nervous excitement at his first attempt at directing their poetic leap, and filled with a great desire to impress the lady on his arm, forgot the order of things, and instead of informing Elizabeth first of what they were to say, he clicked his heels three times and proudly recited his piece.

"Home of duck and home of drake,
Take us both to Pemberley Lake."

An instant later Darcy found himself up to his neck in water, and Elizabeth's shout of warning was transmuted to a wet gurgle.