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Elizabeth hadn't written to Olivia in weeks, not since she had revealed in a letter that Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were also in Kent. Olivia had immediately applied to Elizabeth for intelligence of the Colonel, unwittingly betraying her attachment to him; not that Elizabeth was without her suspicions. Olivia had also asked after Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth could not find words to describe what had transpired on the very day that Elizabeth had received her letter. Now, as Elizabeth sought to put pen to paper, she was forced to confront her own feelings about the man that she once thought she abhorred above any in the world.

Elizabeth rose and began to pace the room. It was nearly two in the morning, but after beginning and discarding several drafts of her letter to Olivia, she was no closer to putting her thoughts down on paper than she had been that morning. Elizabeth was restless, uncomfortable within her own skin. She tried to ferret out the source of her uneasiness. She decided to start at the beginning and try to make sense of all that had passed between herself and her reluctant suitor.

When she first met Mr. Darcy in Hertfordshire, she had found him to be arrogant, haughty, and distant. In London, she had found him to be civil, pleasant--solicitous, even. He was such a paradox. Or was he? Were Mr. Darcy's motives as mysterious as they seemed? Elizabeth searched her conscience. At Netherfield, Mr. Darcy had willingly engaged her in a battle of wits, seemingly enjoying every opportunity to spar with her. And he had asked Elizabeth, and Elizabeth alone, to dance with him at the Netherfield Ball. On two occasions Mr. Darcy had paid her particular attention and yet Elizabeth knew all the while that he viewed her and her relations with disdain and contempt. Her family, at least, was beneath his notice. Had he thought himself to be courting her favor then, in spite of his disregard for her relations?

In London, Mr. Darcy had seemed more open and even a bit shy in his dealings with her. Was this the true Mr. Darcy? Or was he merely surer of himself in his own element, as Colonel Fitzwilliam had implied in Hunsford? But Mr. Darcy had not been completely at ease; he admitted to having walked into a tree while looking at her! Elizabeth smiled at the thought, half at herself for inspiring such behavior and half at Mr. Darcy's unpretentious confession. Elizabeth reached for her shawl. The fire was dying down in the grate and she went to tend it.

The man she met in Kent was more like the original: oddly distant and yet omnipresent. In retrospect, Elizabeth realized that the Fitzwilliam Darcy she had encountered in London and in Kent was a man intoxicated by love. He loved her! Elizabeth shook her head as if to reject the notion, blew out the candle on her nightstand and crawled under the layers of quilts piled atop her bed.

What of her own heart? She did not, could not love him. She knew that she no longer hated Mr. Darcy, but common sense told her that she could never love a man who had shown so little respect for her or her family. Perhaps she had let her prejudices cloud her opinion of him, but Mr. Darcy's proposal had convinced her that he was undeserving of her love. She tossed about fitfully, trying to reconcile her ambivalence. I could never love such a man. Why not? Because he insulted me? Because of Jane? She knew these reasons were inadequate. She searched her soul and found guilt. It made her sit up in the dark and confront her own feelings. I did not ask for his love. I gave him absolutely no encouragement.

"Did I?" she asked aloud. Her attacks on him could certainly be viewed as encouragement. Caroline Bingley certainly took Elizabeth's behavior to be flirtatious. Did Mr. Darcy also think so? Elizabeth repeatedly went out of her way to provoke him. She was unquestionably not the first lady to employ such a tactic to entice the wealthy bachelor.

Oh, why did I not just keep my mouth shut and leave him alone! A second, more disturbing thought occurred to Elizabeth, and it made her shudder. I brought this upon myself. Did I unconsciously seek Mr. Darcy's attentions? She would not allow herself to finish her self-interrogation. She got out of bed and lit the candle. She picked up the candleholder and made her way down to her father's study, ostensibly to look for a book to divert her. As she tiptoed down the stairs, Elizabeth bitterly reproached herself. Indeed, I have behaved no better than Caroline Bingley has! What was I about? And yet, Elizabeth had to laugh at herself--she had succeeded where Miss Bingley had failed miserably. What would she say if she knew of Elizabeth's success? Once in the library, Elizabeth picked up and discarded several books. Poetry was tempting, but dangerous in her present state of mind. Histories didn't appeal, nor did Mrs. Radcliffe's latest novel. Elizabeth drew her finger along the shelf that held the complete works of Shakespeare. Elizabeth picked out the copy of "Twelfth Night," but could not bring herself to open the volume. She soon found herself pacing again.

I have never behaved toward any man as I have behaved toward Mr. Darcy. I thought I was repelling him...I thought he was repugnant...Have I been deluding myself all along? Was my dislike of him based on nothing more than my own predisposition to find him wanting? Have I not used his every word, look and action to fuel my own opinion of him, to justify my prejudices? Elizabeth put down the book and walked over to the window. She pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders in order to ward off the cool night air that seeped in.

"Am I in love with Mr. Darcy?" The words were no sooner of her mouth than the answer became self-evident. Her tears began to flow. "What a mess I have made of things. I have fallen in love with the man I have vowed to despise, in spite of myself. I have insulted him, accused him, slandered him with my accusations...I have treated him most abominably. Oh, Lizzy--foolish, silly girl! Mr. Darcy loves me and I love him! I could never have accepted his proposal, but I did not know my own heart then. Had I recognized my true feelings I might not have said... I know my heart now and it is too late. I have rejected him irrevocably." She collapsed sobbing onto a large wing chair and cried herself to sleep.

Mr. Darcy awoke at daybreak and surveyed his surroundings. He stood and stretched, trying unsuccessfully to ease the stiffness in his back and neck. He left the study and made his way to his chambers. He pulled off his waistcoat and shirt and went to the wash basin to splash his face. As he turned to reach for the towel, a glint of silver caught his eye. He went to the dressing table and picked up the tiny silver vial that held within the intoxicating scent of "her." Mr. Darcy dared not allow himself to even think her name.

Mr. Darcy carried the precious object to his bed and sat down, staring at the fine engraving along its length. He choked back tears as he opened it and inhaled. He closed the vial reverently and lay back on the bed, allowing the full force of his misery to overwhelm his senses. After half an hour, Mr. Darcy gathered himself and abruptly stood, dropping the vial on his bed. He rang for his valet. When he had dressed, he retrieved the vial and stormed out of his chambers.

"Oh, Jane!" Olivia hugged her tightly again. "I am so very happy for you! You must tell me everything! I knew the moment I left town something important would happen!" Mrs. Gardiner urged both ladies to sit as she rang for tea. Olivia had just returned to town after a month in Bath with her elderly aunt, and she was eager to get caught up on the latest gossip, none more important than Jane's engagement to Mr. Bingley.

"Have you written to Lizzy? I am sure she will be ecstatic!" Olivia's joy did not afford Jane much opportunity to tell her tale, so it was some time before all the details had been revealed.

"Of course, Mr. Bingley has yet to ask for my father's permission, but he plans to return to Hertfordshire in a week to see him," Jane concluded.

"Oh, Jane," Olivia gushed. "This is so wonderful! I am so glad that things finally worked out for the two of you. I cannot think of two more deserving people." Mrs. Gardiner looked up from her knitting and smiled, remembering Olivia and Elizabeth's role in bringing the union about. Eventually the conversation came back around to the subject of Elizabeth's response to the news.

"I have not received her reply, but I expect one at any time. I was so excited I sent her the news by express!" Jane said with a laugh.

"I have not heard from Lizzy since she was in Kent," Olivia said, "And that was more than two weeks ago. I supposed it to be because I was traveling myself, but I had expected a letter to be awaiting me here when I arrived home yesterday and there was none. It is unlike Lizzy not to respond to my letters promptly." Jane exchanged a glance with Mrs. Gardiner. She was uncertain what to say; she was not sure that Elizabeth would want her to tell Olivia about Mr. Darcy's proposal.

"I am sure you will receive a letter soon." Jane dissembled. "Knowing Mama, she has kept Lizzy busy since her return to Longbourn and it will take her a while before she's back to her normal routine." Olivia knew that Jane was being evasive, but she didn't pursue the mater. Instead she launched into a conversation about wedding plans, and soon Elizabeth's tardy letter was no more than a nagging thought at the back of her mind.

Elizabeth was more than a little surprised to receive not one, but two expresses on the same morning. The first was from Jane, and she opened it with no small amount of trepidation. The news it contained made her weep with joy. She immediately grabbed her hat and pelisse and took a walk, the better to avoid her mother's curiosity. Fortunately for Elizabeth, her mother had gone into Meryton to see her sister, Mrs. Philips, but Elizabeth knew that she was due to return shortly. Her mother would be informed by one of the maids that a post had come for Elizabeth, and Mrs. Bennet would not rest until she had perused the missive for herself.

Elizabeth sought the isolation of a sunlit meadow a short distance from Longbourn. Once she was alone, she sat down beneath a tree to savor every detail of Jane's letter. When she had read it through twice, she put it down and turned her attention to the small parcel in her lap. It bore no distinctive markings, but she recognized the hand immediately. Elizabeth hesitated. A lump rose in her throat and she found herself fighting tears. She could not imagine what the parcel held, but she was overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding.

She picked up the parcel and Jane's letter and began to wander the meadow aimlessly, willing her heart to slow down. Finally, when she could bear the suspense no longer, Elizabeth sat on a cropping of rocks near a stream and tore open the package. Inside, carefully wrapped in a man's linen handkerchief, Elizabeth found her grandmother's Sterling silver vial that she thought she had lost months ago in London. How had it come into Mr. Darcy's possession? With trembling hands she unfolded the letter that accompanied it. Elizabeth carefully opened the letter and began to read its contents. The first paragraph was written in Mr. Darcy's impeccable hand, as was the letter she had received from him in Hunsford.

Dear Miss Bennet,

I can only imagine that given the circumstances of our last two meetings you would wish never to see or hear of me again. I must beg your indulgence as I perform this one last service on your behalf. The enclosed item, I believe, belongs to you. It has a patina of age, which suggests that it must be an object of great sentimental value to you. My dear mother carried such a vial, a legacy of her own mother. She was rarely without it. I hope that its absence did not cause you much anguish and I hope its safe return gives you comfort.

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Elizabeth sighed deeply and read on, for the letter continued. From this point, however, the penmanship was careless, written in a manner that bespoke great agitation. Elizabeth could only wonder what was going through his mind as he wrote his next words.

I must...Please Eliz Miss Bennet, I must exploit this final opportunity to communicate with you to offer an apology for my abominable behavior in Hunsford. I neither expect nor deserve an apology. But I must (the next few words were crossed out so as to render them unreadable)...I wish only to say what I might have said in the letter that I gave you that last morning. That letter was written too hastily; the full weight of my pain and anger at your rejection clouded my judgment and I have learned to regret the bitterness with which I attempted to explain my actions. I wrote to defend myself when I might have begged your forgiveness. I was thinking only of myself then, but since that time I have thought only of you. At first I was determined to forget you and went to great effort, without success, to drive you from my mind. After a time I was able to look beyond my own pain to understand the pain unintentionally inflicted upon you by my arrogant and pretentious behavior. You have done me a kindness, madam, in your unmerciful condemnation of my character. I have learned much in these last two weeks, Miss Bennet, and can now appreciate the truth of your words.

Her curiosity aroused Elizabeth paused, and removed her bonnet. Carelessly tossing it aside, she picked up the letter and began to read anew. Mr. Darcy's penmanship was once again steady and deliberate. Much thought and effort went into what came next.

I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. I am not certain when it happened, perhaps when you were at Netherfield attending your sister in her time of illness, perhaps even earlier. You must understand that I had been acquainted with you some weeks before I truly allowed myself to see you, to look beyond the barriers I myself had imposed between us. Those barriers blinded me to all that I have since come to love and cherish about you. I am sorry if my declarations upset you, but I must speak plainly, as I should have done earlier. Perhaps if I had...

"Lizzy!" Elizabeth started, then hastily refolded the letter and stuffed it into her pelisse as her sister Lydia approached. Elizabeth rose to her feet, secreted the parcel in her pocket and reached for her bonnet as Lydia arrived at her side.

"Lord, Lizzy! I have been calling you these last five minutes. Did you not hear me?"

"I am sorry, Lydia. No, I am afraid I was quite distracted," Elizabeth replied, trying to compose herself. Her emotions were in a jumble and she wanted nothing more than for Lydia to disappear so that she could return to her reading of Mr. Darcy's letter.

"I have been sent to look for you. I have the most wonderful surprise!" Lydia giggled in that manner that so often infuriated her elder sister. Elizabeth was not interested in surprises and her impatience showed.

"Well? What is it?" she snapped. Lydia's smile immediately disappeared.

"If you are going to take that tone, Lizzy, I may decide not to tell you about it after all," she said coyly. Elizabeth grew more perverse.

"Do not tell me then," she said, plopping back down upon the rock. "I am sure that I can endure the loss." Elizabeth looked away from Lydia, hoping the girl would take the hint and leave.

"Very well, then, Miss Lizzy," Lydia said sweetly, knowing that she held the upper hand. "I will simply tell Jane and Olivia that you do not want to see them." She turned and started back toward the house. But Elizabeth immediately rose, silently mouthed the names, and much to her sister's surprise, took off toward Longbourn as fast as her legs could carry her.

"Married! When did that happen?" asked a surprised Colonel Fitzwilliam as he took a seat in Mr. Darcy's study.

"Just a few days ago. I had it from Bingley himself. He asked me to call upon him when I returned to London and gave me the news." Mr. Darcy poured out two glasses of port and offered one to his cousin.

"This is good news, indeed," the Colonel replied, thinking of how Miss Crenshaw would react. It had been months since he'd seen her, although he had been able to hear news of her now and again through her brother. The Colonel intended to remedy that as soon as he returned to London. "When is the happy event to take place?"

"I do not know yet. Bingley--or rather Miss Bennet--has yet to decide on a date. I expect they will send out invitations when they have decided," Mr. Darcy said, somewhat absently. His mind appeared to be elsewhere.

"And do you approve of the match?" the Colonel asked, trying to divine the source of his distraction.

"Why should I disapprove? Jane Bennet is a lovely girl, and she and Bingley should make each other very happy." Mr. Darcy seemed a bit affronted by the question, and he felt a twinge of guilt as the Colonel pursued his point.

"I heard it said somewhere that you had objections to the lady," he said mildly, recalling the day he blew up at his cousin when he learned of his interference in his friend's romance.

"Perhaps I did at one point, but I was wrong about Miss Bennet and I was wrong to try to influence Bingley's opinion of her." The Colonel's shock at this declaration barely registered on the outside, but the Colonel tried to decipher a curious mix of clues in his mind that did not quite add up. Not yet.

"Speaking of happy events, when are you going to propose to Miss Crenshaw?" Mr. Darcy said, abruptly turning the tables on his cousin.

"Propose?" the Colonel managed to choke out. "What makes you think I was considering proposing?" It was Mr. Darcy's turn to consider the evidence. He came out from behind his desk to sit in a chair opposite Colonel Fitzwilliam's.

"Oh, come, man! You spoke of little else in Kent!" Mr. Darcy laughed.

"I may have spoken of Miss Crenshaw, but I do not recall saying anything about marriage."

"Well, why else does a man unceasingly bring up the name of a woman in every conversation, day, evening, over tea, out walking..."

"Speaking of unceasing devotion, have you given any thought to what you are going to do about Miss Bennet?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, as he rose and went to tend the fire. He knew he was treading on dangerous ground, but he knew, in spite of his cousin's superficially cheerful demeanor, that the matter still weighed heavily on his heart. The Colonel, for one, believed that the issue was far from resolved. His cousin and Miss Bennet were far from being through with one another.

"Do about it? There is nothing to be done about it! I have lost her forever, Fitzwilliam. There is nothing left to do," Mr. Darcy replied dejectedly. "I made a complete ass of myself, Fitzwilliam. I went to her with every confidence that she was expecting my advances, that she wanted me as much as I did her." He stopped mid-stride, recalling his confrontation with Elizabeth. "I declared my love for her in a manner that no sensible woman would have accepted. I made plain my disdain for her relations, I reminded her of her social inferiority, and told her that I loved her in spite of these faults. In short, I did everything possible to make it perfectly reasonable that she would not only refuse my offer of marriage but never admit me into her presence again!" Drained by the effort of his confession, Mr. Darcy threw himself into the nearest chair and drained his glass. The Colonel stood and turned to his cousin; the façade that Mr. Darcy had so carefully constructed to greet him on his arrival had crumbled to dust. Mr. Darcy was a pitiable creature and the Colonel bit back the words that had come unbidden to his tongue. He knew that his cousin was penitent; his own rebuke was superfluous.

"You will attend Bingley's wedding?" he asked gently.

"Of course! I am to be his--." Mr. Darcy covered his face with his hands. "Good lord! I had not thought about that."

"Meeting Miss Bennet again is inevitable, Darcy. I daresay that as long as you and Bingley are friends and the Miss Bennets are sisters, it will be impossible to avoid seeing her."

"Lizzy!" Olivia and Jane shouted in unison, as the breathless lady made her appearance. A flurry of greetings, hugs, and exclamations of surprise ensued, and it was nearly five minutes before things settled. Mrs. Bennet bustled about, greeting her daughter and making preparations for her unexpected houseguest. Elizabeth wanted to ask a million questions but she thought it best to wait until her mother had left the room.

"Jane! I only received your express this morning! You made no mention of planning to return to Hertfordshire," she said, as soon as her mother had gone to the kitchen to order a special dinner.

"Did you really expect me to allow Mr. Bingley to face Mama all alone?" Jane laughed, as she took a seat next to her dearest sibling.

"Mr. Bingley is coming?" gushed Lydia, whose presence had been temporarily forgotten.

Elizabeth cast her sister a worried glance.

"Yes, Lydia. Mr. Bingley is returning to Netherfield," Jane said calmly. She knew she would have to speak with her mother before Lydia spread this intelligence across the county. Mrs. Bennet reentered the room, and before Jane could open her mouth, Lydia cried out the news.

"Mr. Bingley returning to Longbourn!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "This is a complement to you, Jane, I am sure. Did you see him in town? You never mentioned him in your letters, you sly thing, but I know you must have seen him. And now he is determined to follow you back to Hertfordshire and claim you as his bride. Oooh! I'm certain of it. Mark my words he will be at your father's door begging for your hand within a fortnight." Elizabeth looked at Jane and sighed. Olivia, who had been watching the proceedings with great interest, attempted to suppress an urge to laugh.

"Mama, Mr. Bingley will be here on Friday to ask for my hand. He has already proposed and I have already accepted him," Jane said patiently.

"On Friday, you say? Oh, but you should have told me before, Jane! There's so much to be done. I will have to see to the meal and have Cook prepare all of Mr. Bingley's favorite dishes. I must have Hill go up to the attic and find my best linens, for you know, I had them put away for the summer since we do not entertain so very often in warm weather at Longbourn. Oh! Lady Lucas will be quite put out! And I must tell Mrs. Phillips," she said wandering out of the room, her brain awhirl with plans and schemes. "And you must have a special license! Five thousand a year..." Mrs. Bennet's voice trailed off as she mounted the stairs. Olivia burst out laughing. Mrs. Bennet's outburst was even more entertaining than Jane had predicted to her. Elizabeth just shook her head.

"Jane, are you sure that was wise? By the time poor Mr. Bingley arrives--."

"By the time he arrives, she will have calmed down a bit," Jane said. But Elizabeth, rolling her eyes, feared that by the time Mr. Bingley arrived, her mother would be even more excited than she was at present. She told Jane so, but Jane shrugged her shoulders.

"I did warn him, Lizzy. He will have to put up with her after we are married, so he shall have to get used to it sometime," she replied with a laugh.

Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice pierced the air with cries of "Jane! Jane!" and the eldest Bennet sister reluctantly rose and left the room. Olivia moved to the spot Jane had vacated and took Elizabeth's hands.

"Dear Livy," Elizabeth said, "It is so good to see you again." Olivia looked deep into Elizabeth's eyes, and although she wanted to turn away, Elizabeth knew that Olivia was not to be evaded. She wasted no time in getting to the point.

"I persuaded Jane to come home a few days early because I was worried about you. You did not respond to my last two letters. Is there something wrong?" Elizabeth knew that the conversation that must ensue could not take place inside the house, and certainly not while Lydia was still lurking about.

"I am fine, Livy," she said with a look in her eye that forestalled Olivia's inevitable rebuttal. "But I want to hear about you. How was your time in Bath?" Elizabeth asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Oh, Bath was tedious. A Mr. Eliot pursued me without cease, but --."

"Really? Was he very handsome?" Lydia had thrown aside her pretense of trimming a hat to cross the room and join the conversation. Olivia looked askance at the interloper.

"...But," Olivia continued, "He seemed to be far more interested in the size of my dowry and my grandmother's inheritance gift than in my person," Olivia said with a sidelong glance at Lydia, who became even more interested.

"And you were far more interested in a certain Colonel than in a penniless rake," Elizabeth laughed. Lydia's eye grew wide.

"A colonel! Oh, I do love a man in uniform! I hope your colonel is young and handsome, not stodgy and old like that Colonel Forster." Elizabeth could not resist a smirk.

"You had better act fast to secure your Colonel Fitzwilliam before Lydia gets hold of him," she said. Her mother's voice cried out for Lydia upstairs and she responded to the summons even more reluctantly than Jane did.

"Let us make our escape," said Elizabeth, and the two ladies made their way into the garden furthest away from the house. They linked arms and strolled to a bench beneath a tree, where they sat down to talk.

"Now that I have you to myself," Olivia began, "Tell me the truth, Lizzy, how are you?"

"I am well, Livy," Elizabeth replied unconvincingly.

"You have dark circles under your eyes, your face is pale and your eyes have lost their sparkle." Olivia's critique was ruthless and unstinting. "You have been biting your nails, and unless I am greatly mistaken, you have been crying recently." Actually she did not know this to be fact, but it seemed to fit with Elizabeth's overall appearance. Elizabeth looked a way, a silently acknowledging all of which she had been accused. "Lizzy, what has happened?" Elizabeth remained mute, unable to begin. "Has this anything to do with that letter I saw you pull from your breast and crumble into your pocket when you came into the house?" Olivia said mildly, but there was a glint of triumph in her eyes. Elizabeth had to laugh at her friend's accurate assessment. She rose and paced in front of the bench.

"I knew I would not be able to hide anything from you. That is why I hesitated to write earlier. I needed time..." her voice drifted off. Elizabeth was overwhelmed by a burning desire to finish Mr. Darcy's letter. Until she knew what he'd had to say she could not put her own feelings into perspective.

"What do you have to hide?" Olivia asked gently. Elizabeth grew silent again, and Olivia sympathetically allowed her a moment to compose her thoughts. Elizabeth sat down and began her tale.

"Remember the ride back to Gracechurch Street after our outing to the theatre, when you joked that you would make Mr. Darcy ask for my hand in marriage..." Elizabeth's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Mr. Darcy? Lizzy, are you saying that Mr. Darcy did ask for your hand?" Olivia was incredulous. "When? How? I knew that his being in Kent would give him ample opportunity to court you." Elizabeth gave her friend a pained look, then lowered her eyes. "What? He did not court you? What did he do, climb into your window one night and beg you to elope with him?" Elizabeth could not share her friend's smile. Olivia paled. "What did he do, Lizzy?" Elizabeth rose and began to pace again. Olivia followed with her eyes.

"He did not court me, in fact, until the day he proposed I had no idea of his feelings towards me at all, in spite of what you and Jane may have said," she declared with a backward glance at Olivia. "I was supposed to go to Rosings Park for tea. Lady Catherine, Mr. Darcy's aunt, is Mr. Collins' patron, you see, and she had us over to Rosings Park quite frequently. But I had a headache that afternoon, and choose to stay behind at Mr. Collins' cottage. There was a knock at the door and Mr. Darcy entered. He seemed quite distracted about something. The next thing I knew he was proposing marriage."

"How romantic! He kept his love for you secret until he could bear it no longer--." Olivia was instantly transported by the image. Elizabeth abruptly turned to face her.

"I refused him, Livy." Olivia was shocked.

"You refused him? Why on earth would you do that?"

"Because his proposal..." No. She would never reveal to another soul the words they'd exchanged that afternoon. "Because he tried to ruin Jane's romance with Mr. Bingley, because I had heard vile accusations made against him and believed them, because--," she began to sob and she dropped to the bench and fell into Olivia's arms, "And because I have been such a fool that I did not know my own heart." She wept for some time, Olivia stroking her hair and encouraging her to let her tears flow. After a time, Elizabeth grew quiet and raised her head.

"I am sorry, Livy. I cannot seem to do much else but cry these past few days." Elizabeth rose and walked a short distance away to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

"Is that a letter you were writing to him?" Olivia asked gently. Elizabeth shook her head.

"He wrote to me," she said, pulling the handkerchief from her pocket. "He found my grandmother's perfume vial and wanted to return it to me." Olivia stood and took the tiny vial from Elizabeth's outstretched hand.

"I thought you had lost this in London. How did he get it?" she asked.

"I do not know. Perhaps I was mistaken. I could not find it the night we went to the theatre but maybe it was among my things and I just could not locate it. I must have lost it in Hunsford."

"I wonder why he sent it back," Olivia said as she took a whiff of the lavender water. "I should have thought that he would keep it as a remembrance of you."

"He returned it because he sensed that it would be something important to me," Elizabeth said, as she took the vial from Olivia and carefully folded it back into Mr. Darcy's handkerchief. For just a second, she ran her thumb across the fine linen and smiled. She had her own trophy to cherish. Olivia watched as Elizabeth carefully returned the treasure to her pocket and shook her head. One minute she berates him for doing something heinous, the next she calls him honorable. She certainly does not know her own mind. She wondered what had actually passed between them that day, and how two people so obviously suited to one another could have come to their present circumstances. She went to Elizabeth and hugged her tightly.

Olivia came forward and hugged Elizabeth tightly. "Oh, Lizzy," she sighed. "I am sorry. I thought the two of you were meant for each other." Elizabeth pulled away and looked at her friend.

"Why do you say so?" she was curious to know. The two ladies began to walk, but not toward the house. "I thought you did not know Mr. Darcy very well."

"Oh, it has nothing to do with knowing him. It has more to do with--well for lack of a better explanation--the way he looks at you." Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and squinted at Olivia.

"How does he...did he look at me?"

"Like no man I ever saw look at woman," she replied cryptically, her eye fixed on the memory. "The first time I noticed it was in the park that afternoon. He saw you and knew you from a hundred yards away. I am certain of it." Olivia recalled the look in his eyes before he and Colonel took off across the great lawn and the look in his eyes after he'd hit his head and was fixated on Elizabeth. Olivia was convinced at that moment that, had the Colonel let him, Mr. Darcy would have tracked Lizzy all the way to Mr. Bingley's house. "I also remember how he looked at you in the theatre that night. He barely looked at anything else after you smiled at him. If a man looked at me the way he looked at you..."

"As I recall, you were also closely observed that night," Elizabeth said slyly, a hint of her old spirit returning.

"A lot of good that did me. I did not see the Colonel again for a week and the next thing I knew he had gone to see his aunt with Mr. Darcy. You have seen more of him these last few months than I have," Olivia pouted.

"You are in love with him, aren't you?" Elizabeth didn't wait for an answer. "You have my sympathies. 'The course of true love never did run smooth,' to quote the 'Bard of Avon.' At least you did not have to bear the..." Elizabeth covered her mouth suddenly as tears welled up in her eyes and began to cloud her vision.

"Lizzy!" Elizabeth looked up and saw Lydia beckoning her to come inside the house.

"I cannot go in like this," she said, turning away.

"I will make your apologies, but you had better come in quickly or Lydia is likely to come out after you again." Elizabeth nodded and with a last squeeze of hands, Olivia made her way back to the house. Elizabeth judged it best to wait until another time to continue the letter. She dried her tears and pinched her cheeks, and then putting on a brave face, went into the house.

Part 5

Colonel Fitzwilliam examined the tip of his blade as Mr. Darcy reached for the wall and leaned against it, breathing heavily.

"You are getting quite good, Fitzwilliam," Mr. Darcy said sarcastically. The Colonel, who had been besting his cousin in the martial arts since their childhood, cast him a withering glance.

"An eleven year old might have beaten you today, Darcy," the Colonel complained. "You are not even trying." Mr. Darcy did not scruple to argue, but dropped himself into the nearest chair and accepted the glass of water offered by the Colonel. After draining the glass, Mr. Darcy was able to speak.

"I have been thinking, Fitzwilliam," he began, as the Colonel carefully cleaned his epee before gently cradling it in its bracket on the wall. Colonel Fitzwilliam wasn't listening to Mr. Darcy. For the past five days he had listened to his cousin's stream of consciousness ramblings. They had alternated between self-deprecating diatribes and verbal rhapsodies on the perfection of Elizabeth Bennet.

Thinking about what? No! Let me guess? Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Right first time, dear boy! Yes, you are a hopeless fool. No, Darcy, you do not deserve her. Yes, she is quite lovely. No, she will probably never forgive you--. It was not that the Colonel was unsympathetic to his cousin's plight, and he did not begrudge his cousin's proclivity for brooding over his lost love, or even venting his anger and sorrow. Indeed, the Colonel considered his cousin's loquaciousness a far healthier alternative to the gross quantities of alcohol he had allegedly consumed when he first returned to Derbyshire.

But the Colonel's patience was growing thin. For five days now, all he had heard was talk. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was a man of action and he found his cousin's inertia frustrating, to put it mildly. Do something, man! Put up a fight for her--she cannot do anything worse to you than she has done already. You have nothing to lose, except your blasted pride! And that might, quite frankly, be the making of you, my friend. Colonel Fitzwilliam had been standing with his back to his cousin in order to conceal his exasperation. Now he turned around to face him, his face a blank mask.

"What did you say?" Mr. Darcy's last words had caught Colonel Fitzwilliam off guard.

"You have not been listening, have you?" Mr. Darcy stood and confronted his cousin. "You have not heard a single word I have said in the last three minutes!" As Mr. Darcy drew closer to the Colonel, annoyance briefly flashed in his eyes. The Colonel did not answer, inwardly welcoming Mr. Darcy's show of emotion. It was the first sign of the old Darcy he had seen in some time. The Colonel briefly considered baiting him further, but opted instead to hear what his cousin had to say.

"I am sorry, Darcy. I am afraid I did allow my mind to wander a bit." He grinned apologetically, and Mr. Darcy sighed.

"I said that I received a letter from Bingley. He is on his way to Hertfordshire and has asked me to join him there. The wedding is not until sometime in August but he means to stay close to his betrothed until then." Mr. Darcy strode to the window and leaned on the frame. "I have been considering his invitation," he said as his eyes surveyed the herb garden below the window. "What do you think, Fitzwilliam?"

"What I think does not matter, Darcy," the Colonel said, joining him at the window. "Are you ready to meet Miss Bennet again? We had spoken about it as a distant possibility, but this is far sooner than you might have hoped for. Are you ready to face her?" Colonel Fitzwilliam searched Mr. Darcy's eyes, hoping that he would agree to go. The sooner he got it over with, the sooner he would be able to get on with his life. Mr. Darcy turned away from the view, still leaning on the frame.

"There is something I have not told you, Fitz," he said in a low voice. He closed his eyes and sighed as the Colonel waited. "I have written to Miss Bennet." The Colonel looked at his cousin a moment, confused.

"You mean you have written to her again?"

"Yes. A few days ago; in fact, on the morning of your arrival I sent her an express." Even as Colonel Fitzwilliam tried to form a question, Mr. Darcy continued. "I had something I had to return to her, you see," he said with a hint of a smile on his lips. "A debt of honor, you might say." Mr. Darcy straightened up and headed for the door. "It is a long story, Fitzwilliam. Let us get cleaned up and I will explain it over dinner."

"Why did you wait so long?" the Colonel asked as the servants departed with the last of the dinner dishes. "You might have returned it to her at the theatre." The swirling dark red wine at the bottom of his glass momentarily mesmerized Mr. Darcy.

"I did not know that I would see her there," he said, then he smiled. "I confess I did have a fantasy about returning it to her after she accepted my proposal." Mr. Darcy blushed at his boyish romanticism, and Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled.

"So you carried that vial with you the whole time you were in Kent?" he asked. Mr. Darcy nodded, and put down the glass.

"Whenever I held it, or looked upon it, or opened it and breathed its scent...her scent..." Mr. Darcy caught himself and flushed again.

"So what did you say in the letter?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked as he dug into his trifle.

"Surely you did not attempt to renew your advances to the lady."

"No, no, of course not. I wrote at first simply to tell Miss Bennet that I had found the vial and was returning it to her."

"And then?"

"And then...I realized that I had an opportunity, perhaps my last opportunity to tell her how I felt about her." Mr. Darcy stabbed at his trifle with his spoon. "If...when I see her again, I will not be able to speak what is and will always be in my heart. I wanted her to know that although I went about things badly, I truly..." he ran a hand over the lower half of his face, feeling his emotions begin to well up in his throat. The sentence remained unfinished. Colonel Fitzwilliam rose, patted Mr. Darcy on the shoulder, and left him to his sorrow. A few minutes later, Mr. Darcy joined the Colonel in the library and accepted a glass of brandy. The Colonel poked at the fire in the grate as Mr. Darcy went to look out the window.

"I am going to Hertfordshire," he declared. The Colonel paused at his task for a second and smiled to himself. Good show, Darcy. Good show.

It was nearly midnight before the house grew still. Elizabeth, Jane, and Olivia had sat up quite late in Jane's room discussing Mr. Bingley, their courtship, and wedding plans. Jane told of her difficulties in dealing with Miss Bingley. She had invited herself to accompany Mr. Bingley on his visit to Gracechurch Street on more than one occasion. Although Miss Bingley always behaved within the bounds of propriety, Jane was no longer blind to Miss Bingley's hostility towards her. Elizabeth was a bit surprised by Jane's newfound self-assuredness, and was pleased. Olivia had undoubtedly been an influence; she had kept a close eye on Jane and Mr. Bingley's progress before she went to Bath, and had managed to instill some of her own spirit in Jane before she left.

"Of course, Miss Bingley became far more unpleasant after Mr. Bingley's proposal," Jane confided with a smile, "Because since then she has been trying to be nice to me." The ladies all giggled and Olivia asked for more details about the engagement but Jane, sensing Elizabeth's discomfort with the topic, begged off and sought her bed. Olivia apologized for her thoughtlessness.

"I am sorry, Lizzy. I did not think--does it bother you to speak of Jane's engagement?" Elizabeth laughed, but sadly.

"No, no, there is nothing I would rather talk about than Jane's engagement to Mr. Bingley. I am so very happy for them both. For a while I had feared that Mr. Darcy would prevent it."

"Surely you do not believe that Mr. Darcy would be so vindictive. Just because he did not succeed with you does not mean he would begrudge his friend his happiness." Elizabeth rose and went to close her window. She leaned on the frame and stared out at the garden, its details only barely perceptible in the moonlight.

"He did not scruple to intervene before and with less incentive," she said petulantly. Then she softened. "No, I suppose he would not," she conceded. Olivia watched her friend for as she stared into the night.

"Lizzy," she said. "You do realize that you will have to face him again. Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley are very close friends. He is bound to be invited to Jane's wedding, and more than likely will be a frequent visitor to Netherfield." Olivia paused as Elizabeth absorbed her statement. "Have you thought about how you plan to deal with this?"

"No...I have not," Elizabeth replied slowly. She remembered the letter that was still tucked under the pillow where she had hidden it when Jane and Olivia invaded her bedroom. "But I suppose I will have to now, will I not?" She smiled, and then made a show of yawning and stretching. Olivia took the hint and bade Elizabeth a good night.

Elizabeth climbed into her bed, and tucked herself under the quilts. She drew the letter and the handkerchief out from under the pillow. Fluffing up the pillow to cradle her head, Elizabeth settled back and opened the letter. She read it again from the beginning, but was interrupted by a knock on her door before she reached the point where she had stopped earlier. She hastily shoved the missive under the quilts.

"Lizzy?" Her father poked his head into her room. "I thought you had retired hours ago."

"I had, father. But Jane, Livy and I began to talk about Mr. Bingley and the wedding and, well, the next thing you know it was quite late."" She smiled sheepishly. Her father gave her an indulgent look.

"Do not, I beg of you--do not let your good sense degenerate into that of your younger sisters," he said as he began to pull the door closed.

"Papa?" Elizabeth called out before he had gone. Mr. Bennet opened the door, a bit surprised by her appeal. "Do you really think I have good sense?" Her father looked at her quizzically for a moment then went to sit on the edge of Elizabeth's bed.

"What manner of question is that, child? You know full well what I think of you." He looked into Elizabeth's eyes for a moment, then took her hand in his. "Tell me what is troubling you, my dear girl," he said softly.

"You have always given me credit for being sensible. I am just wondering if perhaps I have been too clever for my own good." Mr. Bennet looked into Elizabeth's eyes once more.

"Is this about Jane? I thought you liked Mr. Bingley--." Elizabeth immediately interrupted him and set him straight.

"No, father, I have nothing to say against Mr. Bingley. I could not be happier with the way that things have gone between them." She laughed for a moment, remembering her trip to the park with Olivia to seek her sister's new fiancé. "No, father, I am worried about myself. I fear that I have become so enamored of my own wit and cleverness that I have allowed them to override that good sense you are so proud of."

"I think that there is little chance of that, my pet. Your good sense has always stood you in good stead. Now, to sleep with you child, before I am forced to change my opinion of you," Mr. Bennet said with a wink. He kissed Elizabeth on the forehead and padded out of her room. Elizabeth sighed as she watched him go. She lay back and considered her father's words, but she did not feel equal to his praise. I have judged Mr. Darcy very ill, and I do not know if I will ever trust myself again. Had I used my 'good sense' I might have behaved so differently towards him. I did nothing to earn his good opinion of me. In fact, I do not know how he came to love me at all! She dug around under the quilts and withdrew Mr. Darcy's letter to seek the answer.

I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. I am not certain when it happened, perhaps when you were at Netherfield attending your sister in her time of illness, perhaps even earlier. You must understand that I had been acquainted with you some weeks before I truly allowed myself to see you, to look beyond the barriers I myself had imposed between us. Those barriers blinded me to all that I have since come to love and cherish about you. I am sorry if my declarations upset you, but I must speak plainly, as I should have done earlier. Perhaps if I had trusted my heart rather than my reason to guide my actions I might have proved a better lover.

But I have never met anyone like you, my dear Elizabeth. I have never known a woman with your combination of beauty, intelligence, wit, and charm. Every time I encountered you my senses were left reeling. I saw in you someone who challenged my every preconceived notion of what it meant to love a woman, for I have grown to love you in ways I never dreamt of. I was completely enchanted by your spirit and the tenacity with which you frequently sought to engage me in a battle of wits. And although I know that you meant to put me off, our "battles" only made you all the more interesting. I found in you, my Elizabeth, my equal in intelligence, in temperament, and in passion. I remember our conversations at Netherfield, where your liveliness and superiority of understanding led to spirited debates that established in my mind, at least, a kind of intimacy I had never known with one of your sex.

But I must also confess that I was also frightened by your perspicacity, your uncanny ability to reach into my soul to reveal truths about me that I had never myself revealed. At times you seemed to know myself even better than I did and I confess that I was as put off as I was intrigued by your discernment. But I found much more to love than to fear. Perhaps it was this incendiary combination that made you so irresistible and reduced me to becoming, as my cousin Fitzwilliam, put it, "a lovesick fool."

I am a lovesick fool, dearest Elizabeth, and I will ever be thus. Although I have lost all hope of winning your love, I can do naught else but love you until the day I die.

Elizabeth was too teary-eyed to read the closing. She hugged the letter to her heart and, comforted by the knowledge that he still loved her, soon fell sound asleep.

Olivia returned to town two days later, just as she promised her father she would. She had done her best to convince Elizabeth to join her, but Elizabeth declined, claiming that the quietude and serenity of Hertfordshire was far more conducive to recovering from a broken heart than London. That Elizabeth feared the possibility of encountering Mr. Darcy in town, she kept to herself. Olivia was reluctantly forced to leave her friend behind, and thought about Elizabeth all the way back to town. As her carriage drew to a stop, she spied Colonel Fitzwilliam coming down the steps of the Crenshaw townhouse. The Colonel opened the carriage door and handed out the greatly surprised and delighted Olivia.

"Why Colonel Fitzwilliam! This is a most unexpected pleasure. Have you been visiting with my father, or have you been posted here as a sentry?" she asked with her most beguiling smile. The Colonel looked down at his uniform and frowned.

"Madam," he said, in a condescending tone, "Colonels do not stand sentry!" Olivia could not suppress her laughter and the Colonel could not maintain a straight face for very long.

"Forgive me, Colonel! Would you care to remain here and debate military protocol or can I persuade you to return with me into the house?" The Colonel needed no persuasion. He offered Miss Crenshaw his arm and escorted her into the parlor.

Olivia's father received her warmly and she delivered greetings from all of his friends in Hertfordshire. After a very few minutes, Mr. Crenshaw excused himself and retired to his study. Olivia looked after her father suspiciously. It was unlike her father to leave her alone with a visitor and especially, as in this case, with a young man. She looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam and wondered what exactly had occasioned his visit to Olivia's father. She tried not to jump to the obvious conclusion, and asked with just a hint of nervousness in her voice if the Colonel would care for tea.

"Thank you, no. I had tea with your father a short while ago, and besides I cannot stay for very long." The Colonel sat beside Olivia on the settee and her heart began to flutter wildly. The Colonel smiled at her and said, "I understand you were lately in Hertfordshire." Olivia nodded. The Colonel moved a wee bit closer to her. "Excellent. I would like to speak to you about Elizabeth Bennet." Olivia didn't quite understand.

"Lizzy? Wh...what about her?" she said, perplexed by his line of questioning.

"I would like to know if she is as in love with my cousin Darcy as he is with her." Olivia stared at the Colonel for a second, then looked away and bit back her disappointment. She berated herself for expecting a proposal from the Colonel. After all, it had been nearly three months since she had seen him and it was highly unlikely that he would seek permission to ask for her hand while she was out of town. She tried to focus on the Colonel's question and put all other thoughts out of her mind. But she found it difficult to do so. She wished--but wishes would not do.

"I am not sure I can answer that question, Colonel," she said reluctantly.

"Surely, Miss Bennet confided in you..."

"Yes, she did. But I cannot betray a confidence," Olivia declared. The Colonel was a bit taken back by Miss Crenshaw's reluctance. After all, it was she who had inspired the plot he had been hatching since he left his cousin Darcy in Derbyshire.

"Miss Crenshaw," he said rising and walking to the window. He always thought more clearly when Miss Crenshaw was not quite so close. "Three months ago you were determined to bring Miss Bennet and Darcy together. Are you going to tell me now that you have changed your mind?"

"Much has happened since we last spoke, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Olivia said quietly.

"You are aware, then, that Darcy proposed to Miss Bennet and was rejected."

"Yes," Olivia said, unable to meet the Colonel's eyes. Her own sense of disappointment mingled with memories of that afternoon when Elizabeth had cried in her arms. The Colonel looked out of the window at a passing carriage, unaware of the turbulence of Olivia's thoughts.

"I have spent the last week in Darcy's company. He confessed that he made a terrible blunder in proposing to Miss Bennet in the manner that he did--" The Colonel paused briefly, as memories of Mr. Darcy's anguished confession flashed through his mind. "He regrets it terribly and has no hope of ever being able to undo the damage he has caused Miss Bennet." The Colonel turned to face Olivia, but she kept her face averted from him. "I came here today, on his behalf, to try and find out if there is any chance that this sad state of affairs can somehow be put right and that there can be a happy ending to all this." Olivia glanced at the Colonel then, and quickly turned away. She could not trust herself to look into his eyes. She rose and wandered about the room, trying to focus on her dear Lizzy. She wanted to act as Elizabeth would wish her to under the circumstances. But she could not completely swallow her bitterness, and replied a bit harshly.

"Did Mr. Darcy send you, then? For I recall that you refused once before to intervene where that man was concerned." Colonel Fitzwilliam ran a hand through his hair, and was forced to confess that he had changed his mind.

"When last we spoke on this matter, Miss Crenshaw, I was not convinced--as you were--that there was anything serious between my cousin and Miss Bennet." The Colonel began to pace in front of the window. "I knew that he admired her, as any man might admire an attractive and charming woman. It was not until we left London that I became convinced that Darcy was truly in love. I had an opportunity to see them together in Kent. I now agree with you that Darcy loves Elizabeth Bennet and that she has feelings for him, although she seemed unwilling to admit them at the time. I need to know that she--." The Colonel stopped in his tracks, for he noticed that tears were running down Olivia's cheeks. Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately went to her side.

"Miss Crenshaw, what is wrong?" He gently took hold of her arms and looked into her eyes, silently pleading, but Olivia did not speak. The Colonel led her back to the settee and sat her down. Olivia sighed heavily and finally began to speak, but her message reflected a combination of anguish over Elizabeth's plight and her own frustration and anger at Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"What Mr. Darcy did to Lizzy was unconscionable! How can he claim to love her and do such things as he did to her sister? And now he would wish to make things right! The arrogance of men, believing that they can do one thing one day and have a change of heart the next. Three months ago I begged for your assistance and you refused to give it--on principle, you said. You come to me today and ask me to betray a friend's confidence because you now deem them worthy of aid. Now that you see things clearly you suddenly have no scruples about interfering in the lives of your dearest relations, and yet three months ago, I was silly and manipulative to consider trying to make two deserving people happy. But now that you have had a change of heart..." The Colonel squinted at Miss Crenshaw, trying to untangle her message, which came out in a rush, punctuated by sobs. She looked up at him and he smiled. She glowered.

"Miss Crenshaw," the Colonel said, "I am guilty on all counts--at least I think I am," he said with a frown, "Save one. I have had no change of heart where you are concerned." Olivia looked into his eyes then, and held her breath. "But I am afraid we will have to discuss that at another time. I am overdue back at my office and the general will have my head if I do not return to our encampment immediately."

But he made no move to leave. The Colonel drew his handkerchief from his pocket, and as he had done once before, he gently and carefully wiped away Olivia's tears. He put away the handkerchief, kissed Olivia on the mouth ever so gently, and disappeared before her heart dared to beat again. Olivia did not move for a brief eternity. Then gathering herself, she ran upstairs to her room and enthusiastically wrote a letter to Elizabeth, renewing her invitation to London.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was indeed late in returning to his office and, as such, the vindictive general saddled him with the worst assignment he could think of. The Colonel therefore spent the better part of the next two weeks doing an inspection tour of every encampment along the southern coast of England.

He did manage to get word of his fate to Olivia by way of her younger brother Edward, who was smart enough to appreciate his sister's good fortune at having secured the affections of the good colonel and his own good fortune at the prospect of being connected with someone so ideally situated to further his own career. Edward plied his sister for details of her engagement, but Olivia insisted that there was none. Mr. Crenshaw remained mute on the topic, and with a twinkle in his eye endured the efforts of his progeny to ferret out what had transpired between himself and Colonel Fitzwilliam. After a day or two of investigation, all they could learn from the more talkative servants was that the Colonel had spent an hour behind closed doors with the master, and that he had come out of the room smiling.

"Well, that tells us nothing," Edward complained. "Why, Colonel Fitzwilliam has been known to smile while..." Edward declared before reconsidering what he might have revealed to his sister. Olivia, however, was not at all put out by the unsettled state of things. She knew that she and the Colonel had reached an understanding, and that was sufficient to carry her through the interval between his departure and his return.

It was a beautiful clear late June morning when Mr. Darcy arrived at Netherfield. He had spent another week at Pemberley putting his affairs in order, and he had also spent a week at the home of Colonel Fitzwilliam's parents, the Earl of Matlock and his lady, where he visited with his sister Georgiana, who was spending her summer there. When he stepped from his carriage all the memories of the past autumn came flooding back and with them the knowledge that Elizabeth was near, very near to him once more.

Mr. Bingley and his sister Caroline greeted Mr. Darcy and saw to it that he was properly settled. When Mr. Darcy came downstairs, a servant informed him that Mr. Bingley was in the parlor with his fiancée and her sister. Mr. Darcy panicked momentarily. He had not expected his reunion to come so soon, but no sooner did he enter the room than he realized that the sister in question was not his Elizabeth, but Catherine. She greeted Mr. Darcy with an air of formality that fairly proclaimed her dislike of him. He was slightly taken aback by her aloofness, but he was more concerned about how Jane Bennet might receive him. Mr. Darcy had given considerable thought to how she might react upon meeting him again. Undoubtedly, Elizabeth had told Jane all about Mr. Darcy's interference and he had decided that if Jane Bennet had any misgivings or objections to his presence in the wedding party, he would withdraw. He had cost Jane and his friend a great deal of pain and would trouble them no more. To his surprise, however, Jane greeted Mr. Darcy like an old friend, leaving Mr. Darcy to conclude that Elizabeth had not spoken of his interference as he had assumed. At first he could not believe it, but he gradually accepted that Elizabeth had decided not to pain her sister or Mr. Bingley with what was now to be relegated to the past.

"You are most welcome back to Hertfordshire, Mr. Darcy. It is a very long time since your last visit," Jane said with a sincere and unaffected smile that embarrassed Mr. Darcy. Even if Elizabeth had spared Jane the details of his involvement in Jane and Mr. Bingley's travails, he could not forget the injuries he had done to her and Bingley, and he could not imagine that Jane was unaware of Mr. Darcy's own involvement with Elizabeth. But he made an effort to respond in kind and soon felt more at ease.

Miss Bingley exploited her earliest opportunity to ingratiate herself with Mr. Darcy. She had been observing him closely since his arrival, and sensing his discomfort, ascribed it to his distaste for Hertfordshire and in particular, Jane Bennet.

"I do wish," she said conspiratorially, "That you would say something to Charles. He is determined to throw himself away on this nobody of a girl. There is still time--." Mr. Darcy withdrew his arm, which she had wrapped herself around, and turned to confront Miss Bingley.

"And why should I wish to do that, Miss Bingley? My feelings about Bingley's marriage are the same as they were last month in London."

"You do not mean to say you really approve of this match? I thought you only said that to placate him! Oh, do reconsider, Mr. Darcy. I am quite desperate for your assistance." She gripped his arm as she entreated him, and Mr. Darcy became quite disgusted. Barely restraining his temper, he wrested his arm away once more.

"Miss Bingley! I have made my feelings on this matter quite clear and I will brook no further interference in Bingley and Miss Bennet's affairs!" His tone was menacing. "Have I made myself perfectly clear?" Miss Bingley blanched and stepped back. Mr. Darcy stormed out of the house. He strolled the grounds for some time, until he encountered Mr. Bingley, Jane, and Catherine at the edge of the wood. The ladies were picking flowers and all three were engaged in pleasant conversation. When Catherine saw Mr. Darcy, she changed her direction to give him wide berth. Mr. Bingley sauntered after her, leaving Jane to greet Mr. Darcy. He offered her his arm and they followed the others.

"You must forgive Kitty, Mr. Darcy. She is somewhat in awe of you," she said with an apologetic smile. Mr. Darcy looked a bit surprised, but Jane did not comment on it.

"And you, Miss Bennet, I cannot imagine that you can be very glad to see me either," he said somewhat sheepishly. It was Jane's turn to be surprised.

"Why Mr. Darcy, why do you say so? I cannot imagine why I should not be glad to see the closest friend of my future husband."

"I have not always been a good friend to your future husband," Mr. Darcy replied, his head lowered in shame. "In fact, both you and he have every right to consider me an enemy."

"Mr. Darcy!" Jane cried, her eyes wide. "What terrible crime are you guilty of that would make us no longer friends?" Mr. Darcy looked at Jane and realized that he had been right in concluding that neither Elizabeth nor Bingley had betrayed him. They started walking again and when they reached the main garden Mr. Darcy invited her to sit on a teak bench a short distance from the rest of the party. Mr. Bingley looked over at them and saw that they were engaged in a serious discussion, and understanding his friend's need to deal with the past, did not intrude.

"Miss Bennet, I have a confession to make. What I am about to tell you may rightfully make you hate me, and if after you have heard what I am about to say you do not want me to be further connected with your wedding--or for that matter with Bingley--I will understand." Jane immediately began to protest, but he silenced her with a hand. "Please hear me out, Miss Bennet."

"I know about you and Lizzy," she said simply. Mr. Darcy's head jerked up. He would have to tell Jane about that as well.

"What I have to speak about goes beyond my dealings with your sister, Miss Bennet." He paused to gather his thoughts, and then clearing his throat, he began his tale.

"I had not been two weeks in Hertfordshire before I became aware of Bingley's feelings for you. In fact," he said with a chuckle, "I would be very surprised if I was the only one who noticed it. I have known Bingley since we were boys, and I have seen him lose his head over a pretty girl more times than I can count." Mr. Darcy smiled at the memories of his Cambridge days, and Jane smiled as well. When Mr. Darcy saw this, his face abruptly fell. He knew that what came next would be painful for both of them. "But I knew that what he felt for you was different. It was serious, and I grew very concerned that he might be making a big mistake."

"Mistake, Mr. Darcy?" Jane's question carried no anger or malice, simply an inquiry.

"I thought that--I was afraid that although you seemed to enjoy his company, that you did not share his feelings. I was afraid that you wanted him for his money," he said in a rush, no longer able to look Jane in the eye. "You would not have been the first girl to encourage a man she did not love in order to secure a home and a position in society." He drew a heavy sigh. Beside him, Jane sat quietly, patiently listening. Mr. Darcy almost wished for her to lash out at him. Her composure made him uncomfortable; he remembered Lizzy saying to him in Hunsford that Jane was not a person to let her feelings show. He tried not to think of Jane's sister as he continued. "I mistook your quiet nature, Miss Bennet. I observed you closely and saw no particular signs of regard for my friend, and I took it upon myself to inform him of my suspicions that you did not love him and were seeking to marry him only for his money." Jane turned to look at him now, but her face bespoke understanding rather than rage.

"Then it was your doing. It was your advice that led him to suddenly quit Netherfield and return to town."

"It was my unasked for interference that unnecessarily separated you from Bingley all that time. If it had not been for me you and Bingley might have been married months ago. He had planned a short trip to London, expecting to return in but a few days' time. Miss Bingley, her brother, sister, and I followed after him, and convinced him to remain in town and to forget you. I convinced him that you were no more than an adventuress." Jane bowed her head, and Mr. Darcy, who had risen and begun pacing as his agitation grew, sat beside Jane, took her hand in his, and said softly, "I believe that Bingley went to London to purchase this very ring. He would have returned to Hertfordshire and asked for your hand before the year was out." He let her hand go and rubbed his hands over his face. "I have offered my apologies to Bingley, and good man that he is, he has forgiven me. I hope that someday I may be worthy to be called your friend again, Miss Bennet."

"You did what you thought was in the best interest of your friend," Jane countered, "and while you erred in your judgment--."

"I had absolutely no right to pass judgment," Mr. Darcy blurted out, causing Jane to shudder and his friends across the lawn to turn in his direction. It was Jane's turn to be agitated, but unlike Mr. Darcy, no evidence of her inner turmoil was visible to the naked eye. Lizzy would have known Jane's heart at that moment, but Lizzy was not there. After a moment of pained silence, Jane turned to Mr. Darcy and asked about her sister.

"Did Lizzy know of this?" The simple question pierced Mr. Darcy's soul. He could only nod in reply. "And that is why she refused your proposal?" Mr. Darcy heaved another sigh and told her everything that had transpired between himself and Elizabeth in Hunsford.

"Even as I thought you unworthy of my friend's regard, I could not help falling in love with your sister. I fought it every way I could, but to no avail. I accused Bingley of contemplating a marriage to someone of little fortune, no connections, and--forgive me for saying so--an unsuitable family." Jane bowed her head, but made no protest. Mr. Darcy rose and began to pace again, aware that Miss Bingley and her brother were watching his every move. "I was arrogant, self-righteous, and conceited, Miss Bennet. I felt that in marrying you, Bingley would be marrying beneath himself. Yet even as I persuaded Bingley to leave off his romance with you, I found myself falling hopelessly in love with Eliz--Miss Elizabeth. I grew more wretched every time I saw her. I could not will myself to forget her. Every time I looked upon Bingley's miserable face in London, I felt like a complete hypocrite.

"Finally, when I encountered your sister again in Kent I could no longer deny what I felt, and I went to Miss Elizabeth and proposed." He stopped pacing and stared at a patch of verdant grass. "I botched it terribly. I fancied myself to be desired by her. I loved her so much--we seemed so alike in heart and mind, I assumed that she felt for me what I felt for her. I had no idea how much she despised me..." Jane began to protest but Mr. Darcy spoke on. "In my blindness, I could not see that I destroyed every chance of succeeding with her when I separated you from Bingley. Nor did I understand that she saw me very differently than I saw her. My proposal was a travesty. I insulted her, your family...I gave her every reason to never want to see or hear from me again. She told me that I was the last man she could ever wish to marry." Mr. Darcy paused, his breathing ragged, he looked pale, spent, and dejected. Jane rose, took hold of his arm and tried to comfort him.

"Mr. Darcy, I am so very sorry for you. I had such hopes that you and Lizzy..." Mr. Darcy looked at Jane, his eyes almost feral. He laughed bitterly.

"No, Miss Bennet. Do not attempt to deprive me of my due. I do not deserve your sympathy. I do not deserve your saintly kindness. And I most certainly do not deserve your sister." He gently pulled away from her, and went indoors. Mr. Bingley went to Jane and she laid her head on his arm, tears welling up in her eyes.

Miss Bingley swept past the footman who held the door open for her and ran after Mr. Darcy calling out his name. He stopped, but did not turn to face her.

"Mr. Darcy! Mr. Darcy! A word, sir, if you please." Miss Bingley's appeal was met with silence, as Mr. Darcy focused on the stairs that lay before him.

"Mr. Darcy, I could not help but see your confrontation with Miss Bennet just now." Miss Bingley paused, and Mr. Darcy turned his head slightly to listen. When she remained silent he said, "Yes?"

"I do not know what you said to her, but she seems very upset. I want to apologize for speaking to you as I did before..." Mr. Darcy was confused by the juxtaposition of these two statements. He turned and faced her fully.

"Madam, I do not grasp your meaning." Miss Bingley looked at Mr. Darcy's face and was astonished by what she saw there. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face was drawn and he was pale. For a moment she could not speak, and Mr. Darcy made as if to turn away.

"Mr. Darcy, I was wrong to ask you to lie to my brother. How much more clever, not to mention effective," she said slyly, "To speak to the prospective 'bride' directly?" Mr. Darcy's face turned beet red and his lethargic demeanor was replaced by rage. But instead of lashing out at the frightened woman, he abruptly turned and sought the solitude of his room, where he stayed until it was time for dinner.

For a while, Jane and Mr. Bingley simply stood there in the garden, Jane too emotional to speak and Mr. Bingley unwilling to further upset his fiancée. Jane grew restless, however, and so they began to wander aimlessly about the grounds. Mr. Bingley was extremely curious as to what had transpired between his future bride and his dearest friend and could only surmise that it had something to do with Mr. Darcy's revelation in London. But he refused to pry--he simply waited to be of use, ready to support Jane in any way he could. After a few minutes, Mr. Bingley noticed that Jane was crying. He offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully, but she continued to let her tears flow freely.

"I wish there was a way to turn back the clock and undo all of this," Jane said finally, with a sigh. Mr. Bingley did not quite know what to make of her comment, but he was prepared to listen patiently. "Mr. Darcy," she continued, wiping at her eyes and cheeks, "Lizzy, you, me...I wish there was someway to put things right."

"Things are quite 'right' between us, I should say," Mr. Bingley offered. Jane smiled at him indulgently.

"Yes, they are my love," she said, stroking his cheek. "But your friendship with Mr. Darcy must have suffered for this...and Lizzy..." Mr. Bingley frowned.

"What of Miss Elizabeth," he began to ask, but Jane suddenly froze. She glanced at Mr. Bingley and her eyes grew wide.

"Forgive me, Charles. I must leave at once. I know I was supposed to dine with you this evening, but believe me, I have an urgent matter to attend to and I must go at once." Jane turned and would have run back toward the house, but Mr. Bingley caught her arm. Jane turned back.

"Please, Charles. You must assure Mr. Darcy that I bear him no malice for what has occurred and that I am not leaving Netherfield to avoid his company. He will probably not believe you, but you must convince him because it is true." She looked Mr. Bingley in the eye and exacted a silent promise. He wanted to speak, but instead kissed her and let her go. Jane ran off, stopping only to turn back once more and assure Mr. Bingley that she loved him and would return on the morrow.

Olivia was absorbed in practicing a difficult piece on the pianoforte when the parlor door opened to admit Colonel Fitzwilliam. She blushed furiously, for she had resorted to the instrument to distract herself from the almost constant temptation to fantasize about her reunion with the man who now stood before her, resplendent in his red coat, with the improbable addition of a large basket over his arm. Olivia rose and went to greet him, suddenly unsure of herself. The Colonel, however, putting the basket aside, grasped Olivia's hands and drew her very close. Then he flushed, slightly and stepped back with an embarrassed laugh in which Olivia joined him. Mr. Crenshaw came into the room and greeted the Colonel warmly.

"How are you, my boy? None the worst for your travels, I gather," he said. He made small talk for a few minutes, as Mr. Crenshaw was wont to do, then he pointedly suggested that the Colonel take Olivia for a walk. Colonel Fitzwilliam obeyed immediately.

"How was your trip, Colonel?" Olivia asked, as she and the Colonel strolled arm in arm.

"It was mercifully tedious and uneventful," the Colonel replied with a smile. Olivia squinted at him quizzically. "Had it been interesting and eventful, I might still be in Brighton, rather than here in the presence of far pleasanter company," the Colonel explained with that smile that made Olivia's knees grow weak. "What have you been up to in my absence?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, since Olivia seemed unequal to keeping up her end of the conversation. But she suddenly came out of her trance and spoke up excitedly.

"I have convinced Lizzy to come to town. She is to arrive tomorrow, and if you would now do your part--"

"You did what?" the Colonel cried, stopping in his tracks to turn on the bewildered lady. Around them, people stared as they walked by.

"I convinced Lizzy to come to town," Olivia replied reasonably. "You asked for my help in reuniting her with your cousin. I have invited Lizzy to stay with me until the wedding. I reckoned that you could persuade Mr. Darcy to come to London--." Before she was able to complete her sentence, the Colonel had rolled his eyes and walked off. He abruptly came back and erupted.

"You fool! You silly, scheming little... Why on earth did you do that? Do you have any idea what you just did?" Olivia's eyes were wide and beginning to brim with tears and Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately regretted his outburst. "I am sorry, Miss Crenshaw," he said, reaching for his handkerchief. "I seem to have a penchant for making you cry..." Olivia snatched the handkerchief from him and turned away. The Colonel sighed.

"Miss Crenshaw...Olivia...I am sorry. It is just that you have ruined--." Olivia spun around.

"Ruined what?" she demanded. She looked into the Colonel's eyes and he felt awful. He took her arm and led her to a bench where they could speak more privately.

"Well? What have I done that is so terrible? You did ask for my help," Olivia reminded the Colonel. He shook his head.

"So I did. But I did not ask you to invite Miss Bennet to town!"

"So I was to help you, but I was not permitted to show any initiative," Olivia replied. "Forgive me, Colonel Fitzwilliam, but I am unused to following orders," she said sarcastically. The Colonel smiled.

"Well, you had better get used to it, young lady." Olivia's eyebrows shot up.

"What is that supposed to mean? And what is it that I am supposed to have ruined?" The Colonel ran a hand through his hair.

"I just had a letter from my cousin Georgiana telling me that Darcy went into Hertfordshire a few days ago to visit Bingley." Olivia's mouth formed a small "O." "I knew that he had an invitation from Bingley before I left Derbyshire and that he planned on accepting it, but I did not know when he would be going. When I last spoke with Darcy, he said something about getting some major piece of estate business taken care of before leaving Pemberley." Olivia looked at the Colonel with a smirk.

"Perhaps," she said, "You are not as good an officer as you think. I may be a civilian-- and a girl civilian at that--but it seems to me that the officer in charge should inform his troops of his strategy if he expects them to carry out his commands." The Colonel stared at Olivia for a moment, lost in the beauty of her smile. Then he gathered his wits about him and suggested that they go back to the house and map a new strategy--together.

Mr. Darcy lay prostrate on the huge four poster bed and stared at the ceiling. He felt wretched, physically spent by the afternoon's exertions. He considered summoning his valet to pack his things, but he thought better of it. He would give his host the satisfaction of throwing him out of Netherfield, if Mr. Bingley chose to do so. Mr. Darcy slowly realized that he actually felt better about himself than he had in some weeks. He had atoned for his sins and while his heart was still mourning the loss of his beloved Elizabeth, he was able to find some comfort in knowing that she now knew that he truly loved her. Mr. Darcy knew that Elizabeth would give his letter a fair hearing, even if she chose to never speak to him again. He turned over on his stomach and tried to nap, but just as his eyes closed there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for a reply, the door opened to admit Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy sat up and braced himself for an ugly scene.

"Are you all right, Darcy?" Mr. Bingley asked mildly, coming to sit beside him on the bed. The question disarmed Mr. Darcy, who was unprepared for such a question.

"I feel better knowing that the truth is out, for all the good it will do any of us. I am sorry, Bingley. I know my confession must have hurt Miss Bennet deeply but I could not allow her to go on believing--." Mr. Darcy stopped and bowed his head. Mr. Bingley put a fraternal hand on his shoulder. Mr. Darcy stiffened momentarily, then relaxed.

"Jane would not say what you spoke of, but I believe she was more concerned for you than herself," Mr. Bingley said. He hesitated a moment before adding, "What did you tell her?"

"I told her the plain, unvarnished truth about how I had separated you two." Mr. Darcy threw his head back and glanced at the ceiling before squeezing his eyes shut. "I am sorry, Bingley, heartily sorry for all the trouble I have--"

"We have been through this before. What is done is done. I am only concerned now about the future." Mr. Darcy's bitter, ironic smile made Mr. Bingley cock his head to one

side in question.

"You, at least, have a future to look forward to," Mr. Darcy said softly. He stood and strode to the window. "As for myself..."

"Does this concern another Miss Bennet?" Mr. Bingley asked, rising to join him at the window.

"Yes, Bingley," Mr. Darcy said with an edge of exasperation. "Elizabeth Bennet learned of my interference between you and her sister, and I have paid the ultimate price for it. I have lost her forever."

"How did she learn of it?"

"Who knows--sometimes I think that woman knows more about me than I do," Mr. Darcy answered abstractedly, more to himself than his friend. Mr. Bingley interposed himself between Mr. Darcy and the window, grabbing the man by the shoulders.

"Are you in love with her?" Mr. Darcy knew he didn't need to reply. "Well, what are you going to do about it, man? Go to Longbourn; talk to her! Beg her forgiveness!" He shook Mr. Darcy's shoulders for emphasis. Mr. Darcy was slightly amused by this sudden display of passion, but he pulled away from Mr. Bingley and walked away.

"I cannot!" He shouted. "Not yet," he said in a much softer tone.

...My dear friend, you simply must come to town. My dear Colonel Fitzwilliam (I now feel that I may rightly refer to him as "my Colonel," but you must come to London if you would know why!) has gone off to Brighton or some other dreadful place for a few weeks and I am desolate...

Elizabeth smiled and refolded Olivia's letter, placing it on the bureau before returning to her chore. She and the maid had laid out a number of dresses and she was trying to decide which to take with her to London. It was now late June, and Elizabeth would have to make alterations to a few of the gowns she was considering if they were to be worn in the hot weather. She sat on the bed and picked up the first gown and using a tiny pair of scissors, began to clip the threads that attached the long sleeves to its bodice. Elizabeth was some time at her task, and as she finished the second sleeve, she heard the sounds of someone running up the stairs.

"Lizzy?" cried Jane as she burst into the room. Elizabeth, alarmed, jumped up, scattering the contents of her sewing box on the floor. "Oh, I am so sorry," Jane said, stooping to pick up the fallen items.

"Jane! Whatever is the matter?" Elizabeth said, looking at her sister quizzically. Jane seemed abnormally agitated, even nervous. Elizabeth stooped to help Jane pick up the pins and spools of thread then took the box from her and led her to the bed. "What is it, Jane? Has Mr. Bingley--"

"Oh, no! It is not Mr. Bingley," she said with a blush. Jane had ridden home from Netherfield intent on preventing Elizabeth from leaving Hertfordshire, but now that she had Elizabeth before her, she knew not how to proceed. It was quite possible that Elizabeth would have no wish to speak with Mr. Darcy, or that she knew of his coming and had purposefully planned to leave. Elizabeth, for her part, grew more worried with each second of silence. Finally she blurted out her frustration and bade Jane to speak.

"What is it, then? Jane! Tell me something! You have me half scared out of my wits," Elizabeth cried.

"It is Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth was surprised by Jane's mention of his name, but was still in the dark. Jane took Elizabeth's hands and looked into her eyes meaningfully. "He is here, Lizzy. At Netherfield." Elizabeth paled. She withdrew her hands from her sister's and sat numbly.

"You must leave off your plans of going to London tomorrow, Lizzy," Jane asserted in her quiet yet insistent tone. Elizabeth glanced at her, then rose slowly and went to the window that faced west, toward Netherfield.

"Why should I, Jane?" Elizabeth said with a voice that betrayed her emotions. "He is here to see his friend, Mr. Bingley. Why should that concern me?" Jane rose and went to her sister. She once again took hold of Elizabeth's hands.

"He told me everything, Lizzy." Elizabeth began to pull away, but Jane held fast. "He told me of how he had felt contempt for our family, how he separated Charles and me, how much he loved you...and how you refused his proposal because of what he had done. Oh, Lizzy, why did you not tell me before?"

"To what end?" she replied, the tears rolling down her cheeks. "It could do nothing but add to your pain." Jane squeezed Elizabeth's hands tightly as confronted the frustration she had felt since she had spoken with Mr. Darcy.

"Do you think it would have given me no comfort to know that Charles loved me, even if I never saw him again? Do you think I can stand by now and watch you suffer a broken heart because of me?" Elizabeth tried to pull away, but Jane doggedly persisted. "It broke my own heart to see Mr. Darcy so bereaved and inconsolable. Lizzy you must speak with him. The two of you have to resolve your feelings for each other, one way or another, for both your sakes." Elizabeth turned away and collapsed on the bed in tears.

Continued In Next Section