Beginning, Previous Section, Section IX

Chapter 40

Posted on November 11, 2008

As 1811 drew to a close, the Twelfth Night invitations had been sent around town, one of which was Lord Dembry's ball, jestingly called The End Of It All. His was the last event before those remaining families departed for their country estates. They would not return until the season began the following February. Although Lord Dembry invited all five friends, Rawlings was sailing towards America, and Kent intended to work late and dine with his uncle as he discussed his own business affairs. Darcy and Bingley had agreed to ride together and catch up with Blake at the ball.

Waiting for his friends to arrive, Blake stood against the wall. His eyes followed the dancers as they swayed to the music and made their turns in perfect execution. He wondered at the value of spending life in such a way. After years of balls, assemblies, and outings to the theater, he had suddenly grown tired of it all. Boring and dull is what Bingley said. He was right, this is boring and dull.

Blake soon spotted Darcy and Bingley making their way through the crowd. The three men were speaking quietly to each other about the alliance business when the whiff of a familiar scent startled Blake and Darcy, catching their breath, as lavender filled their nostrils. Both men's eyes lit up, and the corner of their mouths turned upwards until they jerked their heads around, only to discover the fragrance wafting from one of the old matrons that attended Almack's regularly.

After a few minutes of silence, Darcy pointed his head towards the dance floor. "I am surprised you two have chosen to watch rather than participate." He could not recall a single ball where he had company while standing around viewing the dancers.

"Do you not find the music rather mediocre?" Blake asked as he studied the musicians. "Their music is..."

"Yes, it seems a bit off to me too." Bingley nodded in agreement. "And no one of any beauty has caught my eye."

Darcy surveyed the room, filled with enough beautiful, stylish and fashionable ladies for the most demanding of men. Every woman attending the ball knew how to walk, hold herself, smile behind her fan, and even speak in the right tone. At this time of the year, even the not so important or desirable gentlemen fluttered around the women, pretending to be more notable than they were.

"Well, why are you not dancing, Darcy? You usually partake of a dance or two at balls where everyone is known," Blake asked.

"It is dull and boring tonight." Darcy winked to Bingley, who just sighed loudly in response.

"Perhaps we should play cards. Is that not what most gentlemen do when they do not dance? You would know, Darcy."

"I do not play cards at balls. I would rather---"

"Discuss books?" Blake interrupted, and then followed it with a shallow laugh.

"Oh. Who is that lady?" Darcy asked as the crowd made way for a beautiful redhead. The green silk was of the very best quality, and matched the hue of her eyes. She wore a contrasting ruby pendent, which reflected the candlelight as she roamed around the room. The sparkles mesmerized anyone gazing upon the precious stone cradled in the white of her bosom. Her eyes searched the faces until they landed on Blake. She moved forward.

"Miss Evelina Godwin."

"I am not surprised that you would be acquainted with the loveliest woman in the room. Where did you meet her?" Darcy turned to Bingley to determine if he knew the lady. Bingley shrugged and shook his head.

"At Uncle Harrowby's dinner almost a fortnight ago."

The men all stood taller as she approached them. She curtseyed, and reminded Blake he had promised to dance with her at the next ball they both attended. Blake offered his arm, she accepted and they left the other two men wondering more about her. But before Blake and Miss Godwin could even find a place in the line, a gentleman approached Darcy, requesting a moment of his time. He suggested they speak in the library, piquing Darcy's interest. Bingley found a chair along the wall, which provided him with easy observation of the guests dancing or laughing with one another. A few people spoke to him, but his emotionless answers ended any conversation. Bingley decided to wait until Darcy returned before making a suggestion of his own.

Inside the library, the gentleman paced the room, touching a few books on the shelves. Darcy waited patiently in a comfortable chair, not offering any conversation, but tapping the arms in a slow pattern. His eyes followed the path of the man. Not only had he known him for his whole life, his father had conducted business with this man in particular. Their estates were near each other, although the man pacing in front of him resided in neighboring Staffordshire.

Not able to guess the reason for the discussion, Darcy cleared his voice until the gentleman stopped and looked his way. "Mr. Wilcox, is there something you need? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Good gracious, no. First, I must thank you for your kindness during last year's harvest. Without your help, I would have lost much of my crop and fallen on hard times. I did not reveal it then, but I had borrowed money; and had you not provided the assistance when you did, my property would have been forfeit. You saved my estate, young man. Your men worked diligently, Darcy. The man I borrowed from would have never shown any mercy. I am only sorry you wish to keep your kindness a secret. Why, if you---"

Darcy held up his open palm, stopping the older gentleman from further discussion. "I suspect you have something else you wanted to say?"

"Yes, you are correct. I attended this ball when I heard you had arrived back in London. I came straight from the country to warn you."

Darcy sat up. "Why? What concerns you?"

"Several months ago, a man had been discovered on my property. He was seeking information about you. He would not reveal for whom he worked, and unfortunately, the local magistrate declined to take action. I do not know why."

"What type of information?"

"At first I found it more curious than alarming. He attempted to discover any morsel regarding the help you gave me last autumn. He asked many questions about your men, and in particular about how you compensated them. He made notes in a journal, but he destroyed the book before he was brought to me. I thought the man was seeking information to use against me not you, but since my brother visited me last week, I have come to believe that I am not the target."

"I will be on the look out. I thank you for the information."

"There is more!"

Darcy nodded his head and encouraged Wilcox to continue.

"Someone has been questioning many tradesmen in London, and in every instance, they are asking about your involvement with them over some business venture. My brother emphasized that the rumors are spreading rapidly among them."

"Do not fear. There are always rumors where I am the topic."

"No. I have not explained myself well. They are being warned not to deal with you, and they are... afraid. I do not know what you are involved in, and I make no judgment, but I did want to inform you. I would not like to see you harmed."

"Do you have information about this man? Is he the same man who was found on your property?"

"No, it is a different man. I doubt he uses his real name, but the talk is some powerful individual is behind these actions, and you are the target."

"Thank you, Wilcox. I will alert my man and begin an investigation of my own."

"Well, that is all I wanted to say. I wish you well; and do not hesitate to call on me for any assistance." Wilcox bowed as Darcy rose from his chair.

Slapping the man on his back, Darcy thanked him again and spoke of the coming winter in the north before they parted company. Wilcox left the premises, and Darcy returned to the ballroom, where he found Bingley sitting alone.

"Darcy, if you do not mind, I prefer to leave. I have no interest in the ball tonight, and I find I am not the best of company."

"If you wait until the dance set is finished, we can take our leave of Blake. I, too, find nothing of interest here."

Bingley agreed, and the two watched as Blake and Miss Godwin continued their dance. "They appear to be arguing. Well, she appears to be arguing. Blake merely smiles at her and nods his head. That seems to make her argue more."

"I agree. He does seem to antagonize her by his actions." Darcy studied Miss Godwin's face, searching unsuccessfully for a raised brow. Unable to stop the likeness from forming in his mind, he watched helplessly as her red hair turned dark and several curls bounced along her neck. The green of her gown faded until it appeared almost creamy in color. Her tight-lipped mouth was replaced with the slightest of smiles, with the right side of her mouth turned upward and the gold flecks in her pupils sparkling in the light. But when he imagined his vision holding her arms open to him, Darcy shook his head, clearing his mind of the image of Elizabeth. He turned to Bingley. "Yes, there is nothing in this room that interests me.

"You seemed deep in thought. What holds your interest so intently?"

"I... I was wondering what Blake said that has caused such a reaction in her. Did he mention this lady before?"

"Not to me."

Darcy and Bingley took their leave when the dance was finished. Blake and Miss Godwin remained, but instead of dancing, they disappeared into another room.

Bingley preferred to return to his own home, so Darcy found himself sitting alone in his library shuffling papers on his desk. The candles did not provide enough light for reading, causing him to return them to the cabinet. He had spent some time looking for two documents that had been missing. Making a mental note to ask Kent about it, he stroked the fire before pouring a brandy. His scotch whiskey was now depleted. He snuggled into the soft back cushion of his favorite chair as he swirled the amber liquid around in the bottom of his glass.

It was almost instantaneous with his first sip, when his mind brought forth the speckled brown eyes twinkling at him. Humph. I must not think of her. I... Darcy closed his eyes and allowed her face to take form and then her neck. He felt his body burn as his imaginations traveled down the neck to that pinkish sliver where fabric met skin. His hands tightened as he allowed his mind's eye to go behind the material, and he licked his lips as he leaned forward. His head snapped up and eyes flew open. Damn. He gulped his drink, rose, and poured another one.

He forced himself to find a different subject for his thoughts. "The Rivals! Now what were the names of those books the actress mentioned in the second scene?" He moved to the book-lined walls and thought back to the dialogue spoken by the two actresses on the stage at the Lyceum Theater. Ah yes, Lydia was sitting on a sofa when Lucy came in after scouring Bath trying to find the books. He fingered several of the titles as he tried to hear from memory the names mentioned. The Reward of Constancy. That was one. I am a constant sort of fellow, so where is my reward?

Darcy studied his own collection and questioned if the books in the play were real. He moved further down the bookshelf, tapping the tomes as he went.

Oh , the second book was The Fatal Connection. Darcy threw his shoulders back and stood upright. "True, any connection to Elizabeth would be fatal. My uncle would never approve, nor would Aunt Catherine. Humph."

When the next title penetrated his consciousness, he allowed his body to slump and his head to drop. The Mistakes of the Heart. That was the third book ,. "Can there really be a mistake of the heart? How can a person ever be a mistake when desire is so strong?"

Well, I believe I am living one of the other books, The Gordian Knot! Even though the room was empty, Darcy looked around sheepishly after he laughed aloud. Darcy returned to his chair, and as he contemplated his intractable problem as he drained his glass of the fiery liquid. He mulled over his situation, seeking to find the bold stroke of a solution for at least a full hour before retiring to combat what he knew would be one more fitful night of sleep.

"Now, is that Beethoven?" Kent asked as he listened carefully to the sonata Georgiana played.

"Yes, he is a new composer. Did you recognize how he uses pieces full of sharply articulated phrases, staccato declarations and accented chords?"

"To be honest, no. I do not even know what that means. Truthfully, it was a guess. You had mentioned him the other day and I... assumed you would play his music soon." Kent dropped his head to hide the sheepish look in his eyes.

Shaking her head, Georgiana released a deep breath. "You are a difficult student, Mr. Kent. But you do turn pages wonderfully."

Darcy entered the music room, and found the two sharing a smile. While pleased to see Georgiana's mood less somber, her growing interest in Kent raised a few concerns in his mind. For years, Kent had sought some of the most ignored ladies in society. Of course, they were titled or from an established, old family, but had neither the money nor the beauty to warrant attention from someone of a higher station in life. Hence, the opportunity existed for the tradesman's son to improve his social standing. Since Kent's behavior did not affect him personally, Darcy had never concerned himself with the manner in which he, like other social climbers, operated -- until now.

When Georgiana caught sight of Darcy standing in the doorway, her face turned such a deep shade of red, that he could see the spreading color across the room. But when she lowered her head and whispered something to Kent, he decided not to delay any longer, and would asked Geoffries for a daily report about their interactions. Since his butler would be discreet, he doubted Kent would realize what was happening.

"Good evening. That was lovely, Georgiana. Kent, I did not realize you were here tonight," Darcy said through a forced smile.

Kent straightened his cravat. "Miss Darcy has been instructing me on composers; however, I believe I am a lost cause. I must be tone deaf, since they still all sound alike to me." Kent glanced towards Georgiana, who lowered her head and stared at the keyboard.

Darcy drew closer to her, leaned in and said, "It is nice of you to help my friend, Mr. Kent. I admire your willingness to help someone so hopeless. I realize it must be impossible with one so tone deaf, and so out of his echelon."

Georgiana giggled at Kent, who was pretending to glare meanly at her brother. Kent's exaggerated manners did not amuse Darcy, and the lightheartedness in the room dissipated.

"What shall I play for you, brother?"

"I must apologize. Kent and I have business to attend to this evening." As Georgiana's smile faltered, he added, "I desire to hear my favorite Bach piece later tonight, and if Kent wishes to partake of our late night dessert, he will have to guess which Bach it is!"

Georgiana nodded at her brother with her eyes twinkling. As the two men were leaving for the library, Kent looked back and nodded his thanks when she began to play his favorite tune.

Once inside the library, Darcy wasted no time in questioning Kent. "I was surprised to see you here tonight. You were aware of my attending the Dembry ball."

Not intimidated by the sharpness of Darcy's words, Kent pulled the letter from his pocket and handed it to Darcy. "I left the dinner party early with a message from my uncle. I believed the purpose was too important to delay discussing with you. I was awaiting your return when Miss Darcy took pity on me sitting all alone in the library. She offered another lesson in composers. I must say, though, it is as hopeless as you said."

Without a hint of amusement at his attempted jest, Darcy read the letter closely. "I see, you are summoned to appear at the Custom House. I wonder how they discovered we were considering shipping some rifles to British America." Darcy stared at Kent when he spoke.

Kent shrugged. "I am just as surprised as you. Perhaps someone in Bingley's family revealed it."

Sitting in his study, Bingley stared at the documents on the desk without comprehending a single syllable. He had no desire to read the words, let alone act upon the request. Lately, his thoughts had often returned to the wonderful time spent in Hertfordshire. He glanced around the room before opening a locked drawer and caressing the vivid blue topaz pendant retrieved from within. I was going to give this to her as an engagement present. Mother's eyes sparkled so when she wore it.

Assessing the room filled with mahogany furniture, and walls covered with deep green paper, he decided it matched his mood: dark, dull and boring. The blazing fire kept the study warm, but a coldness ran through his body. His mind returned to another fire in another room---Mr. Bennet's study. The only image he recalled from that day was the cameo on the desk; perfectly crafted, so even he could discern it was Jane. He had stared out the window into the garden in hopes of catching even a glimpse of her. If I could catch a glimpse of her welcoming me into her life, I would be content with my own. If only she wished it too.

Bingley returned the pendant to its place in the drawer, and then walked to the window. He finally understood Darcy's need to separate himself from everything and gaze at nothing as he thought. He realized Darcy stared more inwardly than outwardly as he had become accustomed to the same endeavor. Ignoring the reflection on the glass pane, Bingley brought to mind every word and gesture Jane had made. He compared her to the manner in which Miss Lydia would frolic and flirt and tease the redcoats. She was not like that. She was a lady.

He had always been aware that Mrs. Bennet pushed her daughter towards him whenever they were in a room together. He remembered how his angel would lower her head to hide the blush. Was it embarrassment for me? He shrugged. Was she merely dutifully doing as her mother required of her, or did she care for me at all? Was it just for money?

Bingley tried to identify a single change in her actions after learning her dowry was lost. When did they lose it? Was it gone the entire time? Is that why her mother pushed her so? Bingley could not detect any alterations in her attitude from the moment they danced the first dance at the assembly until their final goodbye as he handed her into the carriage on the 26th of November, the night of his ball. Forty days have past without any sunshine in my heart.

When Jane had danced with Rawlings, he remembered how his own hands had twitched uncontrollably. Bingley recognized from the beginning that his feelings for her were different than with any lady he had met in London. He had experienced the intensity of her hand whenever they came together, his skin burning at her touch. Holding the same hand up to his face, he attempted to stare some heat into it. This is my curse. Every lady since Jane has had the coldest hands. I cannot stand to touch them. He shook his hand and returned to peering into the darkness with both hands now clasped behind his back.

The focus of his recollections now centered on her dainty smile. It was the same. She smiled exactly the same with Darcy, Rawlings, Blake, and Mr. Goulding as she did with me. He closed his eyes and hung his head.

Bingley meandered over to the chair closest to the fireplace, hesitating before he sat down as he conjured up the image of a beautiful lady sitting near the fire all bundled in blankets. When she stayed at Netherfield Park, he had witnessed a glimpse of what his life would be like today, if only Jane had loved him.

Plopping his head back against the chair, he dreamed of his beautiful angel pouring him tea. He studied the conjured likeness of her hands as she held the teapot and the strainer. He had always admired the graceful way she picked up the cup and saucer. He reached out to accept it from her when his mind returned to the present. He checked around the room to see if anyone had witnessed his foolishness.

He leaned further back in the chair. As his mind wandered to the competitions, he pulled the scarf from his pocket. He drew it near his nose to inhale its fragrance. It no longer held the rose scent he had come to love, but it smelled as strongly as the day she handed it to him. He remembered how it covered up that spot on her breast. Not even I believed the Bennet girls all had freckles in the exact same spot. I wanted to rip that dress and discover the truth of that tiny sliver. I wanted to taste her and touch the silkiness of her skin.

Bingley returned the scarf to his pocket. Tonight at Dembry's ball, he realized there was no one else whom he wanted to ask to dance. The ladies were elegant, sophisticated, witty, and beautiful. Having always enjoyed the female sex, he found them all to be insincere and untrustworthy now, and none of them represented his ideal of an accomplished woman. Always before, they had agreed to the dances, not out of any interest in him, but for his fortune, and he could no longer accept a lady's attention based on money. He wanted something more; he wanted a woman that wanted more than money. He stared at the fire and announced to the empty room, "I want Jane."

Slowly he rose from the chair and moved to the desk. I suppose I should concentrate on the rifle sales. Lord Liverpool is counting on my getting this order correct. Perhaps I should speak to Darcy. He needs to know that Liverpool sent word to the Custom officials about the shipment of the rifles to British America. If the United States boards the ship and seizes the weapons, the alliance could be in major trouble politically.

Bingley prepared the note, and wondered how Rawlings was faring. He should not be arriving in New York for another few weeks, and he supposed the ocean trip could be just as dull and boring as the ball had been earlier.

"Take that man." The sailor pointed to Rawlings. "I heard him speak. He is a British citizen. "Are you trying to desert your duty and your country, you lowlife?"

Logan stood silently between the sailors and Rawlings, defying them with his stare.

"Do not dare touch us, you mewling fen-sucked bugbear and..." Rawlings turned towards the other man approaching Lowell. "And you, you little cullionly, fat-kidneyed lout, do not dare place a hand on me or my friends."

One of Captain Pierce's men hurried off to find the captain, and when they arrived, Lowell cried, "You must do something."

Captain Pierce threatened the sailors and waved a letter he pulled from his pocket in front of the leader.

After reading the message, the leader yelled, "Release him. Our apologies, good sir." When the other sailors looked at their leader, he merely said, "His father is Earl of Wolverly." The sailors let go immediately, but maintained their hold on Logan and Lowell. As Captain Pierce decried their action, Rawlings held his hand up and shouted,

"These are my companions. You cannot take them."

"The letter made no mention of the others, sir. We have our orders from our captain. All able bodied British subjects are to be returned to the Royal Navy. These men are British deserters."

Lowell paled at the thought . "I am an American, you simpleton. My father is a powerful leader in Boston."

"Makes no difference to me if that is so. You sound like an Englishman to me."

Rawlings held his finger to his lips and shook his head.

"Take me to your captain. I need to speak to the man now."

The leader escorted Rawlings to the British ship. Nothing Captain Pierce argued changed the hold the other sailors had on Logan and Lowell. In fact, the more Pierce spoke, the tighter the grip became, until finally, Lowell begged the captain to quiet down lest his sister and cousin hear.

After a moment, one sailor asked another one, "How much do you suppose it will cost him to buy these two here?"

"I suspect more than you make in a year."

Lowell looked at Logan. He nodded to show agreement with the sailor. Logan had learned through his reading that the only way a captured man might be freed was with bribery money. Rawlings had planned for just such an incident. Logan knew he had not been prepared for Lowell as well.

The people on the deck of the Lively remained in their same positions while they awaited word from the British ship. They did not have to wait long. Rawlings returned with a wide smile upon his face, sauntering along the deck with a casual gait. "Enjoying the night air, my good sirs. It is a bit chilly for a walk about the deck. And I see you have become very cozy with our new friends while I was busy visiting our neighbor across the water. Should I be hurt?" Rawlings handed a note to the Captain as the leader stepped forward and demanded the sailors release the men.

Logan sighed in relief. However, Lowell was confused until the leader of the sailors nodded to release the men. The sailors all left shortly afterwards, and without taking any prisoners.

Captain Pierce, Lowell, and Logan all tuned and waited for Rawlings to explain himself. Rawlings took his time straightening his cravat and smoothing out his waistcoat, but he did offer a smirk when he looked at their confused faces.

"I know the Commander well, or rather the Lieutenant-Commander. The commander succumbed to a bout of cholera, and my friend took command. We attended Eton together. He, too, is the second son of an earl."

"I assume then our freedom was... free?"

"Let us just say I only had to pay half the going rate, or rather, I received two for the price of one. My friend has to pay the sailors, and our friendship would not overcome what is due. Now he does apologize for the disturbance and offers to escort us to safer waters. In fact, he demands it. Unfortunately, it will not be New York. He has his orders to detour us to Boston."

"Boston, why that is my home!" Lowell exclaimed. "Did I hear correctly, Mr. Rawlings, you are a second son of an earl? Moreover, what are you, Mr. Logan? The second son of a duke or a prince?"

"He is my friend. He---"

"I am his valet." Logan interrupted. Captain Pierce's eyes grew wide as he realized Logan was exactly the sort of man who would have been conscripted by the Royal Navy, had they known the truth about his status.

Rawlings shrugged. "You have been a poor sort of valet this trip. Why, I had to care for you! Perhaps though, you can be the earl's son and I shall be the valet. We are heading to America, and I suspect I will be received better with your background than with mine."

"Not true, Mr. Rawlings. Many will want to meet you and not your valet." Lowell turned to Logan to apologize when Logan held his hand up.

Captain Pierce returned to the bridge. He was relieved there was no trouble in the end, but he feared he would soon have to explain to Mr. Rawlings about the letter. He was thankful for the time to devise a reasonable answer. He was not going to reveal the truth, not with Mr. Rawlings so closely connected to the Kent family.

"Call me Rawlings. I have grown tired of titles," Rawlings said as the men approached the railing to watch the Royal Navy return to their ship. "I suppose it is the custom in America for friends to call each other by last names."

"Or first names. We do not hold any particular custom. You can call me either Francis or Lowell."

"Lowell it is then, and this is Mr. Logan." Rawlings smiled at Logan's sighs.

Logan grabbed a hold of his stomach. Rawlings guided Logan closer to the railing. "Shall I hold your head again, Mr. Logan?"

Logan did not speak. He merely did what one did when one could no longer put off a natural urge to relieve oneself of their dinner.

Rawlings was somewhat surprised when Lowell stood beside Logan until after he had finished and asked, "When we arrive in Boston, how shall we introduce you, Mr. Logan? As a gentleman or a valet?"

Logan turned to Lowell, rolling his eyes before leaning over the rail again.

Chapter 41

Posted on November 18, 2008

Lowell's question about how he wanted to be introduced in Boston. He did not wish to return to the role of gentleman, and now that the ship had been boarded, he sensed it was safe to reveal his status without fear of being taken. He had always enjoyed being in the background, and believed his life worked better from that station. The three men had returned to the warmth of the dining room and talked for a while about the situation.

Rawlings grew concerned when Logan abruptly excused himself to head back out to the deck.

"I am sure he will be fine." Lowell's eyes followed the queasy looking man as he disappeared from the dining room. He was about to speak again when Rawlings held his open palm up.

"Traveling as a gentleman is safer. As a valet, the British would falsely claim he was a deserter. Nonetheless, my own countrymen should have treated me with more respect, but I suppose the Navy trusts no one these days. The number of deserters increases daily."

"You two speak as friends. I do not have a valet, and I am curious. Is this the usual way between a gentleman and a manservant?"

"Not usually. Logan has been with me since I was a mere lad of sixteen and I sought a friend at that time. He complied with my request. I was surprised to hear your announcement of your elevated status in Boston. You come from a prominent family? You surprised me when you told him your father was a powerful man."

"Yes, he is, but then I was surprised of your background. Your father is an earl? Lowell laughed. "We are a pair, trying to hide our pristine family connections." He breathed in deeply as the ship lurched forward in an attempt to make up lost time. Lowell supposed that was what caused Logan to return to the railing. "Our talk the other day did not reveal your true plans. You, however, discovered all of mine."

"I belong to a group of young men, partners really; two tradesmen's sons, one marquess, and one highly esteemed gentleman farmer, who put together this group of diverse men. He is the one with interests in milling."

"A gentleman farmer? Is he involved in any other industry?"

"Mining, shipping, insurance. In fact, he insured this ship, and will be delighted I was able to earn him his profit." Rawlings rolled his eyes.

Having learned more about the congenial man sitting across from him, Lowell relaxed as the two spoke for some time about the members of the alliance. Rawlings explained what they were attempting and Lowell provided him with a solid understating of how business worked in Boston and New York. Much to Rawlings' surprise, the American offered to provide letters of introduction for him. Lowell emphasized that the Livingston family in New York would be the most beneficial family to meet, and in Boston, the Perkins and Forbes families could offer insight into the China trade.

The two men shared a few glasses of brandy as they talked well into the night, touching on many topics including similarities and disparities in the politics and the social realm between their two countries.

When silence filled the room, both men agreed to turn in for the night. Returning to his cabin, and as he prepared for bed, Rawlings dwelled on the friends he had left behind in England. He wondered which activities were keeping his friends busy---business or social. Bingley, he supposed, was still mourning the loss of his angel. Kent had returned to the place he preferred, as would any social climber.

But when Blake and Darcy returned suddenly from Hertfordshire, he had been upset even though he concealed his unhappiness at not being able to return to Netherfield Park. Being able to seek permission to court Mr. Bennet's youngest daughter before leaving on this voyage was lost the day Darcy sent him word that everyone was now back in London with no plans to return.

He took in the emptiness of the room and discovered how he longed to hear Lydia's laughter and again receive the teasing looks she had cast his way. He rubbed his arm that ached from when he held her in the dance. And if he could have returned to Meryton and announced his intentions, Mrs. Bennet would have keep George Wickham away. Then today he would be resting easier instead of fighting the sense of foreboding residing deep inside of him. Alas, the arrival of the Bingley family in London ended his opportunity to secure her. He pulled the coverlet back and gazed at the vacant bed. He wondered if Miss Lydia was dreaming of redcoats or had the waltz changed her thinking in any way.

As he climbed into bed, his thoughts turned from Lydia to Bingley and then to Blake, wondering whether they had been able to overcome their recent heartbreaks, or if even if Darcy had discovered the truth of his desires, which surely must lay buried somewhere deep inside of his friend. Thoughts of his partners faded as the likeness of Lydia Bennet floated in his mind, but just before he succumbed to sleep, the faces of Sarah Long and Marie Lowell appeared. He clutched his pillow tightly to his chest.

Three weeks had passed since his sister's surprise dinner party. Darcy's schedule was so busy, he had not had time to read any of his gifts, but he made plans to make his first batch of distilled spirits for Kent's birthday in July. A servant placed a pot of tea on the table where Darcy sat fingering the collection of poems given to him by Miss Bingley. He studied the paper, and discerned some of them were very old. The pages numbered fifteen, and contained cheerful prose, but only a few went beyond odes to family members. Still, he recognized that Miss Bingley had given him a unique gift.

Sipping the tea, he read one of the more interesting ones: The Procession.

The legislators pass along
A solemn, self-important throng!
Just raised from the common mass,
They feel themselves another class.
--But let them in the sunshine play
For every dog must have his day.

Placing the poem on the table, Darcy finished his cup of tea. Just raised from the common mass. Hmm this speaks of men like Kent or perhaps the men of science. For every dog must have his day. He mulled over the words until a knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter." Darcy looked up as Mrs. Geoffries and a woman came into the room

"Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Annesley has arrived for your interview."

Darcy rose and moved towards the neatly dressed and poised woman. "Mrs. Annesley, how good of you to come this morning. I was most impressed with your experience, and Lady Matlock has recommended you highly."

"Mr. Darcy." She curtseyed and sat in the chair he indicated. Mrs. Geoffries left the room, closing the door behind her.

"I understand you are seeking a governess or lady's companion for your young sister."

"Yes. She is sixteen. Her mother died when she was an infant, and by the time she was ten, her father passed away. She has been in my charge for almost five years now, along with our cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam. She spends her time studying languages, art, history, and music. She plays the pianoforte with great skill. I secured masters for her in each subject and she has excelled in them all. Help with her accomplishments is not what she needs. I am seeking the guidance of a woman to bring her though this time of her life. Neither my cousin nor I are best able to address some of her concerns."

"Sixteen. I understand. I suspect you have witnessed some emotional outbursts."

"Yes, precisely. But how did..."

"I was that age at one time myself." Mrs. Annesley chuckled. "In the teen years, excessive sensitivity is not uncommon nor is it unusual, and in one respect, it is a right of passage into adulthood. Has she acted in any way that was not proper?"

"No, but... almost a year ago there was an experience that left her a little insecure."

"Should I be aware of the particulars?"

"I choose not to divulge the incident for now. If after working with my sister you find the need for information, then we could talk again. Furthermore, I would prefer Georgiana determine if she wishes to reveal the story."

"Very well. Is there any other situation I should be aware of before I accept this position?"

"She is a sweet girl, but easily upset, and unfortunately she can be swayed by others who use their charm on her. I expect you to keep a close eye on anyone befriending her. I would like you to help her understand how to judge people and their attentions to her. But mostly, she requires someone to guide her through this period in her life."

"Is that all?"

"She is inclined to practice on the pianoforte for several hours daily. I would not like to see a change in her routine."

"I studied intensively when I was young. I look forward to being around music again. My last charge was not so inclined. Her talents leaned towards drawing and painting. With the information you have provided, I have no reason not to accept the position as lady's companion. I would like to begin immediately if possible. My prior commitment is now complete, and with that young lady's recent marriage, my companionship is no longer required."

"Excellent. I will expect regular reports on her progress." Darcy rose. "I will direct Mrs. Geoffries to provide you with a tour of the house and your private chambers." Darcy rang for the housekeeper.

Mr. Rogers appeared alongside Mrs. Geoffries. After Darcy introduced his secretary to Mrs. Annesley, the two ladies departed, leaving the two men alone.

"It was good you came. I wanted to talk to you about a pressing matter."

Mr. Rogers sat in the chair facing Darcy's desk. He held the writing utensils and paper typical of any secretary.

"Have you discovered any new information regarding Mr. Cuffage?"

"No, sir. All the talk around town has died out. I doubt if I can uncover anything that we do not already know. Shall I hire an investigator?"

"Yes, but a more pressing issue requires attention. A man digging into my affairs has approached many local tradesmen recently. His goal is twofold. First, he wants information about the alliance, and second, he has warned them not to do business with me."

Mr. Rogers' eyes widened. "Yes, sir, right away. Do you have any particulars on the man?"

"Some, but I would like to speak of the specifics directly to the investigator. Have him see me in the morning."

"Yes, sir. Is there anything else?"

"Nothing else, except whatever brought you here."

"Your shipping business. I came to report that the latest ships arrived in Nova Scotia safely. I received this message from the captain."

After dispensing with the note, they spent the next hour discussing his personal business affairs for both London and Pemberley. They had just finished when Mrs. Geoffries knocked. As Mr. Rogers departed, the housekeeper sat in the same chair she always used when she wished to discuss a problem.

"Mr. Darcy, I need to speak to you about the upstairs maid. She is with child, and will not be able to continue.

"Is someone available to take her place? If not, hire a new girl."

"It is just... "

Darcy tilted his chin and gazed at his housekeeper with a questioning look. "Just what?"

"I fear what will happen to the young girl. Her husband died in a carriage accident in late summer, only a month after they wed. He had worked for Lord Dembry. She returned to her old position as chambermaid shortly after his death. She is a hard worker, and never once gave me a minute of trouble in the three years she had previously been employed here. And apparently she did not know her condition at the time she returned."

"Does she have any family to assist her?"

"None, sir. She is so frightened about her future that she has stopped eating in an attempt to hide her situation."

"I will have none of that. Is she willing to move to Pemberley? I am aware of an older tenant, a widow, who would welcome companionship, and I am positive she would be delighted with an infant in the house. It is a small cottage, but there will be enough room. I will pay a small fee while she lives there; but, I will expect her to take up her duties at Pemberley when the time comes."

"Yes, sir. Thank you. I know she will accept willingly. May I tell her now?"

"Yes, and please feed the girl. Tell her I insist. And send in some fresh tea."

Darcy picked up the poems again and headed for the chair next to the window. The late afternoon sun offered a bright light for reading. He selected the poem titled, The Vine and Oak, A Fable.

A neighb'ring oak whose spiry height
In low-hung clouds was hid from sight,
Who dar'd a thousand howling storms;
Conscious of worth, sublimely stood,
The pride and glory of the wood.

Darcy caressed the paper and whispered, "Yes, Elizabeth you are the empress of the plain and I am the neighb'ring oak. I hide from you and yet, I do not know why. Pride and glory of the wood. Am I so prideful? Am I so conscious of my own worth that I must stay far from your view?"

He put the poem away when the servant arrived with the tea, promising to finish reading the rest later.

"I am afraid you will have to share." Mrs. Gardiner opened the door to her largest guest room. Having had her fourth child, the number of available rooms for her visiting nieces had dwindled. "Rest for a while. Dinner will be early. The children wish to see you again."

Elizabeth assisted the maid with the unpacking of her trunk and waited to speak to her sister until the servant left.

"Jane, did you bring your heavy cloak? Town is colder than I remember. I feel a chill."

"I believe it is downstairs." Jane touched Lizzy's head. "You need to lie down before that chill turns into something worse."

"I am fine. I am only tired from the trip. But are you well? Your complexion seems pale, even for you."

Jane sighed. "I am more anxious than ill. Do you... do you think...?"

"Yes, I think Mr. Bingley will be pleased to learn you are in London."

"And Lord Blake? Perhaps he will be calling on Mr. Bingley when I visit Miss Bingley. Shall I mention your being in town?"

Elizabeth remained silent as she twirled a curl around her finger. Jane folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot. Elizabeth sighed. "I only wish to discover why he left without taking his leave, but I fear the answer."

"You said his father had called him home. Perhaps he could not wait another day, and you must admit when you did not appear, he had no reason to delay his return to London. He must have thought you did not wish to hear what he wanted to say. You must see the reason in what I say."

"I agreed to travel with you to London because I want you to have the chance to speak to Mr. Bingley. I have ho hope of seeing Lord Blake."

"And I wanted you to have a chance to find out why Lord Blake left. I have less confidence in Mr. Bingley than you do."

"I suppose we came for each other... as well as for ourselves." Elizabeth climbed in the bed as Jane covered her with a blanket.

"What will you say if you have the opportunity to see Lord Blake and he offers you marriage?"

Elizabeth sighed. "I do not know. I have not let myself imagine being married to him."

"Why not?"

"I have no fortune and the only connections I have are so beneath him. And the way our family behaves, I am almost ashamed to be called a Bennet. Did you not see Lydia and Kitty running about at the ball? Did father not embarrass Mary, who should not have exhibited herself in such a way? And mama! You did not hear her remarks. I could not look at Lord Blake. I could not look anywhere except my plate."

"I do not believe it was as horrible as you make it out. You have many charms."

"I have no fortune, and my only connections are a tradesman and a lawyer for uncles. How could any man of his status connect himself to me? I have nothing to offer."

Jane patted her sister's hand. "Perhaps he did not mind. He did request a private meeting."

"At first I assumed he wanted to propose, but Jane, why did he not come to the house? Why did he not take his leave properly?"

"You do not believe he would make a dishonorable offer? I do not believe that of him."

"But he gave up so easily and if he wanted marriage, he would have never left without speaking to me. Hand me the handkerchief in my personal box. Yes, that one."

Jane brought the item to her sister. She had often caught her fingering the cloth, and once had nearly caught her opening it, but Lizzy had never shared the contents.

"This is what I found that morning." Lizzy unwrapped her keepsake and studied her sister as Jane tried to make out the contents. "A broken chess piece, a white knight. He had my initial etched on it and his coat of arms. I assumed it was a wedding present because he had said a white knight is honorable and good and protects his queen. But surely you can see, he was angry enough at my absence that he smashed it to pieces."

"He must have been hurt deeply, Lizzy. Think of his emotions when you did not appear. I do not think he acted only in anger. He is an important man and your absence must have surprised him and made him feel unimportant. And perhaps the behavior of our family did give him some worry."

"I can only imagine his opinion of the entire Bennet family, and I can hear the words he might say if he was not so eloquent in his speech. I know he must believe any connection would be a degradation, and I cannot conceive what his family would say or do. His father is a duke! His uncles are lords. Surely, they would object to his connecting with someone with no titles, no connections, no fortune, and belonging to a family that acts in total want of propriety and as if it is the correct behavior. I cannot bear to recall the ball at Netherfield Park. They confirmed every suspicion he may have had.

"Well, if he is that squeamish, and cannot bear to be connected with a little absurdity, he is not worth your regret." Jane patted her sister's arm.

Pulling the blanket up to her chin, Lizzy settled into the pillows. "He would never say so directly. Lord Blake is a gentleman, but he would think it, and although we would never discuss his true feelings, the disgust would fester with every reunion with the Bennets." Lizzy patted the bed until Jane sat beside her. "Now the question is why did Mr. Bingley not return? Unlike Lord Blake, there can be no mistaking Mr. Bingley's opinion of you, dear sister, nor yours."

"Oh, dear. Have I behaved in an improper manner when I was near him?"

"Of course not. Even Charlotte believed you did not show your feelings. We know you well, that is why your admiration for the man was obvious to us. So, you do admit your feelings for Mr. Bingley?"

"I like him; that is true, but... "

A knock on the door interrupted Jane. Mrs. Gardiner peered inside and informed the girls that dinner would be at six, but if they so desired, they could have trays sent up. Both agreed they were not too tired.

The two girls' discussions turned to clothes, fashion, and weather, but before they left the room, Jane and Elizabeth made a pact not to tell everything to Mrs. Gardiner.

Blake sat upon Netherfield as he trotted towards Bingley's house. The two men had spent several evenings together under the pretense of work. They, however, met to commiserate their lost loves. Although no words were spoken on the subject, each man understood the other's sadness. They would discuss anything other than the Bennet women or Netherfield Park. Just like their time in Cambridge, they leaned on each other when flirtations failed. Today Blake needed Bingley's companionship. He had spent another fitful night imagining what his life could have been. The image of a queen with his coat of arms etched on it flashed in front of his eyes as it switched from white to black and back to white again. Oh, Elizabeth! Why did you trifle with me? Why did you flirt and tease and cast those bewitching eyes on me. Was I not rich enough?

Turning into the street, he was startled when he caught sight of Miss Bennet leaving Bingley's house. He carefully examined her countenance. She was definitely sad. Her shoulders slumped, she kept her head low, and every so often, she dabbed at her eye. Apparently Bingley has made his decision. I wonder if he is aware how badly she feels. Is it the loss of money or the loss of my friend that causes her such grief?

Realizing he did not know where the Bennet ladies stayed when they went to London, he decided to follow her at a discreet distance and discover the whereabouts of their uncle's home. He had only known it was somewhere in Cheapside as Miss Bingley had pointed out many times.

Blake patted Netherfield's neck. "We are fortunate today. Perhaps we can discover where Miss Elizabeth is staying."

Twenty minutes later, the old rumors he had heard concerning Mr. Gardiner were filling his thoughts while Miss Bennet climbed the stairs of a modest, but relatively new townhouse. He noted how the property was well cared for by its owner. When a properly attired doorman opened the door, he did not identify any of the common signs of financial distress. Usually, doormen were the first to go, and yet this very person was opening the door as another servant left the house on an obvious errand.

After the door closed, he glanced around the vicinity and memorized the location. He felt disappointed when Miss Elizabeth did not greet her sister's return. However, knowing her propensity to walk outdoors, he assumed if she was visiting, it would not be many days before she would leave the house. He would wait each morning for her, and when she stepped outside, he would seek the answer to the question nagging at him daily. Why did she run away from me?

Recalling his meeting, he trotted back to Bingley's. The production of the rifles was near completion. His Uncle Harrowby had been successful with the military order and he needed Bingley's signature on several documents. The customs official was satisfied with the documentation for the shipment to British America. England was concerned about the continuing escalation of hostilities with America, and the British government believed the rifles were necessary to protect those lands.

Blake returned to Bingley's house, only to discover his friend had left to search for him at White's. Bingley would not find him there; he had not entered his club since his initial appearance upon his return from Hertfordshire. Since his father spent his afternoon's there, Blake decided not to follow Bingley to the club, instead turning for home to make plans to seek out Miss Elizabeth. He could not move on with his life until he learned the truth. She haunted his nights, and now that he had seen Miss Bennet, he knew she would stay on his mind all during the days, too.

For the next ten days, Blake sat atop his horse, hidden from view from the residents of a particular house on Gracechurch Street. The air was not becoming warmer with each morning, and there were days he swore his breath froze in the air. The temperature should have been warmer, as the calendar showed spring was soon to arrive. He did not leave his position for hours each day on the outside chance she would appear on the front step. Nonetheless, four small children, one servant and Miss Bennet ventured out each morning for a short walk down the street. Not once did a dark haired beauty with tantalizing eyes appear. Concluding Elizabeth was not in Cheapside, and with a sense of melancholy, he gave up his quest. She was gone, and he doubted he would ever see her again.

"Lizzy, drink this." Mrs. Gardiner held her niece's head up. "Please."

"What is it?"

"A dear friend sent this over. She promises that you will feel better in a day or two. You have been ill for over a week now, so drink this. I insist."

"What is in it?"

"Oh, it is flavored water. I boiled some ginger root, cardamom seeds, turmeric, and garlic. Lizzy, dear. I am worried. Nothing has worked yet. Your fever has not abated. You must drink this."

Elizabeth sat up on her elbows and swallowed the concoction. Jane wiped her sister's forehead with a cool, damp cloth, and Mrs. Gardiner covered her niece with a fresh coverlet.

"Oh, Jane," Mrs. Gardiner whispered when Lizzy fell back asleep. "Thank you for helping with the children. They have enjoyed their walks each morning, but today I wish you would stay with Lizzy. Watch her carefully. If she is not better by tonight, I will send word to her father."

Jane nodded and sat with her sister for the entire day. Lizzy slept soundly but every once in a while she would wake just long enough to sip more of the cold remedy. At eleven that evening, Lizzy woke up smiling. Her fever had broken and she informed a drowsy Jane that she was hungry and tried of lying in bed.

Careful not to disturb Jane as her sister just fell into a deep sleep, Lizzy slid out of bed and ventured down the stairs with the intention of sneaking into the kitchen. She wanted something of substance having spent the last two weeks sipping broth.

"Who goes there?"

"Uncle, it is me, Lizzy."

"You are well?" Mr. Gardiner approached his niece, touching her head with the back of his hand. "No fever."

"I am well. The potion aunt gave me worked wonders. Now, I am surprised to find you here."

"You found me out. I regularly sneak in here for a treat before I retire for the night. How much will it take to secure your silence?"

"Some truth."

Gardiner felt his neck muscles tense. Holding a pie, he found a knife and several plates and pointed to two chairs. "Your dowry money?"

"How did you know?"

"You have been mumbling in your sleep. Your aunt was worried."

"Yes, I seek the truth since I do not understand how my father lost the money."

"Mr. Cuffage worked with an inventor who appeared to have discovered how to create light without the use of candles, well, more precisely, lamps that glow from the burning of gas. The inventor needed thirty thousand pounds in order to expand his efforts. He had applied for a patent for his invention with Parliament, and presented a proposal to light the streets of London. Mr. Cuffage found a banker to loan him the money and your father provided the collateral for a fifty percent share of the business. The inventor spent all of the funds. When Parliament did not approve the patent, nor the lighting of London, the loan was withdrawn, and your father was required to make full payment. The company dissolved, and with it went any hope of recovering your dowries."

"Oh. And had the patent been approved, Father would have seen a profit?"

"The proposal to light London would have resulted in your father doubling his investment. However, the true profits would have come from the patent to produce all the gas lighting needs for England. You father risked your dowries for potentially enormous wealth and unfathomable fortunes for his daughters."

"We were content with what we had."

"He wanted to do more, but he had no money of his own. Everything belongs to the estate and with it entailed away, he feared Mr. Collins would confiscate the profits for himself. In order to invest, he had to use your dowries."

"Did you invest?"

"I did not, but only because I needed to expand my own business. Mr. Cuffage had collaborated with me on several successful ventures in the past, and that is how your father came to know him. Since then, I have discovered he cheated me on several contracts, although I do not have the proof. One day I will find the evidence and send him to Newgate, regardless of whoever is shielding him."

"Someone is shielding him?"

"Yes. I suspect he is a powerful man. Perhaps he is the banker. I do not know."

They ate their pie in silence until Lizzy thanked her uncle and returned to her bedchambers. For the first time in weeks, she would venture out doors in the morning.

Darcy entered the music room to find Kent once more at Georgiana's side, turning the pages of the latest composition from Beethoven. He switched from one foot to the other as they whispered together, their heads in close contact. His brow furrowed when his sister giggled and Kent blushed. Darcy line of sight drifted to a beautiful white flower tied to a note on the top of the pianoforte. Darcy immediately recognized the ribbon wrapped around the items as the same one Kent had used to wrap his birthday gift. He also did not miss how Georgiana draped some sheet music over the flower before flashing a signal to Kent that her brother had joined them.

He doubted either one would be willing to share their secret. A pattern had emerged. Every time he had entered the room, they returned to an upright proper position and gazed everywhere, but at each other.

"Kent, I need to speak to you in the library." Darcy turned sharply, not waiting for an answer; his long strides covering the hall carpet with ease. Darcy paced about the room, deliberating what to say and how to not cause offense.

"Darcy, is something upsetting you? Is there something wrong with the shipment of rifles?"

"No. Everything is proceeding as planned. I... have other issues on my mind."

"I would be willing to help if you need it. I have been busy securing agreements with tradesmen all week. I believe we are approaching a full cargo for British America. Only one or two more orders are needed."

Darcy moved to the window. "I assume Bingley informed you Lord Liverpool was the person behind the Custom Office inquiries about the guns to British America?"

"Yes, and he and I took care of the matter to everyone's satisfaction." He waited quietly while Darcy continued to stare out the window without offering any further conversation. Unwilling to allow the silence to continue, Kent cleared his voice loudly enough to cause Darcy to turn his head. "I hope you are thinking about the enormous profit we will be making once the ship arrives."

Darcy turned around and faced Kent. "Did any tradesmen shy away from your business?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Did they realize I was a partner?"

Kent lowered his eyes and remained still while he composed his words. "I did not reveal any partner, as you requested. Should I have?"

"No. It will be best not to do so. They only need to know you are placing orders for a company."

Kent's eyes darted from his friend to the floor and then back again to his friend before fixing his glare on the floor. His hands twitched as he squirmed in his chair. "I have been careful to maintain the secrecy you, Blake, and Rawlings desired, and have the tradesmen deal only with me. Although I suspect we have not achieved complete secrecy."

After a moment spent in careful observation of his friend, Darcy returned to looking out the window. "Well, never mind. We only sought a delay in revealing the membership until we established ourselves. Speaking of plans, I cannot find several important documents mapping out our strategy. Do you have them?"

"No. Perhaps they have been mislaid. Blake could have needed them for gaining political backing."

Darcy turned away from the window and shrugged, but never let his eyes leave Kent. "Perhaps so or even they may be with Bingley. Rawlings might have taken them to present to Astor, as well." When no response was forthcoming, he slid into the chair across from Kent. "Well, let us discuss a more interesting subject. I would like to make our plans for the trip to the SoHo Manufactory in Birmingham. You aunt was gracious in the invitation, and I would like to visit the facilities. I am desirous of meeting your family's other business partners."

"Excellent. I am available at your convenience. She is looking forward to the visit, as is her son. They will treat you royally."

"I will not be able to leave until I return from my annual trip to my aunt's home in Kent."

"All things named Kent are good," his friend chuckled.

Ignoring Kent's lightheartedness, Darcy continued, "The trip to my aunt's is planned for the last day of March." The two men identified which day was convenient for them and set the date for shortly after his return one week later. Kent promised to inform his aunt to make arrangements, and as there was nothing else to discuss, he promptly set out for his home.

As Kent left, Miss Caroline Bingley arrived. Her pretense was to visit with Georgiana, but once inside the house she sought out Mr. Darcy. He was sitting in his study staring at the papers on his desk. He had not read a single word as he was contemplating the growing relations between Kent and his sister. Unprepared for a discussion about Jane Bennet's visit to the Bingley home, he responded in short, crisp answers.

"Miss Bingley, how may I assist you?"

Caroline spared no ridicule in her description of Miss Bennet's unhidden hopes to see her brother. She informed Darcy that she , of course, she had not informed Jane of her brother's whereabouts and quickly hurried her out the door.

"I do not think you acted properly, but Miss Bennet should not expect to be reacquainted with Bingley whenever she calls upon you."

He barely heard her say she would not tell her brother about Jane's appearance. He merely answered, "Do what you think best, and I agree not to inform him either. He does not need to be reminded of her while he is still disheartened." Yes, if he sees her now, he will succumb quickly. He will not listen to reason.

As Miss Bingley left to visit with his sister, Darcy rose from his chair and walked toward the fireplace. He felt warm, even though the flames were dwindling. After restoring the fire to full force, he moved to the sideboard. He reached for the bottle of Oban Bingley had sent over and filled a glass, shaking his head. Mrs. Bennet must be desperate. Neither Blake nor Bingley has returned and all of Meryton must know of their misfortune by now. His eyes widened. Did Elizabeth come to town as well? He shook his head. Forget her. Protect yourself!

Although the afternoon sun was bright, the air still maintained its winter nippiness. Having reached its destination, the carriage stopped, and Mr. Kent stepped down. Well known along the paths in Hyde Park, he had spent many outings over the years cultivating relationships with some of the regular attendees. He had always acted in the appropriate manner, not wishing to be a party to a scandal of any kind. He believed his future depended upon a pristine character.

Money was one talisman to the upper echelon of London society, and his wealth could purchase him a worthy lady; although he had no doubt the particular ladies that might be interested in him would not enhance his property. In order for his acceptance, her family would need to be near insolvency, but her financial status was of no concern to him. He wanted the invitation into the inner circles of the best of families. If a lady lacked the desired connections, she would not be worthy of him, or so he thought. She needed to be young and unmarried and he preferred her to be a little attractive. That was important. Over the years, several ladies matched his criteria, but none of those flirtations had worked out. His heart had not been touched, which was the final ingredient for marriage. He needed to feel something for the woman he wed.

No more than a quarter hour passed before he spotted Georgiana and her cousin, Lady Victoria. He startled a little when he spied a well-dressed gentleman escorting them down a familiar path. He was not tall enough to be Darcy, and was huskier in build. Both ladies laughed as they walked, another indication it was not Darcy. Moving to a parallel path and walking swiftly ahead of them, he was able to study their expressions. This man shared a certain type of intimacy with them and, for the first time in months, he worried he would have competition after all his hard work.

He approached them speedily and yet quietly, trying to hear their conversation before they discovered him, but to no avail.

Georgiana looked up and exclaimed, "Mr. Kent. Oh, please join us."

Kent nodded and eyed the other two walkers. He bowed to Lady Victoria and to the gentleman moving quickly to Georgiana's side.

As her escort leaned down and whispered to her, Georgiana blushed and looked down at the path. "Richard, I would like to introduce you to Mr. Kent. He is a friend of my brother's. Mr. Kent, this is Colonel Fitzwilliam, Victoria's brother."

Kent released his breath and smiled to the two ladies, but eyed the colonel suspiciously. He offered his arm to Georgiana, but the colonel directed him to assist his sister.

As the four walked on, they spoke of the competitions, Netherfield Park, Darcy's inability to putt, and shared acquaintances. Richard paid close attention to Kent's interaction with Georgiana. He thought he was a little too smooth, and once he even caught him winking at her. She, in turn, smiled widely at him and began to list his many good qualities.

Concerned with the interactions between the two, Richard planned to speak to Darcy, although his opportunities were few with so many tasks requiring his attention taking precedence before the journey to Rosings. If he could not converse with Darcy today, he would certainly have a few words with him on the long carriage ride to their aunt's house.

Chapter 42

Posted on November 25, 2008

Darcy shuffled through the morning's post, examining the mail. Every day brought the same routine. After checking each piece of correspondence, he divided the letters and invitations into separate piles, letters of urgent nature in one stack, and the rest set aside for later consideration. The mail presented to him did not include everything; his secretary separated unimportant mail, and placed them on his desk in the study. The contents usually consisted of requests for money for a charity, or other plea for help. While the wealthy received this type of request daily, Darcy got more than a good number of Londoners. His family had supported many charities, and the newest master had become well known as the most generous of all.

Piled next to her plate, the servant had organized Georgiana's correspondence with the letters of the highest priority placed on top followed by any personal ones she received. The usual habit of the siblings was to open her letters and share the contents. The mail mostly included invitations needing a response and letters from family members.

At three and twenty, Victoria was her closest female relative in age, but their age difference still created a slight chasm between them. Georgia, at sixteen, was just entering into the grown up world of ladies, whereby Lady Victoria had several years of experience. What was giggly and romantic to Georgiana was boring and dull to Victoria. At Lord and Lady Matlock's insistence, however, the two young ladies spent more time together. Receiving a letter from her cousin was routine and welcome, but Georgiana did not believe it filled her need for a true confidant and friend. Tutored all her life by governesses and masters, she was without any friends of her age to share a young girl's dreams. Therefore, she had never feared revealing the contents of any letter, until now.

This morning found Darcy so distracted by the letter from America sitting on top of his own stack, that he did not see Georgiana slyly slip a piece of correspondence in her lap and hide it under her napkin.

Although both brother and sister were preoccupied with wanting to go off to read their own interesting letter, the two discovered the time passed quickly as they shared the news and established activities for the day. Georgiana remained seated until Darcy picked up his stack of letters and left for the study. The moment he disappeared from sight, she hurried to her bedchambers, concealing the letter within the folds of her dress.

Darcy settled back in his favorite reading chair, alongside a cloth-covered round table situated close to the window. The servants had just placed his morning coffee and a small sweet treat next to the stack of science books. He picked up his cup and sipped as he opened Rawlings' letter.

Darcy,

We have arrived in America, although the British Navy was so kind as to escort our ship to Boston instead of New York City. I had always wanted to visit this provincial little town, and they were pleased to accommodate my wishes.

Darcy stopped reading, and grew pale at the thought of the Lively boarded, and perhaps Rawlings and Logan being abused in any way. His muscles tightened, although he realized Rawlings had arrived safely, otherwise there would be no letter. He returned his attention to the handwritten words.

I have learned on the crossing how to be a valet. Our Mr. Logan learned how to lean over the railings and not make a mess of things. Had it not been for the most polite British navy seaman that helped hold Logan ever so tightly, he would have made a complete untidiness of the deck one cold night. Being a well-bred gentleman, I immediately boarded the HMS Whiting, a beautiful sloop of war with its three masts and eighteen oversized guns, and profusely thanked the Lieutenant in Command for his men's very kind attention to my friends. He told me not to thank him, but he had received orders to divert our journey. Apparently, they left England a week before we did, and had been patiently waiting for us.

Darcy shuddered when he visualized the real picture of these events. He gingerly rubbed the letter as he realized Rawlings had been taken to the British ship. He and Rawlings had spoken several times about the possibility of the Lively being boarded.

He was cordial in the usual way. You know how young, ambitious upstarts are with a presumed wayward British subject. He offered to return me to my homeland, and to secure a wonderful room at the Newgate Inn. I assured him the hotel was not up to my standards, and suggested Bedlam instead. I recommended we revisit Eton, in order to complete my thrashing of a particular new student.

Darcy laughed as he remembered the boy assigned to Rawlings as his fag. In addition to making the boy clean, cook, and run his errands, Rawlings had whipped the boy to remove his supercilious attitude. Afterwards, Rawlings took him under his wing and ensured his success. They became great friends, even after Eton. If it were not for Rawlings, the boy would not have been able to do so well. He recalled the young man did join the Navy. A more relaxed Darcy again picked up the letter.

Of course, the fag has learned how to tease since school, and I did compliment him on his attempt to do so. I advised him, quite loudly too, given that he appeared to be growing deaf, that while several of my friends were enjoying the warmth of sailors hugging them close in the chilly evening air, the warmth of their cabins would be preferable at this time of night. I suggested my concern that others would misread the kind actions of his men, thinking perhaps they had been at sea too long, and were looking for a special type of warmth themselves.

Darcy laughed aloud, shook his head and then continued to read.

Needless to say, he signaled to another young upstart to have his men return to the HMS Whiting without any new companions. After agreeing to dine the next day with him, and share a little of my wealth, I returned to find my friends telling the British sailors such funny stories, and in such animated ways.

You are a clever fellow. Did you wonder at the word ‘friends?'

Darcy rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He knew Rawlings would not wait to tell him about this new person or persons.

We are fortunate to have journeyed with a young Bostonian. He and Logan were sharing space at the railing when I first met him. After spending time in England, visiting near Derbyshire, studying milling, he now plans to open a cotton mill in Massachusetts. He is ambitious, and reminds me of another friend of mine. His father is a powerful man in Boston and, the best news of all, he is well established in the import and export business, and I believe he may be the China connection we have been seeking.

I am thankful I was the one that took this journey, for I had no trouble sharing the blanket with what appeared at the time to be a person of decidedly lesser status.

Darcy reread the sentence and placed the letter down. He rose from the chair and rekindled the fire. Once the flames were licking merrily against the logs, he paced about the room until he stopped at the window. He looked back several times to the letter lying upon the table.

Georgiana knocked and entered the study. "William. Come and hear my newest sonata. I need you to tell me if it is worthy to play for Mr. Kent. He will be here later."

Darcy forgot about the mail, and left with Georgiana for the music room. As she played, he vowed to have a word with Kent. He worried Georgiana was letting her innocent heart rule her actions again. With the possible scenarios completely engaging his thoughts, he did not remember Rawlings' letter until much later that night.

"My compliments to your beautiful wife, Lowell," Rawlings said as he prepared to leave Boston for New York. "My ability to express my thankfulness is beyond my meager capabilities. The trip would have seemed empty, had I not had your family activities to enjoy. I am sorry Mrs. Lowell was needed elsewhere this morning. Please convey my thanks, and share with her that it has been a most wonderful and rewarding experience."

"We have all enjoyed your visit, even the children. One day you should have a houseful of your own. You were most entertaining." Lowell noticed Rawlings placing some letters inside his coat pocket. "Has Logan gone?"

"He is overseeing the arrangements for the trip to New York. This reminds me, I must thank you for the letters of introduction." Rawlings patted the coat. "They will be most helpful. I cannot thank you enough."

"Well, Rawlings, it is little repayment for my freedom. I cannot imagine how my family would have endured my captivity by the British forces. Instead, they can now think kindly of our neighbors across the ocean; although I do not think the good feelings will last."

"Nor do I. Let us hope then it is merely a hiccup in the eventual friendship involving two great nations."

The two men continued to discuss the possibility of war and the ramifications that were sure to follow. They had agreed to remain correspondents, and provide any help they could during any period of hostilities between their countries.

"I wish you well with your cotton mill," Rawlings said. "I wrote to my friend, Mr. Darcy, who I believe will provide assistance with anything you may need. It is my desire for the alliance to conduct business with you in the future, and I hope you to feel the same about us."

"Yes, I do, as does my family."

Rawlings and Lowell had entered into a financial agreement. Lowell had determined the preferred way to raise funds for his cotton mill was to sell stock in the company. Both Rawlings and Logan purchased a significant amount of shares. If Lowell was successful, they would realize an enormous profit. Rawlings had also asked Lowell to hold some shares for the Alliance. He did not feel comfortable making such a purchase for them without obtaining their permission first.

"I understand my father has offered to provide trade assistance?" Lowell asked.

"He has, and I am most grateful. Your neighbor, John Forbes, offered his help with the Chinese Houqua. Without these connections, I doubt we could be successful in our trading in that part of the world."

Rawlings and Lowell silently stood as Lowell's servant helped Rawlings with his outdoor wear, and just as he turned to step outside, a young girl came running into the foyer, crying openly.

"My dear Mr. Rawlings, please do not go."

Miss Marie Lowell rushed in behind the youngster, catching her breath while Rawlings gave his attention to her young niece.

"I must, my little Countess." Rawlings turned and smiled at the precocious ten-year-old beauty staring at him with a large tear streaming down her cheek. He pulled a kerchief from his pocket. "Remember what I taught you about keeping control of your emotions." Rawlings lifted her chin up, wiped her tear-streaked cheek and said softly, "It is not proper to cry so in front of others. When you cry, they believe you to be weak, and we both know you are a strong girl."

She stood a little taller and wiped the falling tears from her eyes with the back of her hand, even though Rawlings handed her the handkerchief. She clutched the linen cloth to her chest with her other hand before hiding it behind her back.

As she smoothed her dress, Rawlings turned to Lowell and whispered, "You should be relieved she has another few years to go before she is out. Otherwise, you will need that modified Baker rifle I told you about to keep the hunters away."

"I do not dread that day. In fact, I am impatient for it, for I enjoy all forms of entertainment." Lowell lowered his head and whispered, "I have planned many surprises for any man that comes to call." Lowell glanced over to his sister, and suddenly smiled widely. "Including men calling from across the ocean."

Rawlings' eye caught sight of Miss Lowell, and bowed deeply to her. "Miss Lowell, I cannot thank you sufficiently for the introduction to Boston. I have made many new friends and enjoyed all the parties and dinners. You made me miss my home considerably less." Lifting her hand, he kissed it with the slightest touch, squeezed it and chuckled at the younger girl pressing herself closer to him.

Rawlings leaned down and kissed the young girl's hand too. He smiled when she blushed and said quietly, "Remember, you shall be my little Countess for as long as there is a King of England."

With misty eyes, he stood quickly, nodded to Lowell and was off.

Darcy slipped under the bed sheets and opened Rawlings' letter. Having first spent his morning with Georgiana, and then in conversation with Kent, Lady Victoria filled his afternoon when she called upon him and his sister, He was pleased to see a growing relationship between the two cousins. He wondered at Georgiana's whispers to Victoria, and promised to speak to his cousin about their secrets. He would also ask her to help keep Georgiana from unworthy men seeking advancement, and then thinking of Kent, he decided to solicit Victoria's aide in monitoring the growing friendship between his sister and his friend.

Now that night had arrived, it was the first private moment he had had to finish reading his friend's letter. Feeling the letter in his hand, his thoughts returned to Rawlings. "Let me learn about his new friends."

Darcy marveled at Rawlings way with words, wishing he were equally skilled. He pulled the candelabra closer to his bed until satisfied that enough light shone on his bed for reading. The Gas Light Company cannot launch themselves soon enough for me. I shall be their first paying customer, and the first lamp will be here in this room. Or the electric light. I care not which one wins the competition!"

He leaned back into the pillow, and found the place he had earlier stopped reading. Ignoring the offending sentence, his eyes moved to the next paragraph.

Boston was a treasure trove of future business partners, the merchants agreeing to align with their alliance and assist with the China trade. Darcy released a long sigh. Even Kent had difficulty with this aspect of their plan. Rawlings was the perfect man to go. He comes from the best of families, and yet he is comfortable among those that are not. Britain had granted a monopoly on all trade with China to the Honorable East India Company, making it impossible for the alliance to trade directly. Rawlings' new coalition of tradesmen would overcome that particular obstacle.

As he continued to read, he had to divert his eyes when his friend asked about Bingley. What would Rawlings think if he knew Miss Bennet visited Bingley's house? He must understand Mrs. Bennet was desperate to send her there. Nevertheless, he will surely not be pleased about how Miss Bingley and I conspired to conceal her visit. Darcy finished the letter and laid it aside, but the offending sentence repeatedly whispered to him.

‘I am thankful I was the one that took this journey, for I had no trouble sharing the blanket with what appeared at the time to be a person of decidedly lesser status.'

In an attempt to block the thoughts invading his conscience, he focused on the next phase of Rawlings' trip. I wonder if he found New York City just as rewarding as Boston? he thought as he blew out the lights.

The hired driver pulled the horses to a standstill in front of a four story red brick townhome. "This here is the Westchester. Used to be a home, but after the revolution, our great hero George Washington arrived and set up his war office over there. Now, when Washington showed up, the owners of this house sold, it and they promptly went back to England. I will wager George Washington slept here.

"Are you sure?"

"No, sir. Just jesting. An American joke, I suppose, or else the man slept anywhere but his own house. Everyone claims he slept at their home." After curtailing his laugh, the cabbie pointed to the street and the surrounding area. "Now, you can see that Bowrey Street is turning itself into a commercial boulevard of inns and businesses. Used to be only families lived here."

"What changed?" Rawlings asked as he paid for the fair.

"Fours years ago, the political bosses had mapped out new streets in this area into square boxes. That is what all the activity is around here: building streets and businesses and townhomes and look at the rubbish everywhere."

"Boxes?"

All the roads will intersect into these perfect boxes. Square boxes! They call them things blocks. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"No, I have not." Smiling, Rawlings tipped his hat to the cabbie as Logan assisted with the trunks. The carriage driver waved goodbye as he pulled away along a slightly crooked road. "Shall we register?"

Logan nodded, and followed behind Rawlings as they entered the Westchester Inn and approached the desk to give their names to the clerk, who informed him the hotel was full.

"Sir, what exactly do you mean? We do have reservations for this hotel. Here is the written confirmation." Rawlings stood defiantly and shoved the confirmation letter Mr. Cuffage had supplied in front of the desk clerk and glared as meanly as possible.

"There is a grave misunderstanding," the clerk said as he examined the document. "This is not our stationery. I fear someone has perpetuated a falsehood, and I can assure you, good sir, it was not this establishment.

"Nevertheless, might we register today? We are tired from our journey."

"All the available rooms are taken. In fact, all the rooms in all the hotels have been reserved for well over a fortnight for our annual end of the year city celebration."

Rawlings released a long sigh as every muscle tightened, and he knew if he had possessed any energy, he would have punched the man in the nose. Years of training on how to be a gentleman took over. "Pray, tell me, sir. How do I find transportation?" Rawlings' eyes narrowed to tiny slits.

"To where?"

"Mr. Livingston's home in Manhattan."

"Mr. Robert Livingston, the Chancellor?"

"Yes. We are scheduled to meet with him tomorrow, but I suppose he might be the best one to locate a fine establishment for us for the night."

"Excuse me for a moment." The clerk scurried to the back room, and within a minute, a well-dressed manager appeared.

The manager looked the two men over from head to toe. "I beg your pardon. My clerk is mistaken. We have your room ready. It is the best suite we offer. Again, I beg your forgiveness for his error. I will be honored to take you to your rooms myself. Please follow me."

Logan appeared with the trunks, and Rawlings spoke quietly to the manager, who found a servant to handle their luggage. Rawlings grinned at Logan and waved him along as they made their way up the three flights of stairs.

They examined the rooms, and agreed that while it was not equal to Lowell's guest rooms in Boston, it was far superior to the cabin onboard ship.

"It appears we have the whole floor to ourselves." Logan said as he opened the first trunk. "

"I suppose Mr. Livingston is a powerful force in New York. Meeting Lowell was providential. Let us hope our good luck continues." Rawlings lifted his trunk and placed it on the wooden stand for the luggage, but when he began to open the lid, Logan raced over.

"Sir, I will take care of your clothes."

"Rawlings. Call me Rawlings. I will finish unpacking my trunk. I have grown accustomed to performing valet duties. In fact, I would rather work than sit and watch you stay busy. There is nothing else for me to do. I am hungry, and waiting for you to unpack both trunks will delay my meal. So move away."

Logan relented, and the two men quickly dispensed with the unpacking and headed down to the dining room of the inn. Once the food arrived, the two men devised a schedule for the next day. Recognizing the first stop would be to find John Jacob Astor, Rawlings pulled out the documents and circled the location on the page Mr. Cuffage identified as Astor's home. Rawlings emphasized that he could not afford any mistake tomorrow, as the global strategy was riding on collaborating with Astor. They finished the meal and headed out to a tavern recommended by the desk clerk. Rawlings was disappointed it did not possess any of the pub games, but realized Kent and the alliance could happily correct this situation. America caused a bubbling of ideas for Rawlings; everywhere he looked he found an opportunity.

The next morning, the manager sent up a breakfast tray for the men, and they ate while Logan prepared his master for the day. Rawlings teased him about his preference for his valet duties, and reminded him in America, anyone could be anything. With a sense of anxiousness, the two men finished dressing and left the room.

The clerk, apologetic about the previous day's episode, located a hired carriage for them and they headed towards the address they had for Astor.

"Burned down?" Rawlings eyes searched the area for any building still standing.

The carriage driver laughed. "You are looking at the remains of the old Morris Warehouse. I heard tell it burned down four years ago. I thought you knew."

"We were informed John Jacob Astor's establishment was here." Rawlings squeezed his hands into fists. "Do you know where the man might be found?"

"I only arrived in New York two months ago. Sorry, mister."

"There is a good fee if you can help us locate him." Rawlings held up a bag of coins.

The driver nodded, and headed to a tavern where his brother had worked for the last three years after moving to the city. He suggested several places, none of which proved to be successful. Apparently, many residents had heard of Astor, but none knew where to find him. The last place on the list was Staten Island, although it remained largely unsettled, but a few families had moved there ever since the ferry service had begun. Thinking it was worth a try, they headed to the embarkation point.

A strapping young lad of sixteen or seventeen approached them as they waited for the boat. His eyes swept over the two men standing before him, and did not conceal his curiosity, as his glance seemed to weigh the importance of the men. The young lad kept his eyes on the men as he prepared to operate the ferry to the other end. Before the trip started, he sought out the pair.

"Is there anything I could do to help you, sirs?" He waved the two men towards him so he could steer the ferry while they spoke. The boat lurched forward just as Rawlings and Logan joined him.

"You are young to be running the ferry. Is this a family business?" Rawlings asked.

"Yes. It is if you count me as a family of one. Well, my mother did lend me the money, but it is my business."

"You! This is your ferry?"

He nodded. "Yes, and I do a good business, too!" He waited a moment, and when no one spoke up, he asked, "You are from England? You appear to be gentlemen."

Rawlings sized the young man up. "Let me introduce myself, I am Gerald Rawlings from Staffordshire, England, and this is my associate, Mr. Logan." Rawlings attempted to bow when he noticed an ungloved hand thrust his way.

"We shake hands here, sir. I am Cornelius Vanderbilt."

Taking the lad's hand in his, he felt the firm grip the young man had. "I shall remember that name. If you are successful at such a young age, I can only imagine where your life will take you."

"Shipping. I plan to expand my business to ships; schooners and steamships. Have you heard of them sir?"

"Yes, in fact I have. Are you also planning to build a railway, too? They use steam engines."

"How do you know this?"

"I am acquainted with the nephew of the gentleman who invented those engines. He promises it will change transportation in the world. I even saw one in London."

Cornelius stood silently for a moment, reflecting on the railway possibilities until a wide smile stretched across his face. "We are nearly there." He inclined his head towards the shoreline.

"I must beg your leave. We are in need to find a gentleman who we believe resides on this island."

"Perhaps I know him. I have lived on Staten Island all my life, and I am acquainted with every family. What is his name?"

"John Jacob Aster."

Laughing, young Vanderbilt shook his head. "You will not find him here. I do not know where he lives, but no Astor rides this ferry. I believe the man you want took control of a large estate from Aaron Burr a few years ago. He subdivided the property, and I heard tell that he granted the tenants a twenty-year lease. Burr's former home on the property, Richmond Hill House, is located on Varick and Charlton Streets in Greenwich Village. Just ask any hack to take you to there. Did you know General Washington had his headquarters there somewhere when we gave your kin a thrashing? Why he even slept at Burr's house, I believe." Cornelius laughed unabashedly.

Ferrying back to the embarkation point, Vanderbilt and Rawlings spoke of the future and the progress of steam and mechanical inventions. They promised to correspond and share information about the progress made in their own countries. Rawlings and Vanderbilt shook hands.

Pleased his hired carriage had waited, Rawlings gave the man the new address, and his driver found the location easily. The home, however, was empty. Discouraged, the two men agreed it would be best to meet with Mr. Livingston and hopefully, as Chancellor, he would know Astor or have people able to locate him for them.

Pulling up to the Livingston residence, Rawlings was impressed. The spacious townhouse with its white portico supported by four large wooden columns could rival any found in fashionable London.

Two doormen immaculately groomed and expertly uniformed stood guard. The older one accepted the letter of introduction, and left Rawlings and Logan with the other doorman waiting on the top step. Curious to see if they would be permitted entry, the cabbie pulled up further along the street. He did not wait long before the two gentlemen were shown inside.

"Mr. Rawlings, Mr. Logan, please come in. You are most welcome here." Livingston said excitedly. "My good friend, Mr. Lowell, had sent an express earlier, and we have been expecting you. Where are you staying?"

"The Westchester"

"Oh no. That is a mediocre inn at best."

After Livingston led them into his study, Rawlings thought the world seemed remarkably similar to the one across the ocean. He felt like he was home. The furniture was of English manufacture. The books along the wall included the Greek and Roman classics, British history, and even a few novels. He noted the wine carafes were filled, and that the landscape paintings on the walls must have painted on the Continent. He did not recognize one scene that presented a beautiful stretch of land alongside a river.

"The eastern bank of the Hudson River. The brick home in the painting was burnt down by your countrymen during the revolution, but it was rebuilt, and perhaps we can take a trip up to see my new home before you leave."

"You are most generous, sir."

"And you, sir, saved a friend's son from capture."

As they relaxed, Livingston demanded they tell the whole story of the boarding of the Lively. Rawlings, a great storyteller, made the event seem much more exciting than it had been. Lowell had informed him Livingston enjoyed drama, and so it was a dramatic story he told. Livingston was enthralled, and poured drinks continuously as the story unfolded. When it ended and the conversation turned to the reason for the trip, Livingston was stunned.

"Astor? You have come to see John?"

"You know him? You may be the only other one in this whole town. We have been searching all day."

"He worked on Water Street years ago. I am surprised the hired hackney was so ignorant of the man. Astor travels out west often, so I do not know if he is in town. His wife, Sarah, and his son, William, handle the business while he is gone. I am not aware of what his eldest son does, but his second son is in charge of the business while he traveling. Sarah is the backbone behind that business. She has run it for years.

"Might you share where we may seek him out?"

Livingston provided directions, but suggested, since night was approaching, to wait until tomorrow to seek him at Water Street first. When it appeared his guests were about to leave, and finding Rawlings quite entertaining, Livingston invited them to dinner. He would ensure they met with Astor, or at least his wife, the next day, even offering to join in their pursuit. "And if you desire, you may reside here during your stay. Even George Washington slept here." Livingston laughed aloud while Rawlings rolled his eyes.

At dinner, Livingston learned some of the reasons for the two men were visiting America. He offered to arrange a special trip on the Claremont, and set up a private meeting with Fulton. In fact, he announced he would host a party, at which they would be the guest of honor.

Rawlings and Logan returned to the hotel, and informed the manager of their change of plans. They would be leaving in the morning, and requested their luggage be transferred to the carriage Livingston was sending. Back in their room, Rawlings and Logan settled into their chairs with their evening brandy.

"I fear nothing Cuffage imparted to us was truthful."

Logan refilled both their glasses. "I do not doubt he fabricated his friendship." .

"I no longer hold a good opinion of the man at all. I doubt he ever met Astor."

"Do you also doubt he was the victim of Mr. Gardiner? The Bennets did put the blame for their misfortunes on Cuffage."

"Damn. We must have been hoodwinked there, as well. But what purpose did he have to deceive us? My God. The entire global strategy rests on Astor, and it appears for some reason we have been targeted for misdirection, but why?" Cuffage had nothing to gain or lose by inventing a relationship with Astor. I cannot find a reason."

He and Logan spent the night ruminating over possible scenarios, none of which reflected in Mr. Cuffage's favor.

Chapter 43

Posted on December 2, 2008

During his uneventful trip to Water Street, Rawlings recognized New York City as a budding and emerging London. The wealthy lived on the cleaner side, with the other parts of the city serving as home to ill dressed residents and broken down buildings, with rubbish everywhere, and dead horses rotting in the streets. The stench smelled similar to the east end of London, and Rawlings had no doubt disease was as rampart in the untended part of New York City as his own home town's dirtier sections. When asked, Livingston explained how Yellow Fever had claimed the lives of many off and on during the years. He cautioned them to stay clear of the area, as another plague was spreading.

The carriage stopped. The men exited, and stood in front of a store where a large sign read: Musical Instruments. The inside was well organized; not an item out of place. Rawlings smiled. Good old German neatness! As soon as Mrs. Astor greeted them, Livingston asked after John; she nodded, returned to the back room, and reappeared with the man in question on her arm. Rawlings gasped, the hair on his neck stood up, and his palms began to sweat. He used his handkerchief to wipe his hands. Cuffage said this man was blond and blue eyed. Another lie. Where does this end? Who is Cuffage?

Astor offered his outstretched hand to Rawlings as he had done with Livingston. Not accustomed to shaking hands, he followed up the American custom with a proper English bow. The more rampant the disease in a city, the less individuals should touched each other in public, and with Livingston's talk about the plague; he wondered why they continued to shake hands without the protection of gloves.

Everyone followed Astor to the back room, where he pointed to a closed door. "We can be more comfortable upstairs in my old home."

Rawlings trudged up the steps. "Are your ballrooms upstairs too?" Astor and Livingston glanced at each other with puzzled expressions. Rawlings admitted all dancing took place on what they would call the upper floors in England. Livingston said that while most did follow that lead, not everyone did, and his, for instance, was on the ground floor. Rawlings turned to him with a wide smile. "You, sir, are an intelligent man. I only hope the architects across the ocean do the same.

While Mrs. Astor served tea, Logan took a seat next to Rawlings. He had shaken hands, but did not speak beyond the normal civilities. As the conversation ensued, he listened, and studied everyone with great interest. He would reveal his reactions privately with Rawlings.

Astor questioned Rawlings about his purpose of the visit. When Rawlings mentioned Cuffage, Astor gazed at him with a blank, unreadable expression. Mrs. Astor indicated that neither of them has heard of such man.

Nodding, Astor agreed. After sharing information, Rawlings and Logan discovered an unpleasant fact. The man sitting with them, who supposedly had a relationship with Mr. Cuffage, had, in fact, stayed with a Mr. Edward Gardiner when he resided in London prior to his move to America. Gardiner assisted Astor in securing his passage, and he was the tradesman currently handling his trading deals in England.

"Did you say Edward Gardiner? Of Gracechurch Street?" Logan asked.

"Do you know him, sir?" Astor asked.

Rawlings shook his head. "No. I have only heard rumors surrounding his foray into an unsuccessful venture. I am beginning to doubt they were true." Rawlings turned to his valet. "I believe we have been deceived by Mr. Cuffage."

"What does this Mr. Cuffage look like?" Astor asked.

Rawlings began the description with the man's height---short. By the time he finished drawing a picture of the man and explaining the purpose for their connection, he felt a wave of uneasiness flow through his whole body as Astor continuously shook his head and uttered no sound other than "no, no, no." Logan remained stone-faced, but Rawlings understood he, too, was concerned.

Astor scoffed. "Cuffage? No. I know the man you speak of very well, and he is not honest in his dealings. He cheated my friend Gardiner, and almost stole every customer he had." When he identified the man, Rawlings surprised every person in the room with his loud gasp.

With a tremble in his voice, Rawlings asked, "Please, are there writing materials I could use? I need to send a message to my partners immediately. I also need to find the fastest ship headed to England. This is of the direst urgency."

Mrs. Astor handed Rawlings paper and a perfectly sharpened writing pen. He scribbled the note and address in great haste. "I only pray this letter arrives to Darcy in time."

"And Gardiner is not destroyed, as well as your friends," Astor remarked.

The men left without further delay. Astor and Livingston accompanied Rawlings to the dock, and once they located a ship heading towards England the next morning, Livingston spoke to the captain. "This message must be given the highest priority, even if the British come aboard. It is urgent this letter find its way to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, London, England." Rawlings handed the captain some additional coins to pay a messenger upon docking."

"You are very fortunate because you are looking at one of the fastest sloops made in the America . It travels across the ocean in less than a month. Very soon I will be the captain of the Pacifica, which will only need a fortnight to go the distance! Imagine crossing the ocean in fourteen days! Alas, for now, your mail will be delivered in just over three weeks."

Comfortable with the captain's assurances, the men returned to Water Street to map out a strategy. As the day was growing late, Astor invited everyone for dinner in his new home. Livingston declined, but indicated he would make his carriage available for Rawlings and Logan to leave at their convenience.

The men spent a long night hammering out the details necessary for collaboration. Impressed with the wit and intelligence shown by Rawlings, Astor liked the man he felt was not as haughty as most men with his family status. Logan, he believed, was a valet masquerading as a gentleman. While he wondered why, he did not care. In America, anyone could climb the social ladder, regardless of parentage---even a music instrument maker turned fur trader.

"Did you say your second son would take over your business?" Rawlings asked with raised brows.

"William is not feebleminded, and in America, I can leave the bulk of my inheritance to any or all of my children." Astor learned forward. "I am a third son of a butcher, and do not hold to the practice of leaving my estate to the eldest. My wealth shall be given to whichever child earns the right to manage my inheritance, and that would not be my eldest son."

Rawlings laughed. "I believe my father thinks like you, but the law of primogeniture in England is specific. My brother will inherit against his desires."

"Your journey brought you to the land of opportunity, as many second and third sons discovered upon arriving on our shores."

"I noticed the same pioneer spirit in Boston as well."

Astor sat upright. "You made connections in Boston?"

"Indeed. Frances Cabot Lowell was gracious in introducing us to the prominent families there. We met Lowell when we crossed the ocean together." Rawlings turned to Logan, who nodded in agreement.

Astor furrowed his brow and stared at Rawlings through narrowed slits. "Are you are speaking the truth about Lord Blake and Mr. Darcy partnering with tradesmen's sons."

"We signed documents to back up our partnership, all five of us. While not the usual practice in England, we need each other to be successful in our alliance." Rawlings found Astor to be a little brusque at times, but he discovered the man did not suffer fools or foolish talk gladly.

"Would your partners object to adding my friend, Gardiner, to your alliance?"

"Once they learn the truth, they will be knocking at his door with their hat in their hands." Rawlings laughed, and then his face turned somber. "I pray the letter reaches Darcy before any harm is done. He must act quickly."

"If you believe Gardiner will be added as a partner, then you may include me in your plans. You know I am attempting to open a trading post on the other side of this continent. It will make the global trade route complete. You see, I, too, had the same vision." Astor picked up his pen and prepared a letter of recommendation for Rawlings to take to his old friend. "Please convey my good wishes when you see him."

While Astor was busy writing, Rawlings prepared a list of the terms of a partnership. After studying the requirements, Astor agreed to have his lawyer prepare a written contract. By the end of the visit, they had hammered out all the details for establishing a partnership between The Alliance and John Jacob Astor. Between the Boston contacts and Astor, the global strategy was now complete.

One of the first actions the captain of the sloop took upon landing in Liverpool was to seek a messenger. His ship had made it across the ocean in six weeks, without interference by the British Navy or the weather. American made schooners were the fastest ships on the water. He waited for the messenger as the dockworkers unloaded the cargo, enjoying the unusually warm air for the first day of March. It was not long before he handed over two letters to the courier, instructing him to deliver Rawlings' letter first. He gave the man a shilling, which was only one quarter of the coin Rawlings had given him for the express post. The captain, then as now, believed the amount given exceeded any normal payment, and reduced it accordingly. He, of course, pocketed the difference.

After placing one letter in his satchel, he had to squint at the scribbled address on the second one for some time before he glowered at the captain, who shrugged and exclaimed, "Do the best you can," and then promptly walked away.

The messenger carried the unreadable express for several days. He did do his best to decipher the address, but after several unsuccessful delivery attempts, he placed the letter in the back of his satchel. He forgot about it until a fortnight had passed, when handed another post, this time from a courier sent by a Mr. Bingley. The writing was also undecipherable, but at least he had been told the address.

He delivered Mr. Bingley's post that day, but speculated all night about the earlier letter, now hidden behind other undeliverable mail. He recognized something familiar in the two letters, and since he was an honest man, he set about the next day to complete the delivery.

And so, after days of residing in a satchel, Rawlings' letter now found its home on the silver holder in Darcy's study, along with other non-urgent mail. The somewhat crumpled and dirtied missive stayed on the top of the silver holder until the next day, when the newly hired maid accidently knocked the tray over when cleaning, and scattered the letters everywhere. Rawlings' letter slipped behind several rarely used journals, where it remained unopened, unread, and forgotten.

"My lord, Mr. Cuffage has arrived and indicated he had some urgent business to discuss with you."

The elderly man nodded, and handed the young maiden's merlin to the falconer and turned to her. "My dear, your little pigeon hawk is training well. You must study Frederick II's The Art of Falconry. Everything you need to learn is contained within the covers. Now, I would like to stay and provide a few more suggestions, but please excuse me, I am obliged to see to this problem."

"Of course. When you return though, my hawk will win." She glared at her great uncle with a slight curl of her lips.

The old man laughed. "You need to practice more before your bird can beat mine. Remember, I am the champion. However, you showed your true spirit just now, and as I have said many times, if you wish to gain what you want out of life, do not cower or grovel around any gentleman worthy of you. Do not speak of fashion and clothes, instead offer a challenge to the young man. If you do, one day, you will be a duchess." The Falcon smiled before walking away to meet Mr. Cuffage.

"My Lord." Cuffage bowed. "I have some disturbing news that just arrived from America."

"Shall I retrieve my champion Peregrine? Do I need to identify you as his target today? He will attack small vermin, such as rats and mice upon my command. I do not like disturbing news." The old man smiled as Cuffage flinched. "A jest. Do not look so worried. What have you learned?"

"Mr. Rawlings has established connections with a prominent Boston family. The diversion away from New York did not prove successful."

"Humph. How did this happen? The purpose for landing in Boston was to provide a delay long enough for our agent to reach Astor first, not to assist him in finding trading connections in a different city."

"I have just received word from America." Cuffage pulled the letter from his coat pocket. "Mr. Astor had been on a trip out west, and was not available for several weeks. We have no one in Boston to undo the arrangements made between Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Lowell. I understand the Lowell family trades with China. "

Turning to remove the shadow falling over the letter, the old man read the words written on the paper. He folded it up and handed it back to Cuffage. "China is the most important key to completing their global strategy, as made clear in the documents Whitson stole from Netherfield Park. This is distressing news, but... perhaps Mr. Rawlings can be persuaded to remain in America, where opportunities are plentiful, and abandon Darcy's alliance. Surely the Lowells would do business with a man they know rather than strangers across the ocean. Are there any other issues?"

"Darcy has discovered our warnings to the tradesmen. I have called off our man for now."

The lord nodded, and waited to hear the next problem he sensed was coming.

Cuffage did not disappoint, although he stepped backwards before revealing it. "Mr. Kent has been obtaining contracts and agreements with the tradesmen."

"I assumed he would be the one Darcy asked to do exactly that, so what is the problem?"

"The contracts are made with Mr. Kent, and not a single mention of the alliance or Mr. Darcy appears in the signed documents. I suspect he has his own agenda."

"Well, he is his father's son."

"Apparently so."

The old man directed Cuffage's attention to his bird of prey just landing on the falconer's arm. "Do you know what they say is the most impressive skill the Peregrine has?" The old man laughed. "It is able to kill two birds with one mighty swoop."

His grand niece could hear the laughter several hundred yards away.

On a bright, crisp, mid-March day, the butler opened the door and peered at the man standing in front of him, fashionably dressed for the early spring weather. The man handed his card and watched as Geoffries studied the front and back of it before nodding his head and disappearing inside.

Geoffries entered his master's study. "Mr. Darcy."

Darcy held his finger up in the air as he finished the sentence he was writing. Geoffries handed him the card as soon as he put his pen down. Reading the name, Darcy shook his head. "No. This man is not welcome here at any time. My door is closed to him."

Geoffries started to leave when he turned around. "He indicated he had some important letters for you from---"

Holding up his palm, Darcy narrowed his eyes. "I am not interested." He spoke in a tone that Geoffries understood. On this matter, his master would brook no discussion.

Rising to his full height, the butler nodded, and returned to the man waiting at the front door. He handed his card back. "I am sorry, sir. Mr. Darcy is not available at any time. He is not interested in your letters."

Mr. Gardiner sighed, shook his head and departed, taking Rawlings' messages with him.

The last week of March arrived, causing a scurry of activity at Darcy House. Darcy's trip to Rosings the following morning could not have come at a worse time. Bingley had left for the north to be with the Watt family. Darcy's receipt of Rawlings' early letter indicated he had probably reached New York City by now, but he had no indication that word of confirmation had arrived. The letter remained hidden behind the books with only a corner peeking through. A somewhat somber Blake had become more involved with his two uncles, Harrowby, the politician, and Attwood, the financial broker. Finally, there was Kent and his continued pursuit and strengthening friendship with Georgiana.

Kent and Georgiana spent a great deal of time together. On any given day, they could be found in the music room or the library. Nevertheless, Darcy had to admit that he had neither witnessed anything inappropriate in their behavior, nor heard of any untoward actions by Kent. He could not decipher if Kent was being friendly or flirting with his sister. Most days, friendliness won the argument.

Still, his concern grew, and their guarded closeness suggested they were keeping a secret. Darcy's thoughts often returned to last summer and, in retrospect, the signs did seem similar in Georgiana's demeanor then, but this time there was a difference. Mr. Kent was wealthy, had no need of her dowry and did not seek any revenge. While that was in his favor, Darcy understood fortune hunters hunted not just for money. Social status was the other reason unmarried persons from the highest circles of London society were pursued. The interlopers were all around town, but everyone considered them a worse match than an insolvent peer. Family connections, even impoverished ones, opened doors, and doors opened opportunities.

Darcy kept busy while he waited for Victoria's regular morning call. With the impending trip, he needed to secure her assistance in keeping a sharp eye on Georgiana. Mrs. Annesley indicated his sister seemed to share her secrets with her cousin and suggested he elicit her help.

"Fitzwilliam. You wanted to speak with me?" Victoria peeked through the partially opened door.

"Yes, come in and... Mrs. Annesley, please come it as well, and close the door behind you." Darcy rose from behind the desk and moved to the two chairs in front of the fireplace. Mrs. Annesley busied herself with studying the books on the small table next to the window.

Victoria did as asked, and slid into the chair across from her cousin. She waited while Darcy fiddled with his hands and composed his words.

"Victoria, I seek your help."

"I, of course, will do anything I can. Go on."

"Georgiana---"

"I have witnessed no problems. Do not tell me something has happened?"

Darcy shook his head. "No, but I am concerned about her growing friendship with Mr. Kent."

"Mr. Kent? Do you oppose him as an acquaintance?"

"I do not. However, I am worried where their friendship is heading."

Victoria laughed aloud before covering her mouth with her gloved hand. "Do not worry. They are merely friends. Georgiana told---"

"I see the situation differently. You have not viewed them as I have when they were alone in the music room."

Victoria glanced at the chaperon. "Mrs. Annesley is with them. There has been no evidence of improper behavior by either one." She leaned forward and spoke in whisper. "Darcy, you should be ashamed to think of your friend in that way."

"But Georgiana did exercise poor judgment last summer. I cannot allow her to make another mistake of that nature."

"Mr. Kent's behavior is above that of a callous rake. But, are you aware of a deficiency in your friend? I would like to be informed if there is anything dishonorable about the man. I have seen only goodness in him. He is pleasant, charming in fact. He is not for want of fortune. His single defect is he was born the son of a tradesman. If he had been a lord, you would not react this way. Would you feel this same way if Mr. Kent showed similar attentions to Anne or me?"

"Yes, I would. I am surprised at your change in attitude. He is... not---"

"Not what? An earl or marquess? Or are you hoping for a duke for your sister? If she were to choose, Georgiana could not find a better partner in life. Do not be so ostentatious, cousin. Your Fitzwilliam side is showing. He is a good man."

"So you will not help me?"

"No. I will not break a confidence with Georgiana, as she would never break a confidence with anyone, including you, Mr. Kent, or myself. I will not spy on an innocent friendship. In truth, Georgiana is only---"

Darcy threw up his hands. "Enough. Perhaps I overreacted to the situation. I did not mean to cause you any distress. I will withdraw my request."

Victoria rose and squared her shoulders. "If I discover a gentleman too forward in his behavior, I will let you know. Mr. Kent should not worry you. Your sister has grown this past year, and I think you should allow her to continue along that path." Victoria lowered her voice. "Do not break her budding spirit."

Darcy nodded, but as Victoria stormed out of the room with Mrs. Annesley following, he called for Geoffries. Darcy was prompt in his directions. His butler was to provide a report on the activities of Mr. Kent and his sister while he was tending to business at Rosings. He would expect full details of their interactions, and if there was any hint of impropriety, he demanded the servant to send an express immediately. In the report, he also wanted a list of every letter his sister received, every letter she sent, and if there was a reply. He warned his man not to allow Lady Victoria to discover what he was doing. Geoffries nodded his agreement and departed, leaving Darcy to mull over his order. Women. Why can they not reason like men?

As his trunks were loaded onto Darcy's carriage, Richard bounded up the steps, two at a time. When he reached the top step, he turned, enjoying the spring morning. After a very cold February, the warm air had arrived early this year, and he imagined Rosings' gardens. They would definitely not react naturally to springtime. He chuckled as he imagined the hedges forced into animal shapes. Humph. Even Aunt Catherine is not that foolish, but the grounds will be manicured into some impossibly forced configuration.

Geoffries opened the door, and indicated the family was enjoying their breakfast.

Richard walked quickly through the house, entered the small dining room and loaded up his plate with his second morning meal of the day. He nodded to the servant to pour him coffee, and took his usual seat at the table. "Good morning, Darcy, Georgiana. Father and Mother send their greetings." The brother and sister nodded politely. Richard continued, "They also asked that Georgiana stay with them."

"She will visit from time to time, but she has made known her desire to remain here. We will only be gone for a week." Darcy glanced at his sister, who had relaxed upon hearing his decision.

"One week? Excellent. I was afraid that Aunt Catherine would force us to stay for a month, well a fortnight at least. I will be able to spend some agreeable evenings enjoying the jewels of London then, before I must report back to the regiment."

"I have urgent business here, that is why the shortened visit. I have made plans for a trip to Birmingham to visit a manufactory."

"Darcy, do not tell me you are giving up your estate and becoming a... a tradesman?" Richard held up his hands, horrified, as though he was repelling the Devil himself. "We are ruined."

"I do not see what is so awful about tradesmen?" Georgiana asked with a sharp edge to her voice.

Darcy and Richard stared at her. The room was quiet for several moments, until her brother spoke to her in soft tones. "Although Richard's comment was in jest, what he said has a ring of truth. It is acceptable for some intercourse and a guarded friendship, but it must not exceed that. It is best to connect ourselves with only those enhancing our position. This is the way it is."

Looking down at her plate, Georgiana did not respond. As her mood changed, Richard remembered his walk in Hyde Park. He did not bother to control the furrowing of his brow as he recalled her defense of Mr. Kent, even then. Richard relaxed and leaned back into his chair. "Seven days is the perfect length of time for me. Since it is so terribly short, shall I remain here instead and guard our little girl?" He hid his smirk behind a forkful of eggs.

"I am not a little girl, Richard. I am sixteen." Georgiana raised her eyes up from her plate and bore into him with the Darcy stare.

"True." Richard chuckled at her furiousness. "But I believe you need guarding from all the ogres and trolls under your bed and hiding... "---Richard ducked under the table---"here!"

"Phew. I have not been afraid of them for years." She dropped her head under the table and wailed, "You treat me like a child."

When they returned upright in their chairs, Richard studied Georgiana with his most serious military expression. "Perhaps you should stay with my parents."

Spinning her attention to Darcy, Georgiana clasped her hands together. "Please, Brother, I prefer to practice on my pianoforte, than on Aunt Matlock's. It is horribly out of tune. Victoria will visit daily; she promised."

Unbeknownst to Richard, Darcy had discussed having Georgiana stay with the Fitzwilliams. Lord Matlock agreed it would be safe enough for Georgiana at Darcy House, and at the same time, it was an opportunity to get Lady Victoria to leave her bedchambers. Of late, Georgiana was the only person able to encourage her to do so. His uncle promised faithfully to keep an eye on his niece.

"You may stay," Darcy announced in his authoritative voice, and all discussion regarding the whereabouts of Georgiana for the next week ended.

Breakfast finished in friendly banter; although, Richard appeared more subdued than when he first arrived. Soon, the two men climbed into the carriage and left for Rosings.

With her guardians gone, Georgiana scampered to her bedchambers, penned a message, and gave it to Geoffries for immediate delivery. Geoffries wrote the name of the recipient in his journal, and had a footman deliver it to Miss Susan Kent. He thought the request was neither improper nor worrisome, since Kent had brought his sister to meet Georgiana more than a month ago. He wrongly assumed Mr. Darcy was aware of her visit.

The carriage ride began in silence. Darcy carefully shuffled through his papers, trying not to damage the handwritten collection of poems. Richard pulled out the newest novel written by Rosa Matilda.

Darcy glanced at the title, The Passions. "What, another tale of suspenseful, passionate love set in some haunted ruins or some abbey surrounded by wild landscapes?" Shaking with an exaggerated shiver, Darcy laughed aloud. "Oh, the burning desires, the horror, the fear! Is that not reading material for little girls and old dowagers?"

Richard shook his head. "If you ever thought about what the delightful ladies of the ton read, then you would realize this is our training instructions for advancement on that particular battlefront. I will lend you my book since you could use a little suspenseful, passionate love in your life."

Darcy shook his head. "As for reading the book, I think not, but let me not keep you from planning your next campaign." Darcy studied Richard as he relaxed and reopened his book. Curious, Darcy asked, "Have you identified a specific battlefield?"

"No, that particular territory has yet to be defined. But, I must be prepared when one appears, and so should you."

Darcy opened the lone communication he had received from Rawlings. Richard peeked over his book when Darcy first chuckled aloud, and then noticed as his eyes narrowed until he was reading the letter through tiny slits. Richard wondered what had caused such a change in his cousin. Richard silently kept up his surveillance until Darcy, having refolded the letter, glared out the window sighing loudly.

This time, Richard could not suppress his curiosity. "What concerns you so?"

"Nothing. I have been meditating over a friend's despondency of late." Darcy rolled his eyes. "I had to step in to ensure an unworthy marriage did not take place. I am afraid it is taking longer than usual for him to overcome his infatuation."

"Unworthy? How so?"

"Mercenary in every respect. He was unable to see the truth." Darcy paused and recollected another friend in a loveless marriage. He promised himself that he would never again allow any friend to suffer Rawlings' fate. He realized Richard was still staring at him, awaiting further explanation. He shrugged. "The lady would not do for him. He could choose more wisely. One day, he will understand it was for the best, and I am sure he will thank me profusely."

Richard wondered which of his friends became ensnarled in an affair of that nature. Aware that Darcy knew many men of various standings, four of which had recently traveled to Netherfield Park, he merely shrugged and returned to his book. His mind lost its focus on the words as he tried to guess the friend Darcy had saved. Blake was able to handle his own affairs, Rawlings was not a shrinking violet and Kent did not seem unhappy at all. Must be Bingley. He is such a cork-brained hodge.

He put his book down as his thoughts turned to Mr. Kent, and realized now Darcy would never permit any permanent connections between a tradesman's son and Georgiana. Darcy would handle the situation exactly as needed, and Cousin Richard could remain as the kinder guardian.

No further conversation occurred until they neared the boundary of Rosings' property. Richard stared out the window, showing a curious interest, and unaccustomed to anyone looking forward to a stay with his aunt, Darcy broke the silence. "What interests you, Richard? You remind me of Georgiana on her birthday, waiting for her present."

"Oh. Did I not tell you? No, I imagine not, from that puzzled look." Richard paused as he enjoyed having information that his cousin did not for once. When Darcy's glare did not abate, he added, "Anne writes that the new parson has taken a wife and she has a visitor."

"By your interest, I can only assume it is a young lady. Do I presume correctly?"

Nodding, Richard smiled. "A beautiful and witty one, according to Anne's last letter to Victoria. I believe she is a little envious of her, and more than a little intimidated by one so independent of thought and mind.

"Do you know her? Where is her home?"

"Hertfordshire," Richard smirked. He enjoyed watching Darcy's expression change from boredom to curiosity.

"Which one is from there, the wife or the friend?"

"Both. Anne remarks often at Mrs. Collins grace and poise and wit. She is clever."

"A clever lady?"

"Yes, and she has beautiful, expressive eyes, and is not afraid to express her opinion even to our aunt. Black hair that is spun in curls is another feature. She plays the pianoforte and sings with such tone. She has a sister that is fair haired."

"When did they marry?" Darcy held his breath.

"Oh, not long after you left Hertfordshire. She was forced to marry him, I understand. Something about an entailment and someplace called Longbourn."

Darcy gripped the sides of the cushion. "Her name?"

"Mrs. Collins."

"No. What name was she known by in Meryton?"

"Let me see. Either Elizabeth or Charlotte."

"Which one?" Darcy leaned forward, his voice rising.

"Oh, wait. I was incorrect. The beautiful and witty lady is the visiting friend, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Mrs. Collins was Miss Charlotte Lucas. I believe you know her? You spoke of her excessively to Georgiana and me at dinner that night upon your return."

Relaxing, Darcy nodded his head in the affirmative and smiled. He also explained how he had the privilege of being in her company at Netherfield Park and at several social gatherings. She was exactly as Anne indicated; she was witty, very forceful in her opinions, most attractive and played the pianoforte with much feeling.

Richard chuckled at his cousin's smile every time he said her name, and he laughed when Darcy peered out the window in search of her. Richard knew the instant he caught sight of someone. His cousin nearly leaned his whole head out of the window to get a clearer view. Shaking his head, Darcy sighed, and leaned back in his seat.

"Darcy, Let us plan to wait on the new parson and his wife soon. It is the proper thing to do."

"Yes. A visit would be proper."

"And Aunt Catherine would expect us to show respect."

The carriage stopped in front of the main doors, and as they entered the house, they were informed that Lady Catherine and Anne awaited them in the drawing room. They visited until time arrived to dress for dinner.

Darcy, pent up since Richard's revelation, climbed the steps two at a time, entered his bedchamber and shut the door behind him.

Images of Miss Elizabeth swirled around in his mind. She is here, and Blake is not around to catch her attention. He fidgeted when a likeness of Blake materialized, staring directly at him with cold eyes. Moments later, the form of Bingley appeared alongside Blake, and he, too, stared, but his eyes were dull and listless. As quickly as the images appeared, they were equally dismissed, along with any concern Darcy may have experienced.

He stared out the window towards Hunsford. Tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth, until tomorrow, he thought. I will not let this opportunity pass. He suddenly turned, and with a smile on his face, left his room and descended the stairs for dinner.