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Chapter 1

Posted on 2011-05-01

Elizabeth Bennet was not having a good day.

At twenty years of age, she was the second of five daughters born to an obscure, country gentleman from Hertfordshire. Elizabeth was of middling height with a light and pleasing figure and was complimented frequently on her rich, brown curly hair, sparkling eyes, and excellent teeth. She would be considered the beauty of her family if not for her eldest and youngest sisters.

Jane possessed all that a lovely English rose could possibly want--save fortune and connections--and Lydia, while very young and very silly, was vivacious, usually in good spirits, and womanly for her age. The other two sisters--poor Mary and Catherine, who went by the name of Kitty--were overlooked in comparison to their siblings. The elder took refuge in her books; the younger parroted Lydia's antics.

Elizabeth overcame her shortcomings in appearance by sharpening her mind. She prided herself on her discernment and wit, and many a pretentious person was the unknowing subject of her condescension. This was an occupation she shared with her father, who was as misanthropic as his favorite daughter was otherwise sociable and friendly. From Mrs. Bennet, Lizzy, as she was known to her family, inherited little save good looks and a jolly countenance.

Alas for our heroine--for Elizabeth Bennet is the heroine of our tale--she had no brothers, and her father's modest estate of Longbourn was entailed upon the son of a cousin. Because of this state of affairs, Mrs. Bennet's failure to produce a male heir resulted in that lady's obsession with making fine marriages for all her girls. While it would be well that the Misses Bennet would find happiness in the matrimonial state, the primary motivation for their mother was her own house and board, should she survive her good husband. Starving in the hedgerows was her constant nightmare.

Therefore, when said cousin arrived to repair the breach between the Collins and Bennet families, Mrs. Bennet was determined that the young man would marry one of her girls. In that way, Mrs. Bennet could realistically expect to remain mistress of Longbourn until the time came for her to receive her heavenly reward.

You, gentle reader, knowledgeable in the ways of the world, might wonder at Mrs. Bennet's reasoning. Surely upon Mr. Bennet's demise, her son and daughter would establish the mourning widow in the dowager cottage. Such an idea never occurred to Mrs. Bennet. A daughter of hers, tossing her mother out of Longbourn? Unthinkable! This denial only fueled the good lady's fixation.

The Reverend William Collins of Hunsford was a tall, heavy looking young man of five and twenty, with a grave and stately air, formal manners, and a rather empty head. He could read and write--useful talents for someone in his profession-- but he lacked the intellectual capacity to understand fully what he read or wrote. He learned as little as possible at university, and it was only due to a fortunate chance that he enjoyed a somewhat prosperous living in Hunsford, rather than earning his bread as a missionary in some faraway place such as Africa or India. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was his patroness, and such was the man's gratitude that others might wonder if he had exchanged worship of the Almighty for glorification of the Mistress of Rosings Park, Kent.

Now established as a vicar, Mr. Collins was determined that since he was the heir to Longbourn, it was only right that the next lady of that estate should be chosen from the daughters of Mr. Bennet. Such was his generous object in visiting Hertfordshire, and his plan did not vary on seeing the ladies. His first choice was the eldest, but a quarter-hour's tête-à-tête with Mrs. Bennet before breakfast disabused him of that notion, as the general expectation was that the lady would soon receive an offer from a very respectable gentleman of five thousand pounds! Mr. Collins had only to change his favor from Jane to Elizabeth--equal next to Jane in birth and beauty--and it was soon done, even while Mrs. Bennet was stirring the fire.

Lizzy, as you might imagine from reading the earlier description of the lady, was not at all happy about this turn of events. Dutiful daughter she might be, but loyalty had its limits. Nothing could be further from Lizzy's notions of an agreeable companion for her future life than this vainglorious, simple-minded, fool of a minister, but her veiled protests to her mother went unheard and unheeded.

This situation was but one ingredient in Lizzy's stew of discontentment. Company was invited to dinner that night--the agreeable tenant of neighboring Netherfield Manor, his disagreeable relations, and his haughty guest. Mr. Bingley was by all accounts a complying and pleasant man with happy manners and generous conversation. He also had the excellent taste apparently to be enchanted by Miss Bennet, a situation that had much to recommend it.

His sister, Mrs. Hurst, was condescending and ill informed, while the other sister, Miss Bingley, was obnoxiously superior. What made these two ladies especially insufferable was their roots in trade. Their father worked himself to death on the docks of London to make the money that would ensure his progeny became part of the gentry. Of Mr. Hurst, little could be said; he was more interested in cards and brandy than in partaking of the other delights of country society.

Mr. Darcy was another matter altogether. It was whispered he was the owner of a fine estate in Derbyshire, which brought him ten thousand a year, and counted among his relations earls, bishops, and judges. A darkly handsome man of eight and twenty, he was tall and well-formed and surely would be in the dreams of every maiden in Meryton if he had proven to be as open and friendly as he was rich. Unfortunately, it was not two days after his arrival at Netherfield that the whole of Meryton declared the gentleman to be proud and disagreeable, well above the common folk of Hertfordshire.

It was enough that Lizzy had to share dinner with her unctuous cousin, but three hours at table with the Superior Sisters and Mr. Tolerable--for she had overhead an ungracious remark from the gentleman at the last assembly dance--was almost more than she could endure.

A third vexation was Mrs. Bennet's nerves. The lady of the house was in an uproar, dashing about as if the Prince Regent was due at the door any moment. To be fair, Mrs. Bennet might be a pickle short of a peck, but there was no better table set in Hertfordshire than at Longbourn. She soon decided that the presence of her darling daughters and hateful cousin--she would not forgive the man his existence until he was her son--was a distraction that could no longer be borne. She must have peace and quiet if she was to prepare a masterpiece that would cause Mr. Bingley to fall upon his knee and claim Jane for his own.

Lydia's intention of walking to Meryton was not forgotten. Every sister except Mary agreed to go with her; Mr. Collins was to attend them at the request of Mr. Bennet, who was most anxious to be rid of him for an hour or so.

In pompous nothings on Mr. Collins' side and civil assents on that of his cousins, their time passed till they entered Meryton. The attention of the younger ones was then no longer to be gained by him. Their eyes immediately wandered up the street in quest of officers, and nothing less than a smart bonnet or new muslin in a shop window could recall them.

However, the attention of every lady was soon caught by a young man of most gentlemanlike appearance whom they had never seen before, walking on the other side of the way with an officer of their acquaintance, a Mr. Denny by name. The civilian's appearance was greatly in his favor. He had all the best part of beauty--a fine countenance, a good figure, and very pleasing address. All wondered who he could be, and an introduction was soon entreated. The gentleman was a Mr. Wickham, a native of Derbyshire lately from London, who had accepted a commission in the militia that very week.

The whole party was still standing and talking together very agreeably when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were seen riding down the street. On distinguishing the ladies of the group, the two gentlemen came directly towards them and began the usual civilities. Mr. Bingley was the principal spokesman, and Miss Bennet the principal object.

"Miss Bennet!" cried he from horseback. "We were just on our way to Longbourn to inquire after you. Were we not, Darcy?" he said as he reluctantly tore his eyes from the lady.

Mr. Darcy corroborated the truth of Bingley's account with a bow and had just fixed his eyes on Elizabeth, when he was suddenly distracted by the sight of the stranger. Both changed color; one looked white, the other red. Mr. Wickham, after a few moments, touched his hat--a salutation which Mr. Darcy just deigned to return.

Elizabeth happened to see the countenance of both as they looked at each other and was all astonishment at the effect of the meeting. What could be the meaning of it? It was impossible to imagine; it was impossible not to long to know.

Jane seemed not to notice anything remarkable about the meeting. "We are just collecting a few items for our mother. She is so looking forward to our dinner tonight. May I introduce you to our cousin? This gentleman is Mr. Collins from Hunsford."

Mr. Darcy tore his furious gaze from a slightly quaking Mr. Wickham. "Hunsford, did you say?" he enquired more pointed than polite.

"Indeed," injected the clergyman. "I have the very good fortune to have earned the Hunsford living, thanks to the condescension of my very great patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park." The tall, fat man bowed deeply. A chuckle could be heard from Mr. Wickham.

"I say, Darcy," said Mr. Bingley, "that is your aunt, is it not?"

Mr. Darcy acknowledged it was so, an intelligence that sent Mr. Collins into raptures.

"Mr. Darcy--the nephew of the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh!" The gentleman took off his hat, placed his free hand over his heart, and executed a full bow from the waist. "What an honor for me! Forgive me not knowing you on sight. Such a noble visage can only belong to the family Fitzwilliam. You see, Lady Catherine has kindly aquatinted me with her splendid heritage. I can assure you, sir, of Lady Catherine's good health and that of Miss Anne de Bourgh, too. Your intended is surely the finest flower in Kent--nay, all England! It will be a great day in Hunsford when you take her away from us."

Elizabeth was surprised to hear that Mr. Darcy was an engaged man. No one in Hertfordshire had any notion of it, and for some reason, the information troubled her.

For his part, Mr. Darcy's crimson countenance did not fade, but his chin rose and his eyes narrowed. "Who did you say you were, sir?" His voice as cold as a strong winter's breeze.

The vacuous vicar smiled. "William Collins at your service, your lordship."

"I have no title. Keep your aggrandizements to yourself." Mr. Darcy's teeth hardly moved as he hissed, "By what right do you bandy about my family's business?"

Mr. Collins did not take offence. "Lady Catherine does confide in me, my good sir. I might be looked upon as her most important counselor."

"But you are not mine!" Mr. Darcy snapped. "You would do well to remember that and that you are in Hertfordshire, not Kent. Come, Bingley!"

Mr. Bingley had witnessed the entire exchange, as had many in Meryton. He blushed and nodded from his saddle to Jane. "Miss Bennet, ladies, gentlemen--until this evening." In another minute, Mr. Bingley rode on with his friend.

Mr. Denny and Mr. Wickham walked with the young ladies to the door of Mr. Philips' house and then made their bows, in spite of Miss Lydia's pressing entreaties that they would come in, and even despite Mrs. Philips' throwing up the parlor window and loudly seconding the invitation.

Mrs. Philips was always glad to see her nieces. The two eldest were particularly welcome, and she was eagerly expressing her pleasure for their company when her civility was claimed towards Mr. Collins by Jane's introduction of him. She received him with her very best politeness, which he returned with much more, apologizing for his intrusion without any previous acquaintance with her.

Mrs. Philips was quite awed by such an excess of good breeding, but her contemplation of one stranger was soon put to an end by exclamations and inquiries about another, of whom, however, she could only tell her nieces what they already knew. Mr. Denny had brought Mr. Wickham from London, and he was to have a lieutenant's commission in the ---- shire. She had been watching him the last hour, she said, as he walked up and down the street.

Lydia and Kitty thought that an excellent occupation and were soon at their chosen station, but unluckily for them, no one passed the window now except a few of the officers, who, in comparison with Mr. Wickham, were proclaimed "stupid, disagreeable fellows."

This judgment did not sway the girls once they learned of a party to be hosted the next day by Mr. and Mrs. Philips for those officers, or from demanding that their aunt invite her nieces too. This was agreed to, and Mrs. Philips added that they would have a nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets and a little bit of hot supper afterwards. The prospect of such delights was very cheering, and they parted in mutual good spirits.

As they walked home, Elizabeth related to Jane what she had seen pass between the two gentlemen. Elizabeth could not make any sense of the altercation, and though Jane would have defended either or both had they appeared to be wrong, she could no more explain such behavior than her sister.

Interspersed in Elizabeth's new sentiments about the gentleman was an unsettling feeling of disappointment. She knew no earthly reason why she should have such a feeling, but she could not rid herself of it. She made a silent vow to learn more on the morrow about the mysterious Mr. Darcy from the agreeable Mr. Wickham.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not having a good day.

Darcy left Netherfield early for the dinner appointment at Longbourn. He knew his demeanor was too cross for company, and the intensive simpering offered by Miss Bingley only blackened his mood. He needed to follow his usual practice of riding his troubles away on the back of a favored horse. Unfortunately, all his mounts were in London or Pemberley, and Bingley had neglected to bring more than one. Darcy had to make do with a rented beast from Meryton.

Since coming to Hertfordshire as guest and advisor to his great friend, Mr. Bingley, Darcy found he had to deal with a pair of consternations--one expected and one not. Mr. Bingley's sister, Caroline, had long labored to attach herself to the master of Pemberley. Darcy could be a one-legged midget with a humpback, and still Miss Bingley would shower the man with compliments and flirtations. She had her cap set on Pemberley and what the estate would bring to her--full acceptance by the First Circles--but Darcy was clever and had successfully kept her at arms' length for some years. This visit would be no different.

What was different was Elizabeth Bennet. Darcy could not for the life of him determine what the girl was about. Since setting eyes on her at a crowded and rowdy assembly--just the sort of gathering that always set his teeth on edge--he could not get the impertinent girl out of his head. Miss Elizabeth seemed lovelier each time they met, and it almost ignited a suspicion that the lady was primping herself for his benefit, but that conjecture was dismissed by any knowledge of her character.

Did she not walk three miles in mud just to visit an ill sister? Was not her complexion the healthy glow earned by long walks in the countryside, not the smooth ivory favored by young ladies of fashion? Did she not read the works of Aristotle and poetry by Wordsworth, rather than the dreadful novels found in the sitting rooms in Town? Did Miss Elizabeth not tease and challenge him at every turn, rather than sit and simper and make tiresome conversation in the manner of Miss Bingley?

Darcy had tried to keep his distance. It would not do to raise expectations. As lovely and interesting as Miss Elizabeth was, she was not of his circle. He was expected to do right by his Darcy and Fitzwilliam heritage and bring honor and money into the family by his marriage. It was what he was raised to do. Surely he could find an agreeable companion of his future life amongst the denizens of the ton as his father had before him. Somewhere in England was a woman of beauty, breeding, benevolence, and fortune who could carry on an intelligent conversation. It was a mighty challenge, but Darcy was not discouraged. Sors Ventus Temerarus was the family motto--Fortune Favors the Bold.

His dilemma was that this standard was met in almost every particular by Miss Elizabeth. If only she was the secret child of a viscount!

Instead, the object of his admiration was the second of five daughters born to a country gentleman of less than two thousand a year and the ill-tempered, silly daughter of a tradesman. Miss Elizabeth's condition in life was bad enough, but the behavior of her siblings, parents, and relations was intolerable. They were either bookish snobs who apparently lacked the wit to comprehend what they were reading, vainglorious gossips who forever disparaged their neighbors without tending to their own faults, or empty-headed fools. How did two superior ladies--Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth--emerge from this unfortunate situation?

Perhaps they were foundlings from a dead baron? If only Darcy and Bingley could be so lucky!

Bingley's recent preference was another problem. If Miss Elizabeth was unsuitable for him, Miss Bennet was almost as unpalatable for his friend. Bingley was trying to establish himself as a gentleman. For all of Jane Bennet's loveliness, she could do nothing for Bingley in that matter.

True, Bingley's quest for acceptance by the ton was half-hearted at best. Darcy knew his friend would be happy living as an obscure, country squire, but only if he was happy in his marriage. Bingley was a generous, cheerful, and trusting man--just the sort to attach himself to a pretty face that hid a cold heart. If Miss Bennet was genuine in her admiration of Bingley, Darcy would raise no complaint, save to make sure Bingley knew what he was about. He had seen his friend in love before. Miss Bennet was an enigma, however. She accepted Bingley's attentions with pleasure, but Darcy could see no special regard in her interactions with him. Would Darcy have to save his friend again?

Tonight Darcy was to suffer the company of Miss Elizabeth and her family. To bear the pain of intercourse with the foolish Bennets while trying to withstand the allure of Miss Elizabeth's charms and attempting to digest what was sure to be an unappetizing meal was certain to be shear torture. Mr. Collins' attendance would surely only add to his misery. Darcy expected his rebuke was sufficient and that the fool would not again mention Lady Catherine's fantasy of an engagement, but Darcy was certain that there was no end to the parson's insipid conversation--Darcy's aunt would have no other type of man as her vicar. Furthermore, there would be no escape once the Netherfield party returned home. Miss Bingley was certain to rail incessantly about the unsuitability of the Bennets.

If things were not bad enough, Wickham was in town! What was that reprobate doing here? Was Wickham following him? Oh, Darcy knew he should have listened to his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and let Georgiana's other guardian deal with his sister's erstwhile suitor. If he had, Wickham would have been fortunate to survive, but he would have to deal with being so disfigured that cows would scream at his approach.

A headache was to be his reward tonight, he was sure of it. He would tell his valet, Bartholomew, to prepare some white willow bark for a nightcap.

Darcy's musings were broken by the realization that it was growing dark. Blast! He had ridden too long. He needed to hurry to Longbourn, or he would be behind his time. Darcy was justifiably proud of his attention to promptness; it would not do to be late.

Darcy looked about, got his bearings, and spurred the hired horse towards Longbourn.

Elizabeth walked out of the garden of her home, her cat, Cassandra, in her arms, and wondered if wishing her mother ill was a sign that she was a bad daughter.

Normally, Mrs. Bennet would be nervous about a dinner party. For all of her defects, the mistress of Longbourn was celebrated as a gracious hostess. It was a reputation difficult to achieve, and one she was jealous to maintain, particularly as Mr. Bingley was to come to dine. Therefore, Mrs. Bennet's efforts and exclamations of calamity were redoubled. According to Elizabeth's mother, this dinner might mean the difference between having two daughters comfortably married--Mr. Collins was to be impressed, as well--and starving in the hedgerows.

Elizabeth sought quiet and received permission from a relieved Mrs. Bennet to step outside. Her mother would not have been as happy to know her daughter had retrieved her pet. The ginger-colored cat was tolerated because the girls loved her, and Mr. Bennet loved peace--peace that would be broken by the wails of the girls should the furry beast be sent away. Cassandra was an agreeable creature, at least for the girls, Mr. Bennet knew, and Elizabeth was his favorite daughter. So Mrs. Bennet's protests fell on unhearing ears, and Cassandra was firmly established at Longbourn.

Elizabeth strolled the lane in front of her house in a thoughtful haze, her mind wondering over the events in Meryton while her hand stroked the purring feline. Mr. Wickham was declaimed by all of the Bennet girls as a handsome and agreeable man, and even Mr. Collins said some words of praise for the new lieutenant--three times as many words as necessary for the compliment. Mr. Darcy was known to be a prideful and disagreeable man, but the look on his face was far above the disdain she would expect from the haughty gentleman. It seemed more akin to rage, disgust, and even hatred. Fear marked Mr. Wickham's countenance, as well as something else-- something Elizabeth could not quite identify. She hoped to learn more from Mr. Wickham tomorrow at the Philipses'. She felt she would learn nothing tonight from the silent and taciturn Mr. Darcy.

She wondered why Mr. Darcy was so angry at Mr. Collins' declaration of his engagement to Miss de Bourgh. While the gentleman gave no indication that he was betrothed, that was not an unusual occurrence; certainly it was nobody's business in Meryton as to Mr. Darcy's eligibility. But his disproval of Lizzy's foolish cousin's words seemed disproportionate. Did Lady Catherine de Bourgh disapprove of the match? Certainly, if Miss de Bourgh was anything like Mr. Collins' flowery description, Elizabeth could understand a loving mother's reluctance to unite a daughter for life with as unpleasant a man as Mr. Darcy, no matter what his income.

Elizabeth allowed a small chuckle to escape her lips. Mr. Darcy's set-down of Mr. Collins was very apt, even if the recipient was ignorant of it. Only the manners drilled into her from birth prevented Elizabeth from saying the same to her oblivious cousin.

Elizabeth shuddered, an action that disrupted Cassandra's contentment. She knew that her mother was set on her becoming Mrs. Collins and the next mistress of Longbourn. While confident that her father would support her certain refusal of any proposal from Mr. Collins, she knew the lamentations from Mrs. Bennet would be great indeed and painful to hear. She would much rather not deal with the issue at all, but nothing Elizabeth did discouraged Mr. Collins in any meaningful way. She feared that the man's stupidity would lead inevitably to scenes unpleasant to more than one person.

Elizabeth's fine, plump lips tightened. There must be a way to put Mr. Collins off! She set her mind on the problem at the cost of her comprehension of all else. That was why she did not hear the beat of hooves until the horse was around the bend of the road.

Startled, she loosened her grip on Cassandra, and to her horror, the cat ran towards the path of the large, brown stallion as its rider cried out, pulling hard on the reins. Stopping in the middle of the road, the cat arched its back and hissed before jumping away. This action was enough to cause the horse to turn and rear, and the next thing Elizabeth knew, the rider was on the ground, flat on his back, gripping his leg and screaming in pain, the horse dashing through the meadow.

Elizabeth's heart was in her mouth. "MR. DARCY!"

Mr. Darcy turned his agonized face to her, and Elizabeth was frightened to see that he had cut his forehead in the fall. "Miss . . . Miss Elizabeth," he gasped, "I am afraid I require assistance." He winced and cursed, his head falling back into the dirt and dust.

Instantly, Elizabeth took to her heels and dashed inside Longbourn. Within moments she had raised the house, and she returned with her parents, sisters, and Mrs. Hill, bearing cloths. Mr. Hill was dispatched without delay to Meryton to fetch Mr. Jones, the apothecary. The older ladies comforted Mr. Darcy and saw to his head wound while the others stood about in degrees of shock or amusement. Never before had Elizabeth dearly wanted to throttle her two youngest sisters.

Elizabeth was proud of her mother, however. Silly she might be, but Frances Bennet knew her remedies and, in the face of this calamity, showed great fortitude. The last time influenza visited Meryton proved that. Elizabeth expected this sensibility was only temporary; once the immediate crisis was handled, her mother would give free rein to her baser particulars, and her nerves would run wild.

Her father, however, was a disappointment. Concerned as he was over the accident, he did little to correct Lydia or Kitty besides a weak admonishment. It fell to steady Jane to quietly scold the youngest Bennets. Mary did little more than stare.

Mr. Collins was a trial. He stood, wringing his hands, intermittently praying to the Almighty to save his worthy servant, Mr. Darcy, when he was not agonizing over what this disaster would do to the affectionate feelings of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Elizabeth could see that Mr. Darcy was aware of his surroundings, for when not grimacing in pain, he was glaring at Mr. Collins.

"Would someone please silence that imbecile?!" Mr. Darcy finally managed.

Lydia and Kitty laughed aloud, and Lizzy almost joined them. It was a shame she did not like him, otherwise she would have admired Mr. Darcy for saying what they were all thinking.

Mr. Bennet finally took it upon himself to speak to his cousin, and just then, the carriage from Netherfield came into view. Mr. Bingley was out of the vehicle before it came to a stop and dashed to his houseguest's side, Miss Bingley and the Hursts close behind.

"My God!" cried Mr. Bingley. "What has happened? Darcy--Darcy, are you well?"

Mr. Darcy pushed away Mrs. Bennet's attentions to his forehead. "Must you yell, Bingley?"

"Oh, Mr. Darcy! Good lord! Someone fetch a physician--this instant!" Miss Bingley was quite overcome. "Mr. Darcy, I--"

Elizabeth saw Miss Bingley's eyes go wide, and she turned to see what had paled the lady's complexion so completely. All she could see was Mr. Darcy, trying to prop himself up by one elbow, the wound on his forehead once again bleeding freely, as such injuries are wont to do.

The next instant there was the sound of a body crumpling to the road as Miss Bingley fainted dead away.

"Oh, bother! Now I have two people to care for," grumbled Mr. Bennet. "Come, gentlemen, let us bring them inside."

It was not a good day for Mr. Bennet.

Chapter 2

Posted on 2011-05-08

Miss Bingley was brought into the house by her brothers, and as Mr. Bennet was considered too old and Mr. Collins too nervous to perform the same service for Darcy, two coachmen were commandeered for the task. Mrs. Bennet pointed at the parlor as she led the way upstairs to a room for Miss Bingley.

"Put Mr. Darcy in there. The room is quite warm as the windows are full west."

Mrs. Hurst followed the parade upstairs, and Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet accompanied their father into the parlor. The other Misses Bennet gathered at the door, while Mr. Collins volunteered to stand watch outside for the apothecary.

The men laid the gentleman on the couch as gently as they could. Darcy endeavored to act the gentleman and had not uttered a sound during his transport, save a grunt that escaped his lips when first lifted. By the time the party reached its destination, Darcy's face was wet with pain and aggravation. Mrs. Hill shooed the men away as she again tended to Darcy's injured forehead.

"There, there, dearie," the housekeeper said in the same soft tone that she had used years ago when caring for the girls when ill. "All will be right soon. Mr. Jones will be here in two shakes."

Darcy thought himself a man and such ministrations childish. He tried to halt Mrs. Hill's attentions. "I . . . I thank you, but that is not necessary." The weakness in his voice belied his words.

Mrs. Hill looked to Mr. Bennet. "I expect he could use something for the pain, sir," she said with a nod of her head towards the door. The action roused her employer from a bemused observance.

"Jane," he said, "please fetch a bottle of brandy from my book room." The lady turned, made her way through a gaggle of sisters, and was only a minute in returning with a bottle.

Mr. Bennet groaned softly. "Not my good Cognac! Another bottle, my dear." His words were soft, meant only for his daughter, but in the quiet of the room, every syllable was overhead by all, including Darcy. Lydia and Kitty found this hilarious, and Darcy saw that Miss Elizabeth blushed in mortification.

An acceptable brandy was soon acquired, and Darcy consumed the first glass quickly. Mr. Bennet poured a refill and enquired how the accident happened. Darcy glanced at a beet-red Miss Elizabeth.

"I was riding to Longbourn, and as I was slightly behind my time, I took the turn in the road rather quickly. I must have startled some animal. I had a glimpse of something furry in the road. Whatever it was, it frightened the horse, and I was thrown."

"You fell off your horse?" Mr. Bennet said in a voice that could have been kinder. "How extraordinary! Elizabeth, did you see what terrifying animal caused Mr. Darcy to be unhorsed?"

Darcy was taken aback at the older man's sarcasm. For her part, Miss Elizabeth seemed embarrassed as she said, "It was Cassandra."

"Indeed?" cried Mr. Bennet to the sound of Miss Lydia's and Miss Kitty's renewed giggles. "It seems the family cat almost did you in, Mr. Darcy!"

Darcy was angry. What sort of gentleman mocks another's misfortune? He wanted to lash out at the old fool, but refrained in deference to Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth and settled for a dry, "How amusing," before sipping his brandy, his intense stare fully on an unsettled Miss Elizabeth.

"Cassandra is very gentle. I am sure she was frightened out of her wits!" was Miss Elizabeth's defensive reply. "Such a big horse you ride, sir!"

Mr. Darcy winced as he shifted on the couch. "My apologies, Miss Elizabeth, for frightening your cat." He could not keep sarcasm from creeping into his voice. He did not blame Miss Elizabeth for the mishap and hoped the girl would understand and have pity on him.

Miss Bennet, ever the peacemaker, now broke in. "We are so sorry for your misfortune, sir. Are you in very great discomfort?"

Finally some kindness! "Thank you, Miss Bennet. Do not concern yourself. The pain is tolerable." Mr. Darcy's eyes darted to Elizabeth's at the last word, his mouth twitched into a painful grin. Surely the lady would understand the apology in his joke. The target of his attention and admiration did widen her eyes, and Darcy thought himself clever.

During this time, Mrs. Hill gently lowered the stocking on Darcy's left leg. "The skin is not broken, sir, and there's no blood, but I cannot like the coloring. It'll be black-and-blue by morning, sure as I'm born."

Just then there was a noise from the front of the house. "Make way! Make way, I say! The apothecary is here! Gentle cousins, make way!" The girls parted, and Mr. Collins burst into the room, followed by Mr. Hill and a third man, carrying a black bag.

"Oh, my esteemed Mr. Darcy, here is deliverance! Here is care!" cried Mr. Collins, who turned to the third man. "Make haste, sir! Make haste!"

The gentleman, middle aged and rather portly, walked directly up to Darcy. "Mr. Jones, the apothecary of Meryton, at your service. May I know your name, sir?"

"I am Mr. Darcy. Thank you for coming so quickly." Darcy hoped the man knew his business but held no real hope. He knew he had to get word to his personal physician in Town.

"No trouble at all," said the apothecary. "I understand you suffered a fall from a horse?" He glanced backward as the young Bennet girls snickered again.

"It is my leg, sir." Darcy knew the niceties had to be followed. "Tell me, is Miss Bingley well?"

Mr. Jones had begun to examine his leg and glanced up at the question. "I beg your pardon, sir?"

Mr. Darcy sighed. Was the man witless? "Miss Bingley--the lady who swooned. Is she well?"

Mr. Jones stood. "I know nothing of any lady. Is someone else ill?"

Darcy gaped. Did no one tell the man that a lady was in distress?

Miss Bennet stepped forward. "Yes. Another of our guests, Miss Bingley, fainted. She is upstairs."

"Oh, do not concern yourself about that!" Mr. Collins cried. "This is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire!"

"Oh, I see." Mr. Jones turned to Darcy. "Am I supposed to know you, sir?"

Mr. Collins bristled. "My good man, this is the honored nephew of the esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh!"

Darcy stirred himself to growl, "Enough! Mr. Jones, please see to Miss Bingley. I can wait."

Darcy had learned well many lessons from his father and family, and chief among those was a lady's comfort always came first. His earliest memories were those of his honored father taking the gentlest care of his beloved mother, who often suffered from some malady or another. Mr. Darcy had hardly left Mrs. Darcy's side during her last decline and grieved her until the day he joined her in heaven. An indelible impact had been made on Darcy. Miss Bingley might be the disagreeable sister of a dear friend, but she deserved all the respect and deference due a lady of quality.

"Mr. Darcy, I must protest!" Mr. Collins was scandalized.

"You may do so, Collins, so long as it is outside this room. Be gone with you." Darcy sipped from his refilled brandy glass, allowing the alcohol to loosen his tongue. He had had enough of the pompous parson. For his part, Collins blanched before fleeing the room.

"Sir," Mr. Jones objected, "your leg looks to be seriously injured, and you have a cut on your--"

"And I have my wits completely about me," Darcy cut in roughly. Was anyone in Hertfordshire capable of taking instruction? "I am a gentleman, sir. You will see to Miss Bingley first! Do I make myself clear?"

Mr. Jones shrugged. "As you wish. Will someone show me the way?" Miss Bennet volunteered to do the service, and the two left.

Darcy turned to Mr. Hill. "I believe you are Hill? Thank you for retrieving the apothecary. Be so kind as to rush to Netherfield and inform my man, Bartholomew, what has befallen me. He is to send an express to London for my physician, Mr. Macmillan. Do you have that name, man? Good. Have Bartholomew bring my necessities as quickly as may be. Off with you."

Mr. Hill nodded and took to his heels without so much as a glance at Mr. Bennet. It was then Darcy remembered that Mr. Bennet was still in the room.

"My apologies, sir. I should have asked for your leave. I meant no offense."

"None taken, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet quipped. "I am certain that a man of your station is used to having your own way."

Darcy turned his attentions to Miss Elizabeth; if Mr. Bennet was going to be difficult, he would waste no more time on him. Instead, he would entertain himself with a study of the lady's fine eyes, which were gazing at him in a rather peculiar and fascinating manner.

A young maid entered through another door. "Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Hill, the cook's compliments, an' she says the dinner's ready."

"Ah," said Mr. Bennet. "I do not suppose you can join us, Mr. Darcy."

Apparently, this was too much for Miss Elizabeth. "Father!"

"What? Forgive me for stating the obvious, but I do not think Mr. Darcy will be moving from my couch."

"He is quite right, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy allowed. "Thanks to this limb, I must remain." Darcy's only reason for speaking up was to give relief to the dismay written clearly across Miss Elizabeth's lovely face. As for Mr. Bennet, he could go to the devil.

Mrs. Hill turned to Darcy. "Are you hungry at all, sir? Stomach's not too upset? 'Tis usual in these cases."

Darcy thought about that. "I think I could manage something."

"Cook's white soup is very good. How's 'bout a wee bit of chicken in it? Does that sound tempting?"

"Perhaps with bread and wine?"

"Well-watered wine, sir," said Mr. Jones as he reentered the room with Bingley close at his heels. "I can report that Miss Bingley is well and resting. She suffered no injury as a result of her loss of consciousness."

"You know how queasy Caroline is about blood, Darcy," Bingley added. "How is your leg?"

"That is for Mr. Jones to determine. Please, do not forgo your dinner on my account. Go on and eat." He waved his hand imperiously.

"If you say so, Darcy," said Bingley dubiously. He extended his arm to Miss Elizabeth. "Shall we?"

Miss Elizabeth took Bingley's arm, gave Darcy one more unreadable look, and left the room. Meanwhile, her father, erstwhile master of Longbourn, stood silent--annoyed and impotent. Finally, Mr. Bennet nodded at his guest and followed.

Darcy felt no pity for the man. If he chose to be only an observer in life rather than a participant, then Darcy would leave him to stew in his own juices.

Mrs. Hill gestured at the young maid. "I've got to see to other things, Mr. Darcy. But here's Sally, an' her responsibility is your comfort." To Sally, she continued, "Mind none of your other duties, girl, until you hear my say-so."

"Aye, ma'am." The girl beheld her charge with wide, fearful eyes. Darcy, half in his cups from the brandy, could only shake his head.

"Never mind, Mrs. Hill. I am comforted that I am in the good hands of Mr. Jones and Sally." Darcy did not really believe it, but it was in his character to treat servants kindly. "I thank you for your attentions, but leave Mr. Jones to his work. I am at your disposal, sir!"

Elizabeth found Jane and Mr. Hurst at the foot of the stairs, Mrs. Hurst remaining above with her sister. Before Elizabeth could have more than a word with Jane, Mr. Bennet bade them into the dining room in a brusque manner. An anxious Mrs. Bennet awaited them. Now that the true crisis was past, she gave free rein to her nerves.

The party that took seats about the table was not a happy one. Mrs. Bennet, when not predicting that the dinner was ruined, expressed her fears that Mr. Darcy, should he not die, would seek redress through the courts, and the Bennets would certainly end their days in the poorhouse. Mr. Bennet said little; he only glowered into his soup. Jane discussed her concerns over Miss Bingley's health with the lady's brothers. A far-from-chastised Mr. Collins held court, pontificating. The subject of his monologue was his most respected patroness--how she must suffer should she know of her dear nephew's misfortune, how attached she was to her family and village, and how astute the grand dame's opinions. This extraordinary speech held small attention about the table, save to fuel the ill-bred amusement of Kitty and Lydia. Even Mary, who had shown some interest in the parson, simply sat, bored with the whole exercise. The three empty seats were a glaring reminder of those without.

And as for Elizabeth? Hers was a mind amazed at its own discomposure. She suffered from culpability, concern, and confusion.

Certainly blame for this entire incident could be fairly laid at her door. Hers were the hands that held Cassandra. Hers was the mind that was allowed to partake in selfish introspection and, therefore, took no heed of her surroundings. Oh, if she had but remained in the garden! Now Miss Bingley was shut up in the bedroom she shared with Jane, and Mr. Darcy was ensconced on the couch in the sitting room.

Elizabeth disliked Mr. Darcy--disliked him exceedingly--but she wished no harm to anyone, even such an unpleasant man. The accident caused a jolt of pain in Elizabeth's breast of such intensity that she was astonished. Seeing the tall, handsome gentleman writhing on the ground in agony was the great shock of her young life. She told herself it was her Christian upbringing that gave her the ability to pity Mr. Darcy.

The episode in the sitting room was disturbing in the extreme. Her father she knew to be a sardonic observer of the human condition, always ready to laugh at the follies of others. Before today, she thought this wit was a sign of his intelligence. But his performance with the injured Mr. Darcy seemed that of a confirmed misanthrope. Why had she not seen this before?

Elizabeth could not help but notice Mr. Darcy's commanding personality. Injured, prone on a couch, he had taken full control of the room with a few words and a glare, while her father did little more than chuckle or sulk. Yes, Mr. Darcy should have asked her father to send Hill to Netherfield, but in all honesty, that request should have been unnecessary; Mr. Bennet should have directly offered his people's assistance out of simple courtesy. Elizabeth toyed with the concept that Mr. Darcy, for all his other faults, was a man of action and cool thinking, while her father, jealous of his own peace of mind, was not.

She could hardly believe she was giving more than a moment's attention to the matter, but she could not turn from the introspection. What did Mr. Darcy think of her? Did the man hold her accountable for his injury? Perhaps he did--his dark scrutiny was as intense as it had been at Netherfield during Jane's late illness, when he was looking to find fault with her. However, he graciously took the responsibility for his fall onto himself. Was this simply due to the strict training of a proud gentleman, or was there something else--and if so, what?

The comment about his tolerable pain--Elizabeth could almost believe Mr. Darcy was making a joke at his own expense, but she dismissed the thought instantly. Everyone knew Mr. Darcy had no sense of humor. She wondered if the man knew how funny--and just--was his set-down of Mr. Collins.

Which brought up another mystery. When Mr. Darcy heard that Miss Bingley had been left unattended, he was almost beside himself. What could it mean? In spite of all evidence to the contrary, was Mr. Darcy favorably disposed toward Miss Bingley?

Elizabeth considered what she knew. Mr. Collins had reported that Mr. Darcy was the betrothed of Lady de Bourgh's daughter, and that Mr. Darcy was not happy that he had broadcast such news. Perhaps there was a clandestine attachment between Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley. That could account for Mr. Darcy keeping his engagement secret. Elizabeth had thought Mr. Darcy had treated Miss Bingley with barely disguised disdain while she was in residence at Netherfield. Could that be a clever performance to deceive onlookers? Did the two share laughs together behind closed doors at the people of Hertfordshire? If so, Mr. Darcy was a man without scruples.

Then, Elizabeth remembered how deferential Mr. Darcy had been with Mrs. Hill. Would a man without scruples treat another man's servant with respect?

Confusing, confusing man! She would think of him no more.

The soup was taken away, and just as the party began to partake of the next course, Mr. Jones came into the room. Mr. Bennet immediately invited the apothecary to join them to dine. This earned a comment from Mr. Collins about inappropriate condescension of a country squire--what was perhaps acceptable in Hertfordshire would not be tolerated in Kent. Mr. Bennet allowed this insult to pass without comment, and a red-face Mr. Jones took his seat--in Mr. Darcy's chair, Elizabeth noticed.

With quiet efficiency, a plate appeared before the gentleman while he gave his report. "As you know, Miss Bingley is well. She suffered no ill effects from her swoon. I understand she dines upstairs with her sister?" Assured that his information was correct, Mr. Jones continued, "I advised her to rest once she returns to Netherfield this evening. As for Mr. Darcy, he was not as fortunate. I suspect a fracture of the lower leg--the fibula, to be exact. The discoloration reveals the location of the injury, you see. Very painful, I am sorry to say."

"Oh, Mr. Jones, how dreadful!" Mrs. Bennet cried. "Shall you be able to save the leg?"

The apothecary was astonished. "Save it? Oh, most certainly, Mrs. Bennet! There are two bones in the lower leg, you see, and the fibula is the minor of the two. I have slapped a splint on it, and given quiet rest, the gentleman shall be as right as rain in a couple of months. Madam, this chicken is excellent!"

"I am glad to hear that the gentleman is on the road to recovery," said Mr. Bennet. "Mr. Bingley, would your carriage be sufficient to transport your friend back to Netherfield, or shall we use one of my wagons?"

"Transport?" cried the apothecary. "Oh, no, Mr. Bennet! The patient cannot be moved." This pronouncement was like a thunderbolt in the room.

"What?" returned Mr. Bennet. "What do you mean, he cannot be moved? Certainly you are not saying he must remain here!"

"Mr. Bennet, we cannot take any chances. Moving Mr. Darcy may exacerbate the injury; the bone may shift, endangering the leg! No, Mr. Darcy certainly cannot be moved. It is unthinkable."

"Oh, my goodness, my nerves!" Mrs. Bennet placed a hand on her heart. "I . . . I must prepare a room for--"

"Madam," Mr. Jones cut in, "Mr. Darcy must not be moved at all, even upstairs. He must stay where he is."

"In my parlor?" the good lady cried. The apothecary nodded. Mrs. Bennet bristled. "I never heard of such a thing!"

"Mama," offered Jane, "at least Mr. Darcy will be confortable. It is the warmest room in the house, you always said."

"True, very true," Mrs. Bennet reluctantly agreed.

"Warmth is important in recovery," Mr. Jones pointed out. "Would someone please pass the potatoes?"

"This is stuff and nonsense!" Mr. Bennet proclaimed. "Mr. Darcy is not going to spend two months in my parlor!"

"Of course not," said the apothecary patiently. "He should be able to tolerate a carriage ride in four weeks or so--no longer than six weeks, certainly."

"F-four to six weeks!" Mr. Bennet sputtered.

"I agree with you, dear cousin," Mr. Collins interjected. "This humble abode, which sadly will one day decline to my ownership, is not fine enough for a relation of my generous patroness. Other arrangements must be made."

"If you wish to endanger Mr. Darcy's leg and therefore his life," warned Mr. Jones, "then by all means move him. I take no responsibility for it."

Mrs. Bennet took fright. "Oh, Mr. Bennet! Think of Mr. Darcy's relations! They will have us transported to Australia!"

"Mama, please!" cried Elizabeth. "No one is going to Australia! Mr. Jones, are you quite satisfied with your diagnosis?"

"I am," he said. "As I told his valet, who arrived during my examination, Mr. Darcy should be kept quiet and warm for the next--"

The gentleman was interrupted by and extraordinary sound from without:

"Farewell and adieu to you, Spanish ladies,
Farewell and adieu to you, ladies of Spain;
For we've received orders for to sail for ole England,
But we hope in a short time to see you again!"

The table as one started at the singing--a loud baritone, slightly slurred. Everyone rose to their feet, the sound of chairs being moved drowned out the singing, and all dashed to the sitting room, where upon opening door, they beheld Mr. Darcy, a glass of brandy in his hand bellowing:

"We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors,
We'll rant and we'll roar all on the salt sea!
Until we strike soundings in the channel of ole England;
From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues!"

The gentleman took notice of his impromptu audience and called out to a tall, thin, white-haired man in the room, "Ah, Bartholomew, we have guests! Come in, come in!"

"I gave him laudanum," said Mr. Jones in sotto voce. "One cannot predict how the patient will react, especially in combination with sprits."

Shockingly, Mr. Darcy was laughing! "Come, Bingley, do not stand about in that stupid manner--fill a glass! We must sing to the ladies! I know you will not decline a glass, Hurst! Mr. Bennet, your brandy might be only adequate, but at least it is plentiful. Pour for us all, will you? Mr. Jones, too! We must sing! Sing to your good wife and fair daughters!

"Now let ev'ry man drink off his full bumper,
And let ev'ry man drink off his full glass;
We'll drink and be jolly and drown melancholy,
And here's to the health of each true-hearted lass!"

Mr. Darcy drained his glass before returning to the refrain. "We will rant and we'll roar like true British sailors . . ." Meanwhile, the other gentlemen stood in various stages of amazement, joined by most of the ladies. Kitty and Lydia were almost doubled over in laughter.

Once Mr. Darcy had finished his song, the man referred to as Bartholomew removed the glass. "Well done, sir," he said in the dry, unemotional voice of a senior servant of a rich man. "It is time to retire."

"Is it?" cried Mr. Darcy.

"Yes, sir. There is much to do tomorrow. You informed me to make certain that you get your rest."

"Did I? Well then, I suppose I must say goodnight to my friends." Mr. Darcy turned to the door. "Good night, all!"

Bartholomew crossed over to the open door, his long, lanky, almost frail body blocking the view of the room to the observers without. Without preamble, he addressed the apothecary, his voice dripping with condescension. "Are there any other instructions for tonight, Mr. Jones?" He looked down the long, narrow break of a nose, not for a moment hiding his disdain, proving the maxim there was no snob like the personal valet of a member of the Quality.

Mr. Jones only suggested a very small amount of laudanum if the patient had any difficulty sleeping. The valet gave the man a hard look. "Be aware, sir, that I have sent an express to Mr. Darcy's personal physician, the distinguished Mr. Macmillan of Park Place. He will most certainly be here in the morning."

Instead of taking insult at the servant's pronouncement, Mr. Jones seemed delighted. "Mr. Macmillan, you say? I have heard of the gentleman! Very high up in the Academy! I should be pleased to hear his diagnosis!" He turned to Mr. Bennet. "I shall stop by in the morning, then." He turned back to Bartholomew. "What time did you say he would be here?"

"I expect him no later than ten o'clock. We will not wait for you." Bartholomew then turned to Mrs. Bennet. "I take it you are Mrs. Bennet? The girl, Sally, is adequate. Please see that she is here first thing tomorrow to see to Mr. Darcy's breakfast."

Mrs. Bennet was flustered. "Of . . . of course. I shall tell Mrs. Hill and have her arrange quarters for you."

"That will not be necessary, madam," the valet said with only the barest civility. "I shall make do with an armchair in this room. But you may have a couple of blankets brought by. The rest of you, I would ask that you remain as quiet as possible for my master's sake."

Mr. Bennet finally roused himself to respond to the outrageous servant. "Now, see here! I am Mr. Bennet, and Longbourn is my house. Who are you to make such demands of my family?"

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes as he stared, not at Mr. Bennet's face, but at his cravat. "It has been a long time since you visited Town, I see. That knot has been out of fashion for ten years." Mr. Bennet blanched, but the valet continued. "This may be your house, sir, but this room is reserved for the use and care of my master. I have served the Darcy family all my life, father and son both, and I will have no one trouble Mr. Darcy whilst he is incapacitated. You can have no business here. Therefore, I wish you all a good night."

With that, he closed the door in the crowd's collective faces. The assembled looked at each other in astonishment.

Mr. Bingley shrugged. "My apologies, Mr. Bennet. Bartholomew is somewhat . . . protective of Darcy, I have learned through experience."

"Too right, there," agreed Mr. Hurst, his first words of the evening, save a couple of grunts.

Mrs. Bennet, white with anxiety, wrung her hands. "Well, let us return to dinner before it is spoiled!" She spun on one heel and made for the dining room, the others in her wake.

Two lingered--her husband and second daughter, who stood by the closed door incredulously. Then, with a sigh, Mr. Bennet put his head down and followed the others.

Elizabeth remained flat-footed and flabbergasted in the hallway.

Spanish Ladies (Farewell and Adieu) – old English sailing shanty, circa 1796 – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZfYtCLA23s

Chapter 3

Posted on 2011-05-14

Elizabeth arose early and made an abbreviated toilette. She had retired right after Mr. and Miss Bingley and the Hursts returned to Netherfield and wanted to be downstairs in good time in to witness the arrival of Mr. Darcy's physician, the paragon from Park Place, Mr. Macmillan.

Alas, just as the maid finished her hair, she glanced through the bedroom window to see that a carriage and a curricle were being attended to by the groom. As she recognized Mr. Jones's curricle, she supposed the other must be that of the famous physician. She was too late.

Elizabeth was not made for gloom, so she made her way into the dining room in good humor. Only those who knew her intimately could perceive a slight air of disappointment in her mood. One of those people was her father who, to Elizabeth's surprise, had arrived at the breakfast table before her.

They greeted each other affectionately, and save for informing Mr. Bennet that Jane would soon be coming down, they ate in agreeable silence. It was not long after that Mr. Jones came into the room accompanied by a distinguished gentleman, introduced as Mr. Macmillan. Elizabeth was impressed with his serous mien yet gentle manner of speaking. At Mr. Bennet's invitation--given reluctantly, Elizabeth was sorry to see--the two men of medicine helped themselves to the offerings at the side table. By that time, Jane had joined the party, and Mr. Macmillan gave his report as he ate.

"I must concur with the diagnosis of my colleague here." He indicated Mr. Jones. "It is my belief that Mr. Darcy has suffered a simple fracture of the fibula. There seems to be no damage to either the knee or ankle, and from what one can judge by the aspect of the leg, the bone has not shifted out of place. With time, Mr. Darcy should have a full recovery."

"How much time?" was Mr. Bennet's hopeful question.

"The leg must be immobilized for at least two months before we can chance placing weight on it."

Mr. Bennet dropped his face into a hand. "And can he be moved?"

"I should not think Mr. Darcy will be fit for travel for at least four weeks, sir. These things take time."

Mr. Bennet groaned, earning a sharp look from his favorite daughter.

"I am certain that they do," said Jane to Mr. Macmillan. "Is Mr. Darcy in any discomfort?"

Mr. Macmillan's countenance brightened at Jane's concern. "There is pain, to be sure, but it can be managed with quiet and laudanum." He turned to Mr. Jones. "Careful administration of laudanum. I understand there was an unfortunate incident yesterday."

The color rose in Mr. Jones's face. "Yes . . . well, the determination of the proper dosage is often a matter of trial and error."

The London physician immediately set the other man at ease. "Very true. I meant no disparagement of your abilities. Rather, I am impressed with your knowledge. If you will pardon me for saying so, you are very well learned for a country apothecary."

Mr. Jones preened. "I thank you, sir. After finishing my apprenticeship and beginning my practice, I began reading any medical text that became available to me. I have an uncle who is a solicitor at Chancery Court, and he taught me Latin. I have had the honor of reading several treatises by you, Mr. Macmillan, and have learned a great deal. Your views on phlebotomy and its substitutes were very enlightening."

"You are very kind. But why remain a mere apothecary? Surely you have the training to be a surgeon."

Mr. Jones shrugged. "While there is no surgeon in Meryton, one from Hertford can always be gotten when such services are required. The distance is not too great. To own the truth, I dislike the saw; I much prefer my potions and elixirs. I leave the bloody work to others."

Mr. Macmillan chuckled. "You have all the makings of a physician! There are many of my brothers who will not soil their hands on a patient. I do not hold to that and am considered a bit of a radical."

"Your splint was a revelation, sir," said the apothecary. "You immobilize the knee and ankle?"

"Yes--a French invention. They do make things besides wine and trouble."

This impromptu meeting of the mutual admiration society was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. Bingley. The pleasant young man greeted everyone happily, particularly Jane, which earned a blush from the lady. For Elizabeth's part, she was happy that the Superior Sisters had not accompanied him. Mr. Bingley was introduced to Mr. Macmillan, and after refusing a plate--he had eaten before leaving Netherfield--he reported that his sister was much recovered from her swoon the day before and asked about his friend. Given the same intelligence as the Bennets, Mr. Bingley thanked the physician for his quick response to Bartholomew's summons.

"Do you now return to London, sir?"

"No," replied Mr. Macmillan. "I intend to spend the night and readjust the splint tomorrow. There may be some swelling. Mr. Darcy's man, Bartholomew, will attend me, and I shall show him how it is done."

"If you do not mind, I should like to observe," offered the apothecary. "I am always looking to improve my technique." Mr. Macmillan assured him that his presence would be welcomed.

"You cannot stay here!" Mr. Bennet said ungraciously.

The reader can be assured that this pronouncement was met with astonishment by all assembled.

Seeing his error, Mr. Bennet softened his objection. "We are rather full up, Mr. Macmillan, with Mr. Collins in residence. I am sorry we cannot accommodate you." As much as he tried, his tone left the company convinced that Mr. Bennet's regrets were at best half-hearted. Elizabeth could not believe her father could show such ill-breeding.

"I certainly understand your predicament, Mr. Bennet," said the physician with the grace Elizabeth's father should have shown, "but there is no harm done. I had already fixed my mind to stay at an inn in Meryton."

"Nonsense!" cried Mr. Bingley. "We have rooms enough at Netherfield, and we are less than three miles away. You shall stay as my guest; I insist upon it!"

Elizabeth was pleased by Mr. Bingley's generosity and was happy that the usually reserved Jane allowed herself to smile fully at her erstwhile suitor. Mr. Macmillan demurred, of course, but Mr. Bingley was persistent, and soon the physician agreed to the scheme. As the rest of the Bennet family remained above stairs in the embrace of Morpheus, the remainder of the breakfast passed in a quiet and agreeable manner before Mr. Bingley and the two men of medicine took their leave.

As was their settled routine, Mr. Bennet retreated to his book room, Jane took up her embroidery in the sitting room, and Elizabeth indulged in a walk in the garden. The flowerbeds were mostly barren, prepared for the coming winter's sleep, and Elizabeth had to be content with the crunching of the leaves beneath her feet while she turned her thoughts once again to their unexpected guest.

Every moment in Mr. Darcy's company seemed designed to throw her into more confusion as to his character. Never in all her life did Elizabeth expect to see anything like the exhibition of the previous evening, and that Mr. Darcy was the performer . . . well, she had no words to fully express her astonishment.

She knew that the gentleman was under the influence of laudanum and brandy, and therefore had no control over and bore no responsibility for his actions. But to sing a drinking song--in honor of the ladies of Longbourn, he claimed! His disheveled, smiling countenance was undeniably handsome, she had to admit. And that voice! That deep baritone sent shivers down her backbone! Elizabeth's traitorous heart was at war against her reason. How could she admire and despise a man in the same instant?

Never had Elizabeth longed for a day to pass as quickly as she did that day. The Philipses' party that evening would bring her in contact with Mr. Wickham and perhaps the answer to a growing mystery.

"Are you done with your breakfast, sir?" asked Sally.

Darcy, half sitting up on the couch, handed the maid his nearly empty plate. "Yes. My compliments to the cook. The chicken was very fine." It was no false compliment; for all of Longbourn's shortcomings, there was nothing wrong with the quality of the food served there.

Sally smiled prettily and set the plate aside. "Are you confortable, sir? Shall I fluff the pillow? A blanket--shall I fetch you one? You mustn't catch your death."

Darcy heard Bartholomew's huff of exasperation, and Darcy himself barely stopped rolling his eyes. He had experienced this phenomenon before--a young maid's flirtations while he was a guest at a friend's estate. There were those of his acquaintance who would not hesitate to take advantage of the situation, but they were not Fitzwilliam Darcy. He would never lower himself to bed a servant; he would never act as had Wickham.

The thought of his former childhood playmate darkened his expression. Wickham in Meryton! Nothing good could come of that! Thank goodness he had not brought Georgiana to Netherfield. It had been many months since Ramsgate, but his sweet sister still suffered from mortification and had withdrawn from society. How much worse would it be for her to be but a few miles from that reprobate!

Apparently, his morose thoughts were transparent, for Sally grew worried and concerned. "Oh, sir, are you in any pain? Mr. Bartholomew, more laudanum if you please!"

"No, no," Darcy labored to reassure the girl, "I am quite comfortable."

Actually, he was not. A few hours on the Bennet's couch might be agreeable, but a full night's sleep had done away with the sofa's appeal. The light dose of laudanum administered that morning had done little to relieve his discomfort. What made matters worse was that Darcy could not move very much; he was limited to placing both legs on the sofa or his right foot on the floor. In either position, he was flat on his back, his left leg immobilized. And now Macmillan said he was not to be moved for a month, except for the necessities? A month on this couch? In what hell had Darcy landed?

Bartholomew answered a knock on the door; it was Miss Jane Bennet. "Mr. Darcy, are you up to having visitors?" the lady asked kindly.

Darcy set aside his self-pity. "I should like it of all things, Miss Bennet. Please . . ." He gestured to a chair near the couch. Once she was seated, Bartholomew begged to be excused, saying he had a few things to discuss with Mrs. Hill. The valet left, leaving the door slightly open, while Sally, in the role of chaperone, busied herself by puttering about, dusting the room.

Miss Bennet worked on her embroidery while sharing small talk with Darcy. After only a few minutes, he found himself almost as much at ease talking to her as he had been in conversing with Miss Elizabeth at Netherfield weeks before--easier in some ways, for he was not fighting the attraction he felt for her sister. They spoke of family and horses, two subjects Darcy enjoyed. He was surprised to learn that Miss Elizabeth did not ride; a childhood fright had quite put her off the occupation. Darcy found himself speaking of the joy he found in riding with Georgiana when they were interrupted.

"Oh, go away, you furry thing!" cried Sally.

Darcy glanced at the door and saw a ginger cat slowly walking in.

"Oh!" cried Jane. "No, no, Cassandra, you are not welcome here." She put aside her embroidery and rose to expel the cat, but it was too quick for either lady and, with a bound, planted itself on Darcy's chest. The cat was not light, and Darcy gave a woof, but the feline was not discouraged and settled down upon the prone man.

"Oh, Mr. Darcy, I am so sorry!" Miss Bennet made to remove the beast, but Darcy forestalled her.

"No, no, I am not troubled. After all, this is her house, not mine." He glanced at the purring cat. "I believe we have met before, although we have not been properly introduced."

Jane turned bright red. "This is our cat, Cassandra. I am afraid you met yesterday."

"I thought I recognized the color." Darcy gently rubbed the animal behind the ears, and the cat accepted his attention with rumbling delight. "Come to apologize, eh? Very well--I suppose the blame must be shared with the horse and its rider. You are welcome here, Miss Cassandra."

"She is very sweet to us but not usually accepting of strangers." Miss Bennet smiled. "You have made a conquest."

Darcy chanced a quick glance at Sally, who was watching the scene with adulation. There was one conquest he would eschew, even if his life depended on it.

"Your sister must be very worried about you," Jane observed.

Darcy absently stroked the cat. "She would be if she knew of this."

"She does not?" Jane said with some emotion. "Has no one written her?"

"I would, but the laudanum--it is difficult to concentrate."

Miss Bennet firmed her lips, an act Darcy heretofore thought the lady of incapable of performing. "Then allow me to assist you. We together shall pen a quick note to her." Before Darcy could protest, the lady marched to a desk opposite, sat herself down, and gathered ink and paper. She turned her head, brandishing a pen. "Tell me what you wish to say, sir, and I shall write it down."

It took a while and several drafts, but in the end, Darcy signed a letter written by Miss Bennet that informed Georgiana that an accident would necessitate his remaining in Hertfordshire until Christmastide. He claimed that he was in no danger or pain and only regretted this time away from his dear sister. He charged her to attend to her lessons and not worry, and soon he would join her in London. Miss Bennet rose with the now-sealed letter in her hands.

"I shall have my father post it directly."

Darcy tried to dissuade her from that action--he could certainly pay for the postage--but Jane would not hear of it. She was almost at the door when it was opened by Mrs. Hill, a beaming Mr. Bingley close behind. The reason for Bingley's quick return to Longbourn was instantly revealed.

"Cheer up, Darce!" cried Bingley. "I have brought you a bed!"

He had brought more than a bed. The entire Netherfield party was now in attendance, including Mr. Hurst and Mr. Macmillan. The ruckus raised the house, and soon the hallway was filled with Bennets, Bingleys, and other persons as Mr. Hill and a few other servants moved the furniture about the parlor and assembled the bed.

The crush of people convinced Cassandra to flee the scene. Mrs. Bennet, once she recovered from her initial astonishment at the scheme, joined the work of redecorating whole-heartedly, assisted by Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth. The younger Misses Bennet did little but stare. Miss Bingley contented herself with making a few suggestions, all of which were ignored. As for the master of Longbourn, he simply threw up his hands and retreated to his book room in a huff.

Once the bed was established, Mr. Macmillan requested a few minutes privacy, and under his direction, Bartholomew and Mr. Hill helped Darcy into his new accommodations.

Darcy sighed as he lay back on the mattress, Mrs. Hill and Sally tucking the covers about him. Never had a bed felt so welcomed than after his forced occupation of the Bennet's couch. The ladies returned and completed the re-orientation of the parlor.

"There, Mr. Darcy!" cried Mrs. Bennet when the labors were completed. "This is as fine a room as may be found in Hertfordshire, I declare! Warm and cozy--certainly better than Purvis Lodge. The attics there are dreadful!"

"Harrumph!" Mr. Collins turned up his nose. "Good enough for Hertfordshire, I suppose, but nothing to Rosings Park! I say that these accommodations are unfit for my patroness' nephew, and he should be moved to better quarters."

"Mr. Collins," said Darcy wearily. "Please. Leave. My. Presence. Now." The fastidious parson flushed and fled while Darcy turned his attention to Mrs. Bennet. "Madam, this room is perfectly acceptable. I thank you and your staff for your kind attentions."

A wide smile grew on the matron's face. "I am told by Hill that you fancied Cook's white soup. I knew you would. It the best in the district." She leaned in and continued, "It is ten times what you will find on Lady Lucas' table!"

"Mother!" cried Miss Elizabeth.

"What?" Mrs. Bennet replied. "I speak nothing but the truth. Ask Mr. Darcy--he is the connoisseur." She turned back to her guest. "I suppose you have three French cooks at your Pemberley, at least!"

For once, Darcy found amusement in the foolish lady's boasting, but said in all honesty, "Mrs. Bennet, your white soup is as fine as I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying."

"There, you see?" Mrs. Bennet cried triumphantly before her eye fell on the clock. "Oh, but we must get ready for the Philipses' party! Pray excuse us, Mr. Darcy--I am certain you appreciate the responsibilities we have, being one of the most distinguished families in the district!" She sighed. "We are always dealing with invitations, and we must honor them. It would not do for us to so disparage society. Surely, you understand these things!"

Darcy did not know if it was an aftereffect of the laudanum, but he was quite diverted by Mrs. Bennet. "I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours. I hope you will enjoy yourselves."

The party at the Philipses' was tolerable only because of the inclusion of the militia. The officers of the ---- shire were in general a very creditable, gentlemanlike set, and the best of them were of the present party. Mr. Wickham was as far beyond them all in person, countenance, air, and walk, as they were superior to the broad-faced, stuffy Uncle Philips, breathing port wine, who held court in a corner of the room.

Almost every female eye in the room was on Mr. Wickham, but it was Elizabeth and Lydia with whom he seated himself. At first, there was danger of Lydia monopolizing the conversation with idle talk of ribbons and red coats, but fortunately for Elizabeth, the gentleman seemed predisposed toward the topic closest to her heart; namely, the history of his acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. He enquired how long Mr. Darcy had been staying in the neighborhood.

"About a month, almost all of that time at Netherfield until his accident," said Elizabeth.

"Now we are stuck with him in our parlor!" added Lydia.

"I do understand your feelings," said the officer. "Even a pleasant man in pain can be a difficult guest."

Lydia laughed. "There is nothing pleasant about Mr. Darcy, I can tell you."

"The story about town is that he was thrown from his horse because he was overtaken by drink. I hope that is not true. It would be very shocking if it were," Mr. Wickham carefully said.

"Oh no, it was not drink but our cat!" Lydia explained.

Elizabeth, wanting to get back to the subject of interest, said, "He is a man of very large property in Derbyshire, I understand."

"Yes," replied Wickham, "his estate there is a noble one. A clear ten thousand per annum. You could not have met with a person more capable of giving you certain information than myself, for I have been connected with his family from my infancy." He sighed. "You may well be surprised at such an assertion after seeing the very cold manner of our meeting yesterday. Are you much acquainted with Mr. Darcy?"

"As much as I ever wish to be," cried Elizabeth heatedly. "I spent four days in Netherfield with him prior to his accident, and I think him very disagreeable."

"I think him not at all handsome!" Lydia declared.

"I have no right to give my opinion," said Wickham, "as to his being agreeable or handsome or otherwise. I am not qualified to form one. I have known him too long and too well to be a fair judge. It is impossible for me to be impartial."

Lydia laughed again. "He is not at all liked in Hertfordshire. Everybody is disgusted with his pride. You will not find him more favorably spoken of by anyone."

"I wonder," said Mr. Wickham, "whether he is likely to be in this county much longer."

"That is up to his physician, I am afraid," said Elizabeth. "I hope your plans in favor of the ---- shire will not be affected by his being in the neighborhood."

"Oh, no! It is not for me to be driven away by Mr. Darcy. If he wishes to avoid seeing me, he must stay away." He smiled. "Which should not be difficult, given the present circumstances."

Mr. Wickham then spoke of Derbyshire. "His father was one of the best men that ever breathed, and the truest friend I ever had. I could forgive Mr. Darcy anything and everything but disappointing the hopes and disgracing the memory of his father.

"You see, the church ought to have been my profession. I was brought up for the church, and I should by this time have been in possession of a most valuable living, had it pleased the gentleman we were speaking of just now. The late Mr. Darcy bequeathed to me the next presentation of the best living in his gift. He was my godfather and excessively attached to me. But when the living fell, it was given elsewhere."

"Good heavens!" cried Lydia. "While a red coat suits you exceedingly well and I should hate to see you in black, I am sorry you lost the living!"

Elizabeth asked, "But how could that be? How could the late Mr. Darcy's will be disregarded? Why did not you seek legal redress?"

Mr. Wickham shrugged his shoulders. "There was an informality in the terms of the bequest as to give me no hope from the law. The living became vacant two years ago, exactly as I was of an age to hold it, and it was given to another man. I cannot accuse myself of having done anything untoward to deserve to lose it, but I have a warm, unguarded temper, and I may perhaps have sometimes spoken my opinion of him, and to him, too freely. I can recall nothing worse. But the fact is that we are very different sorts of men, and he hates me."

"This is quite shocking!" said Elizabeth

"He deserves to be publicly disgraced!" was Lydia's opinion.

Mr. Wickham shook his head slowly. "Some time or other he will be, but it shall not be by me. Until I can forget his father, I can never defy or expose him."

"But what," said Elizabeth, "could have been his motive? What can have induced him to behave so cruelly?"

"A thorough, determined dislike of me," said Mr. Wickham in a matter-of-fact manner. "A dislike which I cannot but attribute in some measure to jealousy. Had the late Mr. Darcy liked me less, his son might have borne with me better, but his father's uncommon attachment to me irritated him, I believe, very early in life. He had not a temper to bear the sort of competition in which we stood--the sort of preference which was often given me."

"I had not thought Mr. Darcy so bad as this," Elizabeth reflected, "but I do remember his boasting one day at Netherfield of the implacability of his resentments, of his having an unforgiving temper. His disposition must be dreadful."

"Even though his singing voice is quite nice," Lydia allowed.

"I will not trust myself on either subject," replied Wickham, "I can hardly be just to him. But I can state that almost all his actions may be traced to pride, and pride has often been his best friend. It has connected him nearer with virtue than any other feeling. But we are none of us consistent, and in his behavior to me, there were stronger impulses even than pride."

"Can such abominable pride as his have ever done him good?" demanded Elizabeth.

"Yes. It has often led him to be liberal and generous--to give his money freely, to display hospitality, to assist his tenants, relieve the poor, and mind his singing master. Family pride, and filial pride--for he is very proud of what his father was--have done this. Not to appear to disgrace his family, to degenerate from the popular qualities, or lose the influence of the Pemberley House--these are a powerful motive. Why, when I was a boy, I lost the principal part in the annual Christmas pageant to Darcy, even though my voice was universally hailed as excellent. I am sure to this day there was skullduggery about.

"He has also brotherly pride, and some brotherly affection makes him a very kind and careful guardian of his sister. You will hear him generally cried as the most attentive and best of brothers."

"What sort of a girl is Miss Darcy?" asked Lydia.

He shook his head. "I wish I could call her amiable. It gives me pain to speak ill of a Darcy, but she is too much like her brother--very, very proud. As a child, she was affectionate and pleasing and extremely fond of me. I have devoted hours and hours to her amusement. But she is nothing to me now. She is a handsome girl, about fifteen or sixteen, and I understand, highly accomplished. Since her father's death, her home has been London, where a lady lives with her and superintends her education."

Elizabeth frowned. "I am astonished at Mr. Darcy's intimacy with Mr. Bingley! How can Mr. Bingley, who seems to be good-humor itself, and is, I believe, truly amiable, be in friendship with such a man? How can they suit each other? Do you know Mr. Bingley?"

"Not at all."

"He is a sweet-tempered, amiable, charming man," said Elizabeth, but Lydia had another opinion.

"He is a bore, but he loves Jane, so we tolerate him."

"Lydia!" cried her sister.

Meanwhile, Mr. Collins was loudly describing to Mrs. Philips the very grand chimneypieces to be found at Rosings Park. Mr. Wickham's attention was caught, and after observing Mr. Collins for a few moments, he asked Elizabeth in a low voice whether her relation was very intimately acquainted with the family of de Bourgh.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," she replied, "has very lately given him a living. I hardly know how Mr. Collins was first introduced to her notice, but he certainly has not known her long."

"You know, of course, that Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Lady Anne Darcy were sisters, consequently, that she is aunt to your houseguest."

"Yes, that is our understanding."

Lydia said, "But we never heard of her existence until the day before yesterday."

"Her daughter, Miss de Bourgh," said Wickham, "will have a very large fortune, and it is believed that she and her cousin will unite the two estates."

The verification of Mr. Collins' information made Elizabeth smile as she thought of poor Miss Bingley. Vain indeed must be all her attentions, vain and useless her affection for his sister, and her praise of Mr. Darcy if he were already destined for another.

"Mr. Collins speaks highly both of Lady Catherine and her daughter, but from some particulars that he has related of her ladyship, I have lately come to suspect his gratitude misleads him, and that in spite of her being his patroness, she is an arrogant, conceited woman."

"I believe her to be both in a great degree," replied Wickham. "I have not seen her for many years, but I very well remember that I never liked her and that her manners were dictatorial and insolent. She has the reputation of being remarkably sensible and clever, but I rather believe she derives part of her abilities from her rank and fortune--part from her authoritative manner and the rest from the pride of her nephew, who chooses that everyone connected with him should have an understanding of the first class."

Elizabeth allowed that he had given a very rational account, and she and Lydia continued talking with Mr. Wickham with mutual satisfaction until supper and gave the rest of the ladies their share of the officer's attentions.

When the party was done, Elizabeth went away with her head full of thoughts of Mr. Wickham. She could think of nothing but the gentleman and of what he had told her all the way home, but there was not time for her even to mention his name as they went, for neither Lydia nor Mr. Collins were ever silent. Lydia talked incessantly of Mr. Wickham. Mr. Collins described the civility of Mr. and Mrs. Philips, protested that he did not in the least regard his losses at whist, enumerated all the dishes at supper, and repeatedly expressed his fear that he crowded his cousins before the carriage stopped at Longbourn House.

All quietly departed upstairs, and Elizabeth did not know if she was relieved or disappointed that there was no repeat of the concert from the night before.

Chapter 4

Posted on 2011-05-21

Rain began falling the day after the Philipses' party, an unfortunate circumstance for Elizabeth as she had pondering to do, and nothing was more appropriate for pondering than a long walk in the countryside. Dispirited, she trudged downstairs and had her breakfast, one eye on the window. Her vigil had no effect on the weather; the cold November rain would stop and start but would not cease long enough to suit Elizabeth's purposes.

If she could not ponder, she would discuss, and after breakfast, she made her way into her father's book room. There she found Mr. Bennet engrossed in a biography of Julius Caesar. He put aside his study of Caesar's Gallic campaign--he was planning his own "rout of a barbarian or two," he said with a twinkle in his eye--and gave over his full attention to Elizabeth. Before she was fully settled in her favorite chair, they were joined by Jane. She, too, sought a discussion with her father.

Elizabeth frowned. The night before, after her return from the party, she had tried to talk with her dearest sister about Mr. Wickham's revelations, but to her surprise, Jane would not believe a word of it. She had spent time with Mr. Darcy, Jane said sharply--sharply for her--and "no friend of Mr. Bingley could act in so callous a manner," she declared. She allowed that there might be some misunderstanding between the two gentlemen, but if given the choice of believing the testimony of either man, she would stand by Mr. Darcy. With that, she ended the conversation and remained adamant, regardless of Elizabeth's protests.

Now the rare argument was to start again. It pained Elizabeth to disagree with Jane, but she felt her father should know Mr. Wickham's tale. She gave a brief accounting of Mr. Wickham's grievances, and Mr. Bennet listening attentively.

"Interesting," was his comment before turning to Jane. "You do not seem to agree with Lizzy."

Jane continued her uncharacteristic behavior. "I cannot, Father. I am sure that Mr. Wickham truly believes that he has been harmed by Mr. Darcy, but in my dealings with the gentleman, I have found Mr. Darcy to be honorable and thoughtful."

"Thoughtful!" cried Elizabeth.

"Yes," said Jane. "Just yesterday, I helped Mr. Darcy write a very kind letter to his sister. It was apparent to me that he is much attached to her."

Elizabeth almost sighed. She had known for years that Jane was the most tenderhearted person, always thinking the best of everyone, but this was a bit much. Of course Mr. Darcy would send a letter to his sister! But that did not speak to Mr. Darcy's sensibilities at all. Besides, Mr. Wickham had names, proofs--there was truth to his looks.

Mr. Bennet grunted. "Yes, and I posted it. I hope this will not lead to a flood of letters from London--my pocketbook may not survive. This circumstance will cost me more than I feared."

"Father!" cried Jane. "You must not jest so! I am certain that Miss Darcy would be concerned over her brother's health."

"Of course, of course. I can afford a few letters." Mr. Bennet gave his judgment. "It seems this Mr. Wickham has called our guest's character into question. Now we all know that Mr. Darcy is a proud, unpleasant sort of man, used to getting his own way--" the last part was uttered with a trace of bitterness-- "but this indictment is very serious. We should keep it in mind. However, true or not, it does not change the present circumstances. The fact of the matter is that Mr. Darcy will be in residence at Longbourn for some time. It would be best to keep this intelligence to ourselves and refrain from inviting Mr. Wickham to Longbourn whilst Mr. Darcy is here. Are we agreed?"

Elizabeth colored. "Lydia was with me when I spoke to Mr. Wickham."

Mr. Bennet groaned. "Then the story will be all over Hertfordshire by week's end. Well, there is nothing for it."

"There is," said Jane. "We could hear Mr. Darcy's side of the story."

"What?" said an incredulous Mr. Bennet. "Walk right in and demand to know if Mr. Darcy disregarded the terms of his father's will? Jane, you know better than that!"

Jane was not chastised by her father's reprimand. "There are other, more proper ways. For example, we could let Mr. Darcy know that Mr. Wickham is airing grievances against him. I think it would be a kindness, and it would give Mr. Darcy the chance to defend himself before his reputation is ruined with all our neighbors."

Elizabeth thought it was too late for that. Her father had a different objection.

"Well, we cannot do it now. Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Jones are with him at present. They arrived just as I sat down for breakfast." He darkened. "I suppose I ought to warn Cook to put out more food."

Suddenly, there came a commotion at Longbourn's front door. Mr. Bennet arose in annoyance. "Who could be coming here in such weather? I had best see to it." However, before another step could be made, Mrs. Hill threw open the door to the book room.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Darcy to see Mr. Darcy, sir."

Elizabeth flew to her feet. Colonel Fitzwilliam's identity was a mystery, but Miss Darcy could only be Mr. Darcy's proud sister! Her eyes darted to Jane, but she was as astonished as the rest.

"I do not understand," she said. "Mr. Darcy's letter could not have reached her yet."

The three left the book room instantly and beheld the visitors in the hall. Colonel Fitzwilliam, wearing civilian clothes, was a man of about thirty years of age with a grim countenance but, in person and address, most truly a gentleman, particularly in the manner with which he assisted the young lady beside him. This had to be Miss Darcy. Tall and larger proportioned than Elizabeth, her figure was one of womanly grace. She was less handsome than her brother and obviously agitated. The colonel espied them and walked forward with a respectful, yet earnest manner.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam at your service, sir," he said to Mr. Bennet. "Allow me to present my cousin and ward, Miss Darcy. We are relations of Mr. Darcy. We are sorry to burst upon you like this, with no warning or introduction, but we have received the most distressing express and hurried to Hertfordshire to see with our own eyes Mr. Darcy's condition. I trust you will forgive us."

Mr. Bennet assured the colonel of their welcome while Elizabeth watched Miss Darcy closely. The lady had said not a word. Her eyes were red, and her body was shaking. Elizabeth's heart went out to the girl, and she and Jane moved quickly to comfort her.

After a hurried introduction, Miss Darcy finally managed, "Tell me, is my brother well? Please say that he is!"

The raw pain and fear in that simple statement almost overwhelmed Elizabeth. On close inspection of her face and voice, Miss Darcy proved to be younger than her figure suggested, and there was good sense reflected in her face. Elizabeth would have thought the girl's manners perfectly unassuming and gentle were she not so concerned over her brother.

"He is being well cared for, Miss Darcy, never fear. Father, let us take our guests to Mr. Darcy without delay."

Mr. Bennet agreed, and in short order, the little party was at the parlor door. Elizabeth espied a grimace come over her father's face as he suffered to knock on a door in his own house. It went unnoticed by the others, however, and all other thoughts disappeared as Bartholomew opened the door, and Mr. Darcy's relations rushed to enter before the valet could announce them. The Bennets followed at a more sedate pace, and Elizabeth's tender heart was captivated at the sight of a sobbing Miss Darcy half on the bed, embracing her brother, an ashen-faced Colonel Fitzwilliam standing close by.

The sound of her father's voice alerted Elizabeth that the physician and the apothecary were still in attendance. The noise had attracted others, and Mrs. Bennet, the remaining Bennet girls, and Mr. Collins soon crowded about the open doorway. Mr. Macmillan was concerned over the growing spectacle and requested Mr. Bennet's assistance in clearing the hallway. The opinion was shared by another gentleman in the sickroom.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth--your assistance, please," said Mr. Darcy. To his sister he gently requested, "Please, sweeting, go with these ladies and rest. You must not overdo. I shall be here when you have recovered."

"But, I would not leave you!" she cried pitifully.

Lovingly yet firmly, he replied, "I am going nowhere, Georgiana. Please do as I ask. These ladies will see to your comfort."

She glanced at Elizabeth and Jane, her tear-filled eyes wide with question and anxiety. "Are . . . are these the kind ladies you wrote of from Netherfield?"

That Mr. Darcy wrote to his sister of the ladies of Longbourn did not surprise Elizabeth, but that he had apparently done so with praise was astonishing, and her confusion was increased by the gentleman's smiling acknowledgement of the fact. With reluctance, Miss Darcy rose and walked over to Elizabeth and Jane, eyes downcast and cheeks flushed. Elizabeth saw that Colonel Fitzwilliam eyed them with suspicion and moved to join them, but he was forestalled by Mr. Darcy's request that he remain.

Elizabeth had no time to consider the meaning of the gesture. Miss Darcy was before them, and Elizabeth focused all her attentions on the poor young lady. Taking her hand, she asked if Miss Darcy had left from London that morning. She answered with a slight nod, and Jane declared that she must come away upstairs to refresh herself. Miss Darcy suffered to be led away from the room and down the hall to the stairs, the remaining members of the household gawking silently at them--except for Mr. Collins.

"Miss Darcy!" he cried. "Niece of my esteemed patroness! I am honored to finally make your acquaintance! Here," he tried to put himself between Elizabeth and the heiress, "allow me to assist you!"

"Mr. Collins, please!" cried Elizabeth.

"My dear cousin," Mr. Collins sneered in haughty superiority, "as Lady Catherine de Bourgh's most trusted servant, it is only right that I attend Miss Darcy!"

Miss Darcy flinched. "Who . . . who are you?"

From the parlor, Mr. Darcy roared, "MR. COLLINS! Your attendance, if you please!" The man jumped as if struck, quickly made his excuses, and scampered into the room. Thus freed from the vicar's presence, Elizabeth and Jane maneuvered the skittish Miss Darcy up the stairs.

Darcy had suffered a tolerable night--thanks to laudanum--but he was out of sorts when awaked at dawn by Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Jones. Their poking and prodding did nothing to improve his disposition, and the reapplication of the splint was excruciating. Mr. Macmillan had mercy on his patient, and he had just administered a light draught of laudanum when Darcy was assaulted by his relations.

Confusion gave way to joy, which quickly turned to disquiet. Darcy doted on Georgiana and loved Fitzwilliam like a brother, but his delight in being in their agreeable presence was quickly overcome by alarm that his sister was in the same neighborhood that now housed Wickham. Concern for the former and disgust for the latter was augmented by wonder: How did Georgiana learn of his misfortune? Unless Miss Bennet sent his letter by express--and she gave no such indication--someone else had written to London. Who that could be, Darcy had no idea.

Darcy set that issue aside for the moment. His first thought was to protect Georgiana. Glancing over and beholding the kind faces of Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth gave him an excuse to speak to Fitzwilliam alone without Georgiana overhearing. The two ladies seemed agreeable to attending his sister, but Darcy was embarrassed by Georgiana's innocent question, "Are . . . are these the kind ladies you wrote of from Netherfield?"

He was sure his pale skin colored as he whispered. "Yes, they are. They have impressed me with their goodness. Go with them, and I shall see you soon."

He knew that Georgiana's innate reserve and shyness would give most people the wrong impression--that she was proud and above her company--but he trusted that the eldest Bennet ladies had better insight. He hid a smile as Miss Elizabeth took his sister in hand. The sight was much as he had dreamt lately--Miss Elizabeth ensconced as Mrs. Darcy at Pemberley and as a loving sister to sweet Georgiana.

However, his contentment was interrupted by Mr. Collins' presumptuous conduct. Darcy had shouted for the vicar, the laudanum having liberating effect on his inhibitions. He did not want the man anywhere near him, but he had to get him away from Georgiana. Once the tall, fat man entered the room, Darcy began directly.

"You overstep yourself, sir! I fancy myself owning tolerable forbearance, but I must warn you I have an unforgiving temper. Take care that you never earn my displeasure, or you will suffer for it."

"I . . . I thank you, sir, for your generous warning!" came the groveling reply. "I shall endeavor to remember it, if you would be so kind as to tell me how I have offended you."

Did the man have no wit at all? "It was my wish that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth attend my sister. Had I any other intentions, rest assured I would have voiced them. Do not flatter yourself that you know my mind, sir."

"Of course, of course!" Mr. Collins cried with a bow. "I would never dream of such a thing, noble nephew of my benefactor. But you could not have known I was without. No, you could not. Therefore, as a more suitable companion for your fair sister--"

"Mr. Collins, let me assure you that I am never unaware of your presence!" The youngest Bennet girls giggled, and even Mr. Bennet cracked a smile. "As for who is a suitable companion for my sister, I believe that I shall be the judge of that! You are dismissed. I wish to have a private conversation with my cousin." Darcy glanced at Mr. Bennet as Mr. Collins fled. "Mr. Bennet, if you would kindly excuse me."

With an insolent air, Mr. Bennet nodded his head and withdrew, followed by his wife and daughters, the men of medicine, and Bartholomew. Once the door closed, Darcy rounded on Colonel Fitzwilliam. "What the devil are you doing here, Fitz?"

Darcy's demand earned an amused chuckle from his cousin. "Good to see you, too, Cuz. How did you hurt your leg?"

"I fell off a horse. Do not change the subject. What are you doing here? Why did you bring Georgiana? You must take her back to Town this instant!"

"Did that fall addle your brain, Darcy? We just got here. I am certainly not going directly back to Town, and neither is Georgie. The weather is beastly, and the roads are treacherous. If Bingley's express had not been so dire, I think we would have waited a few days."

"Bingley!" Darcy groaned. "I should have known!"

"Perhaps I might have misunderstood Bingley's message, but the letter was so full of blots, I could only make out six words in ten. Georgiana was beside herself, and I was concerned, too."

"Well, now you see I am well attended, so you can take Georgiana back to London."

"Did you hear a word I said? The roads are too dangerous--"

"Wickham is here."

Fitzwilliam froze. "What? Wickham is here? In Hertfordshire?"

"Yes, he is in Meryton as we speak. He has joined the ----shire militia."

"Good God! Why did you not tell me? We cannot let him come anywhere near Georgiana!"

Darcy sighed. "Exactly my point. That is why you and Georgie must leave immediately."

Fitzwilliam began to pace about the room. "Blast! I was not exaggerating the state of the roads, Darce. They are bad and getting worse by the moment. Only a fool would be out there now."

"I know," Darcy said with a meaningful look at the colonel.

He did not miss Darcy's meaning. "Excuse us for caring, you ungrateful wretch!"

"Pardon my beastly humor, Fitz, but you see my concerns."

"I do. But what are we to do?"

Darcy made to answer him, but there was a new commotion at the door.

"Good God!" the colonel cried. "What is she doing here?"

Elizabeth and Jane watched as Miss Darcy washed her face and repaired her appearance. She reluctantly agreed to come downstairs and take tea, and soon the heiress was seated in the Longbourn sitting room opposite the parlor serving as Mr. Darcy's sickroom. Mrs. Hill brought refreshments from the dining room for Miss Darcy's pleasure, but she refused anything but a cup of tea--cream, no sugar. The rest of the Bennet family attended her, even Mr. Bennet, but Mr. Collins stood preoccupied near the window and glanced out on occasion.

Elizabeth ignored the strange, tall man. She instead endeavored to engage Miss Darcy in conversation and found it to be challenging. She could tell it was not pride that stilled the young lady's tongue but an almost crippling case of shyness. She was not as Mr. Wickham described. Normally, Elizabeth would have wondered about that discrepancy. But she saw that the reserved and frightened girl needed immediate comforting and engaged all her considerable powers toward that end, setting other thoughts aside.

Lydia and Kitty quickly grew bored with the company and spent their time whispering and giggling while Mary simply stared--none of which seemed to make Miss Darcy any more at ease with her situation. Finally, Mrs. Bennet had her share of the conversation.

"Miss Darcy, what a lovely dress you are wearing! It cost a pretty penny, I should think. Do you not think so, Lydia? Yes, yes, very pretty. You must patronize the most expensive dress shops in London, I am sure of it! Pray, what did it cost?"

Elizabeth was happy one could not die of mortification, for if one could, her family would certainly be measuring her for her coffin at that moment.

"Miss Darcy," cried Jane, "I hope your trip here was not too taxing. The roads must have been in quite a state."

"They were poor," Miss Darcy allowed.

Elizabeth felt a need to take the girl's hand. "That you came at all shows a lovely devotion to your brother."

Miss Darcy looked wide-eyed at Elizabeth. "He is all I have left in the world! If something should happen to him--"

"Nothing shall," Jane reassured her. "He is receiving the best of care."

"Oh, Miss Darcy, Jane is right," cried Mrs. Bennet. "Mr. Macmillan seems a very clever sort of man. He says he will save the leg, and even if he cannot, why a gentleman of Mr. Darcy's station would be able to get by very well with only one, with all the servants at his disposal."

"Mother!" Elizabeth begged to little avail.

"I only speak the truth," her mother claimed. "I am sure in any case that Mr. Darcy has provided for his sister well." She shot a glance at Mr. Collins' back. "She shall never have to worry about starving in the hedgerows!"

Elizabeth was afraid Miss Darcy was going to cry and tried mightily to think of something to say that would repair matters. It was at that moment that Mr. Collins began to do the most extraordinary thing: He started to hop about, clapping his hands.

"She is here! She is here! What joy!" With that, he fled the room. The other inhabitants were amazed at the exhibition they had just witnessed.

A dry-eyed Miss Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "Is your cousin always this . . . demonstrative?"

The front door was flung open. "Where is my nephew?!" It was the voice of a woman of a certain age not used to being disappointed.

Miss Darcy paled. "Good God, what is she doing here?"