Expectations ~ Section VI

    By Gayle Lynn

    Beginning, Previous Section, Section VI

    Chapter 25

    Posted on July 29, 2008

    Caroline had feared all the problems with a rain soaked day for naught. Fortunately, this particular November morning arrived sunny and bright; a perfect day for an autumn Harvest Feast. She had imagined ruffians clomping through the house, defiling everything in sight and what they did not dirty, she was sure they would steal. She had taken the trouble to hire extra footmen to stand guard, which proved an unnecessary expense as the day wore on.

    Areas of Netherfield Park had been segregated with activities for men, women and children. The golf course remained untouched in the meadow to the north. Men crowded around and lined up early, all wanting a turn. Bingley provided extra clubs at the practice field, along with young lads to chase down the local's attempts at the longer strokes.

    The ladies' area provided the most shade, comfortable seats, and a variety of refreshment tables and was convenient to the tavern pub games and croquet course. Strapping young tenant farmers, officers and gentlemen alike gathered around to help the pretty single girls learn how to play the games.

    The area reserved for the younger guests was to the south of the house, where the game of Joust proved to be a favorite. Children, after mounting ponies to ride around in a wide circle, used a long stick to spear the ring hanging along the path in order to win the prize. Bingley had a table set up for puzzles with small cutouts representing the world's countries fitting into their proper place on the board. Kent's family had fashioned some extra ones depicting trees, mountains, flowers, and similar scenes of nature painted on them. If the children found them enjoyable, they would consider adding them to their growing list of manufactured goods. They sought no payment other than an indication of its popularity.

    The pen for tup running was still intact in the East Meadow. One soaped and greased ram ran around inside the circle for anyone wishing to try his game. To everyone's surprise, a long line of men had formed.

    In the bright mid-morning sun, Darcy stood on the steps outside the front door of Netherfield Park. For a man rarely impressed, he was astonished at the transformation. The Bingleys had outdone themselves. The grounds were laid out for an event rivaling those held at Vauxhall or even Ranelagh at its height. He observed the carriages, wagons, horseback riders and even walkers approach the grounds.

    Rawlings joined him, coffees in hand. He offered one to Darcy. "Quite the affair," he said, waving his hand across the yard.

    "I agree." Darcy pointed to the right "Look over there. I assume that is the competition area set up for the locals. Is that the dart game?"

    "Ah. It appears to be a slice of a large tree with lines painted on it."

    "Have you ever played before?"

    "No, but I have tried many new things during my stay. Grabbing the arse of a ram was one such activity." Rawlings threw Darcy a mischievous sideways glance.

    "Perhaps we should try now. I suspect the game will be impossible to play later."

    Rawlings agreed, shaking his head at his serious friend. They handed their cups to a nearby servant and made haste to the dart area. Once they found the darts, they set about hitting a target situated twenty paces away. After several failed attempts, a chuckle caused them to turn around.

    "You are fortunate you did not compete in this event." Mr. Goulding bowed. "Mr. Kent and Mr. Bingley set up all the pub games on the other side of the house along with the outdoor versions for the men."

    "I am aware Miss Bingley was elated when Mr. Kent removed the tavern decorations from the ballroom. Are they making use of everything?" Darcy asked.

    "Yes they are, including hanging the Five Alls sign from a nearby tree."

    Staring at the infant-sized arrow in his hand, Darcy recalled the Lilliputians from Gulliver's Travels. Not even his favorite little people would find success with these minuscule projectiles. Today's parliamentary reformers are the same---trying to overcome power with tiny pinprick stabs. Will the lesser among us defeat the greatest rulers of mankind? "I propose we should give those games another try, Rawlings. Will you join us, Mr. Goulding?"

    "Unfortunately, I cannot. As the judge, I must remain here. Mr. Long is judging the archery and Sir William is in charge of the shooting part of the competition." Goulding pointed to the other two areas as he spoke, cringing as the first shots of the day exploded in the air.

    "Mr. Bennet? Is he not judging?

    "He and Mr. Phillips are setting up the game for the stallion. As you see, we are very busy today. I suspect I will be here for quite a while. Many men spent their days practicing since the announcement for this competition. The dart game will start in a quarter-hour, and I expect the efforts should be entertaining."

    "Good luck."

    "Luck? Why would I need luck?"

    "Why, to avoid being hit by any misdirected darts!" Rawlings laughed as he and Darcy left for the vicinity of the pub games.

    As they turned the corner, Darcy spied Wickham demonstrating to the Bennet ladies how to play quoits. When Darcy muttered Wickham's name, Rawlings grabbed his friend's arm and spoke to him with deliberate coolness. Once calmed, Darcy monitored the interaction between the man he once identified as a human canker sore and the unsuspecting Longbourn beauties. However, Rawlings tensed and twitched frantically when he witnessed Wickham leaning into her neck and repeatedly touching Miss Lydia's back as he showed her how to hold the loop.

    "Shall I throw a dart at that redcoat of his, Darcy?" Rawlings sneered. "Or should I just smash the scoundrel's head in?"

    "Whose head?" Blake asked as he joined the two.

    Rawlings tilted his head toward the group and mouthed, "Wickham."

    Blake caught sight of Wickham, now standing a little too close to Miss Elizabeth. His eyes darkened and narrowed into slits when Wickham leaned in to whisper into her ear. He stared down at her breasts as he touched her back and moved in closer to her.

    Blake stood erect with his muscles taut. "Is this man a threat? Should we have Bingley throw him out of here?" Blake made no attempt to conceal his agitated manner.

    "He is just trying to anger me." Darcy eyed his previous childhood friend. "Take note of his smirk as he studies your reactions. I assume he has heard of our acquaintance with the Bennets."

    The two men realized the man was taunting them with a wicked looking smile and a defiant stance. But, they also noticed he was glaring at Darcy more so then at them.

    Trying to dissuade his friends from showing any reaction, Darcy explained that once someone displayed any negative reaction to him, Wickham enjoyed cuckolding them, especially those above his status. He played this game without regard to the lady in the scheme. What he did not reveal to his friends was his own gullibility. He, like his father, once believed all Wickham needed was friendship, but in the end, the Darcy family had paid the price.

    "Regardless of your warning, I do not like the way he is behaving around the ladies. If you chose to do nothing, that is your concern, but I have had no past with the man."

    Darcy grabbed Blake's arm. "If you show him you are concerned, he will surely target the Bennet girls. Do not overreact. It is what he seeks. Let him believe these women are of no serious interest to you. It is the only way to protect them."

    Blake shrugged off Darcy's hold. "Bah! He would never dare to treat me this way. I believe he was staring at you." He moved towards the Bennet group. He did not stop, even when Mr. Wickham quickly left.

    Rawlings watched Lydia turn and wave her handkerchief at the retreating redcoat. "Someone should warn Mr. Bennet his daughters may be at risk."

    "Unless we give Wickham reason to use them, they are not in any serious harm. I suppose he is most interested in who may be my favorite." Darcy shook his head as Blake approached Elizabeth. "Thankfully, they have no monetary allurements. Wickham is a fortune hunter, and these ladies do not fit his needs."

    "I believe seven thousand pounds would turn the head of any such man," Rawlings said, successfully concealing his knowledge of anything amiss.

    "I beg you pardon, Rawlings. You had retired early. Miss Bingley informed me last night that their father has lost his daughters' dowry money."

    "Oh, what did she say?" Rawlings again controlled his expression and tone in his voice.

    "Mr. Bennet's brother-in-law in Cheapside squandered a fortune on some risky investment. He was involved in some scheme, and the investment failed. According to her intelligence on the matter, Mr. Cuffage is the person the Bennets blame for their misfortunes."

    Rawlings stiffened at this new information. "Did Miss Bingley know which venture? I would hate to discover too late that we are following the same path."

    "No, nor do I believe she cared to uncover anything more than the fact there was a financial loss." Darcy paused, his gaze drawn to the Bennet daughters. "I sent an express to my man, Mr. Rogers, in London. I cancelled my request to investigate Cuffage now that we have identified the real culprit. Mr. Phillips should be told as well."

    Rawlings nodded. "Oh, but do not forget Mr. Phillips is as much a connection of the Bennets as Mr. Gardiner. Shall we say we are in possession of information exonerating Cuffage?"

    "Yes, you raise a good point, and naming the man would be a bit embarrassing for him. I will not mention his Cheapside relative at all."

    Satisfied, Rawlings turned his attention back to Blake and the Bennet ladies. He studied Blake flirting with Miss Elizabeth, and wondered if he had been present when Miss Bingley spoke about their misfortune. He imagined she told the story with great enjoyment. He dared not ask Darcy what Blake knew. "When is the announcement for the competition between Blake and Kent?"

    "Not until two this afternoon."

    "Well then, shall we continue on to the pub games? I spy a few ladies in need of some assistance." Rawlings chuckled at Miss Lydia's clumsy pretense of failure. He contemplated the best approach to gain her attention.

    Darcy nodded and they walked quickly to join the group. He placed himself near Elizabeth, and although he listened to their talk, he rarely offered anything to the conversation. He held his eyes steady as he stared off into the distance. Once or twice, he nodded or shrugged, but displayed a haughty, nonchalant manner. Occasionally, he snuck a peek at Wickham, and was satisfied.

    Lydia turned to Kitty. "Look! Mr. Rawlings is approaching. Shall we tease him about the golf game?"

    "No! That would be too cruel even for you." Kitty admonished her sister who just laughed a little louder.

    "I will laugh at him just he same. Here he is."

    "Good morning, Miss Catherine. Miss Lydia." Rawlings politely bowed to the both the ladies.

    Darcy nodded to them, but stood aside, concentrating instead on Blake and Elizabeth.

    "Mr. Rawlings, is it not funny that both you and Mr. Darcy lost at golf? I mean, did you expect Lord Blake to be able to play so well?"

    "I was most surprised, I assure you, Miss Lydia. Miss Catherine did you enjoy the game?" Rawlings noted how Lydia narrowed her eyes at him before he turned his attention back on her sister.

    "Yes, I did indeed."

    "You are looking quite lovely this morning. Is that perchance a new bonnet?" Rawlings smiled openly at Kitty while glancing out of the corner of his eye at Lydia.

    Lydia squealed. "It is an old one of hers. I am wearing the new one, Mr. Rawlings. See?" When Rawlings peeked at her, she twirled around so he could view it from all angles.

    "Very pretty, but I like the blue ribbon," Rawlings returned his gaze to Kitty and said softly, "that Miss Catherine used to trim her bonnet."

    "Well I prefer a different color. Red is exciting!" Lydia directed her stare over to the skittles game where Wickham was challenging another officer.

    "Miss Catherine, have you tried to play any of the games? I did fairly well in the competition. I could show you some tricks." Rawlings turned to Lydia. "Oh, and you too, Miss Lydia. Shall we join the others at Skittles?"

    Lydia quickly maneuvered herself to be the lady on Mr. Rawlings' arm. In doing so, she almost knocked her sister down. With a backwards glance, Lydia smirked at Kitty when Rawlings placed his free hand on top of hers and rubbed it gently. She peeked up through half closed eyes and thanked him; he peered down at her smiling. He commented on her lovely dress, mentioning how well it displayed all of her beauty. He chuckled as Lydia beamed in her successful conquest to the other locals while strolling to the skittles game.

    Taking note of the coupling, Darcy politely offered Kitty his arm as Rawlings walked off with Lydia. They followed closely behind.

    Blake and Elizabeth recognized their chance, and swiftly headed to the croquet game. Elizabeth did wonder about Mr. Darcy's assistance to her sister. She could not reconcile his kindness with Wickham's reports.

    "This game is easy, Miss Elizabeth. Hold your mallet like so." Lord Blake spoke sharply to get her attention. When she refocused her eyes on him and smiled playfully, he gave her a demonstration of how to hold the club. Although the desire was strong, he held back from wrapping his arms around her as she took it. In addition to feeling her next to him in such as stance, he would get a better view of her womanly charms.

    "I believe I understand." Elizabeth approached her ball, raised her mallet and smacked it through the wickets. "I play often, Lord Blake." Grinning, Elizabeth confessed, "In fact, I can best all my Goulding friends."

    "Unfair, Miss Bennet."

    "I believe you did something of the same with the game of golf! Was that unfair as well?" Elizabeth raised her brow, but revealed a grin that left no doubt of her tease.

    "True. I am guilty. It is never wise to reveal all your strengths to your competitors. Now, shall we make a friendly wager?" Blake matched his raised brow with hers. She nodded agreement. They discussed the prize worthy of such a contest, and agreed upon an additional dance if she won and another performance at the pianoforte if he did.

    They played the game while Mrs. Bennet kept her eye on them. When Elizabeth won, she sensed her daughter had forfeited her opportunity to gain this man's favor. Her feelings remained unchanged until Lord Blake smiled intensely at Lizzy. I suppose he let her win. He is chasing her, I just know it! That's a good girl, Lizzy. Blink your eyes. Tilt your head. Bah. She will never learn to sway her hips!

    The crowd had a wonderful time. Many men had lined up for their competition. First, they had to participate in the target-shooting contest. Once a man took his allotted number of shots, he moved on to the darts. Archery was last. At each event, the men with the highest totals played again until there were three top scorers who would then compete for their prize in the late afternoon.

    The men were free to try tup running and golf. Bingley permitted women to try golf as well, but no lady showed any interest. They preferred the tavern games, croquet, and helping the young children with the puzzles, none of which damaged their hair or dresses. There were more unwed men at this event than had ever before been assembled. Every single girl had carefully prepared her appearance in the hopes winning her own type of competition.

    Much to Caroline's consternation, she could not find her brother. She needed him to preside over this spectacle, as she called it to her sister. Mr. Darcy had not even noticed her effort in ensuring the event was a success, and Charles' disappearance was hampering her plans to spend many hours learning how to play the games with her particular favorite as her instructor.

    She went to the golf course first. She had incorrectly assumed Charles would be showing the locals how to hit those stupid little balls. Much to the surprise of many of his Meryton neighbors, Mr. Robinson volunteered for that responsibility, since he had played many times before.

    Caroline next checked the pub games area, the croquet, and even the tup-running pen, but was unable to locate him anywhere; nor could she find Miss Bennet. Exasperated, she found a spot under an awning reserved for the host family, where she and her sister whispered many unkind remarks about the attendees.

    Finally, when the time arrived for the announcement of the competition between Blake and Kent, she caught sight of her brother approaching the front of the house. Standing with her hands on her hips, she fixed her fiercest stare on him as he ascended the steps. He grinned and waved to her. Searching the crowd, she located Miss Bennet nearby, gazing discreetly at Charles. She glowered at her as well.

    There was a crowd surrounding Bingley and Mr. Bennet, who prepared to announce the race selected by the judges. When Lord Blake and Mr. Kent appeared, the gathering cheered as Mr. Bennet introduced the men.

    Standing alone and slightly hidden amongst the crowd, Darcy and Rawlings listened as he declared the final game. They too were curious.

    Miss Lydia had left her well-behaved, proper gentleman to flirt with some of the officers. Miss Catherine, feeling the sting of Mr. Rawlings attention to her sister, followed Lydia.

    "Quiet everyone, please." Bingley raised his hands, only turning to Mr. Bennet when the crowd had ceased murmuring.

    Mr. Bennet said as loudly as he could, "Now these fine young gentlemen attended Cambridge together." He peeked at the men with a twinkle in his eyes. "Since all the judges are graduates of the better school... Oxford," Bennet stopped to wait for the snickers to die down before continuing, "We wanted a race that was customary for our alma mater."

    The crowd stilled, waiting for the announcement.

    "The two men will compete in a rowing race in one man boats."

    Mr. Bennet pointed west. "Within a short walking distance on Mr. Bingley's property is a one-mile section of Colne River, where they will race, and the first gentleman to reach the finish line will win the stallion.

    Blake and Kent eyed one another. While both had rowed a boat before, neither had ever raced. As they left to change into more appropriate attire, the crowds began to leave for the river area.

    "Curious, is it not, Darcy? I had not noticed the irony of this competition until I saw them just now." Rawlings said as he glanced at the two competitors.

    "How so?"

    "The Duke and the tradesman's sons are competing for a prize. It is a new world, as Kent is always saying. When two persons as far apart socially as these two, are not only in a friendly competition, but in business together as well, we are witnesses to a significant change in the social order."

    Darcy sighed. "They have both worked hard to overcome their prejudices as well. They seem to be more affable to one another lately."

    "Yes, those two seem to have overcome their prejudices." Rawlings chuckled at his friend's sigh. "And, I might add, it is fortunate for the alliance."

    "True. They are both critical."

    "Well, I wonder who will win? The tradesman has the future in his hands, and the marquess has the past. But who holds the present? Come, come. I have a shilling to spare. I select---"

    Darcy interrupted him. "Blake. I do not think the time has come for the changing of the guard. He will prove that the nobility is still in charge."

    "I will take that wager. I suspect our days as leaders are numbered, and just like Kent slyly tying for the horse, I believe others are inching their way up, and they may have already arrived, while we were busy skirmishing amongst ourselves. A shilling it is."

    "Will you be watching the race at the finish line?"

    Elizabeth looked up at her sister. "Yes. Where have you been? Miss Bingley is beside herself trying to find her brother."

    "Mr. Bingley and I were helping father and Uncle Phillips set up the race." Jane inspected the grass below her feet.

    "For your sake, I am glad you had such a reasonable answer. Miss Bingley was sure you two had run off to Gretna Green."

    "Oh Lizzy. How you go on sometimes."

    "Shall we find a good spot?" The two ladies chose to wait at the finish line with their father and Mr. Bingley.

    Rawlings wished to begin at the start, since he wanted to move with the rowers to lend encouragement to his man. Darcy agreed. "Did you know the judges were all Oxford graduates?" Rawlings asked.

    "Not at all. But perhaps it would explain why they were not known to us."

    They walked at a quickened pace in order to stake out the best spot to view the race. "Yes, and I suppose they had a few merry laughs about the Cambridge boys. They have chosen well. None of us have rowed competitively before. Do you wish to change your wager? I am giving you one final chance!"

    "I suppose the winner will be the one with the stronger arms and legs." Darcy laughed. "Blake is more the athlete than Kent, so instead of changing it, I propose we increase the bet. I will be pleased to take a pound from you."

    "What you say about Blake is true. He has the leisure time to waste on sport. But Kent is determined. A pound it is. Well, here they come." Rawlings pointed to the two walking towards them.

    "This should be interesting," Blake said as he looked about the river. "It is good I know how to swim. I hope you do too, Kent."

    "Yes, I learned early. I heard that rowing is popular at Oxford and even Eton has begun competitions this year."

    "I wonder if it will endure though."

    "It will last long enough for one of us to win Heracles." Kent laughed. "Good luck, Blake."

    "To you, as well. However, I fully intend to win the beast, as Miss Elizabeth calls it." Blake remarked confidently.

    The two competitors made their way to the starting line. They bowed to each other before bowing to the cheering spectators. They stepped into the identical boats and settled in their seats, grasped the oars, and prepared to begin the race. Mr. Phillips raised his gun, and the crowd grew calm.

    Mr. Roger Staunton had arrived early to record the final wagers. As he watched the men settle in their positions, he felt a colossal loss. There would be no further games: the small, unknown little parish returning to its dull and boring ways. His tavern had become the place to go; his clientele increased substantially with each event. He had enjoyed the increase in profits and the excitement of the competition. He, at least, hoped his new patrons would come again in the future without the need for games; but he knew such visits were unlikely.

    Staunton thought of the many new customers that had come to purchase thoroughbred horses. Mr. Goulding spoke recently about how his stud business had grown. With many stories of the great white Andalusian in the London papers, members of the upper class had found their way to his horse-breeding farm. Luckily for his own profits, they first stopped in the Black Bull Tavern, hoping to discover some information that the rest of London had not heard. His establishment had also been mentioned in the reports in the paper.

    Sensing the stillness, Mr. Staunton noted the two rowers sat perched, tense in anticipation.

    Bang.

    The crowds cheered equally for the two men. Kent was slightly in the lead, but he was barely able to maintain it.

    Blake was pacing himself. He let Kent forge ahead, but remained a distance that allowed him the opportunity to overtake him in the end.

    Darcy and Rawlings quickly moved down the riverbank. They cheered on their man, but intuitively believed more than the horse was on the line. The crowd made way for them as they hurried along the path; both men yelled instructions to the rowers.

    At the finish line, Mr. Bennet stood with a flag ready. He did not have a preference on who he wanted to win, having now sworn off wagering for the rest of his life. Turning to look at the crowd, his eyes narrowed as he spied the man that had come for his money later that day. Mr. Bennet turned away as Mr. Cuffage slid through the spectators on his way to Longbourn.

    Mr. Staunton watched the two with interest. Ah. It was Mr. Bennet that the stranger had to meet on business. Well, I will not bother Mr. Bingley, since it does not seem to be any concern of his.

    "Here they come! Look!" someone in the crowd yelled as he spotted the two rowers. Mr. Bennet held the flag up high, although his hand shook a little too obviously.

    The two boats came around the bend in view of the spectators standing along the riverbank at the finish line. Kent was still leading. Mr. Bennet stood on a large rock, holding a flag, causing them to step up their efforts. With each stroke, the two men challenged each other. The lifting of the oars seemed almost synchronized; but only the deeper reach of one man controlled the outcome.

    "Kent, Check behind you. Blake is moving."

    "Push, Blake, Push!"

    Rawlings and Darcy reached the end of the course at the same time as the rowers. Blake had reserved his strength for making the final and longest stroke until as they crossed the finish line. Mr. Bennet named Lord Blake as the winner.

    Kent panted heavily and shook his head. "Congratulations," he yelled, his voice breathless. "I was hoping for once to have something you wanted!"

    "But you already do, my friend," Blake answered through his own heavy panting. "Do you not know?" When Kent shook his head, he said, "You own the freedom to follow your desires."

    Kent sighed as he realized the marquess did not understand the constraints placed upon the classes outside the peerage and gentry. In truth, neither man understood the prisons holding them back, nor the best means of escape. Although they represented the finest of their own class, both wore blinders to the reality of the life of the other.

    As the competitors left the boats for solid ground, their friends stood back from the crowds, waiting. After much backslapping, handshaking, and smiles all around by mostly the winning spectators, Mr. Bennet grabbed and raised Blake's hand in the air. One spectator yelled out, "Three Cheers for Lord Blake." Everyone, whether they won the wager or not, gave a rousing shout out!

    He bowed to the crowd, while Kent slid off to the side to join the other previous participants in the games.

    Darcy tilted his head towards Blake. "Well, he proclaimed his victory all along. The stallion is now his." Rawlings handed him his winnings.

    Kent's eyes shot up. "You wagered on Blake?"

    Darcy dropped his eyes to the ground and hemmed until Rawlings responded. "Yes, he did, but I placed my pound on you, Kent! Excellent try. Now we all agree, when Blake wants something, he does work hard. His victory came only at the last moment when he overtook you at the finish line."

    "Yes, I was surprised at the end." Chuckling, Kent turned toward Blake. "Must be his mathematical background, he did time the race to perfection."

    "I am sorry for your loss, Kent." Bingley patted him on the back.

    "It is a beautiful horse, and I wanted to win. Nevertheless, I will not take anything away from him. There is no dispute; he was the victor in your Olympics."

    Everyone focused their attention on the driveway at the house as the servants brought forward the famous stallion, saddled and ready to turn over. A boisterous cheer sounded as Blake bounded towards the horse and vaulted onto the saddle. As he walked him down the road with a slow gait, he waved to everyone, fighting the urge to gallop. After returning to the front steps, he handed the reins to the groom and permitted access to anyone wishing to inspect him. Blake joined his friends as they all waited for the Harvest Feast's final competition to begin.

    Darcy started to walk towards the competition area. "Shall we watch the other competition? Three finalists are to compete for the prize."

    "I was so focused on our race; I admit I do not know what is expected of them." Kent explained.

    "The three finalists are given one dart, one arrow, and one shot. The one with the highest score will win," Mr. Bennet explained as he joined the group. "An exceptional race, Mr. Kent. Admirable effort."

    Kent nodded. "Do we know who they are?"

    "Well there is one you probably do not know. He is one of Bingley's tenant farmers, a young man called, Pruitt. He is quite a good shot, even without owning a Baker rifle."

    "Is his farm located on the west side?" Darcy asked.

    Mr. Bennet jerked his head towards him, "Yes, how are you acquainted with him?"

    "I am not a liberty to say." Darcy recalled the visit he and Bingley had made to the man's home. A serious problem with his roof had caused him to apply for assistance. Surreptitiously, Darcy had suggested that Bingley should provide the materials, but require the man to repair his roof and to pay a small fee with the proceeds of the harvest sales. After that incident, both men had met daily with several other tenants having similar needs and problems. The tenants gave undue credit to Bingley for solving the problems, and not to the aloof gentleman standing with him.

    "One man you have met, I believe---Mr. Robert Goulding, the second son." Mr. Bennet noted the change in expression when they recognized the name.

    "Unfortunately, only some of us have met him." Rawlings said, looking to Darcy. "I believe Kent and I were absent from the visit to Goulding's Farm."

    "And the third person?" Kent asked.

    "A Military Officer, which I assume thrills my two silliest youngest daughters." A bemused Mr. Bennet cast his eyes on Darcy. "I believe his name is Wickham."

    "Wickham!" the men cried out in unison.

    Chapter 26

    Posted on August 5, 2008

    Mr. Long climbed upon an upturned box to address the burgeoning crowd. "After two rounds, Mr. Goulding has one hundred points; ninety five for Mr. Wickham and ninety for Mr. Pruitt." He nodded to Sir William to begin the shooting contest.

    The crowd mingled around the area slated for the local men's competition. The three finalists were preparing to start the final round, when the Netherfield gentlemen arrived. Standing abreast for the firing segment, a servant handed each man a loaded standard flintlock. As the competitors inspected their firearms, Rawlings cringed when Lydia yelled out, "Good luck, Mr. Wickham."

    The targets were all numbered and placed on a makeshift railing. The smallest object was fifty points, and the largest twenty. The man with the highest score shot first. The spectators cheered for each man: the gentry encouraged young Robert Goulding; the militia yelled their support for Wickham; and everyone else shouted out for Mr. Pruitt.

    Rawlings whispered to Darcy, "Can you feel the tension in the air... and I am not talking about the contest. Look around. Even this competition has its class distinctions, with the members of the crowd lining up behind its representative."

    "Yes, the world does seem like it is partitioning into particular groupings. However, I doubt if a truly harmonious society ever existed. Nowadays, people of similar minds and thoughts can easily group together and cause havoc."

    Rawlings sighed. "You do describe what is happening in London. All these folks cramped into what anyone would call squalor. The parliament must do something other than talk. I fear where all this togetherness is headed. I am beginning to accept that Kent is correct; a new world is emerging, and I see our class doing little to prevent this coming reversal of fortunes."

    "I fear they may even act out their aggressions against those in superior positions. That is why my approach is to bring this next generation of entrepreneurs into our world."

    Before Rawlings could answer, young Robert Goulding took his place at the firing line. His eyes swept over the crowd, and rested on Miss Jane Bennet's lovely face. She returned his smile and nodded. He aimed his gun. His hands were sweating. His heart pumped furiously. He pulled the trigger.

    Bang.

    "Thirty points. Mr. Goulding ends with one hundred twenty points. Next is Mr. Wickham with ninety five."

    Wickham bowed to the cheering officers and one loudly shrieking young girl, aimed his rifle, and waited until he had the attention of the full crowd. He squeezed the trigger.

    Bang.

    "Forty points," Sir William proclaimed as he picked up the object and returned it to its position. Mr. Wickham has one hundred and thirty five points. Mr. Pruitt must now shoot a fifty-point target to win; otherwise, Mr. Wickham is the victor.

    The military officers hooted and hollered. The tenant farmers shouted down the redcoats.

    "It is well that the spectators are not armed!" Rawlings chuckled as Darcy kept his eyes on Wickham.

    Mr. Pruitt readied himself to take his turn. This time the crowd fell silent. All eyes were on the tenant farmer as he aimed and pulled the trigger.

    He shot a hole through one of the smallest objects. If the shoe buckle was tagged as fifty points, he won, if only forty-five then the game would be tied.

    Sir William studied the object and then yelled, "Mr. Pruitt is the winner with one hundred forty points."

    The farmers shouted approval as much coin exchanged hands among the onlookers. When Mr. Pruitt received the prized Baker rifle, Bingley made a point of remarking how he was pleased one of his tenants won. He also handed the victorious man the guinea prize money. Cheers and calls for showing the gun from the spectators followed.

    Rawlings applauded Pruitt before nudging Darcy with his elbow. He nodded towards Lydia Bennet. "I believe I am needed to cheer up a particularly forlorn young lady."

    "She is too young for you."

    "I doubt if she will be available in a year or two. She will not take her time choosing a husband, nor will I choose to let my opportunities slip past me. Besides, a man of my age courting a girl not yet twenty is not extraordinary."

    Darcy scoffed.

    "Ladies make their debuts at almost her age. Countless marriage contracts are signed before the girl has become a woman; some agreements are made while the child is still in the cradle." Rawlings eyed Darcy and chuckled at his embarrassment. "Fortunately for me, Miss Lydia is a woman, I grant you a young one, but a woman she is!"

    "Humph. Can you not see the trouble she could cause you? She taunts you!"

    Rawlings smiled. "And she is merciless! I enjoy her female wiles and, as you say, arts and allurements too. Is there not one lady that taunts you and keeps you awake at night?"

    "Go."

    As a chuckling Rawlings left to find Miss Lydia, Darcy thought about his friend. He wanted more for him than a silly child without discipline or grace. He had fortune enough, his family line was acceptable, and he felt of him like a brother. His face brightened and his eyebrows shot up. He would not care about her past.

    Setting aside this inspiration, Darcy searched the crowd, seeking the fine eyes in a pretty face he had often studied with great interest. Yes, Rawlings, one lady does keep me awake at night, as you have full well figured out; but I have responsibilities that you do not. You are but a second son, and I am master of an estate, with great responsibilities.

    He spied her eyes sparkling in the late afternoon sun. She had just laughed, and he discovered she tilted her chin down slightly when she did. He supposed she was not aware of how that small dip highlighted her eyes. The white was a brilliant contrast to the dark pupils, although he knew they also held the tiniest of golden brown slivers. One whiff of her lavender scent and I feel as though I could succeed at anything I put my mind to. Is this what Blake feels? Oh, why did you notice her, Blake? Your father will never approve of her, and will be harsh in his actions. If she is not of my sphere, then certainly she is not of yours.

    He closed his eyes and steeled his resolve as the sound of two voices headed his way.

    "Mr. Darcy, there you are! Mr. Kent and I are making our way to the East Meadow. Will you join us?"

    "Miss Bingley, Kent." Darcy bowed, agreeing quickly to their plan when he spotted Blake and Elizabeth headed in the same direction.

    "I was astounded to hear of Miss Bingley's acquaintances in town." Kent sent Caroline a smile. "I suspect her accomplishments set her apart from the other ladies. I do not know when I heard anyone play the pianoforte better."

    "Thank you." Caroline waited for another response that did not come.

    "Miss Bingley, I must congratulate you on this spectacular event; and organized in such a short time. I am impressed. I know of no other lady, especially not in this little parish, with the ability to manage any gathering of this magnitude. I applaud you! Do you not agree, Darcy?"

    "What? Oh... yes. Very well done, Miss Bingley." Darcy tipped his head.

    Kent snuck Caroline a slight shrug.

    "Miss Bingley and I were discussing our favorite colors. I mentioned how much I liked the color of her gown; it is perfect for this time of year. What is the name of it, again?

    "Amber. I am pleased you like it."

    "Darcy, which is your favorite?"

    Darcy searched the crowd until he spotted Elizabeth on Blake's arm. "Pale yellow." He admired the graceful way she moved, and how the light affected her dress, heightening its sunny tint. When the light hit her eyes, they actually sparkled. He had always believed that to be impossible. Watching her he caught the lavender scent in the air.

    Kent followed his friend's gaze. "Come, come, Darcy. Pale? Do you not prefer a more substantial hue? Might a gown that is rich in color and shimmers in the light be better suited to you?" He glanced at Caroline's dress.

    "You asked my preference. It is pale yellow." Narrowing his eyes and furrowing his brow, Darcy studied Kent as they made their way to the tup running pen. What the hell blazes is he up to now? Why is he pushing Bingley's sister my way? Humph. I will never understand these tradesmen's families! Can they not see how obvious they are?

    Kent continued to point out the successes of the event emphasizing the skill it takes to manage it. Darcy remained silent. He scanned the crowd until he spied Caroline's brother giving orders to a servant. Bingley was adopted, I am sure of it now, perhaps they stole him off some estate up north. Or he might have been some by-blow child of a duke or earl, and he was sold to the highest bidder. I wonder if any young lord went missing three and twenty years ago. Or he could have been brought to the shores of England from a pirate ship. A stolen babe from America.

    "What holds your mind so intently, causing you to suddenly smile so?" Caroline cooed. "Perchance you have a particular person in your thoughts?"

    "Perhaps."

    "Darcy, do I know her?" Kent sent a sly glance to Caroline.

    "Her? Not a her, it was someone of the opposite gender that held my interest!" Darcy smirked at the raised brows and lowered jaws. "We are here. If you will excuse me, I have a need to speak to Bingley."

    Darcy caught up to his friend, who now stood alone. With a twinkling of his eyes, he asked, "Did you ever take an ocean voyage as an infant?"

    "What? No, not that I am aware of."

    "Did your parents preserve any strange clothes or family keepsakes from when you were young? A favored blanket, perhaps? Or even a journal or letter?"

    "Darcy, you do ask the oddest questions at times. Is this important?"

    "No, purely a thought or two. Pay it no mind."

    Bingley furrowed his brow in puzzlement at Darcy's laugh.

    Bingley left to escort Miss Bennet around the festivities, much to Caroline's chagrin. The residents of Meryton whispered about the obvious preference he had for theirdear, sweet Jane. It would benefit the parish if a union between the two took place. Mr. Bingley had brought a sense of pride and community to the area, and all of Meryton wished he would remain at Netherfield Park. Without uttering a word, they set about doing all they could to foster the relationship, even to the point they would be willing to listen to a particular mother crow.

    The crowd remained in a festive mood as they enjoyed the food made available to them. There was plenty of ale, and musicians filled the air with many songs. Now that the time for trying tup running had ended, Bingley had the area cleared, and wooden floor planks placed in the pen, which would then serve as the center of the activities. Music, dancing, drinking, and gaiety ensued while everyone waited for the sky to grow dark and the fireworks display to begin. The children grew restless, but refused to leave.

    Darcy located Rawlings standing alone watching the youngest Bennets flirting and teasing several officers. Colonel Forster joined them.

    "It was kind of Mr. Bingley to extend his invitation to the militia. Soon we will depart Meryton. We have been preparing the young men in the hope of finding some of them willing to exchange from the militia to the regular army. We need good soldiers. The situation on the continent is one of grave concern."

    "Oh? Is there any particular officer in mind?" Darcy held back his smile as the image came into view of Wickham in a regular army uniform lying slashed to pieces.

    "Perhaps. We will move to Brighton once our training is finished here. However, I expect at least four more months are necessary, and perhaps even longer before we leave. These young men need to be prepared in the unlikely event that our shores find some unwanted and uninvited guests! And then there is the possibility of rioting. Tension resides everywhere nowadays."

    "It was good then that all the officers had the chance to enjoy the day. I see your man almost won the Baker rifle. Although, I admit I did not support him." Rawlings darted his eyes to Darcy.

    "Mr. Wickham is the most skilled of my lieutenants. He rides well and, as evident by this competition, he is as fine a shot as I have ever witnessed. I understand he had a privileged upbringing of sorts. I believe he was a favorite of a great master.

    "I daresay he was, but Colonel you would be wise to..."

    "Use him as his skills dictate." Darcy shot Rawlings a glance that left no question of his desire for withholding any warning of Wickham. I am not responsible for his actions here. Damn, Rawlings, if you cause him to be harmed by his Colonel, then Wickham will turn his revenge on all of us!

    Bingley and Caroline opened the dancing along with the tenants and some of the townspeople, the only others lined up on the makeshift dance floor. Everyone stood around the dancers and clapped as the musicians began the first tune. Darcy even relaxed when Rawlings indicated Wickham had left; however, he did conceal where he went and with whom.

    Once the dancing had begun, the judges and their family members slipped indoors for private refreshments and a drink or two. Bingley and his sister walked with Darcy as they made their way to the drawing room.

    "I do not see Mr. Bennet, Caroline. Did you extend an invitation to all of the Bennet family? Bingley asked.

    "Of course! He has made his apologies. Urgent business is his excuse. Bah. Is that not what all men say when they chose not to do something? Unfortunately, he has left his brood here."

    "Do not speak so. I warn you, Caroline. I will have them treated with respect, and you must get to know them better since they are one of the principal families of the neighborhood." Bingley stomped away from her, seeking out the calming Miss Bennet.
    Caroline gasped. "Oh, my goodness. Oh, my..." She hid her red face from Darcy.

    Darcy offered her his arm, and she accepted it as they entered the drawing room together, causing everyone to notice. With a sidelong glance, he saw she had returned to her practiced stately air of holding her head high; but now she walked with more haughtiness than usual. Ignoring the lady on his arm, his eyes searched the room until he found the pale yellow dress near the fireplace. Blake, must you always be near her?

    "Darcy, come settle this argument." Rawlings waved him over to his small group of Miss Lydia, Miss Catherine and Mrs. Bennet.

    Once Caroline spied the makeup of the grouping, she begged his forgiveness, indicating she had hostess duties requiring her attention.

    Darcy released her and joined Rawlings. "What is the problem?"

    "Miss Lydia does not believe you participate in Tup Running often. I assured her you do, annually."

    "Yes, it is true." Darcy cringed as she shrieked her disbelief. How does he stand that voice? And her exuberance? Can she never speak softly and listen quietly? Rawlings, I must introduce you to a higher class of women. This girl is... silly. Although I am pleased Miss Bingley is no longer hanging on my arm. I must thank him for this ploy. Darcy chuckled as he thought of Miss Bingley spending two seconds with Miss Lydia. Well, Miss Catherine seems slightly more sedate. Look at her, Rawlings. Even she would be better than the one you chose.

    Darcy moved to the sideboard and poured a large glass of wine. I do not think Bingley has enough whisky to help me through this evening.

    "Mr. Darcy," Mr. Phillips said as he fixed himself a drink, his eyes darting around the room. "I have some news about..."

    Darcy was quick to hold up his hand. "Mr. Cuffage. I have heard. I have..."---he tried to remember the form of words they had agreed on---"information that exonerates the man. I have cancelled any further investigation. You may proceed with drawing up the final documents. When might they be ready?"

    "You can sign them tomorrow afternoon or right before the ball. But, good sir, I wish to caution you about..."

    "Bring the papers. We will sign them; and ensure that Mr. Cuffage's contracts are ready. I believe I have made myself understood." Darcy rose to his full height and glowered down at the country lawyer. Must I speak ill of his brother-in-law to make this man understand. Does this man think I am a fool? Do not force me to broach a subject that will cause embarrassment to you!

    "Very good, sir. Your papers will be ready tomorrow." Phillips bowed, turned to conceal his sneer, and left the party.

    Darcy paced slowly as he kept his eye on Blake and Elizabeth. Every time he drew closer to them, Blake led her to her mother or sisters. He knows what he is doing by avoiding me like this. Blake, I shall speak to her, regardless of your tactics.

    "Let me refill your drink." Kent apprehended his glass and retreated to the sideboard before he had time to refuse, thus leaving him standing alone with Miss Bingley.

    "We are in tedious company, Mr. Darcy, would you not agree?"

    "I find the company quite mixed in this room. But as you say, yes, there is tedious company at every angle." Darcy smiled as he glanced around in the corner of the room where the two of them were standing.

    "I suspect you, good sir, would prefer a more refined party. Sometimes it cannot be helped when the... guests do not comply."

    Upon his return and with drinks in hand, Kent remarked on how successful the festivities had been and how the locals spoke fondly of the Bingleys, claiming them to be the ideal family. Darcy noticed Kent and Miss Bingley sharing smiles as he handed a glass to her. When Darcy excused himself again, to speak to Bingley, Kent and Caroline whispered as he walked away.

    Bingley had huddled with Miss Bennet by the fire the entire evening, ignoring the other guests to the point of being rude. They chose instead to maintain their discussion in half whispers and laughter, and let everyone fend for themselves.

    "Bingley, I believe the sky is black enough for the fireworks. The children are restless.

    "Oh, yes, I will inform the men to begin the show.

    "Oh, and Blake had mentioned that he was interested is speaking with the man in charge. Remember, he mentioned having a fireworks display at his father's next shooting party. I believe he said, ‘my father would enjoy it immensely.' Perhaps now is a good time for him to talk to the man, before he packs up and leaves.

    "Yes, yes. I will take him there."

    "Perhaps I can escort Miss Bennet to her sister?" Darcy smiled at Jane, who nodded. Now if Miss Elizabeth is willing, I shall have a few words with her.

    Unfortunately, Darcy's plan did not go well. In fact, upon arriving at the viewing area, he found Elizabeth seated with Blake on one side, and her mother on the other. Blake declined Bingley's offer. Darcy was not as quick thinking as Blake. He chose his seat poorly. Kent escorted Miss Bingley to the seats, placing her next to Darcy.

    The crowd, now happily relaxed, found a comfortable spot to view the display and clapped when the music escalated to a crescendo as each burst of light exploded against the black sky. The Harvest Feast ended when the last firelight faded from view. A parade of families, on foot and in carriages and wagons, silently and tiredly gathered their broods and returned home.

    The Black Bull Tavern had provided an alternative attraction for the men not wishing to view the fireworks; offering their own form of festivities to celebrate the local victor. Patrons purchased many drinks for the three finalists, with Mr. Pruitt garnering the most attention. While most of the crowd swarmed around the two local men, an unknown distinguished chap engaged the charming officer in a private conversation over a few hands of cards and an endless flow of glasses of strong drink. More precisely, it flowed in only one person's glass.

    Earlier, before the finalists appeared, this stranger had requested his drinks fixed in a secretive way, which was unusual but not unprecedented. Since he would benefit the more for it, Staunton voiced no objection, and slipped the shilling incentive into his coat pocket.

    Wickham was winning at cards. His opponent appeared unperturbed, and with every victorious hand, the lieutenant became more animated in his speech. His challenger merely called for another round of drinks, with a smile, as he threw more coins on the table.

    The two men gambled, drank, and, most importantly of all, chatted until the officer collapsed on the floor. The stranger picked his pockets clean and headed out the door.

    Rawlings paced around his room. Where is Logan? Damn. It should not have taken this long. He glanced at the timepiece on the mantle and huffed. My God, Logan, it is four in the morning. I hope you left me with some capital.

    Returning to his chair for an uncounted number of times, he tapped his fingers on the table until he lost the battle and poured another full glass of brandy. As he gulped the amber liquid, he ignored the burn cascading down the entire length of his throat, and rose only when the door opened. Logan's face was unreadable.

    Rawlings spat out the words, "What, pray tell, did you discover?" He scoffed. "If you discovered anything at all. It has been all night!"

    Logan spied the glass on the table. "Here, I was partaking of false drinks, but you," he glared as he pointed to the near empty decanter, "indulged fiercely in the strongest brandy in the house."

    "And?"

    "Wickham is a cautious person. He chooses his words carefully, although, his tales poured out as quickly as the whiskey did. I did have a time getting him to reveal more than the story he has repeatedly told."

    "And did he?"

    "When he believes he is winning at cards, he can be very revealing. With each hand, he said a little bit more. He is a braggart, believing himself to be self-important and in complete control. I had to laugh when he finally passed out. It was easy to pick his pockets clean." Logan placed the money on the table.

    "Logan! I insist you stop delaying, and tell me what you found out. Will this man create problems for us, or not? Why does Darcy despise this fellow?"

    "Despise him? If it were me, I would have shot the bloody sod in the back."

    Rawlings jerked his head up. "What?"

    "Yes, I am astonished that Darcy keeps his temper. By all rights the rogue should have had a bullet in him long ago, or perhaps slashed to pieces with a sword after a lengthy torturing."

    Rawlings slumped in the chair. "Will it impact us at all?"

    "I do not think so. Mr. Darcy is angry, rightfully so, but it is merely a personal matter."

    "Did this man steal from him?"

    "It is more along the lines that he tried to." When Rawlings raised brows up and waited, Logan continued. "He nearly seduced his young sister."

    With his jaw dropping, and eyes widening, Rawlings leaned forward, grabbing the arms of his chair tightly. "Did he harm her in any way?"

    "He was after her money. I am sure he would be dead if he had touched her. Fortunately for him, he merely attempted to elope with her, and gain full possession of her thirty thousand pound dowry. She is still an innocent girl today because the shirk knew how far he could push a judicious man such as Darcy before his life was in real danger."

    "Taking from a young maiden is despicable... unless, of course she is a conniving, scheming charlatan. I daresay that Miss Darcy is the former, and did not deserve such treatment."

    "We are talking of an innocent young girl of fifteen, not a shrewd woman of one and twenty."

    "True. Six years can make a difference in a woman's actions, as does a lower place in society."

    As he recounted to his master all the particulars between Wickham and Darcy's sister, Rawlings poured Logan the remainder of the brandy. Listening closely, Rawlings wondered why Darcy allowed the man free reign in Hertfordshire. It is providential the Bennet girls lost their dowries, or that blackguard would certainly seduce one of them. It is also fortunate that the Bennets are ladies. Rawlings sat erect. With a pounding heart and sweaty palms, he only had a single thought, Lydia! Regaining his composure, he turned to his valet. "Mr. Bennet must be warned."

    "There can be no two opinions on that." Logan gulped his brandy and placed the glass on the table as he glanced at the clock on the mantel. "The ball is tonight, and you look unfit to be seen by gravediggers. You must sleep if you wish to present a handsome face for her. The scoundrel will not enthrall her with his spurious charm if you can offer her the better choice."

    Netherfield Park was quiet this early in the morning. The only sound was boots climbing the stairs. Blake and Darcy had held their day after race as agreed; unfortunately for the latter, the winning coins jingled noisily in the marquess' pocket.

    Mrs. Nicholls was conscious of the private races between the men, and she sensed the tension in the house when a certain Longbourn lady graced Netherfield Park. It was her job as housekeeper to know these things. Nevertheless, with only her instinct to guide her, she believed her position was secure by the obvious way Mr. Bingley doted on the eldest Miss Bennet. All of Meryton desired the match, if for no other reason than to keep Mr. Bingley in the neighborhood. He was very much liked and admired. They pressed her regularly for confirmation.

    Walking the halls, she wondered when the rest of the guests would rise, and in particular Miss Bingley, to whom she needed to give a report. She had everything prepared for this evening's ball. The white soup was ready. The house, scrubbed from top to bottom, looked flawless. The flowers delivered and placed in vases throughout the ballroom. The musicians would arrive later this afternoon, in time to set up and tune their instruments.

    The servants, she noted, were groggy from last night's fireworks display. Most had never witnessed such an array of fireworks. When the crowds had finally dispersed, it was too late for the necessary clean up. All the same, she did expect, and had demanded with firmness in her voice, they be ready for the ball. This morning, the servants were hurrying to dismantle all the games and clear out the mess left behind. Mrs. Nicholls hoped they would finish in time.

    As she climbed the stairs, she thought about the last fortnight, and all the previous activity surrounding the competitions. Even if the extra work had meant many full days and late nights, she was somewhat sad now the end had arrived. Well not all the competitions. There are still the ones where the gentlemen are the prize! Mrs. Nicholls laughed to herself. Those games will be going strong tonight.

    Mrs. Nicholls stopped and knocked on Miss Bingley's door.

    "What? Who is it?" Caroline asked sharply.

    "Mrs. Nicholls, ma'am. You asked me to meet with you this morning. You wanted to review the list of final preparations for the ball. Shall I return later?"

    "Yes, in one hour, if you please. Oh, and prepare my bath water." She answered curtly.

    Her response did not amaze Mrs. Nicholls. Miss Bingley was not an early riser, even when she did not stay up late, as was the situation last night. The drawing room had been the home of much merriment, and the conversations grew more animated as the evening progressed. Lord Blake was a gracious winner, only gloating a little bit, while his friends sipped their Scottish whiskey. They had refused to share with him. The jesting continued, aimed at Mr. Bingley, when Caroline scolded him several times concerning his disappearance earlier that day. His silly grin disarmed her without ever giving her so much as an accounting of his whereabouts. Miss Bingley and her sister played merry tunes on the pianoforte as the men reminisced over the games. Mr. Rawlings jested they should have been naked like the early Greeks. Now that would have tempted even me to watch the competitions.

    Mrs. Nicholls entered the kitchen, and informed the cook that no one was stirring. She could hold off the breakfast for a while.

    Without looking up from the ham she was preparing for the morning meal, the cook smiled. "I am not surprised his lordship went for his sunrise gallop, what with him winning that stallion and all."

    "I am sure it is none of our business," Mrs. Nicholls said brusquely. "Miss Bingley will be wanting her bath water now."

    Mrs. Nicholls entered the housekeeper's quarters, and began the tedious job of reviewing the final preparations for Mr. Bingley's first ball. She had worked hard to guarantee its success, in the same manner she did for the Harvest Feast.

    Chapter 27

    Posted on August 12, 2008

    Darcy stood at the window, absentmindedly brushing off his coat, as he examined the rows of carriages arriving at Netherfield Park. The footmen held torches to light the way, thus he was able to discern the identities of those stepping down from each particular conveyance. The elegance of the dress surprised him; the ladies showed more style for this ball than he had witnessed anywhere at the assembly hall dance. Not only did they dress in fine silk, but turbans or feathers adorned their heads. as was the current fashion in London.

    A long line of guests arrived, waiting to alight from their transports. Not all were carriages; some emerged from curricles and gigs, and some of the officers rode in on horseback. Darcy wondered if the Bennets would arrive in two conveyances with so large a family. The carriage that carried away the two eldest Bennets from this house was insufficient in size for seven people. From his own sister's efforts, he knew how combative a lady became to ensure her best gown remained wrinkle free. Pondering which daughters received the preference of the carriage, he assumed age had its privileges; but with the Bennets, he was not so confident in his conjecture. He maintained his observation of the carriages as each vehicle made its way to the front of the house.

    From the top floor window, he continued to scrutinize each arrival, and with such intensity, that a flawlessly dressed Rawlings was able to join him unnoticed. Unlike Darcy's black outfit, he wore his blue coat and his favorite waistcoat---a matching indigo with golden threads weaved into the fabric. If they had worn the same color, they would have been indistinguishable, except for the appealing curl in Darcy's hair and the clever spark in Rawlings' icy blue eyes. They had agreed years ago that they would never dress identically.

    "Darcy, are you seeking out someone? Or are you planning your attack?"

    Startled, Darcy turned away from the window, shrugging. He presupposed his friend knew which lady was the object of his search. "Attack? Come now; speak in plain words... if you are able."

    "As you wish. Whenever two forces meet on the battlefield, the generals follow a plan for success. Both cannot lay in wait, otherwise, there would never be a victory... or a loss for that matter, but let us focus on taking possession of the territory. One must attack, and I am presuming you are planning to surprise your opponent tonight."

    "Sometimes, Rawlings, you bore me. Why can you not just accuse me and be done with it?" Darcy flashed a smile as he tipped his head.

    "But what fun would that be? Where is the other general, by the way? Ah! There he is."

    Darcy glanced around the room, searching every fair-haired man, but to no avail. "I do not see him." He detected the furrowed brow on his friend's face. "What concerns you now?"

    "Just trying to find the right four syllable word. Alas, a smaller word must do. Even you cannot find a larger one." He directed Darcy's attention to the window. "Look down. He is on the front step! As I stated, step is only a one-syllable word." Both men leaned in closer until their heads brushed the pane. Rawlings chuckled. "He is lying in wait; but if you allow for where he stands, he is not waiting for you!"

    Darcy found Blake without much effort. Even in the hazy torch light, he was able to spot the marquess fidgeting on the steps, and if he needed a word to describe the man, he would call him exhilarated. Damn. A five syllable word. Must I always seek such words? Excited means the same, and yet that word is but three syllables.

    "Chuckling, Darcy? You find the other general amusing?"

    "No. I laugh at my word choice." Darcy's countenance changed to one of seriousness. "I am not a general, Rawlings; I do not seek the same territory, regardless of your opinion."

    "I find that surprising, but I will let it pass for now. So, then, please humor me, and explain exactly why you are lying in wait."

    "I need to impart some information to the lady about the... other general."

    Rawlings gasped as the hair on his neck stood on end. "Do not do this. Do not attempt such a thing! You have no standing. I appeal to your good judgment, and plead for you not to jeopardize everything. We signed the partnership agreements just today."

    "I am responsible. I brought him here." Darcy looked up into the starlit sky. "You do not know how beleaguered my life has been recently. I vowed to never again allow an innocent young lady of my particular acquaintance fall prey to pretty words. Now, if you will excuse me, I must get Blake to hold off on his plan of... um... attack."

    Sensing the seriousness of the situation, the muscles in Rawlings' neck tensed. He immediately grabbed Darcy's arm, stopping him from heading down the stairs. "Wait! He will not respond well to your good intentions. Let me go for you. I shall divert his attention. I shall be your colonel."

    Darcy nodded and watched him dash down the stairs. He returned to the window in time to glimpse the last of the carriages pulling into the long line in the driveway. Before long, he spotted Rawlings as he approached Blake, and after a few spoken words, they went inside and out of sight.

    Now to get a few moments of her time. But how? He paced back and forth, stopping only when a thought occurred. He concentrated on arranging a meeting in the library, on the balcony, or even at the refreshment table. How can I speak to her without Blake hovering around?

    "There you are, Darcy!" Bingley patted him on the back. "Tonight, do not hug the walls as if they are your only friends. I insist you enjoy the ball. You must dance this evening. Come, come. I have seen you occupied thusly before; I know you are capable. Oh, I beg your pardon, Caroline is waving. I must return to greeting my guests."

    Dance? Why yes, of course! That is my answer. Darcy returned to spying out of the window as the passengers were descending from the final carriage. His brows shot up at the sight before him. Miss Elizabeth wore the most welcoming smile, and unlike the fashionable turban the hostess chose, she had adorned her curls with what appeared to be delicate white flowers and pearls. finding it bewitching and a far superior choice than large peacock feathers extending out of a lady's head, he sent her a small nod of approval He felt his chest tighten as she glided up the front steps, struggling for breath when her eyes lifted up to his. My god, she is... simply... beautiful. I shall be honored to dance with her. He turned his head away as he refocused his mind on the somber task before him.

    Miss Bingley had demonstrated her exceptional skill at managing this event, or more precisely, directing Mrs. Nicholls, the hard-working housekeeper. The ballroom shimmered; the multitude of candles cast a flickering radiance indiscriminately throughout the space. The sounds of random notes, plucked from the string instruments, pervaded everywhere as the musicians from London readied themselves for the flawless melodies soon to fill the air. A bouquet of breads, meats, and warm fruit fragrances seeped from the nearby dining area, barely overtaking the scent of the flowers arranged and placed on every available vertical service. A crush of guests shifted about in time with a progression of whispers and laughter as the servants poured the wine freely, ensuring no glass remained empty long. All this awaited the cream of Meryton as they passed through the receiving line and entered the room, wordlessly announcing to the guests their esteemed status and place of respect within the parish.

    Bingley, now joined by his four friends, waited patiently for the Bennets to make their way up the staircase. As these final guests reached the landing, each man, in unison, snapped into an upright position when the young ladies came into view.

    Rawlings whispered to Darcy, "Mrs. Bennet certainly knows how to dress her daughters. She has proven to be a military strategist as well---no laying in wait for her. She sent her soldiers straight to the front line with, ahem, their weapons loaded. All hope is lost."

    Darcy spied Elizabeth's gown, and at once felt his heartbeat quicken. He breathed several deep breaths before glancing sideways at Blake, whose smile had broadened and stretched the entire width of his face, not unlike Bingley's grin.

    After Rawlings admired the cut of the Lydia's gown, he leaned closer to Darcy, and in a half whisper said, "We are merely brigadier generals, while Mrs. Bennet is the generals' general, my friend; she is the field marshal over us all!"

    Nonetheless, as Elizabeth made her way down the receiving line, he defeated the marquess in this first skirmish of the night by swiftly offering his arm to escort her into the ballroom.

    Bingley, as expected, escorted Miss Bennet, Blake followed with Miss Mary while Kent led Miss Bingley into the room.

    Rawlings had no opportunity with Miss Lydia. She had flitted inside before he could even approach her. When he held his arm for Miss Catherine, she ignored him, preferring to walk towards the two officers waiting beside her sister. Standing alone and staring at the teasing wench, he muttered to himself, "Do not run away from me Miss Lydia. Tonight you shall dance in the arms of someone worthy of your passions, and he will not be wearing the color red."

    Bingley spoke to Rawlings as they entered the ballroom. "If she denies you early in the evening, at least make certain you dance the last one with her." Bingley winked. "Do not let the opportunity pass."

    Bingley turned to Jane, rewarding her with a tender expression. "Miss Bennet, I must tell you how lovely you look tonight."

    Jane blushed, lowered her eyes, smoothing the wrinkles in her dress from the ride. They had squashed into the carriage, her sisters pushing against one another while her father and mother sat comfortably with just Mary between them.

    "Miss Bennet, may I request the honor of the first set? And before anyone else can claim it, may I apply for the final dance as well. But if I could not be accepted for only one, then I would wish it be the last dance."

    After Jane agreed to both, the two slowly took their places at the head of the line. Each musician held his instrument in position while Bingley waited for his friends to choose their own partners.

    Although Darcy led Miss Elizabeth into the room, he had to check his arm to confirm that she had accepted the escort. The lint he brushed away earlier felt heavier than the slender elegant fingers curled around his sleeve. He admired the lightness of her touch; although in conjunction with the distance she kept between her body and his, uneasiness would have been the more appropriate reaction. He charged ahead, without regard to the clear warning signs, requesting the first set, only to hear her rejection. He had come too late. His expression changed from one of confidence to one of concern when she stated, in a sharp tone, that she had promised not only the first set, but the second one as well. Words stumbled from his lips until gaining her acceptance for the third. Reeling from this surprise, he released her to Miss Lucas and staggered away.

    When the other guests had lined up, Darcy searched the room until spying Blake, standing off to the side. No doubt Blake scouted the territory before today. I must stand guard. Damn. Why did Rawlings put battle words in my head? Expecting his friend to make his move, he inhaled sharply when a clumsy, ill-dressed man came to claim Elizabeth. The man's mouth moved with no sign of stopping while she disregarded his babbling to search the faces in the ballroom. Darcy relaxed and chuckled at the scene.

    However, he took a step back when he caught sight of Blake studying him. His recovery was quick. He threw his shoulders back, sucked in his stomach, and raised to his full height as he returned to patrolling the perimeter as he watched the dancers line up.

    Darcy chuckled again when he focused his attention back on the couples waiting to begin the dance. Ah, the beauty and the beast! Perhaps troll is a better term. Good god, she rolled eyes when he turned his head. Yes, Miss Elizabeth, I understand, but never reveal your dislike of anyone so openly. I wonder who he is and if he is capable of even dancing!

    Rawlings approached Lydia, but before he could speak, an officer wearing a well pressed redcoat and polished insignia arrived to claim her. Lydia flashed a mischievous grin back towards him as she took her place on the dance floor. He narrowed his eyes, sending her a silent message. She threw her chin up and laughed. He shook his head, returning her laugh, and retreated to find one of his friends. The moment the officer whispered in her ear she lost interest in him, giggling while they waited for the musicians to start the dance.

    Once Kent escorted Miss Bingley to the line, Bingley sent the anticipated signal. The long awaited first note sounded; the men bowed deeply, and the ladies curtseyed in their most practiced manner.

    Darcy circled the dancing area, while Blake anchored himself in the spot he had calculated to be where Miss Elizabeth would end the dance. Blake remained entrenched; Darcy continued to patrol the room, maintaining surveillance on both Blake and Elizabeth. Darcy sought a tactic to break the marquess' plan. Amidst his thoughts, his eyes repeatedly drifted away from the sullen Blake and toward the lady with the amusing expressions escaping when her partner turned away.

    Near the end of the first dance of the set, Rawlings approached Darcy. "General, sir. There is one fewer enemy in red attending tonight. I believe his colonel sent him away on a mission. This evening begins well."

    Unruffled, Darcy maintained his unyielding stare at Elizabeth and answered in a nonchalant tone. "Oh? I had not noticed."

    "Bah! You were aware of this, and I suppose you were instrumental in sending him on some important mission?"

    Darcy sighed. "I did not. It is not I that fears a confrontation."

    "I am also here to report, sir, that as we speak, the other general is surveying the same territory you seek. I shall stand guard until relieved of duty by a well endowed foot soldier ordered to do so by the field marshal." Rawlings chuckled. "What is it with these Bennets? Unquestionably, they can drive a man daft."

    Darcy shook his head. "I have expressed my opinion to you before. Miss Lydia is too young for you. Perhaps, I should speak in your terms. You are a general, and she is the drummer boy; too great a difference in age and in rank.

    "Is that all? Neither is an insurmountable obstacle. And I am but a colonel."

    "She does not show proper decorum nor hold herself above reproach. Think, my friend, of the reaction of our friends in London to her." He sighed at Rawlings' grin. "I do not comprehend what interests you."

    Rawlings inclined his head, sending a pointed glance to the haughty lady dancing among the locals, casting condescending sneers at every opportunity. "Miss Bingley and her London manners should indicate why I prefer the delightfully flirty Miss Lydia. I have had enough of perfect, sophisticated proper ladies. The ton is infested with them."

    "Still, you have responsibilities. Do not push those aside."

    "And you? Are you not ignoring your own expectations? Miss Elizabeth is not your ideal."

    "As I told you, Rawlings, I seek to speak with her, nothing else." Darcy paused to compose his next words.

    "Bah! I do not believe safekeeping her from harm is your true reason. Do not try to mislead me, Darcy. You look upon her differently than other ladies."

    "Fine. I will admit she has caught my eye. You are aware of this; you know me far too well." For the briefest of moments, Darcy closed his eyes. "And you are correct, she does keep me awake at night; but..."---he turned to face Rawlings---"I must consider more than myself. My sister and other consequences of duty and family stand in the way."

    "Do not be a---"

    "Drinks anyone?" Kent interrupted. "Shall we partake of some refreshments?"

    "I thought you were dancing?"

    "Miss Bingley was needed to resolve some problem requiring her skills. I am sure she will not take long. She is quick thinking." Kent steered his friends towards the refreshment table while sending a secret signal across the room.

    When Kent turned to pick up several glasses of wine, Rawlings whispered to Darcy, "You have been ambushed, General."

    After the men sipped their drinks and spent a moment conversing, Miss Bingley, prompted by Kent, approached. "It is fortunate tonight was such a lovely evening." Glancing around the ballroom, she added, "The locals seem pleased." With the slightest of smiles, she batted her eyes at Darcy.

    Kent bowed. "You have arranged a wonderful ball, Miss Bingley."

    "Decidedly so," Rawlings added.

    Miss Bingley hid a smirk behind her fan as she targeted her eyes on Mr. Darcy.

    "Miss Bingley, you are especially lovely tonight, do you not agree, Darcy?" Kent darted his eyes from Caroline to his silent friend.

    "It is kind of you to say so." When she blinked her eyes, Darcy limited his response to a nod. Seductively fanning herself, she waited for him to speak.

    Rawlings took pity on his friend by claiming his dance of penance promised as a result of his rude behavior at the golf practice picnic and whisking Miss Bingley towards the dance floor. She accepted in a gracious manner, although she glowered at him through narrowed eyes. They joined the line of dancers just as the band started the second set.

    "Darcy, will you be dancing tonight?" Kent asked.

    "I plan on dancing the next set." He did not elaborate.

    "May I ask which fair lady has won the honor?"

    Rising to his full height, Darcy turned to Kent. "I would appreciate you not encouraging Miss Bingley. I do not understand your ploy, but I warn you, do not endeavor to sway me along those lines." His eyes turned as black as a cannonball. "Any further attempt will not be met with any fragment of a cordial response."

    Feeling the intense heat rising on his cheeks, Kent took a step back. "As you wish. I shall leave you to your own devices." He turned and walked away.

    Blake was quick to claim Elizabeth. Darcy, expecting this, found a strategic spot to observe them. His eyes bore into the two with a strange, black stare as they touched hands. His pupils relaxed when they rested on Elizabeth, but simmered just the same. The dancers, however, were unaware, or rather uninterested, as their eyes remained focused on each other. Darcy cringed every time she smiled at him or laughed at his whispered words. His hands curled into fists when Blake leaned too close, and then again when they were slow to release the entwined fingers. Darcy began to relentlessly pace around the room; his gaze never wavering from their position on the dance floor.

    Kent took note of Darcy's clenched fists and now sweating brow. Even as he followed the direction of his gaze, he knew that Miss Elizabeth would be at the end. Kent spoke to no one in particular when he said, "Well, as I thought, Miss Elizabeth is who he wants. Now that she is without money, it may very well fit my purpose if he were to secure her hand. Perhaps not as helpful as Miss Bingley, but it will do." Kent's eyes narrowed. "And Darcy would save Miss Elizabeth from Blake, wounding him. I would not be sorry for Blake's loss."

    Darcy moved around the ballroom floor, speaking to no one. He glared at the musicians, willing them to play faster, until finally the dance ended. Quickly claiming Elizabeth for the next set, he did not see what only Kent beheld---the scowl upon her face, at once concealed, when she turned to face Darcy.

    Kent joined Rawlings where they stood in silent contemplation for a few moments while watching different friends. Kent cleared his throat. "Does Miss Elizabeth not like Darcy? She seems to cast cold stares at him when he is not looking."

    "I should not know. I have been more interested in watching Blake. He does not appear pleased."

    "I suspect he feels he is still competing. Although this time, he may not be so confident about his chances. I was never competition for him. He did trifle with me with the rowing contest."

    "I believe it was his tactic to not take the lead in order for him to produce the strength to push forward at the end. I daresay that was not a bad strategy. He did not toy with you. He did so want the blasted horse."

    Kent pointed his head towards Darcy. "He needs to understand, Blake is a tenacious and relentless challenger. I do not think he would quit a race without a fight." Kent paused when the tune changed. "Do you believe Darcy is partial to Miss Elizabeth?"

    Rawlings glanced at the two dancers. "He is dancing with a local country miss. He rarely dances, and only when he is compelled to by proper etiquette."

    Kent chuckled. "Ahhh. She is challenging him again. He seems amused by her verbal contests."

    "I doubt he has ever been challenged, since mostly sycophants follow him around." Rawlings glanced sideways at Kent, who had peered down at his boots.

    "True." Kent shrugged. "Miss Elizabeth does not hang on his every word, unlike a certain other lady of our acquaintance." He located a distraught Miss Bingley across the room. She, too, was engrossed in watching the two dancers.

    "And therein lies the attraction with Miss Elizabeth."

    The two men watched while the two dancers continued their unique brand of verbal challenges.

    Elizabeth mumbled as they separated in the turn. "I shall not find him amiable."

    "Miss Elizabeth, I beg your pardon. Your words escaped me." Darcy reached for her hand as they married up again for the next few steps of the dance.

    "It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Darcy. I talked about your, umm, performance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples on the dance floor."

    "I do have a matter of extreme importance to discuss with you."

    "Here, in the middle of a dance with music flowing and laughter all around? I cannot think seriously, as we take our turns and perform our steps. My head is full."

    "The present always occupies you in such situations, does it?" He gave the impression of being doubtful. "Should you not consider your future? Should you not be cautious?"

    Elizabeth, without missing a step, presented him with a loathing look of a combatant slowly aiming a modified Baker rifle at a despised enemy. "Cautious? "I remember hearing you once say, Mr. Darcy, you are very cautious, and you hardly ever forgave; that your resentment once created was unappeasable. I suppose then you are most vigilant as to your forming your dislike in the first place.

    "I am." Darcy felt a sharp, but quick pain, and his neck muscle twitched as if a bullet had just passed through it.

    "And never allow yourself to be blinded by prejudice?"

    He ducked his head. "I hope not."

    "It is particularly incumbent on those who never change their opinion, to be secure of judging properly at first." She smiled at his furrowed brow

    They separated as required by the dance, continuing the steps apart from one another. Darcy furrowed his brow. Does she think I am prejudiced against her? Prejudiced? I am not prejudiced at all. She is beautiful, witty, and intelligent, but...I must know what is on her mind."

    They turned towards one another; his hand capturing hers.

    Raising himself to his full height, Darcy tightened his hold on her hand. "May I ask to what these questions tend?"

    "Merely to the illustration of your character. I am trying to make it out."

    "And what is your success?"

    "I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly." Elizabeth stared intently at his hand caressing hers. When she looked up, she studied him with the hint of a question in her eyes.

    "I can readily believe that any report may vary greatly with respect to me and be prejudiced against me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet---"

    "Do not speak of Mr. Wickham in this way." Elizabeth discharged the name like the razor-sharp shot of a skilled and highly trained sharpshooter. She jerked her hand away from his.

    "Mr. Wickham? You were speaking of Mr. Wickham? I thought you were referring to another." Darcy shot a look towards Blake, who was glaring back at him.

    "Lord Blake? He sung only about your goodness. Why would he speak any other way? Are you prejudiced against him as well?"

    "But Mr. Wickham has done differently? You did say you have heard differing accounts."

    As they took another turn, Darcy's hand flew to massage the back of his neck. Wickham? No, not him! Tread carefully. She is infuriated. What did he tell her? My God, not him. I must warn her.

    As they rejoined hands, Darcy leaned closer, taking in the lavender scent surrounding her. "Mr. Wickham is blessed with such happy manners as may ensure his making friends; whether he may be equally capable of retaining them, is less certain."

    She glared at him. "He has been so unlucky as to lose your friendship, and in a manner which he is likely to suffer from all his life."

    At that moment, Sir William Lucas appeared close to them, meaning to pass through the set to the other side of the room; but on perceiving Mr. Darcy, he stopped with a bow of superior courtesy, to compliment him on his dancing and his partner.

    "I have been most highly gratified indeed, my dear sir. Such very superior dancing is not often seen. It is evident that you belong to the first circles. Allow me to say, however, that your fair partner does not disgrace you, and that I must hope to have this pleasure often repeated, especially when a certain desirable event, my dear Miss Eliza, shall take place." Sir William glanced at Miss Bennet and Bingley.

    Elizabeth and Darcy turned to observe the couple sipping their drinks and sharing a laugh with Rawlings and Kent.

    "What congratulations will then flow! I appeal to Mr. Darcy---but let me not interrupt you, Sir. You will not thank me for detaining you from the bewitching converse of that young lady, whose bright eyes are now upbraiding me."

    Sir William smiled, clapped his hands and moved to the other side of the room, where he whispered to the gleeful listeners lapping up the latest speculation. As the gentleman regaled the crowd with his supposition, all eyes turned towards Bingley and Miss Bennet. By the nodding of the heads and the contented smiles on their faces, they appeared in much agreement. These reactions were not lost on Darcy.

    "Forgive me, Miss Bennet. Sir William's interruption has made me forget what we were discussing."

    "I do not think we were speaking at all. Sir William could not have interrupted any two people in the room who had less to say for themselves. We have tried two or three subjects already without success, and what we are to talk of next I cannot imagine."

    "What think you of books?" he said, smiling.

    With her right brow raised, Elizabeth took aim and fired another blast towards him. "Books---Oh no!---I am sure we never read the same, or not with the same feelings. You, sir, wish to read books on gas lighting, and I find that I cannot speak on such a matter."

    "I am sorry you think so; but if that be the case, there can at least be no want of subject. We may compare our different opinions." He leaned in close and tightened his grip on her hand. "You may find we have differing thoughts on other topics. Perhaps we could meet in the library and speak for a moment or two. I---

    "This is ball, Mr. Darcy. I have not the desire to speak on serious subjects." Elizabeth forcibly pulled her hand away, causing the dancers beside them to take notice. "I cannot figure you out at all."

    Humpf. I am not the one you need to figure out! "Miss Elizabeth, I wish that you not sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either." Darcy gazed down at her curious expression. You do not understand me at all.

    "But if I do not take your likeness now, I may never have another opportunity."

    "I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," Darcy answered without any hint of warmth in his tone. Why are you thinking about me? Damn stubborn girl. Worry about Blake or Wickham. He returned to his aloof posture, his head held high, his shoulders back, and his eyes, darkened by his thoughts, bore into hers. Well, I shall not try to protect you again. You are... unmanageable and unmovable in your opinions. Yes, I spoke the truth---you misunderstand everyone and do so willingly. Humpf.

    She did not speak again. They went down the other dance and parted in silence; each one dissatisfied.

    As Darcy watched her approach Miss Lucas once the set ended, he felt a powerful urge to grab her by the hand, pull her into the library and... He snapped to attention. Do what? I was not thinking of shaking her, I wanted to take her in my arms and give her a reason not to fall for... "Wickham. Damn him! What did he say to her? What lies is he spreading this time?"

    The moment the dance ended, Rawlings picked up a glass of wine for Lydia. However, when she turned to walk away from her partner, she nearly knocked the drink out of his hand.

    "May I offer you a glass of wine, Miss Lydia?"

    "Thank you." She fluttered her eyes as she looked up at him.

    Bowing, he requested the honor of the supper dance, and was disappointed to learn another had claimed it. Remembering Bingley's caution, he asked for the last set of the night, hoping she had not given them all away. She accepted, although her sigh was louder than he would have wished.

    Undaunted he said, "I do so admire your gown tonight. You look lovely."

    "The blue ribbon matches my eyes, do you not think so?" Lydia blinked her long lashes slowly as she tilted her head.

    "Yes, it is a beautiful color as are your eyes, Miss Lydia."

    "You are wearing your blue coat." Lydia smiled widely as she cast her eyes on his coat. "Why, we are a match, are we not?" When he smiled at her statement, she continued. "You know you have such big hands, Mr. Rawlings. I do not recall anyone with hands that size. You must be very strong."

    Rawlings smiled broadly. If you want this little flirtation to work, my dear, then I will play along. When Lydia walked away for the next dance, Rawlings studied the womanly sway of her hips. Whew. That is not a drummer boy's walk.

    Turning her head slowly, Lydia smiled at him before curtseying to her partner.

    Once the supper dance ended, the gentlemen moved quickly to the dining room. Kent led Miss Bennet to the seat reserved for her next to Bingley with him taking the seat on her other side but not before sharing a nod and smile with his friend. Darcy had been unsuccessful in claiming a place near Miss Elizabeth; and even though Blake had not partnered with her for the dance, it was he and not Darcy that had maneuvered to take the chair next to her. Darcy, displeased at the inability to speak privately to her and in a show of disinterest, selected a location that permitted his continued surveillance of the two.

    Supper was a disaster. Lydia and Kitty raced about, chased by several officers. Without regard to the loudness of her voice, Mrs. Bennet spoke of the future possibilities when Jane would become mistress of Netherfield Park and Elizabeth became a Marchioness.. She added, and in an equally loud voice, her belief that the eldest girls' fortunes would help her younger ones find rich men of their own. Miss Mary entertained the diners with a very poor rendition of Mozart's piano sonata in A minor. Even Mr. Bennet contributed to the fiasco by embarrassing his own daughter at the end of the musical piece.

    Without concealing her discomfit with her family, Elizabeth ate her supper in silence, blushing at each humiliation. Darcy understood the meaning for the blushes, but not Blake, who seemed oblivious to anything other than she was the woman sitting next to him. Only once did she lift her eyes from her plate, and they were joined by a shudder when the gawky talkative man from her first dance introduced himself to Darcy.

    Darcy's eyes darted from Elizabeth to the clergyman. Who is this man? And why is Miss Elizabeth so mortified by him? What is he to her?

    She closed her eyes before swallowing the remaining wine in her glass. Only when the meal was over, and the dancing was about to resume, did she appear to relax. Mr. Rawlings and Mr. Kent were among the first to seek her out for a dance.

    The ballroom activities continued along the same manner as before: Darcy paced the room; Blake stared at all the men dancing with Miss Elizabeth; Rawlings watched Lydia with much amusement; and Bingley and Jane remained close all evening; talking when they could not dance, and only parting when a gentleman came to claim his angel for her promised sets. Kent's behavior was the only exception; he now avoided Miss Bingley.

    The mood in the room remained unchanged until the musicians announced the last dance; Rawlings claimed Lydia as Blake escorted Miss Elizabeth to the floor. Darcy, surprised the marquess had secured her hand for this dance, grabbed a glass from the table, and drained the contents one gulp. Two sets. He knows better than to dance twice.

    Bingley, Blake, and Rawlings lined up together. Bingley gave the signal. When the musicians began to play the waltz, Darcy's heart pounded as he held his breath. He felt his stomach knot as Blake placed his arm around her waist. Even though the couple maintained a proper distance between them, he glared at Blake in the same manner as a magistrate would intimidate a little boy caught stealing candy. His right eye twitched and his leg muscles flinched. He moved closer to the dancers. This is unsupportable!

    Thankful to be out of Darcy's line of fire, Rawlings smiled to Bingley who nodded in return with twinkle in his eye. Darcy noticed that Blake was all smiles as he held Miss Elizabeth in his arms, and did not seem surprised at the choice of the dance. No wonder Blake did not seek the supper dance. Bingley always shares his damn secrets with Blake. Why did he not tell me? Feeling a sharp pain in his chest, Darcy flashed his heated glower upon Bingley who merely raised his brows before turning back to gaze at Miss Bennet.

    The Meryton neighbors did not fuss one whit. They determined if Mr. Bingley wanted this scandalous dance at his ball, then they would allow him to do so without comment. A few guests spoke unkindly of the waltz, turning shocked eyes away from the couples on the floor.

    Mrs. Bennet noticed Mr. Kent had chosen one of the Long girls instead of Charlotte or Maria. She held her chin high, and sent Lady Lucas an unconcealed smirk. Mr. Bennet, however, was not smiling. He stood close to the dance floor casting dark looks at each of the men.

    As Darcy watched Blake and Elizabeth, his thoughts, as they had all through supper, returned to her pointed questions during their dance. Wickham. What is that reprobate up to now? Nevertheless, he forgot Wickham; his imaginings replaced with other feelings when half way through the dance, he caught sight of the sweet smile she gave to the marquess and the vibrancy of her gaze upon his face. Unable to do more than stand and watch, he clenched his fists so tightly so tightly that markings from his nails left impressions on his palms. He paced with more determination. I must stop Blake. This has gone too far. He paid no attention to the guests swiftly moving out of his way until he almost knocked down Mr. Bennet. The two men stood abreast, holding their own competition, both glaring at the dancers.

    Darcy released a long held breath when the music ended. He maintained his close watch as the couples made their way off the floor.

    Smiling broadly, Rawlings, Blake, and Bingley escorted the ladies to their waiting mother. Exactly like the other two men, Rawlings did not look anywhere except at his partner. She smiled up at him with a toothy grin, snuggling closer to him than he had ever hoped. Nonetheless, and just as quick, Lydia left to join Kitty. He could hear her giggles throughout the room and chuckled at the smug look upon her face when she gazed his way.

    Catching up to Bingley, Rawlings whispered to him. "I shall be forever grateful, my friend. I understand now why you insisted on us learning the waltz so many weeks ago." Bingley moved to the musicians' area. He requested they strike a note, and he waited patiently for the remaining guests to quiet down.

    While Bingley was thanking everyone for coming and wishing them a safe journey home, Rawlings approached Mr. Bennet. "Sir, might I have a word with you? It is of some importance."

    Wordlessly, Mr. Bennet nodded agreement and followed Rawlings to the library. He accepted a brandy before displaying his harshest glare at the young man, and without concealing his contempt, he asked, "Mr. Rawlings, did you enjoy holding my youngest daughter in such an intimate way? Is she the reason for our private talk?"

    Rawlings froze; sweat poured from his forehead. He took a long moment to set his glass down before responding in a calm voice, "Ahem. Any such talk between us would not be undesirable on my part; however, I have another reason to speak to you. Miss Lydia may be in grave danger."

    Mr. Bennet's body stiffened. He narrowed his eyes and his lips formed a tight line across his mouth, and tightening his fingers around the glass. After steeling himself for whatever news the young man would reveal, he nodded for the young man to continue.

    "Mr. Wickham is not to be trusted with---"

    "Phew! Wickham? You have merely come to warn me about Wickham?" Bennet relaxed.

    "I assure you, sir, she is in danger from him. You must be watchful when he is around."

    "Bah. He has shown no such need to me." Mr. Bennet sipped his drink while eyeing Rawlings. "I recognize you are a great friend to Mr. Darcy. Perhaps you must be watchful while in that great man's company? I have heard of his treatment towards the young officer."

    "Let me recommend... no, let me strongly suggest you do not listen to his charming story. As for Mr. Darcy's using him ill, it is perfectly false. He has been remarkably kind to him." Rawlings narrowed his eyes. "Though Wickham has treated my friend in a most infamous manner. Mr. Darcy is a gentleman, and. in every sense, is the most honorable of men. Do not listen to the rumors."

    "Oh, and are you privy to all his deeds? You stand by your friend. That is admirable, but still, you have told me nothing specific against Wickham. Are you in possession of information I should know?" When Rawlings opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, Mr. Bennet continued, "You are much mistaken if you expect to influence me by such a paltry attack as this. I see nothing in it but your own willful ignorance and the malice of Mr. Darcy."

    Rawlings bowed abruptly. "I beg your pardon." With the hint of a sneer, he turned to leave. "Excuse my interference. My warning was kindly meant. I was merely acting as a friend to you and your daughters." Rawlings furrowed his brow, narrowed his eyes and with a coldness rarely heard from him, said, "But mark my words, Mr. Bennet, he is not to be trusted with any young girl, and especially your two youngest." Slamming the drink down, he left.

    As Rawlings returned to the ballroom, he spied Blake leading Elizabeth to the balcony. He froze as a chill ran down his spine when he spotted Darcy taking long quick strides from across the room, heading in the same direction. He heard Miss Lydia calling him from the other side of the room. Turning to acknowledge her, he noticed she was waving him over. His feet would not move as his attention switched from her to Darcy and back to her sweet smiles.

    Standing with the door to the balcony open, Darcy was able to conclude that the couple was standing too close for proper etiquette, and Blake was caressing her body with his eyes, all the while speaking softly to her. Before he could move legs that felt bolted to the floor, Blake took her hands and spoke to her with a raspy voice.

    Darcy startled the two as he found his voice and called out loudly. "Ahhh. There you are, Miss Bennet. I believe your family is looking for you." He glared at Blake with a determined look.

    "Thank you, Mr. Darcy, I will be along in a moment," Elizabeth said curtly. Darcy noisily held the door open for her.

    Blake raised her hand to his lips and quickly placed a light kiss upon it. He spoke quickly. "Miss Elizabeth, please will you do me the honor of meeting me tomorrow at Oakham Mount. I wish to have an important conversation---

    "Your father is ready to leave." Darcy raised his voice a little louder, using his hand to point to the ballroom.

    Elizabeth sighed, shrugged her shoulders and made her way back into the ballroom.

    Darcy approached Blake. They stared at each other for a moment before Blake moved to follow Elizabeth. Darcy grabbed his arm, spinning him around.

    Blake demanded, "What is your meaning, barging in like this? I told you before; stay out of this."

    Grabbing the railing, Darcy took a breath. "I may ask, what is your design? Where do you propose this is will end?"

    Again attempting to exit, Darcy grabbed his shoulder. Blake turned back to glare at him. "It is none of your concern." He paused and with a calculating expression said brusquely, "Or is it? You favor her; admit it, man. But I warned you, you come too late."

    Ignoring Blake's question, Darcy chose to change tactics and spoke with a softer voice. "It is irrelevant whether you or I have a preference for her. Do not look at me with such pretense. Do you know what has happened to the Bennets?" When Blake shook his head, Darcy sighed. "When you find out, you may regret any decision you have made."

    Blake moved closer to Darcy with his arms held stiffly at this side. "What happened? What are you trying to say?"

    Darcy leaned his back against the railing. "Miss Elizabeth's dowry. Her seven thousand pound dowry is gone."

    "Gone? How"

    "Squandered by her relative in Cheapside in some dishonest scheme of some kind."

    Blake's eyes grew wide. "She has nothing?"

    "I heard one thousand pounds might be left."

    Blake gasped. "Damn. Damn. Are you positive?" He looked at Darcy, who nodded in answer. "Blast. When was this?"

    "Recently. I believe the news was traveling around the parish while the eldest Bennets stayed here."

    Blake paused to contemplate this new information. "But I do not think this has affected Miss Elizabeth. She still seems the same witty, lively lady."

    Looking over Blake's shoulder, Darcy noticed the light spilling out from the door as it opened from the ballroom, nonetheless, he did not modulate his voice, preferring to ensure Blake understood. "I know your father is nearly bankrupt. I have heard he may not even be allowed to sit in parliament this year or keep his estate. Think, man, you cannot afford to marry Miss Elizabeth."

    "You know? I knew his gambling was totally out of control, but I did not think the extent of the problem was general knowledge. Oh God. Damn him." Blake closed his eyes.

    Darcy spoke with more consideration, but still did not lower his voice. "You must seriously consider how hard it would be for Miss Elizabeth. There will not be enough income for you two to live on. Your title is not enough. You do not wish to live at Longbourn, do you?"

    Suddenly the door closed, and the balcony grew a shade darker. Darcy controlled the small smile attempting to appear on his mouth, successfully keeping his serious mien in tact.

    Shrugging, Blake spoke with confidence. "See here, Darcy, just because my father is in dire straights does not mean I am. In the wedding settlement, my mother left her fortune to me and not to any of my siblings. I always suspected it was my grandfather's demand. He never approved of mother's choice. I own her country estate that is doing well, and I have her home in town as well. I have income of six thousand a year. So you see, I can afford Miss Elizabeth. Not that this is any of your concern."

    "Six thousand a year. I did not know. And yet..." Darcy grasped the railing until his knuckles turned white. "You stay at your father's houses." The knot in his stomach returned and the sharp pain in his chest struck hard.

    "It is at his request." Blake straightened his posture before glowering at Darcy and with a rising voice demanded, "As I said, stay out of this." Blake turned to leave.

    Frowning, Darcy called out, "Then you are proposing an honorable attachment? But your father will never permit the connection."

    "None of this is your concern," Blake shouted angrily as he hurried to the door leading into the ballroom. Glancing backwards, he yelled, "Stay out of it!" Once inside the ballroom, he slammed the door shut.

    Grabbing the railings, Darcy struggled to take a breath as a deep sense of loss shot throughout his body and all light faded from only his consciousness.

    Chapter 28

    Posted on August 19, 2008

    A pair of eyes, residing in the face of a burly man, scanned the area, stopping at the ledge overlooking the Netherfield Park estate as he waited for the two young lovers to appear. Although he wore clothing similar in fashion to any of the local laborers, the thoroughbred horse tied securely to a tree on the other side of the wood gave lie to his appearance.

    In the early morning darkness, he walked with ease along his own well-worn path, even with such little light to guide his way, and located the fallen tree serving as his forest sofa. By his second week in Meryton, he had discovered the meeting place of Lord Blake and Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as well as this particular discreet, comfortable spot where he sat and made his notes. The multitude of colored trees provided enough cover for him to remain unseen, but with winter approaching, the bareness of the branches would deny him privacy for any future surveillance. The two young people had flirted, talked, and behaved in the most proper manner, attempting nothing different from the conduct deemed appropriate in the strictest drawing room in England. The two lovers were not lovers at all, not yet. At least, that is how their actions appeared to him.

    The previous evening, from a strategic location beneath the balcony, he overheard the marquess request the lady to meet him for an important conversation. Hence, today, he waited on his familiar tree trunk, having arrived long before the sun rose, with his eyes and ears focused on the opening beyond the trees. Not a naturally early riser, he would have preferred they conducted their meetings in the afternoon. However, he expected an answer to one of his questions this day, and looked forward to removing himself from this insignificant parish and returning to his home in London. Calling upon the patience needed for passing the time, he maintained his interest on the open ledge. Before long, his man arrived.

    Blake dismounted Heracles and patted his neck prior to tying him to a tree. "Today is the day, Heracles. I could not sleep one minute last night."

    The horse neighed.

    He rubbed the stallion's nose. "I only hope I can convince her that my title is nothing of importance---love is all that matters." He held a carrot in his hand as Heracles reached for it.

    Hearing a rustling of the leaves, his eyes searched the area, sighing when he spotted a squirrel scurrying up a tree.

    "Will she understand? Will she say yes? Will she accept my offer? Regardless of my father's opinion, I will never believe she is a fortune hunter or a social climber." Blake allowed the horse to nuzzle his shoulder. "She must agree. I... love... her. Titles are not important to her, I am sure."

    Heracles shook his head and snorted.

    "I do love her." Blake walked to the edge of the mount. He remained motionless as he monitored several of his friends' carriages as they headed towards London.

    The voyeur kept his eyes on the now restless young man, fidgeting after spending the morning talking aloud, although he stood too far away to hear the actual words. He kept an eye on the marquess as he paced, kicking the leaves, and even throwing pebbles over the ledge. All the while the sun traipsed across the sky; the oranges and pinks of the early sky fading into shades of blue and white. The glaring bright yellow sphere, having risen high in the sky, now made its way to the west. The marquess had lingered a long time.

    Unknown to the men at Oakham Mount, another person also sat in trepidation while passing the time; but this gentleman was neither perched on a damp tree trunk, nor mulling around a ledge in the crisp November air. Darcy waited in a comfortable chair in the Netherfield Park library. His entertainment was the open book in his hands. He, however, did not turn a single page.

    Breakfast had seemed strange to Darcy that morning; not only because of his friends' absence, but also due to the skillful manipulation conducted over the eggs and ham. Of the five men that had arrived together at Netherfield Park, only he and Blake remained, but the Marquess had left before sunrise for his morning ride. Bingley, Kent, and Rawlings journeyed to London on matters of business. As usual, following an evening out, the Hursts had ordered a breakfast tray sent to their room. Thus, Caroline was the lone diner that morning, and had lain in wait for his arrival. When he entered the room, he caught her practicing a speech aimed at persuading him to provide support and assistance to her. Pouring his coffee and filling a plate with eggs, ham, and two of the cook's special fruit pastries, he sat at the other end of the table, seeking some way to avoid her pleas to stop her brother from making a grand mistake.

    "Mr. Darcy, we must do something, and soon. I fear what has taken Charles to London."

    "Oh? What do you suspect?" Darcy bit into the apple filled pastry.

    "He plans to retrieve my mother's pendant, her favorite piece, a blue topaz. The one my father gave him to present to the lady he selects as his bride. I heard him tell Louisa yesterday. He will propose upon his return. We must not allow him to return."

    "Your brother is his own man. I am in no position to interfere with his plans." Darcy took a bite of egg. He grimaced when the cool yolk slid down his throat.

    "He listens to you. You can explain how such a connection would not... help him advance his position in London"

    Barely lifting his head up, Darcy peered at Caroline. "If he is not bothered by the connection, Miss Bingley, then---"

    "And what an embarrassment her family will be to us. We would never be able to invite anyone worthwhile to our home if the Bennets are visiting. My fondest wish is to save my brother from the humiliation that will follow once the ton has met them all."

    "How he handles his own family is his concern. Miss Bennet has shown only impeccable manners. She would not embarrass him. I cannot---"

    "Yes, I agree. Jane is a sweet girl. I do admire her, and if she truly cared for Charles---"

    Darcy jerked up in his chair. "You think she does not?"

    "I understand the female mind, and when she is around him, she has not given any evidence of... any signs of being violently in love. She appears the same to you and the other gentlemen here." Caroline hid her smile behind her napkin as she watched Darcy's expression change from the blank face of indifference to show the exact reaction she sought. His lips turned downward as his eyes narrowed into small slits and deep furrows appeared on his forehead.

    "Has she spoken to you at all about your brother?"

    "No. In fact, she mentioned only one gentleman in my presence. It is my belief she prefers Mr. Goulding, the person in the contest for the silly firearm. I noticed how they shared looks with one another." With both brows raised, she leaned towards him, although the table was long, and they would remain far apart. "When he missed his shot, she hurried to his side. Why would she do so if she did not have deep feelings for him?"

    Without taking his eyes off his breakfast, Darcy pushed the food around the plate. He, too, had witnessed the exchange between them, but until this moment, he had not considered it important.

    His silence gave Caroline courage to continue. "Mr. Goulding did dance twice with her last night. Does that not again show his preference?"

    Darcy placed his fork down and picked up his cup. He nodded for her to go on.

    "And if it was not for their loss of fortune, I believe her dowry would have made the difference to Mr. Goulding. He is a second son." Caroline waited for this information to settle on his mind. She smiled openly at his flinch.

    "But they may just be---"

    "Friends? No. She seeks him out whenever he enters a room."

    Darcy leaned back into his chair. He recollected every instance where he had witnessed them together. He was not in complete agreement. He noticed no specific action on Miss Bennet's part. Of Mr. Goulding, he had no doubt of his desire. But he began to sense that Miss Bennet's heart could not be touched. Many men had sought her attention. As Miss Bingley suggested, she presented the same smile to everyone.

    Caroline continued quickly as she noticed Darcy's face had relaxed. "Her mother is desperate, Mr. Darcy. Did you hear her plans last night? She wants my brother to put other rich men in her daughters' path. I heard her, and I suspect you did too."

    Darcy nodded.

    "I must save Charles from an unequal marriage. I could accept her if she loved him. She does not. She would have told me if she did. We have had many private conversations."

    Darcy sipped his coffee. She does not love Bingley? Damn. Ladies and their falsehoods! I do not understand them at all. This will not do.

    "Mr. Darcy, will you assist me in this endeavor?"

    Darcy released a long sigh. "What do you propose we do?"

    "We shall close up the house and return to London. He would have no reason to return."

    "A return to London would be acceptable to me. But why would that dissuade him from returning?"

    "My brother falls in love with whichever lady is nearby. As long as he remains in London, he will find another with whom to spend his time. There are many worthwhile and very pretty young ladies of our acquaintance in town."

    "What part do I play in your plan?"

    "Convince him of the truth. She does not care for him, and Mrs. Bennet is pushing her daughter to accept without regard to Jane's wishes. They are desperate now."

    "Are you positive Miss Bennet is merely acting as her mother wishes?"

    "Did you not notice the change in, um, their style of gown with the change in financial status? Of course, if you feel that I am mistaken, then I would not expect you to become involved."

    "No, no. I do not doubt you. I will speak to him. I do not wish to see him hurt."

    "Nor I, Mr. Darcy. Nor I. Shall we pack up today?"

    "Blake is out riding, and I do not know when he will return. I suggest we wait for him before any decision is made."

    Frowning, Caroline nodded her head.

    Once a polite period passed, he excused himself, using business as an excuse, and left to wait in the library. At first, his mind remained focused on Bingley. He had no desire to for him to live in such a marriage. Witnessing one friend in a loveless situation had been enough. Once he became firmly resolved to separate him from Miss Bennet, his thoughts drifted to another Bennet daughter.

    Hours had elapsed since he settled in his chair. Although to him, the timepiece on the mantle ticked louder today and the logs crackled incessantly, but what proved to be conspicuous in an odd way, was the was the lack of other sounds permeating the room. The absence of one man made the quietness unbearable. Closing the book, he sighed deeply, releasing his breath through puffed out cheeks, and unable to remain seated, he rose to tend to the fire. More than half a day had slipped by since Blake left the house, which was long before sunrise. The sunlight no longer streamed through the east facing windows.

    Suddenly, he felt a chill run throughout his whole body, even though the stoking of the fire had caused a flush of heat to reach him. With one hand leaning on the mantle, and the other poking at the diminishing fire, he cursed to himself. Damn him and his bloody charm.

    Darcy sought refuge in a glass of brandy as his eyes darted to the library door. With his back to the entrance, he filled the glass, which was twice what he usually poured, and swallowed the contents quickly before pouring another. Sipping his drink, whilst pacing the floor, he repeatedly diverted his attention to the door leading to the hallway foyer, and then to the driveway as it curved alongside that part of the house.

    The emptiness outside the window drew him to the glass panes. His lips turned downward as he studied the dust whipping up along the road, presuming it to be the wind and not a horse that caused the disturbance. His stomach tightened with each tick of the clock and crackle in the grate, until he could no longer stand erect. Blake, it had better have been an honorable proposal, or I shall... He stopped, and with his hand upon his chest, exclaimed, "Shall what? Knock him out? Challenge him to a duel? Who am I to do these things?"

    Returning to his seat, he ignored the squeezing knot in his stomach and disregarded the sweating of his hands until he realized he could no longer hold the glass of brandy securely. His cravat felt as snug as a noose circling the neck of a bloated dead man. His head ached, and every muscle twitched beyond his control. He gulped the remaining remnants of his drink, slid back into the chair, and closed his eyes. His throat tightened as he imagined the most expressive eyes shining brightly when Blake drew her hand to his lips.

    Following the ball, Mrs. Bennet had not slept at all. All night she had paced, sipping wine from a decanter that had required filling several times. She had nibbled on cheese and fruit as she contemplated the resolution to her family's situation. She sensed Mr. Collins desired either Jane or Lizzy. She had tried to encourage an arrangement with Mary, but her third daughter did not entice the man at all, nor would she try to use her female wiles on him. Mr. Collins appeared to be a man in need of womanly charms. In the early hours of the morning, she had arrived at a solution. I am thankful that Mr. Bennet is leaving to go to town. He would not lend his support to this scheme, I am sure.

    The customary noisy activities were missing from Longbourn with the girls sleeping late to recover from the ball. As planned, Mr. Bennet readied himself for his journey to London for that important business he had told everyone that could not wait. He had, however, told his wife that payment was due for his most foolish investment on gas lighting.

    Mrs. Bennet approached her guest the moment the front door closed behind her husband. "Mr. Collins, might I have a word with you this morning? Please, before the girls come down for breakfast."

    Collins nodded, and the two made their way into Mr. Bennet's study.

    "It is my hope you have had a pleasant stay."

    "Yes, very agreeable. You have received me with the utmost civility. Your hospitality rivals my dear patroness, Lady Catherine de Bough's. She is the model for extending hospitality to her guests. Not a single issue is left to others; her humble manners and Christian kindness are beyond any thing I can describe."

    "Yes, yes. I have asked to speak to you about a reference in your letter you sent to Mr. Bennet."

    Collin's eyes widened. "Oh?"

    "Yes. It did show you as a most honorable and good man."

    "I am confused. Which part?"

    "Ah. You expressed your desire to choose a wife from among my daughters." Mrs. Bennet glanced at the closed door. "It is also my wish. We can talk openly here."

    Collins smiled, nodded, and relaxed into the chair. "I was under the impression you had understood my wishes after we shared the little tête-à-tête upon my arrival."

    "Yes, I was, and have kept a close watch on my girls. I felt we should speak since, as their mother, I am privy to their wishes." Mrs. Bennet leaned forward, glanced at the door, and spoke in a voice slightly louder than a whisper. "Mr. Collins, I have one daughter that wishes, secretly, for a connection."

    "I must admit I, too, have a secret desire. I have hinted to you, most strongly, that I do not find Miss Mary or the two youngest acceptable for Lady Catherine de Bough. I need a woman of elegance and grace. I seek someone who can entertain her ladyship with cleverness, but also be a comfort to her most charming daughter, Miss Anne de Bough. But then again, my wife must be able to temper her wit and vivacity with the silence and respect which my patroness' rank deserves."

    "Oh, I see no problem with my charming daughter. I have raised her to be a proper lady. Now the one interested is..."

    Collins leaned forward, his hands and brows sweaty. With a single blink, he stared into Mrs. Bennet's eyes.

    "Elizabeth. I have it on good authority she has had secret feelings from the moment you arrived."

    "I am relieved. She is a dear sweet girl, and would do me a great honor as my wife. But, I beg your pardon; are you sure? As much as I might wish otherwise, Miss Elizabeth has not shown me even the slightest encouragement."

    "Mr. Collins, you are an only child and were raised by a father. You have not had the experience of understanding ladies' ways since you have no sister and no mother to reveal these things. Shall I share a few secrets of the female mind when it comes to proposals of marriage?"

    Collins nodded eagerly.

    "You, sir, do not wish to have a lady immediately willing to accept your offer."

    Collins head shot up and he sat tall in his chair. "I do not?"

    "No. You must understand, all true ladies must show a little unwillingness. If she agrees quickly, then a gentleman must consider her to be only after a secure future or he may think that she is a wanton woman seeking, well, I shall not say the word."

    "I am beginning to see your point. Is there more I should know?"

    "Well, yes. A proper lady will reject the offer not once, but at least twice. And if she truly desires the match she will say no, even to a third proposal."

    "I do not understand at all. Why would a lady say refuse so many times?"

    "She must hear your arguments for her. If she feels you are not willing to persuade her to accept you, then she will believe you do not care for her at all. A young lady needs assurance of your true feelings. It is sad, but it is the true delicacy of the female character. In this you can trust me."

    "Three times? I must propose three times? I object. This is nonsensical!"

    "Mr. Collins! It makes perfect sense. You, sir, do not understand how a lady thinks. You must prove your hand is worthy of her acceptance, and that the establishment you offer is highly desirable. You must put forward your connections with the family of De Bourgh as additional evidence of your worthiness, and you must not forget to mention her loveliness and amiable qualifications."

    "Is this important? Why, this is preposterous. I should just propose, and she should accept. I am offering her Hunsford and the de Bough connection."

    "Lizzy is no different than any elegant lady. She wants to increase your love by suspense. It is a silly game, I know, but it is the usual practice of my sex when a proposal is truly desired. Do not fear the seriousness of a rejection at first. Think of it as a charming response and her rejection will prove her love!"

    "But then does she accept?"

    "Well, first, you must let her run off to her room. Remember, young ladies like to be dramatic. After marriage, they must behave in a sedate and proper manner at all times. This is the only opportunity they have to demonstrate their silly girlish ways. It is the last stage of courtship."

    "Then she will come down and accept me?"

    "Not yet. I must go to her, as her wise mother, and counsel her. I remember when my mother came to me when Mr. Bennet offered. This time will be no different. I look forward to this, as a mother. You do not wish to deny me this one little moment, do you? But remember if she smiles and accepts right away, you should withdraw your offer. Do not be misled into thinking this is how it is done!"

    Collins nodded. "So it shall be. I shall offer today, but I will only reluctantly play this game, and only for a short period." He rose from his chair and headed to the door. "Mrs. Bennet, I shall be forever grateful for this... insight. I would not wish to make such a mistake as you have pointed out by a quick acceptance."

    Mrs. Bennet turned and stoked the fire, smiling to herself. Yes, all is going as planned. I have no doubt Lizzy will refuse him every time. Her head is full of Lord Blake.

    She looked up as this gullible man cleared his throat and held the door for her. The two made their way to the dining room for breakfast, and without an invitation or permission, Mr. Collins attempted to act as the head of the house. He demanded the girls quiet down and asked that they show some modesty. Lydia and Catherine merely giggled. Jane blushed. Mary delivered some advice to Mr. Collins with quotes straight from Fordyce's Sermons.

    While the others were enjoying their breakfast and reminiscing about the previous night's activities, Elizabeth had woken with a start. The room was too bright. She had intended on going straight to Oakham Mount before sunrise, now she hurriedly called for Sarah.

    The morning sun caused a glare on Lizzy's reflecting glass on her dressing table. "Hurry, Sarah. I wish to walk while there is still sun to light my way. I stayed up too late last night talking with Jane."

    "Miss Elizabeth, the sun will still be shining the rest of the day. I do not think any rain is coming. See, no clouds at all." Sarah picked up the brush and began to style her hair in her usual simple fashion.

    "Sarah, could you fix my hair in the same curls as last night. I, um, liked how they felt. And could you add a few of the flowers again?"

    "Now Miss Elizabeth. I do not have time to spend on such things. I have many other chores that need to be done." Sarah chuckled when she spied a blush rising on Miss Elizabeth's checks. "You have plans this morning? Do I need to splash a little extra lavender water on you?"

    Lizzy ignored her maid's teasing, choosing instead to focus on getting to Oakham Mount as quickly as possible. "I need to hurry, Sarah. I need to select a proper dress."

    "Mrs. Bennet insisted you wear the rose gown this morning. She demanded I not let you out of the room without it."

    Elizabeth looked at the gown lying across the bed. It was one of her newly designed dresses and one of many she had avoided wearing with the exception of once when Mr. Collins arrived and once when Lord Blake visited. She felt the fire burning her cheeks when she thought of how he did his best to avoid the neckline of her gown. With Sarah finished with her hair, she moved to the closet, pulling out dress after dress. Finally, she found a beautiful pale green gown that her mother had missed. The neckline was perfect, not too low to cause embarrassment, but not too high either.

    "This one. I shall wear this one today."

    Sarah sighed but helped her with the dress. "Your mother will not be pleased."

    Fully dressed for the day, Elizabeth checked the view outside her window. Oakham Mount was clearly visible, but she was too far away to distinguish if anyone was waiting there. Why did I let Jane talk about Mr. Bingley all night?

    Hearing Mr. Collins and her mother's voice in the dining room, Elizabeth attempted to creep past the door undetected.

    "Lizzy, come in here."

    "I feel the need for some fresh air this morning after last night's ball. I will return later."

    "No. Lizzy. You are to come and eat your breakfast. I insist."

    Elizabeth entered the room, took her usual seat and quickly placed a few items on her plate. Swallowing a few bites, she had hoped to satisfy her mother. However, her heart skipped a beat when the very instant she stood to leave, she noticed her mother signal to Mr. Collins.

    Announcing his desire for a private interview with Miss Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet gleefully complied. She pushed all the other girls out of the dining room.

    "Lizzy, I insist upon your staying and hearing Mr. Collins," she demanded as she left the room. With a backward glance, she glared at her daughter to let her know she, just like her father would, on occasion, brook no argument.

    And so, no later than mid morning, Elizabeth and Mr. Collins were left in the dining room alone, while Mrs Bennet congratulated herself on a task successfully completed. She dawdled in the vestibule, eavesdropping through the slightly open door. After a short while, she grew impatient. It was with a quickness, she began to re-enter the room, only to stop when she heard her daughter say---

    "I thank you again and again for the honor you have done me in your proposals, but to accept them is absolutely impossible. My feelings in every respect forbid it. Can I speak plainer?"

    Mrs. Bennet charged into the room, speaking quite animatedly and much too loudly. "But depend upon it, Mr. Collins. Lizzy shall be brought to reason. I will speak to her about it myself directly. She is a very headstrong, foolish girl, and does not know her own interest; but I will make her know it.'' Mrs. Bennet sent a small nod and the hint of a smile to Mr. Collins. He returned the nod.

    Elizabeth chose to remove herself to her own room once she discovered the men guarding the doors with the deliberate purpose of stopping her from leaving. On her heels, she was followed by her mother up the stairs. She had not even been able to close the door to her bedchambers in time to keep her mother out.

    "Lizzy! You have declared you will not have Mr. Collins. Well, missy, Mr. Collins begins to say that he will not have you."

    Elizabeth stood and faced her mother defiantly. "Then we are in agreement."

    Mrs. Bennet tried to reason with Lizzy, but found her to be exactly as she had described; obstinate and headstrong. She explained how an alliance with Mr. Collins would save the family. When her defiant daughter implied that she could do as she pleased, her equally defiant mother decided to try a different approach. She sat in the chair and calmly patted the bed for Lizzy to sit down.

    "Did I ever tell you about a Lieutenant in the army I once favored?"

    Elizabeth sat down but did not respond. She would not look at her mother.

    Mrs. Bennet spoke wistfully. "My dear father, your grandfather Gardiner, would not allow me to follow my heart with the Lieutenant."

    Gaining her daughter's interest, she revealed a story never previously shared with any of her daughters. "My father made me marry Mr. Bennet. He was the one with the estate and, at that time, had fifteen hundred a year." She looked tenderly upon Elizabeth. "Father impressed upon me what great responsibility a daughter in the family has---namely, she must choose her future in a way that will take care of others."

    Mrs. Bennet paused as she watched Lizzy's eyes flash with distrust.

    "And do you know what my mother did?" Mrs. Bennet waited until her daughter shook her head. "She encouraged me to choose your father as well. Both of my parents taught me that my place was to do as I was told. So, as much as I loved the lieutenant, I understood that he could not offer me security. My brother, Edward, was away at school, and could not plead my case for me. And when he came home, I told him the situation. Do you know what your favorite uncle said?"

    Elizabeth looked up at her mother; she shook her head more visibly.

    "He too would have desired me to marry the better man."

    Elizabeth's eyes grew wide, and her mouth dropped open.

    "Yes, it is true. Your Uncle Gardiner told me to choose Mr. Bennet. And he said I would be foolish not too. I did not want to appear foolish in his eyes. Perhaps that is not the case now, for I do not care what his opinion is of me. I have had to live with the decision, not him. Well at least he knows he is indebted to me. Did you know it was your father's status that elevated my dear brother and made it possible for his success today?"

    Elizabeth's interest grew, and was evident by her softened gaze at her mother. This was the first honest conversation they had ever shared.

    "It is true. If I had followed my heart, he would not have been able to marry whom he chose, nor would he have had the comfort of a nice house in town." Mrs. Bennet took Elizabeth's hands, looked her in the eye, and in a most calm voice said, "Lizzy, dear. I know you do not wish to marry Mr. Collins, and I see your point about how silly a man he can be; but consider the truth of life."

    Elizabeth gave her mother a questioning look. She continued to remain silent.

    "You are not as beautiful as Jane; well certainly, no one is." Mrs. Bennet patted her hands when she noticed her daughter cringe. "You are a pretty sort of girl. You have a nice figure and pretty eyes." She smiled tenderly at her second born. "Unfortunately, you do not have the right charms to entice gentlemen. You are willful, you are not dutiful, and you even refuse to behave as a lady by walking all over the country. You do not flatter men, and my dear, they do like to be flattered. Men are stupid creatures really. They walk around so high and mighty, but you will learn they are unsure of everything. That is why you must flatter them."

    "Flattery does not always work, mother. I have seen an example of how it failed completely."

    "Perhaps the occasional gentleman is not so easily fooled. But, Lizzy, you are too smart. They do not like that. You must learn to hide that side of you. You father did not help you by encouraging you this way."

    "I cannot behave any other way."

    This is why you will not get the right kind of proposal from any man worthy of you. They prefer silly and stupid women. Look at your father. He chose me, and is always saying how silly I am and how little understanding I have. I let him think that because you see, dear, he chose me. He did not have to, but your beloved father, that you hold so dear, chose me."

    "You used your charms on him, but I daresay they would not work today. Did you reveal a little glimpse of heaven to him?"

    "I know you wonder why he chose me. He chose me because I flattered him, and I was silly around him, and I made him feel smart and strong. Those were the qualities he sought in a wife. As the newly head of Longbourn, he was so unsure of himself. So I said the words he needed to hear. Now today I have a fine home and live in a fine neighborhood, and I am important in this part of the county. If I had followed my heart, I would have none of those things. My life would have been a struggle even now. My lieutenant is no longer in the army. He is a tradesman now, and not a very good one at that. The path I chose was better for me."

    "But what about love and respect? That is what I want."

    "They come and go, and sometimes they come again. That is what we all live for. You will see one day. Even love matches lose their passion. It is the day to day living that wears us all down."

    Elizabeth withdrew her hands and defiantly looked away. Her mother continued---

    "Mr. Collins pays you a great compliment. He is willing to overlook this side of you because he finds you very pretty. It is a great thing for a man to have a pretty wife. Other men are jealous, and having other men envious is always good for a husband's temperament."

    Elizabeth smirked. Mrs. Bennet shook her head.

    "Now, life with Mr. Collins would not be so bad. Perhaps not as nice as life with Lord Blake, but my dear, he will never offer marriage to you. You are just not in his social sphere. Surely, you must see that. He may offer something else, and then your father will not allow that, even if he has to shoot the man." Mrs. Bennet patiently waited. She knew she was correct that Elizabeth was waiting for Lord Blake.

    "You pushed me toward Lord Blake! Why have you changed?"

    "Your father explained to me how great men marry only those from their own circle, and he demanded I speak to you today. He is worried after witnessing you and Lord Blake dancing that scandalous waltz. He fears the type of offer he will make."

    "Jane is not equal to Mr. Bingley either. They danced the last dance. Does he not fear him?"

    "Mr. Bingley is free to choose Jane because he is just the son of a tradesman, and his reputation would not suffer. Lord Blake cannot afford to take a country wife with no money and connections. It is just not done."

    "I believe Lord Blake will offer, mama."

    Mrs. Bennet worried that there had been an agreement. She held Lizzy's chin in her hand and pointedly asked, "Has he spoken of marriage? Or has he merely hinted at some type of future?"

    Elizabeth jerked her head away from her mother's hand. She shrugged.

    "Well, missy, he will only break you heart. You must put him out of your mind and accept life as it is, not as you want it to be. He will not offer marriage; it is just the way of things. I know you have tender feelings for him. I see how you look at him. I remember that feeling."

    Lizzy stood by her bedroom window overlooking the back of Longbourn. Looking out into the distance, she could see the faint rise of Oakham Mount as a grey mass on the horizon. She sighed as she turned back to her mother.

    "This is the problem, Lizzy, and it is a serious one. If Mr. Bingley does not marry Jane, then we are in a very bad way. We will not be able to live here if Mr. Bennet was to die. At this time, my dear brother cannot help us; he has to take care of his own family and his own business. There is no one else. Mr. Collins will not consider Mary, or Kitty or even Lydia. He has it in his head that it is you he wants. So, if you insist on rejecting Mr. Collins, then we face a very hard future. You do not know what poverty is, Lizzy. You do not know. You have been spared that because I did right by my family. Think on that."

    Mrs. Bennet rose to leave. She was almost to the door when she turned and said, "I will leave you to your thoughts, and I promise to say no more. You must decide your fate by tomorrow morning."

    "I would like to take a walk and think over what you said."

    Mrs. Bennet had been waiting for this plea. "No, Lizzy. You will stay in your room. I will station John outside your door if necessary. You must not leave until you have come to a decision, and I will not accept a quick decision. I want you to think upon it until you agree to marry Mr. Collins, even it takes all night. I will have a tray sent up to you."

    "May I please see Jane?"

    "Jane is needed elsewhere today."

    With that, Mrs. Bennet left the room and called for John. I must one day thank Mr. Darcy for revealing Lord Blake's financial problems on the balcony last night. I know he saw me. To think, I almost let Lizzy make a horrible mistake, pushing her on such a penniless man.

    Mid-afternoon had arrived when Blake gave up waiting at Oakham Mount, although he had not given up on her. He left directly for Longbourn with the only purpose to discover if she had taken ill, or, perhaps, had some other reason for her absence. He vowed this day would not pass without an answer.

    The pleasure he derived from holding her in his arms was still fresh in his mind. When he pulled her close to take the turns of the waltz, he had nearly fainted like a silly girl at the experience. He could still smell the lavender scent, making his head swim a day later, and he shuddered when he thought of how her breath bathed his body as he tried to not pull her to him. Her hair tickled his cheek; he had wanted to pull out the pins and let it fall down her shoulders. Oh, God. Sighing, he took control of his body as he neared the house.

    "Lord Blake, you honor us with your presence," Mrs. Bennet said as he was shown into the front parlor. She curtseyed as elegantly as she knew how.

    "Good day, Madam. I am here to visit with Mr. Bennet."

    "I am sorry, my lord," Taking several quick breaths, Mrs. Bennet gained control over the tone of her voice. "My husband has gone away on business."

    "I had wished to express my apology for my dance with Miss Elizabeth last night. I did not want him to think ill of her."

    "Oh, phew. He had not a single bit of worry over the dance. Do not give it another thought."

    "Well, now that I am here, perhaps I can visit with your lovely daughters."

    "My Lord, I am sorry to inform you that my daughters have gone to visit their friends at Lucas Lodge. All except one." Mrs. Bennet watched Lord Blake's eyes light up. She quickly added, "Lizzy left for London this morning with her father. She is such an impulsive girl. She pleaded with him---she is his favorite, you know, and told him it was most important... critical is the word she used---for her to keep him company this morning. It was almost as though she was trying to avoid something. Naturally, my husband agreed to her request. He never could deny her anything."

    Mrs. Bennet smiled when she heard Lord Blake's gasp. She looked closely at his clothes and boots with a curious expression on her face. "May I call for refreshments? My other daughters will return shortly."

    "That will not be necessary." Blake followed Mrs. Bennet's line of vision, and looked down at his boots. Shrugging, he continued. "Perhaps it may be better to return at another time."

    Mrs. Bennet folded her hands in front of her, raised herself up tall, and smiled. "Yes, perhaps it would. I will not delay you any further, Lord Blake. You are such an important gentleman. I am sure you have much waiting for your attention. I will tell my daughters that you called when they return home."

    "Thank you, madam. I will see myself out."

    Lord Blake left without turning back or looking up. He mounted his horse, patted his pocket, and rode directly into the sun as he sped towards the open meadow west of Netherfield Park.

    At last, the sun had reached its final spot before hiding behind the horizon. Darcy had waited all day, but Blake did not appear. Surely, no man would be away this long for a mere tryst or to arrange for some other unsuitable situation. Darcy debated what his friend was planning to offer. Marriage. It cannot be. He has a place to maintain in society. He felt his chest constrict as it had done repeatedly with each thought of Blake and Elizabeth together. How can it not be an offer of marriage? He has been gone to long.

    As a deep sullenness overcame him, Darcy agreed it was time to leave Netherfield Park, not for Bingley's sake but for his. He wished to avoid Blake upon his return. With slumped shoulders and a slow walk, he climbed the stairs and, upon entering his bedchambers, informed his manservant to pack his belongings. They would leave after breakfast. He indicated he was not to be disturbed for the rest of the night. His chest was tight, his throat was dry, and the fireplace smoke made his eyes mist, or at least that is what he told himself. Darcy spent the early evening alone, repeatedly visualizing the two lovers in an embrace tighter than when they danced the waltz. He imagined her lips upon his. I came too late.

    He sat up sharply. "Think only of her family and her connections. I am fortunate not to have fallen into their trap."

    He rang for a tray instead of dressing and going down for dinner. He did not wish to see anyone still residing at Netherfield Park. Only the Hursts, Miss Bingley, and Blake remained, none of them capable of providing escape from his thoughts

    When Darcy's valet entered and found him sitting in a chair, bent forward peering out the window at the driveway, he offered to bring him anything he needed. Darcy's only words were, "A bottle of brandy. No, make it two." He moved to the desk, pulling out his writing paper and mended pens, and began to make a list of things to do in town.

    "No. My answer is no." Elizabeth stood defiantly as she replied to her mother's question at breakfast the next morning.

    "It is just as well, child. Mr. Collins withdrew his offer. You waited too long and humiliated him. You could not have him now if you begged him," Mrs. Bennet answered with a downcast smile. "That Charlotte Lucas has sunk her nails in him and dragged him to Lucas Lodge."

    "Charlotte was here?"

    "Yes, and when Mr. Collins left to follow her, he was so angry with me that I fear what he will do. If Lady Lucas has her way, she will ensure her daughter will one day be the Mistress of Longbourn; mark my words. He is easily led. Oh, what are we ever to do now?"

    "May I leave the house?"

    "It is of no consequence to me now." Mrs. Bennet narrowed her eyes at Lizzy and crossed her arms against her chest. "You have ruined us all. I never want to speak to again." She stomped up the stairs, entered her bedchambers and collapsed in the bed where she remained for the remainder of the day.

    Elizabeth sprang out the door and ran all the way to Oakham Mount. Reaching the top, she stopped to catch her breath. She calmed herself by taking several deep breaths before she walked slowly out on the ledge. She hoped he would be there, and was disappointed he was not. She sat down and decided to wait for a while. Surely, he would come today, even if only to assuage his curiosity. When he heard what had happened, he would surely forgive her for not meeting him.

    She sat on the ledge for over an hour when she leaned forward and gasped at the sight below. From her location, she could see Netherfield Park and the driveway leading up to it. She stood and watched very carefully.

    They are leaving. All of them. Every carriage. No, it cannot be! There goes Lord Blake on that beast of a horse.

    Wanting to call out, and knowing it would be futile to do so, Elizabeth merely stood at the ledge, her eyes squinting against the sun as she followed their passage until they were no longer visible. Never before had she felt so alone. Abandoned. He has abandoned me. Was he as Mama said? Just trifling with me? What exactly did he want of me?

    Elizabeth slowly walked back and came to an abrupt halt. Tied to a bush was something that looked like a handkerchief. She ran to retrieve it; her heart pumping at a quickened pace. She knelt down after pulling it from the branch. She knew it was from him. A smile crossed her face. He did not abandon me. He left me a message. As she touched the delicate linen, she felt something inside, something hard and so unlike a note. Untying it quickly, she recognized it as the very handkerchief she had embroidered for him, and inside were many tiny pieces of something broken to bits, as if it had been stomped on until the structure collapsed. She studied the contents until awareness dawned which item had been crushed and broken and secured in her handkerchief---instinctively she knew it had originally been intended to be a gift---it was a very expensive and beautiful chess piece.

    Elizabeth tried to control the mist in her eyes. She gingerly fingered and kissed all the tiny pieces of the white knight as she tried to reassemble it in her lap. Engraved upon the front was the letter E with his insignia below. The tumult of her mind was now painfully acute. "He would have proposed to me! I was right; he was planning to offer marriage! Oh, why did he not come back today?"

    Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review of their time spent together. It was gratifying to have inspired so strong an affection, but his total lack of faith in her saddened her exceedingly. How could he leave without saying goodbye? Why did he not give me a chance?

    She continued in agitated reflections until the sounds of Netherfield Park grew silent and her thoughts made her feel how unequal she truly was. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sunk down squarely on the cold, moist grass, holding the items close to her chest. But it was not until remembrance of her forced imprisonment invaded her consciousness did she react. Her face grew hot, her neck muscles tensed and her arms stiffened. Mother!

    A pair of eyes glared at the Oakham Mount ledge and the troubled woman. The uninvited voyeur sighed at the lady's distress, and, as quietly as possible, he walked through the woods to his waiting horse, which was tied up several hundred yards away. He left the area, but not before stopping in the East Meadow of Netherfield Park to pick up the final report from its usual hiding place---the hollow of the large oak tree. Placing the overstuffed package in his traveling bag, he then mounted his horse with a final look around. "Cuffage will be pleased."

    Chapter 29

    Posted on August 26, 2008

    Darcy stared out the window, watching the sights passing along the way as he headed to London; the images barely registering on his brain. In their place, all the events and dealings over the past two months flashed in increasing intensity as he wondered why everything seemed different than he had planned.

    The trip to Meryton had begun with boundless enthusiasm. Bingley had located a country estate of the proper size for a young and inexperienced property-owner. He had helped Bingley secure a competent attorney to handle the lease, but he also determined Mr. Phillips had the skills necessary for legal dealings with his business venture, and would be able to protect the secrecy of the partnership. Believing this was a good sign, he relaxed his normal distrust of men not of London's domain.

    The three friends he sought to join him and Bingley in this endeavor had agreed immediately upon the invitation. Without requiring answers beforehand, they had arrived at Netherfield Park with abundant interest and excitement. The modified Baker rifle piqued the men's curiosity at their first day of shooting, and they all wanted to own one after witnessing its success. The sales from the Baker Rifle to the military would provide the capital needed to finance the other endeavors.

    The business talks progressed as he had envisioned them. His concept of shipping and trading from one port to the next by circling the globe, was ambitious. Usually a company traded at one or two places before returning home. But if arrangements and deals could be made at established ports in a route around the world, then the profits would be astronomical. The plan was simple in theory, but difficult in reality. Success required a multitude of different types of connections, beginning with the merging of men from dissimilar rank and status. He needed the aristocracy and the tradesman with various sorts of men in-between. He wanted the four men who had shared living quarters with him when attending Cambridge University to form the partnership. They had the background necessary to ensure success.

    Of all the men, he thought Blake, the son of a duke, and Kent, the son of one of the most successful tradesmen in England, would have been the difficult ones to bring into the group. The aristocracy did not dabble in business, and Kent's family success did not depend upon the higher class. Upon learning the details, both had responded exactly as expected: Blake did not wish to dirty his hands with trade; Kent did not conceal his distrust of the upper echelon of society, and of the marquess, in particular. But Darcy knew both men were critical to success of this new partnership. Blake had family connections to parliament and finance; Kent's family was preeminent in all areas of industry and trade.

    He never doubted Rawlings, the second son of an earl, would go to the Americas to seek out John Jacob Aster for the fur trade aspect of the plan. Darcy needed to deal with Aster before the American built his own fleet of ships and covered the earth with his own trading venture. Time was short. He had suspected Rawlings would accept without argument since he enjoyed adventure and physical activity. He smoke and drank, played cards often, and looked pragmatically upon the world as younger sons did. Darcy accepted the truth---he owed him, as well as his valet, Logan, a debt when Rawlings married Margaret Stevens. Since Rawlings' wife had died in childbirth, he had no commitments to hold him back, and had the best opportunity to travel of all his friends.

    Bingley, another son of a tradesman, possessed the scientific connections, bringing progression to the partnership. With uncles and cousins inventing steam engines, or at least making them profitable through better design, and other mechanical inventions and improvements such as the modified Baker rifle, Darcy perceived he had secured the future of their company. An eye to progress required association with men who solved problems in unique ways, even if they were not the sort of men you would invite to dinner.

    Darcy contemplated his role. He was instrumental in shipping matters, whether providing the ships or the insurance. He had contacts in many areas with his mining and textile interests. He was the leader with the vision, who had united the men into an alliance, which he believed success could not be achieved singularly. And he was the one bringing the initial capital to start the venture, at least until the sale of the Baker rifle to the military.

    As he settled back into the seat, he recalled the excitement with Bingley's Olympics. Although he found the games a distraction from the real purpose of the visit, they had little else to do while they awaited completion of the legal documents. Against his initial supposition, he discovered he had thoroughly enjoyed the competition. Years had passed since he had been free to play in such a manner. The death of his father, causing the full weight of managing a great estate to fall on his shoulders, denied him his period of carefree living as a young gentleman about town. Many of his friends and acquaintances had traveled, caroused, and become skilled at social intercourse; while he employed his time with tenants and their problems, agriculture, shipping interest, textiles, mining, and staff and servant scuffles. He also had the guardianship of his little sister, and needed to set a good example. So, even though the games diverted everyone's attention away from business, he secretly savored every moment. He was a young buck again, if only for a fortnight.

    The games in the competition were very diverse, as were the men who chose them. He had correctly guessed Blake's chess tournament and Rawlings' chariot race as their choices. Their hobbies were too well known. Kent's tavern games were a surprise, although he had no idea what else he might have chosen. Chuckling, Darcy remembered Blake and Rawlings chasing his rams in the good old Derbyshire tradition of tup running. Ever since Cambridge, Blake rose to any challenge, regardless of the activity. He knew Blake would participate, notwithstanding his complaints. Still, it was amusing to watch a marquess grab the tail of a ram. Kent's ability had shocked him. He had not fared so well when they competed at Cambridge, but for Bingley's Olympics he finished third in chess, first in his tavern games, last in the chariot race, second in tup running and third in the final game, golf. Kent nearly beat Blake in the tiebreaker rowing race.

    Darcy recognized when Bingley announced golf for his choice, this particular sport would cost him the prize---a most coveted beautiful white Andalusian horse. Mutton awaits you at Pemberley, my old friend. I do not forget. Darcy laughed aloud before shaking his head at the picture of Blake swinging the golf club on the first tee. Ah, he fooled us all. Had Bingley won his game and not placed second, or if he himself had not ended up last, then he would have been in the rowing race instead of Blake. Darcy sighed at his inability to tap a ball into the hole.

    Darcy was surprised the games had been discussed as far afield as London; but in hindsight, he realized the competition was an excellent cover for the true reason for the trip. They first learned of the gossip spreading throughout the ton when Bingley's family arrived. Miss Bingley never could resist the chance to be sought after, even for something as meaningless as these games. His only regret, with the arrival of Miss Bingley and the Hursts, was the early dismantling of the makeshift tavern in Netherfield Park's ballroom, leaving the Black Bull Tavern as the only semblance of a gentleman's club in the area.

    Regardless of how the trip started, the visit did not end as well as he had hoped. He sensed tension in the air during the last fortnight, and especially when the two eldest Bennet daughters stayed at Netherfield. Darcy tried to identify when the trouble began. He was unable to pinpoint the exact moment until the he opened the carriage window for some fresh air and the scent from the flowers growing alongside the road invaded his senses. Ah. Lavender. Yes, all the uneasiness began with the assembly hall dance.

    The image of several young ladies danced in his head. One was blond and owned the most beautiful face and figure. Men turned their heads when she walked by, and stopped speaking mid-sentence when she smiled. Darcy was not surprised she had caught Bingley's eye first. Bingley may have been unskilled in estate matters, but when considering social engagements with pretty women, he was an expert. Miss Jane Bennet engaged his time from the dance until he left for London. Perhaps Bingley has discovered a new woman to fancy since he returned to London. He left a couple of days ago. Darcy laughed. He knew even Bingley did not transfer his attentions so quickly.

    The next lady appearing in his thoughts was a young saucy girl, teasing and flirting with officers. She was a woman-child---not old enough for running a household, but sensual in everything she did and every look she gave. She was the tallest of the ladies, with the most endowed assets. She knew how to walk and sway her body, but when Darcy thought about her tone of voice, he shuddered. While not surprised by Bingley's attention to the demure Miss Bennet, he was aghast at Rawlings' acknowledged desire for this uneducated chit. Ah, Rawlings, you are foolish to overlook her silliness. She is too much her mother's daughter. Pondering his friend's reaction, he came to understand Rawlings was merely trading one extreme for another. Think balance, my friend. Miss Lydia does not possess any acknowledgements; she does not play, sing, paint tables or look at anything other than the illustrations in the fashion magazines. And I doubt if she ever even read a single one of its articles.

    When the third image of lady appeared, Darcy sighed. She was a brunette with abundant curls, a pleasing figure and expressive eyes, which caused the hair on his arms to stand on edge whenever she looked his way. Until she glanced his way at Sir William Lucas' party, he never appreciated how a pair of eyes could cause his thoughts to jumble or his stomach to flutter. He was shocked at how dry his mouth became. He experienced a sense of bewilderment when she was in the room, not able to express a coherent thought. He had to force himself to look away from time to time; he knew it was rude to stare, but had found himself gazing at her more often than was polite.

    He could spot her walk, whether she was in a ballroom or a country lane. She did not sway like most ladies, nor did she glide. She moved with zeal. Once, he watched her from his Netherfield bedchamber window as she strolled in the garden. She stopped to inspect flowers, bushes and followed the antics of several squirrels in their game of hide the nut and steal the nut. Her gentle expression appeared instantly when pleased, and her delight extended to the twinkling in her dark brown eyes. He assumed the golden flecks were what sparkled, creating a stunning contrast to the dull eyes of every other lady of his acquaintance. Pausing to witness any amusing activity, she always placed her right hand on top of her left and stood erect. If she was truly amused, her lips turned up slightly, her right brow raised, and she would remain in that position until the entertainment no longer held her interest. She had an endearing way of tilting her head lower and lifting her eyes when she teased. And he had marveled at her graceful way of pouring tea, buttering her toast and even filling her plate from the buffet table. When she drank any beverage, she watched the activities with her lips hugging the rim, but without looking down inside her glass or cup. She peered over the top and used the container as a shield to hide her smiles. It was charming. She was charming. She was... simply... beautiful.

    And she had sent her most bewitching glances to Blake.

    Darcy suffered a pain, which he realized had merely attacked his pride. He leaned back into the velvety cushioned seat, closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply for several moments. Different images of her gazing at Blake appeared as if ridden in on flashes of lightning. He squeezed his hand as each vision was followed with a horrendous burst. She had laughed with Blake at Sir William's party, patted the flowers in her hair during the chariot race and twirled a garden rose when Blake was attempting to catch the ram. He saw her accept a book at Netherfield Park and dance in such an intimate way at the ball. His throat tightened when he remembered how close they stood on the balcony. My God. What was he doing? Why did she not slap him? He looked at her with such lust. He could still smell the lavender scent floating in the air during the evening. Is it not written that lavender eases tension? Humpf!

    This morning he had seen the look of profound sadness in Blake's eyes as they ate their breakfast. Thinking back, he had feared seeing this man, expecting an entirely opposite exhibition.

    Upon arising, he had steadied his resolve, squared his shoulders and entered the dining room to find no one there. Blake had gone riding earlier, but according to his valet, he had returned, so the empty room was a surprise to him. He had expected him to be waiting with a joyous countenance and a gloating "I have won" type of smile.

    He had poured his coffee and placed only one pastry on his plate. Rawlings was correct when he alleged they were the best pastries he had ever tasted. Darcy called the footman over and requested a basket of treats be prepared for the journey back to London and asked if there any of Rawlings' favorite ones---lemon filled and sprinkled with a sugary substance---were available. They would make an excellent surprise for his friend. He had just returned his attention to the task of eating his breakfast when the voice of the man he had feared seeing broke the silence.

    "Darcy." Blake entered and headed for the buffet. He placed a few nibbles of ham and eggs on his plate. He did not include any of the pastries.

    "Good morning." Without offering any further conversation, Darcy kept his eyes on him as he walked around the table. The unusual slouch in Blake's shoulders and the hint of a frown upon his face drew his attention.

    "I understand you are leaving today?" Blake spoke abruptly.

    "After breakfast. I have a need to return to London." Darcy studied his friend who had slumped into the chair and hung his head down, placing his elbow on the table in order to hold his head with his left hand.

    Without lifting his eyes, Blake said, "I have no pressing need to remain here. I shall have my man prepare my things. I look forward to returning to town as well." He pushed the food on his plate with his fork and knife, but did not lift any to his mouth. "It feels like rain coming."

    "Oh?" Darcy peeked out the window and noticed the sun shining brightly.

    "Yes. I felt the dampness on my ride this morning. Do you not think it is darker in here today? Perhaps candles would help, or the fire needs to be built up."

    Darcy shrugged. He had not noticed the need for any additional light. It was as light as it had always been. Blake's voice was low and flat, which was unusual since, by his own nature, he was cheery in the mornings, regardless of the weather. He watched as his friend pretended to eat. His eyes remained down, even when taking a sip of coffee.

    "Agh! This coffee is as cold as the eggs." Pushing his plate away, he rose. "Excuse me. I need to make arrangements for the packing." Blake dropped his napkin on the edge of the table and did not attempt to catch it as it fell to the floor. He appeared to be staring at some unseen spot on the far wall, yet he did not misstep as he left the room.

    Damn. What happened? Did she say no? Did he offer marriage or, my God, did he...

    Darcy spent the rest of breakfast alone, and now on the ride to London he imagined many scenarios for Blake's despair, none of which came close to the truth. Occasionally, he spotted Blake glancing back towards Meryton with a despondent look upon his face. Heracles proved to be an adept horse, following alongside the carriages without direction. Blake made no attempt to guide the creature; his thoughts were clearly elsewhere. He had not bared a single smile, nor shared a pleasant word to man or beast.

    Turning his head away from the window, Darcy announced to the empty carriage, "It is good to be heading home where we can concentrate on business. Nothing can interfere or distract us now."

    At half past three in the afternoon, a small-framed man entered one of the formidable houses on Grosvenor Street, known as the Peregrine. The doorman barely acknowledged him as he walked into the vestibule. Taking his hat and coat, the servant directed him to a chair, where he swiftly took a seat while his arrival was announced. Patting his jacket pocket several times, he waited patiently for his meeting. After almost an hour, the doorman returned and led him into the study.

    No one could mistake the wealth of the gentleman residing in this room. Magnificent paintings lined the wall. A gigantic fire crackled in the oversized fireplace at the end of the room. Books filled the shelves, and a mountain of papers littered the desk with golden paperweights keeping them from slipping away.

    The fashionably dressed elderly gentleman rose from behind the stacks of documents and pointed to two chairs. His gold signet ring sparkled in the candlelight, highlighting its sky blue stone and the letter P with wings on both sides raised on top. There was no mistaking this seal.

    Bowing to the distinguished gentleman standing before him, he accepted with a slight nod and chose the chair farthest from the fire. It was a warm day for November.

    The old gentleman, bent over with age, gingerly made his way to the chairs. "I am glad you could arrive so quickly. Have a seat. Do I still call you Mr. Cuffage?"

    Cuffage nodded. "Thank you, my Lord. Yes, I am still currently known as Cuffage." He sat down comfortably in the overstuffed chair.

    A servant entered with a carafe filled with French wine. The distinguished gentleman poured two glasses, handed one to him and saluted him with his left hand. "Excellent bottle."

    Cuffage nodded, sipped his wine and patiently waited.

    "Have you obtained the funds?

    "I have. All thirty thousand pounds." He patted his pocket. A bank receipt for said amount to an untraceable account was safely hidden among several other documents.

    "Did you have any trouble? Is there anything I need to be aware of?"

    "No trouble at all." Cuffage watched as the gentleman sighed. He could not determine if it was in sympathy or disgust. He continued, "He is an honorable man. He gave his word, and, well, he simply turned over his daughters' dowry money. Well, not all the money was invested. I believe they each have one thousand pounds left. Of course, it did take him several weeks to convert the dowries into cash; but I have it here."

    "Does he relinquish all claims to the Gas Light Company?" the old master leaned forward with eager interest.

    "Most assuredly, yes. He wants no part of any scheme, today or in the future."

    "Did you get it in writing?"

    "Of course. You are free now to move on with the project. I suspect your profits will soar now. The world awaits a brighter night. It was splendid of Mr. Bennet to provide the financing, and I was able to extract a bit of revenge in the deal."

    "Yes, the work will proceed as planned. Excellent. Now let us discuss a more serious matter---this alliance between the young men."

    "Ahhh. Mr. Darcy's brainchild," Mr. Cuffage said chuckling. "Whitson sent regular messages along those lines. He was able to view all their secret papers. I brought his reports with me." Cuffage patted his coat pocket.

    "They do not suspect anything is amiss? Do they have any concerns about you?"

    "Whitson found that as the butler, he had no problem starting the rumor that Mr. Gardiner lost the funds in some scheme. He had determined it was best to have Mr. Rawlings' man discover only that Mr. Bennet had lost his daughters' dowry. He feared giving too much information out too soon. Later, he easily duped Miss Caroline's maid by leaving a note out in plain sight, and stood behind the drapes until she read it. In the end, he relied upon Miss Bingley to spread the word. Clever man, Whitson. Oh yes, he asks if there is a new assignment for him now the Bingleys have quit the place. He would prefer a different occupation this next time."

    "I believe I do have a new position for the man. I plan to get him placed with some industrialist up north, this time as a foreman. These entrepreneurs should respect their place in society, and not try to usurp real power away from the rightful rulers of the world."

    Chuckling, Cuffage tipped his head.

    The old gentleman returned the nod. "Well, I am sure that little parish is feeling the loss today."

    "Indeed so. Life in Meryton has returned to its dreary ways by now. Quite smart it was of Mr. Darcy to hide behind the competitions to formulate the group. I even placed a wager on Mr. Darcy to win the stallion."

    "Let us hope it was not much." The old master laughed heartily.

    "Well, the proprietor at the Black Bull Tavern is busy looking for Mr. Edward Gardiner."

    "Damn. You used his name? Again? What if Mr. Darcy had won?"

    "I was in town. I would have collected my winnings. Oh, there is the possibility of one problem. I do believe Mr. Darcy caught sight of me as I left the tavern after the golf game. I am sure Mr. Staunton told him my name was Gardiner. Otherwise my appearance caused no harm."

    "Be careful. You use Gardiner's name too frequently. The time has arrived for you to find another partner."

    "I suppose. I admit I enjoyed doing all my dirty tricks under his name, especially since he severed all ties with me in such a disgusting manner. He thought he could put me in debtors' prison. Huh! But, I must say, I am surprised he has yet to discover my duplicity."

    "Now about Lord Blake's latest---"

    Cuffage was quick to interrupt. "The young marquess engaged in a harmless flirtation. My man reported that the marquess had left her gasping in the wind as he rode his horse to London. Apparently it had not been hard to discover their rendezvous spot and was able to spy on them regularly. They met often, but nothing improper took place. She has no charge to hold against him, nor any likelihood of any offspring to come."

    The master nodded. "At least that is not another problem we need to fix. The future duke requires a London wife, and one with considerable wealth. From the latest rumors, her fortune needs to be grand indeed to compensate for his father's losses. I understand His Grace is desperate."

    "So I have heard. Oh, I took the liberty to remove my fee." Mr. Cuffage pulled the documents from his pocket and handed them to him.

    The gentleman perused each page before he rose to place the papers in his desk. Retrieving a key from a chain around his neck, he locked the bottom drawer, replacing the key as he returned to his chair. "Oh, I plan to stay informed on this alliance. I will not allow them to succeed. When does Mr. Rawlings leave for America?"

    "Soon. I arranged for a slight delay with the ship, as you requested. They will be leaving week after next."

    "Good. And our observer will be onboard? Yes, good. Now, will Rawlings stay in contact with you?"

    "Yes, he most assuredly will. I suspect he will not be long in writing once he arrives. I am scheduled to meet with him later today. He is bringing the contract for my signature. Perhaps I can use him to learn of the other ventures they plan to undertake."

    The old master shook his head. "I have other means to discover what they are doing. I will not allow Mr. Darcy to succeed, and have taken all necessary steps. No need for you to take chances."

    Cuffage bowed. "Very good, my lord. Is that is all?"

    "Yes, for now. Thank you for the good work, John, as always." The old gentleman stood, winked, and patted Cuffage on the back.

    "My pleasure." Cuffage smiled. In the safety of his own head, he had come to call the lord the Falcon. Over the years, he had proven to be tenacious when in pursuit of anyone, and the Peregrine Falcon was the most prized of all hunting birds, the fastest of its type.
    Commoners called it the Duck Hawk, but his lordship could never be called common.

    This particular breed of falcons held a sense of power and mystery; it was the perfect symbol for the man. After watching its unsuspecting prey, the peregrine would abruptly dive, with astounding speed, hitting the victim with an impact typically knocking the bird unconscious, or often times killing it immediately. If the bird lived, the falcon would use its sharp talons to scoop up the prey, and with a single bite to the neck, quickly kill it.

    While the lord's penchant for devouring his competitors was one reason for his partiality, the fact that the peregrine had few natural predators was why Cuffage preferred this falcon to all others bird of prey.

    He bowed and left the premises.

    Rawlings entered the cigar and wine shop on Bond Street. He waited patiently as Mr. Cuffage finished his transaction with his customer. Once the gentleman left, Mr. Cuffage led Rawlings to the back room.

    "Here are your papers. Remember to take them to Mr. Astor immediately upon your arrival in New York. He is staying at the Westchester Hotel in lower Manhattan, off the Bowery Street, at 341 Broome Street."

    What does the gentleman look like?

    "He is a typical German. He is blond and blue eyed. He is very tall with a slender build. He dresses well, and everyone grows quiet when he enters the room. He is admired and well liked by all. He is very gracious.

    "Did you send word to him?"

    "Of course, sir. He will be expecting you in five weeks. But you must not dawdle. He is leaving for a long journey to the western frontier soon thereafter."

    "Is there anything else I should be aware of regarding him?"

    "He hates the aristocracy. Do not talk about your father or Lord Blake."

    "Very good. I believe a gift would be appropriate. Are you familiar with his habits? Does he smoke or drink?"

    "Both. Here are his favorite cigars. He does not like French wine at all. Shall I send your selection to your house, along with these? Oh, wait! A most wonderful new wine arrived yesterday, which he may find agreeable."

    "Yes, please. Oh, here are the papers for you to sign and a copy to keep. Send the signed one with my package. That will give you sufficient time to look them over."

    Rawlings left the shop. Cuffage went in the back and quickly scribbled his name on the documents and packed it with the cigars. He immediately sent it to the Falcon with a short note announcing all was ready.

    Continued In Next Section

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