Beginning, Previous Section, Section III

22 - The Prodigal

Posted on 2010-06-20

Lizzy could not say how much time passed. Day and night faded together into a gray haze where all things were done by the other, calm Lizzy, the one who tasked Mrs Hill with ensuring that the servants believed Lydia ill as well as Papa, who had a trundle bed brought into Papa's room for Mrs Carlisle, who would not leave Papa even when she desperately needed sleep, who sat and listened to Papa struggle to breathe while Mrs Carlisle slept – a duty she and her sisters shared.

Food was tasteless, and duty performed solely because the business of managing Longbourn remained whether the master was ill or not. For Lizzy there was almost relief in the normal business: she could think solely of that and not worry on other matters.

Mr Collins became a comfort to them all, performing any task that required a man's assistance and never once complaining. His hesitant offer to assist with the management of Longbourn, and diffident observation that he did not wish his cousins to believe he sought to claim the estate while their father remained so very ill, helped to redeem him of the poor impression he had initially created.

Lizzy was vaguely aware that Mary and Mr Collins worked together as though already married, each deferring to the other at need. She knew, too, that the news of Lydia's elopement must inevitably spread. Papa's illness could not keep that information concealed for very long. None of it mattered.

Sleep was something that came only when she was so utterly exhausted her body forced her to rest, and lasted only as long as necessity demanded. She could not have said what the day was, much less the time, when she left the house by the side door, intending to harvest from the herb garden.

The dim pre-dawn light surprised her, but not so much as the bedraggled figure outside the door. "Lydia?"

Her eyes did not deceive her: Lydia gave a choked sob of, "Oh, Lizzy!" and threw herself into her sister's arms.

"Sh." Lizzy held her sister, stroking her rough, tangled hair. "You are home and safe."

That seemed only to upset Lydia further. "I am so sorry, Lizzy. I had no idea…" She shuddered. "Can you forgive me?"

Anger welled: Lizzy pushed it away. Lydia could not know what her rash actions had precipitated. She was remorseful enough without Papa's illness upon her soul as well. "Of course." Her voice was calmer than she expected. "Now come. We must get you inside and to bed. We have maintained the fiction that you were ill – now let it be fact."

Lydia blinked, but she did not resist the gentle orders, nor did she question Lizzy's use of back stairs – and the least used ones at that. At this time of morning, the servants would be at breakfast, leaving the rest of the house quiet, but Lizzy saw no reason to take more chances than needed.

They reached Lydia's room – the smallest of Longbourn's bedrooms, but possessing the inestimable luxury of not being shared – without being seen. Lizzy closed the door softly, and let her breath out in a long sigh.

Lydia stood by the narrow bed clutching her basket as though her very life depended on it. In the dimness her pallor was very clear. "Lizzy?"

She had to answer that plea. "Come, into your nightdress and I shall explain all."

For a little while the matter of returning Lydia's clothes to the press and helping her to change was sufficient that Lizzy could avoid unwelcome thought. Days in a sick-bed would explain Lydia's tangled hair, and the dirt and grass-stained dress could be passed off as an oversight due to the chaos in the household.

She brought Lydia water from the jug – stale, but that seemed not to matter – and sat beside her. "Here is what happened after you… left."

Lydia winced.

Lizzy took a deep breath. "Papa took ill." She did not add that the elopement note had triggered that illness. "His heart… He has been abed since the day you left, and we watch him at all times."

Lydia clutched her hand, "I never… Oh, I am so sorry, Lizzy! Please… He will not… will he recover?"

"We pray so." There was little other answer Lizzy could give. "The worst danger was in the time after the attack, but he is still very ill." She held her sister's hand. "Only a few people know you were absent, Lydia. Most believe that you were taken ill because of Papa's attack."

"That may be more true than it seems," Lydia said bitterly. "I was such a fool."

Lizzy squeezed Lydia's hand gently, trying to reassure her sister. "So he did deceive you then," she said in a voice far calmer than it ought to be. "I feared as much."

"Oh, Lizzy." Lydia gulped back a sob. "I truly thought…" She shuddered. "He tried to… you know… in the carriage."

For a moment it was all Lizzy could do to hold still. She longed to run from the room, to chase Wickham down and kill him. The violence of her anger frightened her. "Did he hurt you, dearest?" Again, her voice was far calmer than the emotions raging inside her.

"No." Malice and satisfaction mingled in Lydia's voice. "I kicked him where a man is most vulnerable, and then until he stopped trying to move." Another shudder. "He had a note, and money. I took them." More malice, even a vicious little smile. "I do not envy him explaining to the coachman where his pay went."

Lizzy reached down to embrace her sister. "You were very brave, Lydia. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Those girls," Lydia whispered. "The ones who died." She shuddered again and bit her lip. "I think he attacked them." She swallowed. "He was so different, Lizzy, as though what I thought I knew was no more than a coat he had taken off."

That notion sent ice cascading down Lizzy's spine. To think her sister had come so close to such a fate! Small wonder Lydia was so shaken. "And you walked here?" How could she sound so very calm?

Lydia nodded. She leaned back, her face very pale. "I walked at night, and hid during the day." Her eyes drifted closed. "Lizzy?"

"Yes, dearest?"

"Could you please have someone bring me something to eat?" Lydia's voice faded. "I have not eaten in… two days?"

"Of course." Lizzy was relieved to have reason to leave the room. She was unsure how she should think, but she could not help but be thankful Lydia had returned unharmed, with some prospect of her reputation surviving.

23 - Changes of Heart

Posted on 2010-06-27

To Lizzy's relief, Lydia's return was not mentioned, nor did Mrs Hill report any gossip from Meryton – at least, not about Lydia. Gossip about Wickham was rife. It seemed that he had absconded from his regiment, leaving debts that totaled several hundred pounds.

Even more astonishing was the news three days later that Mr Darcy had gone to every shopkeeper in Meryton to determine the extent of Wickham's debts, and had personally repaid every one. In addition, he had mentioned that he had known Wickham for many years, and had hoped that the man had finally mended his ways – the reason he had not informed any body of that young man's prior deeds.

Lizzy could not help but be thankful she and her sisters had good reason to be absent from Meryton. It was the way of villages and of people with little variation in their lives to speculate in great detail on any event that varied their lives, but Lizzy did not think she could have endured it, any more than she could have endured the equally inevitable speculation about Papa's health.

Lydia remained abed – or at least in her room – for two days following her return. When she did venture out, she was pale and subdued, looking often to Lizzy or Jane for reassurance. She spent much of her day in Papa's room with Mrs Carlisle, leaving only when necessity forced her to seek the earth closet or her bed.

In such circumstances, a visit from Miss Bingley became both a welcome relief and a complete shock.

In the south parlor, which seemed to Lizzy to be terribly empty without her sisters and Mrs Carlisle, Miss Bingley perched on the very edge of the chaise-lounge, her hands trembling and her head bowed.

"Miss Bingley?" Lizzy did her best to sound friendly. "Please, forgive the lax greeting and the disorder here. Would you like tea?"

Miss Bingley looked up, revealing a pale face reddened on one side as though she had been slapped, and red-rimmed, teary eyes. "Please, do not trouble yourself. I know it is very ill of me to impose myself so, but I simply could not endure… Oh, that old – I am sorry, I should not speak ill of your grandmother, but--"

Lizzy sat beside her and took the taller woman's hands in hers. "In truth, my sisters and I all find it difficult to think of Lady Catherine as our grandmother." She paused, wondering how she could best calm Miss Bingley – who seemed unaware to whom she spoke, and simply sought the comfort of a sympathetic fellow woman. "I understand she is also having difficulty adjusting."

Miss Bingley laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Oh, she rants daily of how those 'fortune-chasing harlots' have cheated her dear Anne. Poor Miss de Bourgh hides away in her room to escape it."

Lizzy could well believe that. A sickly young lady's only escape from an overbearing mother was to retreat to her room. "And you, as hostess, cannot?"

Another of those odd laughs. "Alas, no. She called me a title-chasing social climber, Miss Eliza. A-and ordered me to stay away from her nephews. Ordered me, Miss Eliza, as though I were her servant!"

"I understand Lady Catherine is accustomed to her wishes being followed to the least particular." It was perhaps the most neutral thing she could think of.

"Horrid creature!" Miss Bingley's pent up indignation and resentment burst forth. "I am no servant to be ordered hither and thither at her whims! To call me a tradesman's girl and a coarse, shallow flirt, and then to strike me when I told her I was a gentleman's sister and she a gentleman's wife so we were equals." The anger passed, replaced by sobs.

Lizzy said nothing. If truth be told, she could think of nothing she could say. She merely held Miss Bingley while she cried, and wondered that the party at Netherfield had not flown apart with such tensions between its members.

Some time passed before Miss Bingley collected herself and pulled away. She managed a sad little laugh. "I must seem a perfect fool, Miss Eliza."

"Please, Miss Bingley," Lizzy said softly. "Call me Lizzy. All my friends do." She smiled. "You do not seem foolish to me. Lady Catherine should not have abused you so."

"Then you must call me Caro, as Louisa does." That simple statement told Lizzy a great deal about Miss Bingley's friendships – or rather, the lack of them.

"I would be honored." Lizzy handed Miss Bingley a handkerchief. "Here. Your handkerchief must be thoroughly abused by now."

"Oh!" Miss Bingley flushed, then managed a timid smile. "Yes, it is quite damp." She dabbed at her eyes, then abandoned delicacy and wiped her eyes properly before blowing her nose. "I am sorry. Now I have ruined yours."

Lizzy laughed softly. "It is no matter, Miss… Caro. We have been laundering handkerchiefs daily of late."

The comment earned her a startled look, followed by a more thoughtful one. "Miss… Lizzy? May I ask a horribly selfish question of you?"

"Of course." Lizzy took care to keep her voice soft, reassuring. "Though I pray you allow me to determine if it is selfish or not."

Caroline Bingley blinked, clearly trying to hold back further tears. "I… am I coarse?"

Lady Catherine de Bourgh must have been in quite the mood, Lizzy thought. "Absolutely not." The worst that could be said of Miss Bingley was that she was overly mannered and shallow – a fault that could be attributed to most young ladies, as few were taught any other mode of being.

Caroline shuddered. "It… You see, Papa sent me to a fashionable finishing school, and the girls there were horrible, all because he made his fortune in trade." She spat the last word out as though it tasted bad.

"Which shows a lack of manners and restraint on their part," Lizzy said in a crisp tone that could have come from Mrs Carlisle's throat. "The measure of a man is not in how he treats his equals or betters, but in how he treats those he sees as inferior."

Caroline looked thoughtful, and bit her lip. "Mr Darcy is never less than polite, even to the least of the servants."
"Precisely." Lizzy smiled to soften her tone.

For a moment, it seemed that Caroline would lose to the threatening tears once more, then she swallowed, blinked several times, and applied the now soaked handkerchief to her eyes. "You seem so very wise… I was a fool not to see it." She shook her head. "Lady Catherine says that Mr Darcy will marry Miss De Bourgh, but…" More tears welled.

Though at first Lizzy wondered why Lady Catherine's insistence on her daughter's marriage would bring Miss Bingley to tears, she was soon berating herself for failing to realize that lady's excessive deference to Mr Darcy was the polite method of attempting to endear herself to the gentleman. Lizzy had cared not one whit for Mr Darcy's good opinion, and as such had challenged and teased him – with the result that a friendship of sorts had taken root between them. "Do you love Mr Darcy?"

"I…" Caroline gave a sad little laugh. "I do not know." She bent her head. "I confess, I understand so little of what he says. He is so very odd about social matters. How silly that sounds."

Lizzy smiled. "Would you wish to spend the remainder of your life with a man you did not understand?" She took care to keep her voice neutral, even as she wondered at the twist of fate that placed her in this position. Certainly since she and her sisters had been revealed to be the granddaughters of Lady Catherine de Bourgh they had risen in esteem with Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, but for Caroline Bingley to seek out Lizzy as a confidante…

No, Caroline had merely sought a sympathetic ear. The rest had occurred because Lizzy had listened and not condemned.

"Oh!" Caroline straightened, one hand rising to her mouth. "I had not thought… I mean, do not most married couples spend much of their time separate?"

"That may be," Lizzy allowed. "But surely such estrangement within marriage is hardly to be desired."

This was a very different Caroline Bingley. Without the façade of society manners, she was quick-witted and not at all superior. Lizzy supposed Caroline had modeled her manners on the young ladies of her school, never realizing that the behavior of those young ladies rendered their manner inferior. She would likely have made the same error.

"I… I had never thought of that." Caroline's eyes narrowed and she nibbled her lower lip. "It must be perfectly horrid to be trapped in a marriage with no regard for one's partner." She frowned. "Yet all my schooling has attracted nothing!" Though her voice did not rise, the words were a wail of frustration. "How does one find a… a partner one respects?"

Lizzy laughed softly. "I am hardly the person to ask," she said with a smile. "I am as single as you." She squeezed Caroline's hand. "If I were to ask Mrs Carlisle that question, she would say that I would be best served by remaining true to myself and not claiming identical interests to a gentleman I admire."

Caroline looked startled, then thoughtful. "It cannot have worse results than society manners," she admitted. After a moment, a little amusement entered her expression. "Lady Catherine can hardly think less of me, so why not?"

It was hardly the best of reasons to reform oneself, but Lizzy supposed there were worse. That Caroline intended reform was more important than her reasons.

The hall clock struck the hour: Lizzy sighed under her breath. "Caroline? I fear I must leave you. It is my turn to sit with Papa. Would you like me to send one of my sisters to keep you company?"

She caught her breath and paled. "Here I have been complaining of my ills without a word for your family. Lizzy, I am so sorry." Caroline swallowed. "How is Mr Bennet? And your sister? Lydia?"

Lizzy rose, and smiled. "Papa is stable, though he sleeps a great deal and does not always recognize us. Lydia recovers well."

"Please, give them my regards." Caroline sounded almost humble. "I pray both will be in full health soon."

"Thank you."

24 - The Reputations of Ladies

Posted on 2010-07-04

Though Lady Catherine de Bourgh was unaccustomed to admitting weakness, in the relative privacy of her room at Netherfield, that lady could not help but admit that she was afraid. If she were to be honest with herself, she was terrified.

She had expected that once she gave that wretched creature the elder Mr Darcy had so unaccountably favored sufficient wealth and lent him her carriage so he could disgrace those fortune chasing Bennet women, she would never see him again.

Instead, she found the insolent creature waiting in her room, bruised, unkempt, and frighteningly angry.

Lady Catherine was not accustomed to such disrespect: she curbed her tongue with difficulty. Only fear could have enabled her to do so, and she detested the weakness that obliged her to restrain herself with this… There were no words vile enough for him.

He suffered no such restraint. Lady Catherine had no knowledge of the meaning of much of his soft tirade, though she was certain that it was not appropriate for a lady's ears. What she did gather appalled her. "I told you to compromise and disgrace the girl, not abduct her." If anyone was to learn of her part in this!

The snarl she received in reply left her in no doubt of his opinion. "And find myself married to the little harlot for the pittance you offered? Oh, no, madam. You will not purchase that for so little."

Lady Catherine took an involuntary step backwards. "Be thankful you failed then," she said with as much crisp dignity as she could summon. "Else you would be forced to cover your debts as well."

The man flushed, his hands clenching tight. Evidently he was well aware that word of the debts accumulated by one Lieutenant Wickham had spread from Meryton to all the surrounding villages, and that the militia hunted for him. "Perhaps."

Something in his tone sent a chill akin to ice water cascading down Lady Catherine's spine. Surely the scoundrel would not expect her – but he was in her room. She took another step back.

"You see, the little harlot escaped. With your letter to your acquaintance in London, the one recommending me as a helpful assistant."

Lady Catherine could feel blood draining from her face. She might be able to claim coercion should the letter come to public view, but even so her reputation would be forever suspect. This was… not to be borne. "So you come to threaten me?" she demanded with more courage than she felt.

He sneered. "I need do nothing, madam. By now the chit is surely with her family." His eyes narrowed. "Although if you would like the problem removed, for enough of a consideration that could be arranged."

It seemed to Mr Bennet that he dreamed a great deal. He remembered a note from Lydia, and a terrible, crushing weight upon his chest, but all else was garbled, lost in confusion. He was so very tired that even when he wished to remain awake he found himself slipping back to the dreams.

Different voices, all comforting in their way, soothed him as he slid between half-dreaming wakefulness and true sleep. Mrs Carlisle, Jane, Lizzy, Mary, Kitty, Lydia… but that was impossible, for Lydia had eloped with Lieutenant Wickham, and Mrs Carlisle would not compromise herself by being alone with him. Those voices must be dreams.

And yet, when he finally found awakened feeling not the all-encompassing weariness or the crushing weight, Mrs Carlisle sat in a wing-backed chair drawn up beside the bed, her head resting against one of the wings as she dozed. She did not seem so severe when she slept.

Not, Mr Bennet found himself thinking, that Mrs Carlisle would ever be a beauty, but with her hair fallen loose and her face relaxed in sleep her appearance was far less severe. At his age, a sensible woman was far more to his taste than an attractive, silly one. He did hope she would be willing to remain in the household when his girls married. Her presence was unaccountably soothing.

Other matters needed immediate attention. Mr Bennet moved to rise, and found he lacked the strength.

Mrs Carlisle started awake. She studied him intently for a moment, then a smile of pure delight transformed her severe features. "It is good to have you with us again, sir. Should I call someone to aid you to the closet?"

"That would be… very much appreciated." How long had he been abed? And – perhaps more concerning – who had tended to those functions normally performed by oneself during that time. Surely not his daughters – or Mrs Carlisle.

The arrival Mr Hill and one of his sons – the oldest boy, Jason – prevented any further thought on the question. Mr Bennet required all his concentration to direct recalcitrant limbs and maintain his balance.

Once necessity had been attended to and he was back in his bed – though propped upright with the aid of cushions – the two men departed, promising that broth would be brought to him. Their obvious relief told Mr Bennet that his life had been in danger. He winced to think of the fuss he must have caused.

"Dare I ask what manner of madness has possessed this household of late?" he asked. Even his voice seemed thin.

An odd smile touched Mrs Carlisle's face. "Every possible sort of madness, sir," she said in a dry voice. "Lydia returned unharmed, though I gather the scoundrel was not so fortunate. Those who noticed her absence from Meryton believed it to be caused by your illness. They have not been enlightened."

That was a relief. There would be no need to find an understanding husband for a girl not yet out, and no disgrace to keep her sisters from marriage.

"The scoundrel's debts are the talk of the village," Mrs Carlisle continued. "I fear your health has long been supplanted by more interesting gossip."

Mr Bennet could not help but smile. "I must confess extreme disappointment. Is it not my role in society to provide speculation for idle minds?" He must own that he would prefer such speculation to focus on matters other than his imminent demise, but that was a matter in which he had little say.

She returned the smile. "Oh, I imagine you will regain your status once it becomes known that I sat at your bedside for over a week."

Had it been so long? Mr Bennet could not say. He had no memory of the passage of time.

Rather than consider the severity of his illness, he focused instead on Mrs Carlisle's admission. "We can not have that, Mrs Carlisle." Oddly, he found it difficult to speak. "Obviously I must marry you to preserve your reputation."

There was something almost radiant about her. Why had he never seen it before? "That is very kind of you, sir."

"Oh, no," Mr Bennet said, smiling. "It is unconscionably selfish of me, since I could not bear to have you leave."

She blinked several times, then wiped her eyes with her sleeve – an indiscretion she would never have allowed any of his daughters – then reached forward to clasp his hand. "If that is selfishness, I suffer the same sin."

25 - Walking Into Difficulty

Posted on 2010-07-11

Darcy paced Netherfield's library, occasionally pausing to cast glares at the gray skies and steady rain visible through the windows. It seemed the entire world conspired to frustrate and bewilder him.

Being pent indoors when he would far rather be out riding – and by chance find his way to Longbourn – was bad enough. The spate of attacks having ceased with Wickham's departure made it clear to him that Wickham had been the culprit, leaving Darcy to wonder if he could have prevented them – and to shudder at how close his sister had come to eloping with the man.

Georgiana had believed Wickham's protestations of love, until Darcy offered to settle a fraction of his sister's dowry for the marriage. She had been willing to marry without a farthing to her name, but Wickham… Never.

Mr Bennet's slow but steady recovery lifted the gloom from Longbourn, and that gentleman's quiet marriage to Mrs Carlisle had been met with surprise by many, and genuine delight by the five Miss Bennets.

Once Mr Bennet had recovered sufficiently to venture downstairs to his library, Darcy had resumed his frequent visits. Many of those visits featured the chess table, and no few of them involved intense matches with Miss Elizabeth Bennet – who was possibly a better player than her father.

Darcy was accounted among the better players of his set, but he needed to keep his wits about him to defeat either Bennet: not an easy task when Miss Elizabeth laughed and smiled so bewitchingly.

He really must find a way to help Anne escape her mother's tyranny. She still spoke wistfully of her one short visit to Longbourn. If Miss Mary Bennet could thrive despite a sickly disposition, then so could his cousin.

Although… That was yet another confusion. Of late, Miss Bingley had taken it upon herself to visit Anne as often as she could slip past Aunt Cat's vigilant gaze. When Bingley had asked her about that, she had claimed it to be her duty as hostess to see to the comfort of all her guests, but there had been something different about her manner, something almost diffident.

Certainly, Anne enjoyed Miss Bingley's visits: Darcy had heard the two ladies laughing together more than once. Perhaps more important, Miss Bingley's laughter had been entirely unaffected, and far more pleasant than Darcy was accustomed to hearing from her.

Her behavior towards him had undergone an equally dramatic change. Instead of the pronounced, slavish deference that was the normal behavior of well-bred young ladies seeking to catch themselves a husband, she acted as though he were simply an acquaintance whose company she enjoyed.

Darcy had to admit Miss Bingley was much more pleasant company when she was not so obviously hunting him, though he was not prepared to believe she had abandoned her pursuit altogether. Surely a set-down from Aunt Cat – which was something few people who knew his aunt could escape – could not have had such a marked effect.

He would have found some excuse to ask, save that he feared any attentions from him would result in a renewal of the excessive deference that left him feeling not unlike a hunted animal. Unlike Bingley, he lacked the gift of being easy in company, especially among those he knew but little. It was a serious failing for a young gentleman of fortune, but nothing Darcy had tried had eased his discomfort.

In many ways the need to withdraw to Pemberley upon his father's death had been a relief. There, he need not battle the nausea that afflicted him upon every social occasion, nor was he required to defend himself from predatory young ladies who would not hesitate to trap him into appearing to compromise their honor in order to win the prize of becoming Mrs Darcy.

Perhaps that was what intrigued him so about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She had never attempted to force her company upon him, nor did she defer to him save where she knew his expertise exceeded her own – and her expertise was remarkable indeed.

Darcy had sought out his uncle to ask him about his grandmother, Lady Mary, and heard the fond reminiscences of both Uncle James and Aunt Eleanor. Both were of the opinion that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was very like Lady Mary in temperament, and that society was needlessly restrictive when it came to what was appropriate behavior and knowledge for ladies.

"One plays society's game," Aunt Eleanor had said, "because one must, not because it is either admirable or enjoyable."

The tart comment struck a chord: Darcy cared little for the approval of society, yet he had fallen into the trap of judging by society's standards. While social sphere might have some relevance, that relevance was really limited to the likelihood of common interest and experience. His friendship with Bingley was evidence enough of that.

He sighed, and glared out the window again. If he could ride, perhaps his restless thoughts would settle. Idleness sat ill with him, and at Netherfield he was essentially at loose ends. At Pemberley, there were always improvements to be considered, visits to tenants and on occasion helping to repair their homes or outbuildings – a rare occurrence, as his father's teaching had emphasized the value of small maintenance often preventing major repair save in the case of major storms or other such disasters. When the weather forbade venturing outside, there was always the management of Pemberley to attend to and the unending list of minor repairs and improvements if he was not discussing music with Georgiana or they were not reading together in the library.

Darcy sighed again. He missed those companionable times with Georgiana, and he missed his home. Yet, he could not bring himself to leave. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had made this otherwise unremarkable corner of Hertfordshire a paradise – but only when it was enlivened by her presence.

Worse, he was the worst kind of coward, unable to muster the courage to ask the lady for permission to court her.

Much as Lizzy delighted in her father's steady recovery and his marriage to Mrs Carlisle – she could not think of Amelia Carlisle as 'Mama' no matter how she tried – five days of steady rain was quite sufficient to try her nerves. Kitty and Lydia were equally restless: Like Lizzy, they were fond of walking out at least once a day, often more.
Jane, of course, was her usual serene self, and Mary would be content in the presence of books for all that she too enjoyed regular exercise.

Thus, with the blessing of the new Mrs Bennet, Lizzy, Kitty, and Lydia set off for a brisk walk to Oakham Mount as soon as the rain had passed. All three wore older dresses, for they fully expected their hems to be liberally spattered with mud before they returned, and Lizzy carried her basket with the freshly loaded flintlock – more as a matter of habit than because she expected any trouble. The weight of the weapon was comforting.

The woods seemed lent a new freshness by the recent rain, the green of young leaves brightened and wildflowers bloomed with vigor.

All three sisters lost no opportunity to harvest any wild herbs they found as they walked, so that Lizzy's basket was soon filled with greenery and Kitty and Lydia carried fragrant posies.

As the path grew steeper, Kitty said, "I shall miss this." She sighed. "It seems Jane will have to go to Rosings, as she is the heiress. I think I was happier when Mama was just… Mama."

"Yes!" Lydia left no doubt as to her opinion. "This change in fortune brings more trouble than it is worth." Her expression grew grave, no doubt due to her close brush with disgrace and worse.

Though Lizzy was inclined to agree, she could not allow her sisters to see their new fortunes in such a poor light. "Ah, but think of the new places we can visit with our new relations," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. "Rosings Park must have some wonderful gardens and wildernesses where we may walk. The homes of our new cousins are also lovely, I believe." She could not resist adding, "Besides, Papa may well desire a little time alone with Mrs… with Mama Amelia."

Kitty laughed softly. "Oh, Lizzy! That is too wicked! Though certainly Papa should have a honeymoon."

"Indeed he should," Lydia agreed, though she blushed.

Lizzy smiled at her sisters. "There, you see? It is not all bad. No doubt we shall adapt." She lifted her skirts to step over a large branch which had fallen across the path. "In any case, I dare say we should have been separated soon. Mr Collins is courting Mary, and if Mr Bingley does not ask Jane soon then I am blind."

Kitty only sighed. "I do wish it were not necessary for families to go off in so many different directions."

Lydia giggled. "Yes, but think of all of us and our husbands in Longbourn. What a crush! We would drive poor Mrs Hill to Bedlam."

"Poor Papa, you mean," Kitty retorted. "He hates crowding so. He would retreat to his library and bar the door."

Lizzy tried not to frown. She knew the sounds of the woods, and something was… not right. The birds seemed too quiet here, and shadows not quite right. She shifted her basket so that she could easily slip her hand inside and bring the flintlock forth, and hoped that the unease was nothing more than her imagination.

"Ah, but not if doing so meant locking Mama Amelia out." Lydia shook her head. "No, Papa would set up camp for both of them in the library."

"And they would read books by candle light." Kitty blushed, clearly imagining rather more intimate activities than her words suggested.

"And Mrs Hill would send meals to them through the windows," Lydia added. "And everyone would be scandalized, but as they are married it would matter not a fig."

Both girls laughed, and Lizzy smiled.

"How strange it will be," Lydia said, her mood changing from cheery to thoughtful. "I can not imagine Longbourn without Jane. She is so very calm."

"Oh, yes. I shall miss Jane when she--" Kitty's words were lost in the sound of a gun, so loud it seemed like an explosion.

Lydia screamed.

26 - Revenge and Wickham

Posted on 2010-07-18

Lizzy whirled to Lydia in time to catch her sister as she fell. Lydia clutched at her side, where blood covered her hand.

Rather than fuss with seeking material for a bandage, Lizzy pulled her jacket off and pressed it against the injury as soon as she and Kitty had eased Lydia to the ground.

"How very touching." The voice belonged to Wickham, but it was somehow… wrong. He was behind them, and could not see Lizzy's basket. She found the hilt of the flintlock in the basket, curled her hand around it, seeking the trigger.

"You may save your sneers for some other target," Lizzy retorted.

"He has another gun," Kitty whispered.

Some part of Lizzy's mind remained detached, calm. If Wickham had another weapon, she must take him by surprise and shoot first. Even so there was a chance he might kill her or Kitty. "Be ready to run for help," she replied, easing the flintlock free.

Kitty's eyes grew very wide, but she nodded.

"Get up. Both of you. And turn so I can see you."

"So you may gloat? I had not thought you so trite." Lizzy climbed to her feet as slowly as she could without losing her balance. She would have only one chance.

"Silence!" The taunts were clearly unsettling Wickham: perhaps he had expected cowering fear. Lizzy had no intention of providing any such thing, no matter how frightened she was.

Before she could reconsider, she turned, the hand holding the flintlock concealed by her dress.

Wickham stood not twenty feet distant, a pistol in each hand, one aimed at her and one at Kitty.

He smiled in a way that made Lizzy's stomach clench. Now she understood what Lydia had seen: this was the real Wickham, without the veneer of charm and manners. She raised her flintlock, fired.

Wickham's guns roared, then as though time itself slowed to a crawl he fell back, his face a ruined mass of shattered flesh. He did not scream.

Lizzy took the few paces to where Wickham lay struggling to breathe. Both his pistols had two shots apiece: she lifted each, and took the heavier. It was not unlike putting down a mad bull, she told herself until her hands steadied.

This time she took careful aim: Wickham could not live, injured as he was. This was mercy. It could be nothing else.

She fired.

Wickham's body gave a single spasm, then he was still.

Lizzy let the gun fall. All the strength seemed to have fled her body: she could not think what she should do next. She had killed a man: that meant hanging, or transportation if she was fortunate.

"Lizzy?" Kitty's voice seemed strangely distant, frightened. "Your arm, Lizzy! I cannot leave you like this."

Darcy's eagerness to be outdoors was shared by Bingley, Colonel Fitzwilliam and the viscount. Both his cousins found the atmosphere at Netherfield as confining as Darcy did, and with the imminent departure of the militia to Brighton, the Colonel had lost his best reason to be elsewhere.

Though they seemed to be riding aimlessly, Darcy suspected they would eventually find themselves at Longbourn: the Miss Bennets were a formidable attraction. Until then, the woods around Oakham Mount were pleasant, and on a fine day such as this there was always the possibility they would encounter those young ladies on one of their frequent walks.

A shot and a scream shattered the peaceful atmosphere.

Darcy spurred his horse towards the sound, realizing only later that all three of his companions reacted the same way. They raced towards the mount, until what seemed a fusillade nearby forced him to calm his horse.

As soon as he had steadied the animal, he dismounted, looping the reins around the nearest branch, and ran towards the shots, a distant corner of his mind regretting that he had no weapons save his fists.

And froze at the sight of Miss Elizabeth Bennet standing over a dying man. Blood stained one of her sleeves, though she seemed unaware of it as she held a pistol with both hands, her face an empty mask.

Miss Lydia Bennet lay nearby, her sister Kitty beside her clearly unable to decide which sister she should be aiding.

Elizabeth raised the pistol, aimed, and fired into the dying man's chest.

It was a mercy shot, Darcy realized. The man's face was a ruin: he could not survive those injuries, though he could perhaps have lingered some days before dying.

Elizabeth let the pistol fall, and shuddered.

Kitty looked from her to Lydia, and back. "Lizzy? Your arm, Lizzy! I cannot leave you like this."

Darcy forced himself forward. Whatever Elizabeth had done, and why, could wait until the injured sisters were treated and help brought.

Elizabeth turned, more clumsy than her wont. She did not seem to see him at first, and when she did realize she and her sisters were no longer alone, she paled and swayed on her feet.
Darcy caught her before she could fall, taking care not to jar her injured arm. Though she did not swoon, she allowed him to guide her to her sisters without a word.

"Oh, thank goodness you have found us!" Kitty helped Darcy to ease Elizabeth to sit, leaning against a tree. "It was Wickham – he shot Lydia, and he would have killed us too, only Lizzy stopped him. You will not let anyone hang her for it will you?"

Dear Lord! Small wonder Elizabeth was in such a state. To kill a man to protect her sisters – and her self – and now face the prospect of the gallows for her actions...

He shook his head. "I will take care of this. Will you look after your sisters until I can bring help, Miss Catherine?"

Kitty looked up at him with tears streaking her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr Darcy. I will do what I can."

He turned, and faced the startled expressions of his Fitzwilliam cousins. Bingley seemed more as though he wished to be ill: not that Bingley's reaction was surprising. Both Fitzwilliams had served in the army, and in active service at that. Bingley had not.

"Charles, please go to Longbourn and tell Mr Bennet we came across Wickham threatening his daughters and shot the scoundrel, but not before he wounded Miss Elizabeth and Miss Lydia. Have Bennet send for the authorities to deal with Wickham's remains and tell him we will bring his daughters home as soon as we can. If you can bring back bandages and anything else that seems needed that would be helpful."

Bingley nodded and swallowed, then hurried towards the horses.

Both Fitzwilliams nodded approval of Darcy's actions. Randall smiled wryly. "So, which of us hit killed the wretch?"

"I fired one shot," Darcy said without hesitation. "Richard, would you like to have the honor of the second? Naturally, we are not sure which of us fired the fatal shot."

"Naturally." The Colonel seemed to find that amusing. "In these situations with a scoundrel menacing young ladies, one reacts without thinking."

Kitty made a choked sound that could have been a sob.

"There, now, Miss Catherine," Randall said in a soothing voice. "It is over now. No-one will hang: we will see to that." He knelt by Lydia and pressed the jacket serving as an impromptu bandage closer. "Have you anything to staunch bleeding?"

Kitty finished tying a strip of cloth Darcy suspected she had torn from her petticoat around Elizabeth's arm. "Let me see. I think we collected some [herb], though it is not as effective as a salve."
Darcy busied himself arranging the weapons, claiming the flintlock for himself and handing one of the two-shot pistols to the Colonel. The other he placed by Wickham's right hand, as though it had fallen there.

"That should be sufficient, cuz," Richard said with a grim smile. "Our story would be enough even if the ladies held the weapons."

"Best there be no doubts," Darcy reminded him. "Though I must say Miss Elizabeth's courage and strength of mind ought to be celebrated, not hidden like this."

Richard shook his head. "Now that is the voice of a man who has lost his heart to the lady in question."

"For God's sake, Richard! Miss Elizabeth is neither deaf nor unconscious." A fine sight he would make, blushing like a guilty child while he relayed the lies intended to protect the lady's reputation.

Elizabeth's shaky laughter did nothing for his composure. "Yes, Colonel." Her voice was less than steady. "Do give Mr Darcy the chance to declare himself before condemning him to such a dire fate."

"Lizzy, be still!" Kitty sounded frantic. "You must not move that arm until it has been properly bandaged."

"Should I fall into a decorous swoon, then?" Elizabeth asked.

Darcy dared not look that way. Instead, he concentrated on obscuring all evidence of her footsteps, ensuring there was no indication any of the Miss Bennets had been closer than the clearing's width to the dead man.

"Lizzy!" Kitty made a gulping sound, then asked, "Which of your salves is for bleeding? I cannot tell them apart, and Lydia…"

"It is wrapped in red muslin." If Darcy judged the sounds correctly, Elizabeth tried to rise and was promptly stopped – most likely by Randall.

"This?" Randall asked.

"Yes."

Fortunately for Darcy's self-control, he heard hoofbeats approaching, just as Richard said, "This must be Bingley now." He turned towards the sound, watching for Bingley and – he hoped – some form of assistance for the injured ladies.

It was perhaps not surprising that Bingley entered the clearing at a run, followed by a middle-aged man Darcy vaguely recognized as one of Bennet's men. The man carried a large basket and took himself directly to the ladies.

"Hill here has brought bandages and salves." Bingley spoke quickly. "Men are following with sedan chairs – the path is too rough for a carriage. Bennet has gone to fetch Sir William Lucas, Mr Goulding and Mr Phillips: Goulding is the magistrate and Phillips the chief attorney in town."

Darcy nodded. "That should be sufficient to clear this matter."

"Yes." Bingley glanced at the body, and swallowed again. "Hill has an old blanket… Should we perhaps cover that? For the ladies."

Darcy flushed at not having thought of something so obvious. "Of course. Thank you, Charles. I should have thought of that myself."

Chapter 27 - The Protection of a Lady's Reputation

Posted on 2010-07-25

No questions were raised by any of the gentlemen when Darcy and his cousin described their version of events. Though he was uncomfortable with the praise heaped upon them for their supposed heroism, it was better that he endure it than risk compromising Miss Elizabeth's reputation.

Not until he had accompanied Mr Bennet and his daughters to Longbourn and seen Lydia and Elizabeth helped to their beds and the waiting doctor did Darcy learn how mistaken he was.

As soon as he and Mr Bennet were alone in the hallway, Bennet said, "Let us adjourn to the library, young man." The older man regarded him gravely. "Where you may tell me what really occurred."

Once fortified by a little brandy, Darcy found that tale far easier to tell than the falsehoods he had concocted for Elizabeth's sake.

"Hm." Bennet frowned. "Interesting. Were you aware of this?" He handed Darcy a much folded letter.

If Aunt Cat's handwriting was not shock enough, the contents of the letter were sufficient that Darcy gulped his remaining brandy in a single draught. "Dear God. I had no idea, sir."

"You have no notion how relieved I am to know that." Bennet's tone had resumed its usual dryness. "It makes the information I received earlier today far easier to impart."

Darcy could feel blood draining from his face. "You have evidence my aunt was involved in this… attempt?" It was a scandal that could ruin the entire family, as well as the Bennets – but more importantly, evidence that Aunt Cat had conspired to murder required that justice be done, even if privately.

Bennet sighed and closed his eyes. "I do. Bingley arrived as I was readying a party to find my girls and bring them home. A heavily armed party."

Darcy winced. "It is fortunate that Miss Elizabeth is as courageous as cool-headed as the best of men," he admitted. "Richard already laments that he cannot claim her for the army."

A hint of a smile touched the older man's face. "I daresay the army would be insufficient challenge for my Lizzy. No matter what instructions the doctor gives I expect to find her on her feet on the morrow." He shook his head. "When she was a child, her first words after 'Mama' and 'Papa' were 'Lizzy do!'."

In his mind, Darcy envisioned a curly-headed toddler looking up at her parents with those wonderful eyes and declaring in a tone that brooked no argument, "Lizzy do!" He could well imagine that child succeeding in whatever attempt she made, however unlikely that success might seem.

"You must be tremendously proud, sir."

"Indeed." Bennet chuckled softly. "Had she been a boy, there would have been no stopping her."

Darcy nodded, then swallowed. "I should return to Netherfield. This must… I must inform my uncle and cousins of this."

"Of course."

"She did what?" The Earl frowned. "I know Cat is overbearing, but I can not believe she would do something this… vile."

Darcy merely handed him the letter. Bennet had been quite willing to part with it on condition it was not given to its author – a condition with which Darcy was in full agreement.

The Earl's frown grew more pronounced and his color deepened as he read. He gave the damning missive back to Darcy before he spoke. "And the… other matter?"

"Bingley and I have interviewed the servants who witnessed the meetings," Darcy informed him. "I am satisfied they speak truth." He saw no reason to add any particulars of those interviews.

The Earl's curse could have come from a stable hand. He sighed. "Very well. I will ask you and my sons to be present when this matter is discussed with Cat. I can only pray that she shows some remorse for her folly."

Darcy nodded. "I will be present. Bingley also, if you desire it: we have discussed the matter."

"I appreciate the offer." The Earl sighed again. "This occurred under his roof: of course Bingley must be present."

Darcy appreciated his uncle's reluctance to deal with the matter. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was his sister. "I gather Wickham approached her initially, and his manner grew more threatening with each encounter." It was small consolation: Aunt Cat could have confided in any of her relatives. All of them knew Wickham was not to be trusted, though none had realized the true extent of the man's evil. "It is possible she felt sufficiently threatened to provide the man with funds and appear to condone his actions."

Though a flicker of hope crossed the Earl's features, he shook his head. "Darce, you know as well as I that Cat could have asked any one of us for protection and been given it. I admit, I can see no explanation she can give that frees her from culpability."

Darcy could see none either, and he dearly wished that he could. The memory of Elizabeth standing blank-faced over Wickham, firing the mercy shot… She should never have been forced to that extremity.

He could easily agree with Bennet that no matter what the doctor decreed, Elizabeth would be rising on the morrow, and no doubt occupying herself in some useful manner.

It was almost a shame that Aunt Cat could not be forced into the custody of the Bennets. That family was quite capable of working miracles, transforming Aunt Cat's cringing parody of a parson into a sensible – even likeable – man in a matter of weeks. He suspected one or more of the Miss Bennets had a hand in Miss Bingley's transformation, as well.

She had contrived to encounter him in the library, where she apologized for her manner in the past, and admitted that while she would be honored if he were to regard her as more than the sister of his very good friend, she truly doubted there could be anything more than that between them and she would far prefer that both of them found partners they could respect and love.

By the time Darcy recovered from his astonishment and thanked her for her candor, Miss Bingley was already retreating. Such a change in manner could only have been wrought by the Miss Bennets: she had visited Longbourn more than once.

Darcy hoped Bingley had been able to pass on his suggestion that she contrive to include Anne on those visits: his frail cousin could certainly benefit from whatever miraculous transformation the Bennet family could offer. Not that the Bennets would be desirous of visitors for a time: Lydia's injury would keep her abed for a time, and could be fatal if infection set in.

Both Randall and Richard had seen men killed by lesser injury.

To Darcy's relief, his aunt showed no concern about joining the family in Netherfield's second parlor, a cozy room designed for informal gatherings. Aunt Eleanor's presence no doubt allayed any concerns Aunt Cat might have harbored.

They had spared Anne the confrontation: she and Miss Bingley were practicing duets at the far end of the building – an activity Miss Bingley had suggested. Not that Anne was ignorant of her mother's perfidy: Darcy and both Fitzwilliam sons had insisted their cousin deserved to know what was to occur, and why. Anne was frail, not stupid.

Aunt Cat gave Bingley a cold glare, silently accusing him of befouling the room with his presence, but she – uncharacteristically – said nothing to that effect. "Is there some matter that needs my attention, brother? You have attended to me only when circumstances required it."

"That is because you make your company unpleasant, sister," the Earl said evenly. "Randall, do help your aunt be seated."

The Viscount and his brother were quick to assist, and – not incidentally – relieve their aunt of her heavy cane.

"I have disturbing news, sister," the Earl continued. "It seems that Wickham attempted to murder two of your granddaughters this morning. He was prevented by the timely arrival of your nephews and Mr Bingley."

All the color drained from Aunt Cat's face. "That… monster!" Her hands tightened on the arms of the chair. For a moment, Darcy fancied his aunt's hands looked like claws.

"Sadly, there is evidence that you aided him." Still no expression touched the Earl's voice.

Aunt Cat leaned forward. "And you believe that scoundrel's lies over me?" she demanded. "I am deeply offended, brother."

"As a matter of fact, 'that scoundrel' had no opportunity to say anything," the Viscount observed in a dry voice. "Thanks in no small part to the marksmanship of Darce and Richard, he was dead before he could be questioned, though not, sadly, before he had grievously wounded the young ladies."

"Then there can be no connection." Aunt Cat's decisive tone was at odds with the way she clutched at the arms of her chair.

"There are witnesses to your meetings with the man."

She gave a sharp catch of breath, and shook her head. "Servants," she said dismissively. "One does not rely on the word of the lesser classes."

Now a little disapproval leaked into the Earl's voice. "When it is in keeping with the information in your handwriting, sister, one does."

Aunt Cat's response surprised everyone in the room. She seemed to fold into herself. "Then it is over. I cannot say I regret being rid of that vile creature even though he brings me with him." She closed her eyes. "Only take care of Anne."

Darcy swallowed, but Aunt Eleanor spoke before he could find words. "Oh, Catherine. No-one plans to condemn you out of hand. Will you not tell us why you wrote this?"

"I should have thought that obvious," Aunt Cat said in a brittle voice. "I do not accept these Bennet women."

"That much is clear, Aunt." Darcy found his voice. "But of Wickham? How did he come to have contact with you?"

Aunt Cat lifted her head and turned away.

"Damn it, woman! The man has made fools of all of us. Lay aside your pride for once."

The Earl's vehemence – and likely his language – made Aunt Cat flinch, but she straightened and fixed him with a cold glare. "I will not be someone's object of pity," she spat. "You treat me with contempt unless you desire something of me, yes, all of you." Her gaze softened a little when she fixed on Darcy, "Though you, nephew, have at least been courteous despite your refusal to care for Anne."

Darcy bowed: somehow formality seemed more appropriate here. "Madam, I have never denied that I will give Anne what care I may – including respect for her desire to never enter the married state." He could not help but admit that Anne had ample reason to dread marriage. "However, if Wickham has imposed upon you as well, then at least grant us knowledge of it so we can assure no associate of his has the knowledge to trouble you or Anne further."

The prospect of harm to her sole surviving child was sufficient to overcome Aunt Cat's considerable self-control. Her eyes grew very bright. "You will see to that." It was not a question.

Darcy only nodded.

"Very well." The decision made, his aunt seemed to shrink once more. "It began soon after your father's death, Darcy. He demanded a scandalous sum, claiming he would ruin Anne and me if I failed to provide."

Darcy sighed. "He is – was – very adept at that."

Aunt Cat gave a small shrug. "His claim was plausible enough to be believed by the Ton, though a vicious falsehood. I gave him what he desired on condition he never trouble me again."

A condition Wickham had ignored. That much was obvious.

"He returned several times after that, though he had not disturbed me for some years until recently." She laughed, a hollow sound, and pulled her wrap more closely about her shoulders. "I had begun to hope I might be rid of him." Her eyes overflowed when she blinked, but she ignored the tears. "I had thought his plan was to elope with the child – a scandalous act, to be sure, but ultimately harmless. He misled me."

It was hardly a surprise. Darcy had been misled by Wickham often enough to know that the man was extremely capable of deception. The world was better by far with Wickham no longer part of it.

After a long silence, Aunt Cat asked hesitantly, "The young ladies? They will live?"

"Miss Elizabeth assuredly will be well. Miss Lydia… I had intended to visit Longbourn on the morrow to ask after both young ladies." Darcy kept his words calm, matter-of-fact.

At that assurance, his aunt drew in a shuddering breath, then began to cry: gulping sobs of deep distress.

Rather than embarrass her by witnessing what she would consider a weakness, Darcy quietly edged towards the parlor door. All save his Aunt Eleanor followed with as much discretion as they could contrive. Even Richard seemed sobered.

"Eleanor will sort things out," the Earl said once they were far enough from the room they need not fear being overheard. "Cat will need to retire to somewhere obscure: the Ashton dower house ought to suffice." He made a sour face. "None could accuse Ashton Hall of being too close to Society."

Given that his uncle's estate was many miles north of Darcy's own, he could not disagree. He glanced at his cousins.

Both men looked grim, but it was the Colonel who spoke. "I'll see to it, Darce. Much as it pains me to leave the delightful company hereabouts – while I am on leave, too – I have the contacts to find Wickham's associates and ensure they cause no trouble." He grinned. "In any case, you would be far too obvious in the places I will need to search."

Darcy gave an ironic bow. "That, my dear cousin, is because you are an irrepressible scoundrel. I am astonished Home Office has not called upon your services."

"Perhaps they have, but I am not at liberty to speak of it." The Colonel waved a finger in admonishment. "Or perhaps I merely tease."

Randall snorted. "I would be far more inclined to place money on the latter case than the former."

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam winked. "I shall retire early, gentlemen. I should be on my way at first light."

Chapter 28 - Improper Determinations

Posted on 2010-08-01

Though her arm ached horribly, Lizzy was indeed about the day after her injury. The doctor's orders that she rest sufficed only to keep her indoors, and that only because she tired too quickly to walk more than the length of a room without stopping to rest.

With the new Mrs Bennet attending to Lydia – who was in far worse case – Lizzy moved from the sunny parlor to her father's study and back as restlessness drove her.

She was engaged in that journey and had paused in the vestibule to rest a little when Mr Darcy arrived with Mr Bingley and the Viscount.

The three gentlemen exchanged startled and amused expressions, then the Viscount said, "Well, cuz, you have the right of it." He bowed in Lizzy's direction. "Dear cousin, our reprobate cousin Darcy claimed you would be up and about irrespective of the doctor's orders."

Lizzy could not repress a smile. "It would seem that Mr Darcy has learned entirely too much of my nature, sir."

Darcy bowed. "That, madam, is no sorrow to me." He appeared torn between concern and amusement. "Though you should be resting."

She chuckled softly. "I am resting. I am entirely indoors, and my wanderings limited to the much-worn path between Papa's study and the parlor."

Darcy's lips twitched.

"How fares Miss Lydia?" Bingley asked, apparently unable to suppress the question any longer.

"She is abed and feverish." Lizzy saw no reason to mince words with these gentlemen. "Mrs… Mama Amelia is with her."

When all three gentlemen appeared grave, Lizzy added, "There is no sign of infection. Mama Amelia believes the fever to be induced by loss of blood."

The Viscount nodded slowly. "That is indeed likely."

"Lizzy?" Papa's voice emerged from the direction of the library, followed by Papa himself. Though thinner than he had been, and walking with the aid of a cane, he was well enough to find amusement where he might. "Why are you holding court in the vestibule? Surely the parlor would be more pleasant."

The Viscount was quick to assure her father that nothing improper had occurred, and that they had only recently entered the house and having found Miss Bennet resting there, had naturally paused to inquire after her health and her sister's health.

Since Lizzy's destination had been the library, the gentlemen assisted her to that destination before Mr Darcy broached the other subject of their visit.

"Richard – Colonel Fitzwilliam – has gone to London to track down any associates Wickham may have had in this plot, and ensure they cause no further problems," he said simply. "We spoke to Aunt Catherine yesterday: it would seem the wretch had been imposing upon her for some time, threatening her and Anne."

Papa nodded. "Forgive me if I am not quick to overlook the lady's part in all this," he said in the quiet, serious voice that meant he was truly angry. "I shall say nothing, of course, but her actions have caused my family a great deal of harm."

"Of course, sir." Darcy did not seem at all surprised by Papa's response. "Aunt Catherine will be retiring to the dower house at Ashton, in [county]. I have agreed to manage Rosings until such time as Miss Bennet is able to take up residence there, and to see to Anne's welfare."

"A reasonable compromise," Papa agreed. "However, my girls will not be visiting Ashton while the lady remains in residence in the area."

The Viscount nodded gravely. "Father expected as much. Aunt Catherine is… distraught at present, but there is some hope that she may regret her actions. Would you be willing to reconsider, sir, if she does?"

Papa's lips quirked at the corners.

Lizzy was unsurprised: it was rare that Papa's quixotic humor left him for more than a short time. He would unquestionably consider these bizarre negotiations amusing.

A little dryness crept into his voice when he said, "If the lady's apologies are sufficient to convince me and my girls are willing, I would be prepared to reconsider."

"Thank you, sir." There was no mistaking the relief in the Viscount's tone. "I should hate to be estranged from my newly-discovered cousins over this."

As he had no doubt intended, his words drew a chuckle from Papa. "You need not fear that, young man. All other members of your family – and yours, Darcy – are quite welcome to visit here whenever you desire." He twinkled at Bingley. "The same invitation of course extends to you and your sisters – if they wish to associate with us."

Lizzy was unsure how it was arranged, with Longbourn overwhelmed with gentlemen, but Bingley contrived enough time alone with Jane to ask for her hand, a request she joyfully accepted. Bingley's expression when he emerged from her father's study made it clear Papa had approved the union.

While Kitty and Mary congratulated Jane, Darcy and Mr Collins each shook Bingley's hand and congratulated him, then the Viscount welcomed him to the family.

Lizzy supposed there was something in the air, for soon after that congratulations were being given to Mary and Mr Collins, both of whom blushed hotly and tried to withdraw from attention. The suggestion of a double wedding was instantly dismissed by both, Mr Collins claiming he would be out of place at such a gathering, and Mary that she would not spoil Jane's glory for anything.

The Viscount, Mr Bingley, Jane and Kitty were all attempting to change both minds when Darcy quietly took a seat beside Lizzy. "That is quite the tumult," he said in soft voice.

"Indeed it is." 'Tumult' was not the word Lizzy would have used, but it sufficed. "But they are all so very happy, I can find no reason to object."

He smiled in a way that made Lizzy feel almost queasy – a sensation that was not quite illness but was instead pleasurable. She was given no opportunity to wonder at the strange feeling, for Darcy spoke again.

"Miss Elizabeth, when I saw you standing over that villain yesterday, I realized how very much I love and admire you." Darcy blushed as he spoke, and he leaned towards her, only to draw back and look down. "I know I have little to recommend me – apart from the little matter of a fortune and an estate – but I would be honored and delighted if you would consent to allow me to court you."

Lizzy swallowed, suddenly fighting tears of purest joy. "You have a great deal to recommend you, Mr Darcy, though little of it is fashionable." She could not keep scorn from her voice when she mentioned fashion. "Only one thing would make me happier – and you have not made that request."

She was as bad as her father, jesting when a man had all but declared his love for her.

Fortunately Mr Darcy seemed to understand her response. He smiled, and leaned forward again, this time clasping her hands. "In that case, would you do me the inestimable honor of becoming Mrs Darcy?"

She smiled, swallowed against the sudden tightness of her throat, and nodded. Then, finding her voice, said, "Unless there is another Mr Darcy I know nothing about."

He chuckled softly. "None that I am aware of."

Despite the evident eagerness of all three engaged couples to enter the delights of matrimony – and the addition of Randall Fitzwilliam to the list of soon-to-be-married a few weeks later when he proposed to Miss Bingley and was accepted, none of the weddings were held until fall, by which time Lydia Bennet had recovered her health and could join Kitty and Georgiana Darcy – who, like her cousin Anne de Bourgh, had quickly become a close friend of the Bennet sisters – as bridesmaids for the weddings.

With her mother absent, and aided by frequent visits to Longbourn, Anne's health had begun to improve. It was the private opinion of all concerned that Anne would always be frail, but there was color to her cheeks, and she smiled often: something all her cousins considered a triumph.

Reports of Anne's improved health seemed to soften the tone of the letters sent from Ashton Dower House. While no reconciliation was likely immediately, the prospect of eventual reconciliation improved over the months before the weddings.

It was decided that Bingley and Jane would not take possession of Rosings Park until after their honeymoon – to be spent at a much quieter Netherfield, for the Earl and his wife had returned to Ashton, the Viscount to his estate, Darcy to Pemberly, and the Colonel to his duties. Following the wedding, Mr and Mrs Hurst would be returning to their London townhouse with Caroline, and Anne and Georgiana would be moving from Netherfield to Longbourn to stay for some weeks. Mr Bennet was heard to comment more than once that all this moving about had inspired so much letter writing that any increases in the price of the Post were entirely justified.

Mr Collins had returned to his duties, where his changed outlook was much appreciated by his parishioners. After much discussion with Mr Bennet, he had decided to remain at the living for a further five years, after which he would retire to Longbourn, where he and Mary could assist with the management of the estate, ensuring that Mr Bennet's still-fragile health would not suffer unduly. Neither he nor Mary desired a honeymoon: both agreed that the living itself would be sufficient for that.

Of all the couples, Lizzy and Darcy were the last to wed: Darcy retained management of Rosings until after the Bingleys returned from their honeymoon, then required some weeks to transfer control: though Bingley had managed Netherfield ably, Rosings was so vast that Bingley was quite overwhelmed at first.

The Viscount had claimed second place, arguing that the isolation of his home and the difficulty of travel there in poor weather would prevent his marrying at all if he did not tie the knot as soon as it was possible for the Bingleys to attend. He and his new wife honeymooned in Bath before returning to Hertfordshire in order to be present for Mary's wedding.

Finally, towards the end of October, Lizzy's wedding day dawned – with weather more pleasant than was normal at that time of year. Once more Netherfield and Longbourn were filled with visitors, including a newly-promoted Captain Fitzwilliam.

The particulars of the day escaped her, for mostly she remembered the mingled eagerness and nervousness with which she awaited the time of her marriage, the warmth of Darcy's hands when he held hers, and the greater warmth whenever their eyes chanced to meet.

The news that reached them on their return from a honeymoon tour of the Lakes district of Captain Fitzwilliam's engagement to Miss Charlotte Lucas – who, the Captain wrote, was so utterly unlike any of the ladies he had danced with, and so very practical – left Darcy scratching his head and Lizzy laughing with delight.

Of what followed little remains to be said: in due course Georgiana Darcy, Kitty Bennet and Lydia Bennet all found suitors who engaged their love. Anne de Bourgh resided at Rosings in better health than she had ever enjoyed, living to a respectable age as the much-loved spinster aunt of all her cousins' children.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh eventually grew reconciled to the daughters of her elder daughter: though relations between them were never easy, there was less strain, and her passing was met with genuine grief on the part of all five Bennet sisters.

Mr Bennet lived long enough to watch many of his grandchildren grow to marry and have children of their own, before he and Mrs Bennet passed within days of each other.

Darcy and Lizzy always credited the happiness of their extended family to the happenstance of that first meeting, when Lizzy had roundly scolded Darcy and Bingley for shooting in too small a wilderness and scaring Longbourn's sheep – which, it must be added, continued to thrive, transforming Longbourn to a truly prosperous estate.