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Chapter 23: Absences

Posted on 2008-09-07

Mrs. Reynolds sat at her writing table, carefully reviewing her order for the butcher, and smiling in satisfaction, laid the parchment down and removed her delicate spectacles. Settling back into her seat, she sighed lightly and passed her hands over her tired eyes. She looked out the small window, noticing the glow grow behind the trees as the sun moved to set.

‘I do hope the master arrives soon,' she thought worriedly as she craned her neck to look out over the drive.

The previous night had been spent seeing to Mr. Fielding's young family, while Mr. Perry and much of the staff saw to the blaze. Shaking her head sadly, she stood tiredly from her seat and moved toward the kitchen. As she approached, she heard the banging of copper pots and chopping, and she smiled when the cook's voice boomed above the noise.

"I said see to the potatoes, Margaret!" Mrs. Summerson exclaimed. "Ana can see to the fish when she returns!"

A small girl bobbed in apology, her cheeks red with worry and the heat of the kitchen, and set quickly to scrubbing the potatoes. Mrs. Reynolds approached the cook, whose imposing stature and knitted brow would have intimidated even her, had she not known her since the early days in the Darcys' employ.

"I trust you have everything you need, Summerson?" Mrs. Reynolds asked, looking over the piles of vegetables arranged on the table.

Mrs. Summerson glanced briefly at the housekeeper, and swiping at her damp brow, declared impatiently, "I do, mum, but I would send for more pork."

Mrs. Reynolds eyebrows rose in surprise and she said, "We are only expecting Mr. Darcy."

Pausing in her chopping, Mrs. Summerson turned her eyes toward the woman beside her and stated seriously, "A young man has to eat."

Realizing she could not prevail in such an argument, or any argument against Mrs. Summerson, Mrs. Reynolds acquiesced to amend the order for the butcher.

Nodding her thanks, Mrs. Summerson returned to her preparations before asking, "Do we know when the master is to arrive?"

"I would imagine soon," Mrs. Reynolds answered. "Mr. Perry saw that an express was sent as soon as he organized the water line."

Tossing several greens into the boiling pot next to her, Mrs. Summerson declared, "It is an awful shame; Fielding's wife only just had a babe, and now he has to see to this. How are his hands?"

"The doctor saw to them, but he said they were burned rather severely," Mrs. Reynolds said quietly. "He says Fielding must be vigilant in caring for them, for if they become infected he could lose them entirely."

Mrs. Summerson shook her head sadly, and prepared to answer, but was prevented by Ana's return. The young woman breathed heavily from her run, and noticing Mrs. Reynolds' presence, curtseyed lightly before addressing them.

"Mr. Darcy has just arrived, mum," she announced. "John saw him riding up the east drive."

Thanking Ana and instructing her to bring Mr. Perry to the study immediately, Mrs. Reynolds quickly moved past her and weaved her way among the kitchen staff toward the door. Once in the hallway, she walked briskly through the spacious dining room into front hall. She halted when she saw her master enter. Folding her hands patiently, she studied his haggard appearance. His fine boots were covered in dust, and the edges of his greatcoat were speckled with dried mud, undoubtedly kicked up by his horse's powerful steps.

Removing his hat, Darcy thanked the footman who approached to help him out of his great coat. Free of the heavy garment, he moved his shoulders in an attempt to rid them of the stiffness that had set in some hours before. Glancing up, Darcy noticed Mrs. Reynolds nearby and greeted her kindly.

"I hope you are well, madam," he said as he pulled his hands from his gloves. "I wish to see Mr. Perry as soon as possible."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded and answered, "He has already been sent for, sir."

Shaking his head slightly, he declared, "You have anticipated me."

Mrs. Reynolds watched his face, knowing that he would not acknowledge that his riding throughout the night and into the late afternoon had tired him. His usually impeccably shaved jaw was covered in light stubble and shadows lay under his dark eyes.

Frowning with worry, she declared, "Mrs. Summerson is seeing to dinner, sir. Shall I have something brought to you in the meantime?"

Darcy shook his head distractedly and said, "No, no; I plan to survey the damage as soon as Mr. Perry comes. I will be in my study."

Laying his riding crop aside, Darcy stood to his full height, every inch the master of a great estate despite his drawn face and tired body. He walked down the hallway, and paused only when Mrs. Reynolds addressed him.

"I shall send some tea and biscuits, sir," she said firmly.

Darcy smiled slightly, and realizing this to be her insistence that he eat, nodded before continuing. He walked quickly, desirous of sitting in front of the fire for at least a few moments before Mr. Perry arrived. Reaching the door, he pushed it open and stood in the door frame, studying the appearance of the familiar room. His gaze swept over the expansive dark wood desk and the comfortable chair, reflecting that though he desperately wished himself in Hertfordshire, the sight of his favorite room was not unwelcome. Pushing himself away from the door frame, he moved toward the large leather chair in front of the fire and fell heavily upon it.

Staring intently into the fire, Darcy moved his fingers over the chair's right arm, tracing the worn edge where the leather was smooth and thin. He smiled slightly, remembering how he repeatedly refused to allow Mrs. Reynolds to send it for repairs, for however unsightly it was, the wear was caused by his father's fingers. Many an evening, Darcy had seen his father in this very seat reading or reflecting on business. Whatever his father's activity was, Darcy recalled that he had always seen him idly passing the tips of his fingers over this spot. Placing his palm firmly against the area, Darcy closed his eyes and laid his head back. He felt himself dozing, his body and mind desperately calling for rest. Jarring himself awake, he leaned forward, and placing his elbows upon his knees, he clasped his hands.

Hearing a soft knock, he called, "Enter."

A young maid walked quickly into the room, her small arms bearing a large tray of tea, biscuits, and sandwiches. Darcy watched in amusement as she arranged it on the table next to him.

Looking over the array of refreshments, Darcy thanked her and said lightly, "I believe Mrs. Summerson has forgotten that I am the only one she is feeding."

The young maid smiled nervously, and curtseying low, departed the room silently. Darcy watched her go before reaching for the cup of tea, and raising it to his lips, he sighed heavily. Despite his best efforts, and though he knew he had pressing matters to attend to, he could not clear his mind of Elizabeth.

‘Do I really wish to?' he asked himself seriously.

Shaking his head slightly, he returned his gaze to the fire and smiled as he imagined Elizabeth sitting in the chair to his left. In the days of his father, Pemberley's halls held a certain lightness, echoing with Georgiana's laughter and his father's witty conversation. Though it still felt a comfortable home, Darcy could not deny that a heavy sadness had descended upon it. Frowning slightly, he reflected that it was his own fault; matters of the estate prevented him from spending time with Georgiana, and slowly, the two of them had settled into quiet unvaried days. Darcy felt heartily certain that Elizabeth's presence would reawaken Pemberley as it had him. He smiled softly as these thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Perry's hurried arrival as he moved quickly into the room.

"Mr. Darcy," he greeted as he bowed respectfully. "There is much to acquaint you with, sir."

Darcy noticed his steward's tired eyes and pale complexion, and studying his attire, he perceived the gray smears of ash upon his waistcoat and cuffs.

Setting his tea aside and standing from his seat, Darcy declared, "Tell me everything."

Mr. Perry nodded, and moving aside so his master could pass, followed quickly behind him. The two men walked swiftly down the hallway toward the entrance; Mr. Perry answering Darcy's swift questioning as he endeavored to keep pace with the younger man's quick strides.

"You say it spread to the stables?" Darcy asked, suddenly halting his progress.

Breathing heavily, Mr. Perry answered sadly, "I am afraid the blaze leapt from the house's roof, sir. The house suffered some damage, and we have removed the family for the time being. I believe the stables are beyond repair though."

Darcy started at this intelligence. Mr. Fielding had for some years been charged with the care of Pemberley's horses. His small farm stretched behind the stables, and Darcy had always been pleased with his dedication.

Paling slightly and fearing the answer, he asked tentatively, "Were any horses lost?"

Mr. Perry's eyes looked away briefly, before answering, "Fielding and his son got many of them out, but I am afraid a fallen timber prevented them from getting to Dryden."

Darcy's breath caught, thinking of the beautiful stallion his father had given him not long before his death.

Breathing deeply and quelling his sadness, Darcy continued toward the door and asked, "Was anyone harmed?"

Mr. Perry hurried after his master and declared, "Fielding has burned his hands rather severely."

"He has been seen to?" Darcy asked as he descended the stairs.

Mr. Perry nodded and said, "The doctor has been to see him twice already."

Darcy nodded in approval, and crossing the drive without another word, walked swiftly in the direction of the stables.

Mr. Bennet studied the board silently, his eyes taking in each black and white piece. Elizabeth sat across from him, her shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders and feet tucked beneath her. She listened to her father's breathing and the light crackling of the blaze in the fireplace as her fingers played idly with a curl the fell loosely down her shoulder. She and Jane had sought refuge out of doors following dinner in the hope of avoiding their mother's unhappy wails over the loss of Mr. Bingley. They walked idly across Longbourn's lawn, neither speaking of their disappointments, but feeling comforted that the other felt the same deep sense of loss. Only when the sun set had they ventured back to the house, finding that Mr. Collins had arrived as well, having spent the entirety of the day with the Lucases. He smiled brightly and greeted Jane before turning his cool gaze on Elizabeth and asking her calmly if she had reconsidered his offer. He watched unhappily as she shook her head vehemently, and bowing slightly, ascended the stairs to his room.

‘I will be happy to be rid of him,' Elizabeth thought bitterly. ‘He believes me ungrateful, and will surely tell Lady Catherine such.'

Shaking her head, Elizabeth's thoughts turned to that lady's nephew. She closed her eyes against the now painful memory of his voice, feeling heartily saddened by his absence. She reminded herself that she had always predicted this; that he would leave Hertfordshire and she would be forced to go on as she always had. Yet never did she believe she would have felt such emptiness at his departure. Clasping her hands, she remembered the feeling of his fingers holding them with a steady strength and warmth. Sighing heavily, she laid her chin atop them and waited for her father's move.

Mr. Bennet looked up at his daughter and said, "Patience, my dear; an old man is allowed to take his time."

Elizabeth was jarred from her thoughts, and turning her face toward her father, she declared, "My apologies, sir; I did not mean to seem impatient."

Mr. Bennet shook his head lightly, and sliding a rook forward, announced, "Rook to G six."

Elizabeth straightened and moved forward in her seat. After a moment's thought, she moved her nearest pawn. Mr. Bennet watched the distracted move in amusement, and laughing lightly, slid his rook to take Elizabeth's king.

"Another victory!" he cried happily. "Perhaps I shall have Mr. Collins make you an offer every time I wish to win, for there is no better assurance of your being distracted."

As he righted each piece, Mr. Bennet glanced up and noticed his daughter's pale complexion. Studying her more closely, he recognized a despondency in her eyes he had not seen in four years.

Reaching across the small table, he clasped her hand and asked, "Surely you are not regretting your refusal of Mr. Collins' ridiculous proposal?"

Elizabeth laughed lightly, and shaking her head, she answered, "No, indeed; I was quite serious in my refusal."

Settling back in his seat, he added, "I assumed as much. My apologies, my dear, but I cannot envision you having the patience or temperament conducive with being someone's companion."

Elizabeth smiled and nodded slightly as her father continued, "From what I understand, a companion must be willing to agree emphatically with their charge's opinions, enjoy cards even if she does not, and live off a rather meager salary."

Shaking her head at this portrait, Elizabeth smiled and asked innocently, "Does that mean you believe me narrow-minded, against playing cards, and extravagant in my tastes?"

Mr. Bennet smiled and answered, "Not at all, though you do despise cards."

Elizabeth laughed openly at this, feeling briefly like herself again. Mr. Bennet watched his daughter intently, pleased that her impish grin had returned. Reflecting for a moment that her brooding began with the arrival of Miss Bingley's note, and curious if Mr. Darcy's hasty departure was the cause, he determined to draw her out.

Continuing to move the pieces back to their original places, he declared, "I find it very untoward that Mr. Darcy should disappear from Hertfordshire without a word of farewell."

Elizabeth's breath caught at this assertion, and schooling her anxiety, she answered calmly, "Yes, we heard about it only from Miss Bingley's letter."

"Indeed," Mr. Bennet said as he studied his daughter. "I had so looked forward to his company this afternoon. He strikes me as a worthy opponent."

Elizabeth nodded distractedly, and he added carefully, "The more I think on it, I am rather put out by his dismissal of our game. Perhaps your mother was right in her estimation of him."

Elizabeth started, and turning in alarm toward her father, asked, "You are disposed to think ill of him now?"

Noticing her heightened color, Mr. Bennet declared, "His behavior is certainly consistent with the reports I hear of him. Is not his failure to take leave of us properly proof of arrogance?"

"No!" Elizabeth exclaimed more passionately than she intended.

Mr. Bennet's eyebrows rose at this, and smirking in amusement, he asked, "No?"

Elizabeth closed her eyes to quiet her anger over her father's declaration and said firmly, "He is too much a gentleman to leave so suddenly without reason."

Nodding in agreement, Mr. Bennet said happily, "I believe you are right, Lizzy."

Elizabeth's brow furrowed in confusion, and smiling at his daughter's expression, he declared, "I suppose something very grave must have taken him away from our company."

Elizabeth opened her mouth, but closed it promptly, uncertain how to respond to her father's apparent capriciousness.

Mr. Bennet moved his final piece back in place and said seriously, "Despite his abrupt departure, I find him a worthy young man."

Elizabeth turned toward her father in surprise and thought worriedly, ‘Surely he does not know of my feelings.'

Settling back in his seat, and feeling he had unsettled his daughter enough, he added, "Though I do wonder at Mr. Bingley's leaving. I thought him rather happy in Hertfordshire."

Willing her voice steady, Elizabeth declared, "I too believe he was too happy to elect to leave on his own."

"Ah, you suspect his sisters then," Mr. Bennet said dryly.

Elizabeth nodded, and realizing she had promised to rejoin Jane before retiring for the evening, she said, "I believe I shall return above stairs."

Standing from her seat and holding out her hand, she smiled and declared, "Congratulations on your victory, sir."

Eyeing his daughter, Mr. Bennet clasped her hand firmly and said, "Sleep well, Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled, and turning, walked slowly toward the door. On opening it, she paused in her exit when she heard her father address her.

"I believe we will have some future opportunity to challenge Mr. Darcy to a game," Mr. Bennet said lightly, reaching for his book.

Blushing furiously, Elizabeth wished her father a good evening and fled the room quickly. When the door closed firmly behind her, Mr. Bennet laughed openly.

‘He must be a worthy young man indeed to unsettle my Elizabeth,' he thought.

Staring seriously into the fire, he began to ruminate on the possible causes of Mr. Darcy's departure and hoped that his discussion with Mr. King at the ball regarding Mr. Wickham was not the cause.

‘But I did not mention Mr. Darcy as the source of that information,' he reasoned.

Laying his volume on his lap and steepling his fingers, he remembered how Mr. King had listened to his account of Mr. Wickham's past behavior with worry. Mr. Bennet had urged Mr. King to look more carefully into Mr. Wickham's finances, feeling that if all Elizabeth told him was true, Mr. Wickham would undoubtedly owe the merchants of Meryton a substantial sum. From all reports he had gathered that day, Miss King and Mr. Wickham were still engaged, and Mr. Bennet hoped it was proof that Mr. King had yet to find anything untoward about Mr. Wickham rather than evidence that Mr. Darcy was the heartless gentleman the rest of Hertfordshire believed him to be.

"Elizabeth is a most astute observer of character though," he said quietly.

Sighing heavily, he prayed that in this instance she had not erred; that her apparent attachment did not prevent her from discerning Mr. Darcy's faults. With this thought, Mr. Bennet tossed his book aside, and standing from his seat, strode purposefully to his desk. Taking up a pen and paper, he wrote quickly intending that the note should be sent to Pemberley at the earliest opportunity the following day.

Darcy entered the house late in the evening, his waistcoat long since discarded and hanging carelessly across his arm with his greatcoat. The crisp white linen of his shirt was spotted with dark smudges, and his face wore an unhappy grimace. Thanking the footman who relieved him of his bundle, he moved slowly toward the library, his legs heavy from lack of sleep and the business of the day. Sighing heavily, he pushed the carved mahogany door and entered the brightly lit room. He squinted, registering the grouping of candles on the mantle and roaring fire. Smiling slightly, he noticed several covered plates laid out on the table in front of the hearth.

"Blessed Mrs. Reynolds," he said lightly as he made his way toward the settee.

Sinking into its fine cushions, he closed his eyes and willed his racing mind to steady. The day had been a difficult one indeed. When he and Mr. Perry arrived at the ruined stables, Darcy fought the dizziness that rose as he looked over the charred timber and ashes; a sad shadow of the fine edifice that had once stood in that place. Like his father, he held an intense pride for his horses and their lineage. When he was at Pemberley, he saw to their workouts personally, enjoying their energy and the respite from business the time provided him. Georgiana often teased him that he felt more camaraderie with his horses than with humanity.

‘They are sometimes more deserving,' he thought, his mind flashing suddenly to Wickham.

He swallowed painfully as he remembered walking through the ash toward the empty area that was once home to Dryden's stall. Shaking his head sadly, Darcy reflected that had Dryden not slipped a shoe the morning of his departure for Hertfordshire, he surely would have ridden him.

When Darcy had called on Mr. Fielding, who was recovering at the home of Mr. Norton, the man had apologized profusely for the loss of the stallion, knowing he was his master's favorite.

"I am most heartily sorry, Mr. Darcy," he had said feelingly, cradling his bandaged hands to his chest.

Darcy had waved this apology away and declared firmly, "You have nothing to apologize for, sir. I owe your you and your son a debt of gratitude for your service."

Mr. Fielding blushed at this praise, and studying his crippled hands intently, said apprehensively, "I am certain I should be healed in time for the spring planting. I will continue to see to the horses as best I can, sir, and my son has shown great promise."

Moving to the seat beside the man, Mr. Darcy looked at him seriously, and taking in his tired appearance, stated quietly, "You should not concern yourself with that."

Mistaking Darcy's meaning as his impending dismissal, Mr. Fielding had started, his complexion paling. Recognizing the worry he had unwittingly caused, Darcy quickly added, "Your position will be waiting for you as soon as you are fully healed. In the meantime, I trust Mr. Norton can see to their care, but your son's assistance would be most welcome."

Looking toward the young lad, and noting he could not be more than ten years of age, Darcy asked gently, "Would you mind aiding Mr. Norton, Matthew? I do not believe he knows all of the horses' names or temperaments."

The young boy stepped forward happily and declared with alacrity, "I know their names, sir!"

Darcy smiled and said, "That is a very fine thing, for I would not have their names confused by Mr. Norton."

Leaning forward slightly, he added in a whisper, "Horses are assuredly the most proud creatures I have ever encountered."

Nodding at this intelligence, Matthew bit his lip as he committed it to memory. Darcy patted his shoulder lightly, and standing to his full height, found that he towered over the boy. Glancing once more at Mr. Fielding, he wished him a speedy recovery and promised to call in a day or two.

Laying his head back, Darcy reflected that he would rebuild the stables as soon as possible, and God willing, before the ground froze. He prayed that the beginning days of December would be mild ones. Looking toward the tray of refreshments and smiling, he noted Mrs. Reynolds had the foresight to arrange for tea and brandy. Selecting a tumbler of the latter, he sipped it slowly and reached for a biscuit. As he finished both, his eyes grew heavy and he felt his tired body demanding respite. Pouring himself tea, he took up the delicate cup, and standing from his seat, moved slowly toward the door and into the hallway.

Dimly lit halls greeted him, and walking quietly to the stairs, he ascended them, his right hand gliding along the polished railing as his left held the cup of steaming brew. Reaching the landing, he yawned against the back of his hand as he made his way to the master's chamber. As he entered, a young footman awaited him, for he had left his devoted valet at Netherfield to see that all he had left behind in Hertfordshire arrived safely at Pemberley.

‘Not everything,' he thought sadly as his mind flashed to Elizabeth's bright eyes and mirthful smile.

He greeted the young man before moving toward the dressing room, and he sighed as his eyes took in the welcome sight of a steaming bath. Thanking the footman and assuring him he would not be needed for the rest of the night, Darcy watched as he bowed respectfully before departing. Only when the door closed with a quiet click did Darcy allow himself to fall heavily upon the ornate chest at the foot of his bed. Bending forward painfully, his muscles straining and protesting against the movement, he relieved himself of his riding boots.

Looking about the room, he allowed his thoughts to return to Elizabeth and wondered how she received the news of his departure. She would be surprised no doubt, but would she mourn his loss? Something whispered that she would feel his absence as heartily as he did hers, and shaking his head sadly, Darcy prayed that she would not abandon her feelings for him.

‘You do not know her feelings!' his mind argued firmly. ‘Assumptions such as that can only lead to disappointment.'

Though he reluctantly admitted the truth in this, Darcy could not deny that she received his company with pleasure. Smiling slightly, he imagined her walking among Pemberley's halls, her delicate fingers following the lines of the walls and banisters as she found her way. Remembering her many remarkable talents, he had no doubt she would set to intrepidly studying the house as soon as she entered it.

‘There I go again!' he thought angrily. ‘I am far too hasty.'

Groaning in frustration, he admitted that since his acquaintance with Elizabeth he had lost his usual resolve, and his rational mind often bent to the demands of his heart.

"Perhaps that is not so very bad," he said quietly.

Smiling lightly, he stood slowly from his seat and moved toward his dressing room.

Elizabeth closed her door softly, not wishing to wake the other occupants of the house. Drawing her shawl about her shoulders, she treaded down the hallway, her slippered feet moving quietly and surely. Listening once more for the sounds of anyone else stirring, she descended the stairs and moved quickly into the front hall. After securing her gloves, she gripped the iron latch, lifting it noiselessly before slipping out into the cold night. She inhaled deeply, the brisk air filling her lungs. Elizabeth moved to sit upon the top stair, and she shivered slightly as the coldness of the stone penetrated her nightgown. Crossing her arms and tucking her hands securely against her sides, she relaxed and listened to the deep silence that surrounded her.

Sleep evaded her as her mind raced with thoughts of Mr. Darcy. Sighing heavily, she thought again on his abrupt departure, remembering his assurance the previous night that he would be at Longbourn that day.

"I shall see you tomorrow then," he had said.

Elizabeth held up the hand he had covered with his own as he said those words, feeling the warmth and steady pressure of his fingers on its back. Shaking her head in resignation, she tucked her hand back beneath her shawl.

‘It matters little now what he said,' she thought sadly.

As her mind recalled their conversations from the evening in an attempt to find some reason behind his absence, the door behind her opened slowly. Turning in surprise, Elizabeth was relieved to hear Mary's voice address her.

"Elizabeth Bennet!" she whispered angrily. "Whatever are you doing? You will catch your death out here!"

Moving to her elder sister's side, Mary studied her intently and added, "Have you gone mad? I insist you come inside this instant."

Elizabeth smiled at her sister's annoyance, for her reserved nature rarely allowed her to show it, and said, "Good evening, Mary. How are you?"

"No politeness please," Mary said sternly. "Inside!"

"I shall in a moment," Elizabeth quietly, her voice quavering slightly from the cold and her sadness.

Mary looked at her sister in concern, and noting her eyes watered almost imperceptibly, she asked, "Has something happened, Lizzy?"

Shaking her head, Elizabeth assured her sister that all was well. "I could not sleep," she added simply.

"So you thought contracting a fever the better choice," Mary said flatly, her brow furrowing in disapproval.

"I suppose I am rather silly," Elizabeth answered as she drew her knees to her chest.

Placing her hand lightly on Elizabeth's shoulder, Mary declared, "Something has unsettled you these past weeks. You are not yourself."

Elizabeth smiled and said, "I suppose I have been distracted."

Sitting back and leaning her elbows on the hard stair behind her, Mary asked, "Does this distraction have anything to do with Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth turned in surprise toward her sister, and blushing furiously, she said seriously, "Not at all."

Smirking lightly, Mary tapped Elizabeth's rosy cheek and declared, "Your expression tells me something entirely different."

Waving Mary's hand away, and crossing her arms in frustration, Elizabeth answered quietly, "Perhaps it does."

"He is very handsome," Mary said thoughtfully. "I have never spoken with him though; is he capable of intelligent conversation?"

Elizabeth smiled slightly and said, "He is indeed."

Mary nodded, and studying the clear sky above them, asked, "What business took him away from Hertfordshire?"

"I wish I knew," Elizabeth said quietly, biting her lip fretfully.

She started when she felt Mary's arm move around her shoulder and embrace her lightly. Smiling softly, she leaned into the embrace and listened to Mary's clear voice comfort her.

"I am certain whatever took him away was very serious indeed," Mary declared evenly. "I observed the two of you often; he seemed very happy in your company."

Sniffling lightly, Elizabeth said, "You, Jane, and Charlotte seem to think that means he intends to ignore my situation in life and make me an offer."

"If he does, then he is a very intelligent man," Mary said as she moved her hand soothingly up and down Elizabeth's shoulder. "Mr. Bingley's attentions to Jane were pleasing and apparent, but there was something else in Mr. Darcy's attentions to you."

Arching her brow in confusion, Elizabeth straightened and turned toward her sister as she continued, "I cannot explain it fully, but there was a depth and steadiness in the way he watched and spoke with you. Surely that must reveal something about his intentions."

Elizabeth breathed deeply, and though she wished her sister's supposition to be correct, she said bitterly, "Whatever his intentions, he is gone now."

Mary studied Elizabeth carefully and asked, "A man of Mr. Darcy's station would have to spend the season in Town, would he not?"

"I suppose," Elizabeth answered distractedly, her mind filled with Mr. Darcy's clear voice.

"And our Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are arriving next week?" she added.

Elizabeth turned expectantly toward her sister, and nodding, said, "They are indeed."

"You and Jane are returning with them as you always do," Mary said happily. "Perhaps you shall see your Mr. Darcy during your stay at Gracechurch Street."

Elizabeth laughed lightly at her sister's uncharacteristic mirth and declared firmly, "I believe a man of Mr. Darcy's station rarely finds cause to venture to Gracechurch Street."

Standing from her seat, Mary said, "Mr. Darcy does not strike me as a typical man of his station."

Elizabeth smiled slightly, admitting to herself the truth in Mary's sentiment. Schooling the hope she felt bubbling excitedly inside her, she bit her lip to quell its happy line.

‘Such anticipation can only lead to disappointment,' she thought soberly.

"Come," Mary said seriously. "We will both catch cold, and then where will we be? Poor Jane would be beside herself with worry."

Elizabeth stood quickly, and feeling her heart lighter, answered, "We cannot have that."

Smiling, she linked her arm through Mary's and the two sisters proceeded inside. Closing the door quietly behind them, they moved silently toward the stairs.

As they began their ascending them, Mary whispered, "I must say, I was very pleased to have Mr. Collins absent the entire day."

Elizabeth turned in surprise toward her sister and said, "I would have thought you would enjoy his reflections."

"Hardly," Mary declared flatly. "Studious he may be, but he is entirely without substance or thought. I feel that Lady Catherine's opinions comprise the entirety of his conversation. Just yesterday morning while I was endeavoring to practice a Scottish air, he spent near a half hour telling me that Lady Catherine found such tunes entirely unsuitable to be played in company."

Smiling broadly at this, Elizabeth asked quietly, "Dare I ask why?"

"He only said that she had decided emphatically against them," Mary said. "Whatever that may mean."

Elizabeth laughed lightly, and pleased that her sister's spirits had returned slightly, Mary allowed herself to smile.

‘Elizabeth deserves happiness,' she thought seriously as she bid her sister a good night.

Moving toward her own door, Mary prayed that Mr. Darcy would find he had some business that would take him in the direction of Gracechurch Street.

Elizabeth sighed heavily as she sat in Longbourn's dining room, feeling herself exhausted from her sleeplessness the previous night. Her mother was making breakfast a particularly painful affair by continually reminding the company of the Netherfield party's absence.

"I am certain that Mr. Darcy had something to do with it!" she had exclaimed unhappily, tossing her fork to her plate.

"Whatever are you talking of?" Mr. Bennet asked, watching his wife in amusement as he enjoyed his meal.

Mrs. Bennet threw her hands up in frustration and declared, "He is surely the cause of Mr. Bingley's departure. He took him away the day he was to have dinner with us; he has surely done so again!"

Mr. Bennet looked briefly at his second eldest, and noting that she moved the contents of her plate around distractedly, turned to his wife and said calmly, "Surely, Mrs. Bennet, you must recall that Miss Bingley's message said Mr. Darcy left Hertfordshire the night of the ball."

"Yes, I remember the letter quite well," she said unhappily. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley left Netherfield separately," he reasoned. "He undoubtedly had some pressing business."

"And he undoubtedly encouraged Mr. Bingley to follow him!" Mrs. Bennet added hotly.

Mr. Bennet shook his head in resignation, and studying Jane and Elizabeth's pale countenances sadly, reflected that both were heartily unhappy. Sighing slightly, he said evenly, "Mrs. Bennet, I believe we should not make any assumptions about the departures of either young man. I am certain Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy are not the last young men of fortune to come into the country."

"What good are any such young men if they raise our hopes only to run away!" she cried as she fanned herself feverishly.

Elizabeth closed her eyes painfully, and preparing to admonish her mother's hysterics, was silenced by Mr. Collins' arrival.

"Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, and my dear cousins," he greeted happily as he bowed. "It is a fine morning, is it not?"

Smiling, he took his seat next to Jane and set to preparing his plate. Elizabeth's brow furrowed at his pleasantness, for she was certain his displeasure over the result of their interview the previous day would not yet have diminished. She listened in wonder as he extolled the beauties of the day.

"Indeed, I find there is nothing more lovely than an autumn morning," he said jovially.

Mrs. Bennet eyed the young curate suspiciously; still annoyed by his offer to Elizabeth and feeling she had never seen him talk so easily.

Mr. Bennet smiled at the man's uncharacteristic behavior and declared, "Perhaps it is a sign the weather will be pleasant for your departure tomorrow."

Mr. Collins blushed slightly and said, "My most humble apologies, Mr. Bennet, but I find that I must return to Hunsford today."

Lydia and Catherine smiled happily at this intelligence as Elizabeth turned toward her cousin in surprise. Believing her refusal to be the cause, she said evenly, "You decision seems rather sudden."

Looking toward his cousin, Mr. Collins answered, "I confess it is, Cousin Elizabeth, but I hope you will forgive me when I reveal the reason."

Placing his fork upon his plate and smiling proudly, he announced, "I must return to Hunsford so that I may inform Lady Catherine of the most wonderful news; indeed, a letter could not be faithful to such news, and I would never relate a matter of such importance in such a way to her ladyship."

The company waited expectantly as Mr. Collins added, "Miss Charlotte Lucas has accepted me."

Mrs. Bennet inhaled sharply at this and fell heavily back in her seat, while Lydia snorted loudly and covered her mouth to hide her humor. Mary and Jane shared a look of surprise, while Mr. Bennet laughed softly.

"Engaged to Charlotte?" Elizabeth asked in disbelief.

Smiling broadly, Mr. Collins said, "Indeed, cousin, am I not the most fortunate of men?"

Elizabeth nodded distractedly as she reflected on the idea of her dear friend marrying such a man. Feeling certain that Charlotte did so for comfort rather than affection, Elizabeth stood quickly from her seat and excused herself. Walking into the hallway, and leaning against the wall just outside the dining room, she listened to her mother's unfortunate sobs and Mr. Collins' conversation.

"My dear Mrs. Bennet," he said happily, "your tears are truly touching. I will take them as your hearty congratulations and I thank you, madam."

At this, Mrs. Bennet wailed more loudly, and all of the company, excluding Mr. Collins, recognized that her misery was caused by the prospect of Charlotte Lucas being mistress of Longbourn rather than one of her own daughters. Shaking her head, and feeling herself incapable of hearing any more of Mr. Collins' profusions of joy, Elizabeth rushed to the door for her bonnet and spencer. A moment later, she moved out onto the drive, walking slowly as she reflected on her dear friend's decision.

‘Whatever could have possessed Charlotte to agree to such a scheme?' she wondered.

Her ruminations were interrupted by the very subject of her thoughts calling her name and wishing her a happy morning.

Pressing Elizabeth's hands affectionately, Charlotte declared, "I hope you are well this morning, Elizabeth. I heard of Mr. Bingley's departure. I assume Mr. Darcy has gone as well then?"

Elizabeth nodded slightly, but feeling herself unequal to discussing the gentleman, asked, "Have you something to tell me, Charlotte?"

Charlotte blushed and declared, "From your surprised countenance, I take it your cousin has already shared the news. I had hoped I would arrive before he found the opportunity."

Before she could prevent herself, Elizabeth said in wonder, "What are you thinking accepting such a man?"

Charlotte bit her lip thoughtfully and confessed seriously, "Mr. Collins is not as unsuitable a choice for me as you believe. His situation in life suits me, and I believe my chances at finding happiness with him are as good as they would be with any other."

"But, my dear friend, can you really dispose of yourself in such a way?" Elizabeth asked worriedly as she clasped Charlotte's hands in her own.

"I am not disposing of myself," Charlotte answered evenly. "I will have a comfortable life and I look forward to the prospect of managing my own home."

Shaking her head vehemently, Elizabeth said, "Comfort is not why one should agree to marry though."

Charlotte smiled slightly at her younger friend and declared quietly, "I am not romantic like you, Elizabeth, nor have I ever found a man who can engage my affections as Mr. Darcy has engaged yours."

Elizabeth shook her head sadly, feeling herself suddenly incapable of speech, as her friend embraced her tightly.

"Please be happy for me, Lizzy," Charlotte said beseechingly.

Pressing her cheek to Charlotte's, Elizabeth nodded and declared, "I am happy for you."

Releasing Elizabeth, Charlotte smiled comfortingly and said, "I feel certain that when Mr. Darcy returns to Hertfordshire, you will find your happiness."
Elizabeth sighed lightly, and taking her friend's hand, said, "I wish I could be as certain as you."

Charlotte pressed Elizabeth's hand in empathy and the two friends entered the house where they were greeted happily by Mr. Collins.

Taking Charlotte's hand, Mr. Collins bowed reverently and declared, "Good morning, my dear."

Looking toward Elizabeth, he said, "Your mother has retreated above stairs, cousin. Truly I had no idea my happy news would cause her such overwhelming joy. Indeed, she could not even articulate her happiness for me!"

Elizabeth smiled dryly and led the couple into the dining room where they were greeted by Jane and Mr. Bennet's sincere, albeit surprised, congratulations. Elizabeth moved toward the window seat where she listened to Charlotte quietly relating the content and style of Mr. Collins' proposal to Jane and Mary. Shaking her head, Elizabeth turned toward the window and pressed her hand against one of its cold panes.

‘If only I could be certain you would return,' she thought sadly

Posted on 2008-09-13

Elizabeth walked slowly through the field at the foot of Oakham Mount, her coat and skirts moving lightly about her ankles as her steps parted the dried reeds. She turned her face toward the sky, and listened as the cold breeze whistled past her ears and bent the tall grass around her. She sighed softly, reflecting unhappily that this would most likely be her last opportunity to walk in this place before the snow fell. Since Mr. Collins' departure and the news of Charlotte's engagement some days before, she had asked her sisters to accompany her on the walk each morning. Jane quietly refused each day, and Elizabeth felt this refusal was because such an outing would force her to pass the spot where they had first made Mr. Bingley's acquaintance.

‘I should feel the same,' Elizabeth thought, her mind replaying the sounds of Mr. Darcy's horse as it raced toward her, and his voice booming impatiently at her as she attempted to aid him off the ground.

She smiled slightly at the memory and said quietly, "What a beginning."

Elizabeth shivered as the wind picked up, biting through the coarse wool of her coat and blowing the curls that had escaped her bonnet across her face. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes as the frosty air filled her lungs. While she felt Mr. Darcy's absence heartily, she could not refrain from revisiting those spots connected with their friendship, or recalling with perfect clarity their many conversations.

‘Our friendship,' her mind echoed as she opened her eyes.

Shaking her head sadly, she said softly, "Perhaps that is all it was."

As it had so many times, her mind returned to the news of his departure, and her brow furrowed deeply as she attempted to discern the reason for it. She walked distractedly in the direction of Lydia and Catherine's excited chatter, and she was surprised to hear Lydia call out angrily.

"Lizzy, I want to return home!" she exclaimed in annoyance, stomping her foot unhappily. "I am cold!"

Elizabeth shook her head at her sister's habitual petulance and said, "Fresh air is good for you, Lydia; you cannot spend all day indoors mourning the loss of the soldiers' company."

Lydia colored at this, and walking toward her sister, cried, "I have no choice! Papa will still not relent."

"Aunt Phillips is having another card party, and Papa says we may not attend because the regiment will be there," Catherine declared sadly.

"Well, I am not sorry for it," Elizabeth answered lightly. "You would both make better use of your time if you did not always have redcoats on your mind."

Linking her arm congenially through Elizabeth's, Lydia asked sweetly, "Will you not help us, Lizzy? We have been ever so well behaved."

Catherine walked happily beside them and added, "Perhaps if we are very good until Aunt and Uncle Gardiner arrive, he will relent."

"But that is days away!" Lydia cried. "He cares nothing for our feelings; I have done nothing wrong."

Elizabeth answered lightly, "Let us keep it that way."

Lydia pursed her lips unhappily as Elizabeth continued, "Kitty may be right though; if you are rational and spend your days productively until our aunt and uncle arrive, Papa may allow you to at least be in the soldiers' company."

Catherine and Lydia bounced happily until Elizabeth reminded them that he may still reserve permission for them to speak with the regiment. She smirked slightly at their silence which followed, and hoped that her young sisters might still learn a bit of restraint. Elizabeth felt Lydia shiver slightly, and she pulled Lydia's arm more tightly to her side in the hope of giving her warmth.

"You are very good to walk all this way with me," Elizabeth said gratefully. "You know how I enjoy my walks."

Lydia snorted and declared, "Take Mary next time; I will not freeze on account of your being a great walker."

Lydia pulled her cloak more tightly about her, shielding herself from the brisk wind, and moved away from her sisters. Elizabeth shook her head in resignation and felt Catherine press her arm in comfort.

"Do not worry, Lizzy," she said lightly. "I shall walk out with you, for I do not mind the cold."

Elizabeth thanked her sister as Catherine continued, "But surely it is not good for you to be out in such weather."

Smiling at her sister's worry, Elizabeth declared, "I am able, as long as I am properly attired."

"Which none of us are now!" Lydia shouted unhappily from her place some feet ahead of them. "We shall all freeze out here and no one shall find us!"

Catherine giggled and answered, "We are less than a mile from home."

"Whatever are you going to do when it snows?" Elizabeth inquired innocently.

"I will be inside where it is decent and warm!" her sister answered hotly.

Catherine rolled her eyes heavenward at her sister's ill-temper, and laughed lightly when she saw Elizabeth suppressing a small smile. The two sisters lapsed into silence as they increased their pace to please Lydia and silence her complaints, though neither could help but grin broadly.

Darcy's eyes studied the large pile of timber before looking toward the men who worked to smooth the remaining ash and charred wood, as others attempted to drive the first beams into the hard ground. The work was slow, for much to Darcy's dismay, an early frost had hardened the ground. His brow furrowed as he watched his men swipe impatiently at their damp brows after each strike against the ground with picks and shovels. He shook his head unhappily, feeling that the slow progress was not enough if they hoped to rebuild before the first snow. Darcy removed his right glove, and kneeling, pressed his hand to the cold dirt while listening to it crunch beneath his weight.

"It is most unfortunate," Mr. Perry said from above him, interrupting his thoughts.

Darcy glanced up and nodded, before brushing the dust from his hand. Replacing his glove, he stood from his position and said, "If it was any of the other outer buildings, I would instruct them to stop immediately and postpone the building until spring. But as it is, I cannot see the horses housed at Lambton for the whole of the winter."

"The men know that, sir," Mr. Perry declared proudly. "They would not stop work if you did wish it. Once the beams are driven, the rest will go more swiftly."

Smiling slightly at this intelligence, Darcy answered, "Thank you, Perry."

Looking once more at the young men, he declared, "I must return to the house, for I have some pressing correspondence I have neglected."

"Of course, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Perry said as he bowed respectfully. "I will send word if you are needed."

Darcy patted the older gentleman on the shoulder and said, "I trust you implicitly."

Mr. Perry blushed at this compliment, and watched as his young employer walked swiftly in the direction of the house. As he walked, Darcy drew his greatcoat more tightly about his neck to ward off the chill. He glanced at the sky, and seeing the rolling gray clouds there, prayed that the snow would hold off a little longer.

‘Let them finish,' he pleaded silently upon reaching the drive.

Breathing deeply, he could not stop himself from wondering if Elizabeth walked out on such days. He remembered her remark that she did not mind the cool of the early morning during her time at Netherfield, but felt perhaps that the wind that reddened his ears and face now was too much for her.

Smiling slightly, he reflected, ‘Too much for Elizabeth? I very much doubt that.'

Shaking his head, he imagined her walking happily with her elder sister; her cheeks rosy from the cold and exercise and her eyes dancing merrily with some private mischief. Sighing heavily, he admitted to himself that he missed her company desperately, and he felt himself being slowly driven mad by his time without her. As he arrived at the entrance to Pemberley's expansive courtyard, he paused, and glancing over his shoulder, looked out over the lawn. Turning fully to survey the scene, he studied the bare trees and watched as they bent and moaned against the wind. He believed that despite the chill, Elizabeth would appreciate the quiet beauty of Pemberley on such a day. Never had he imagined that an individual other than Georgiana could see Pemberley as more than a fine house richly furnished, but Darcy felt certain Elizabeth would view it as he did; a haven and comfortable home. Darcy shivered slightly, the cold penetrating the fine wool of his greatcoat and waistcoat, and glancing once more at the empty drive and lawn, turned on his heel to ascend the stairs.

He pulled off his leather gloves and shrugged himself out of his greatcoat. He gazed at his stiff hands as he walked toward the study, noting they were rosy and chapped from his hours out of doors during the previous days and evenings. Sighing heavily, he admitted that he had been remiss in his correspondence, and anticipated spending much of the evening attending to the neglected post. Frowning deeply, he reflected that he had yet to deal with the unfortunate engagement of Wickham and Miss Mary King, nor did he pen an apology to Mr. Bennet for his abrupt departure.

"At least I may rectify that now," he said as he closed the heavy door behind him and moved toward his desk.

Falling heavily into his chair, he glanced at the small silver tray bearing his letters and thought there were far more than he would have liked to see. Sifting through the missives distractedly, his attention was arrested by one whose direction was written in an unfamiliar hand. His brow knitted slightly as he broke the seal, but rose in wonder as his eyes traced the name "Thomas Bennet" that was scrawled at the bottom. Inhaling sharply, he leaned forward and studied the lines:

November 27th

Mr. Darcy,

You are undoubtedly surprised by your receiving this letter, for we have never been correspondents, and should you wish to be so, I must warn you, I would be an infrequent and inattentive one.

Darcy laughed openly at such a salutation, his mind returning to the witty older gentleman and his odd sensibilities. Shaking his head lightly, he continued:

I hope that you have arrived in your native Derbyshire without injury and in good time. I was heartily sorry that our match was postponed by your departure, for worthy opponents are not to be had at Longbourn, and my Lizzy and I were looking forward to the challenge you posed.

Darcy's breath caught at that sight of her name so casually written by her father, and smiling slightly, he passed his thumb over it, caressing its simple letters. He imagined sitting across from her as her eyes flashed in challenge and her mouth turned upwards into an arch smile. Steadying himself, he forced his attention to return to Mr. Bennet's writing:

For now I find I am left in Hertfordshire to shift for myself. With yours and your friend's removal from the county, and Mr. Collins' return to Hunsford, I am left once again with only Sir William Lucas' companionship and conversation. While genial and a great friend to me, I cannot abide playing him, for his constant talk of St. James' Place is wholly distracting and has more than once cost me my king.

"What?" Darcy said in disbelief.

His eyes widened as he reread that Bingley had left Hertfordshire soon after him, for he had felt certain he would soon receive a letter from Bingley stating that he had been accepted by Miss Jane Bennet. Realizing now such a message was not to be had, Darcy's brow knitted with worry and he continued to read:

You must imagine my surprise when I learned from Miss Bingley's letter to my daughter, Jane, that you left Hertfordshire, and can only assume that as you are a man of great property, that you left on some matter of estate business. If this be the case, I hope it has been settled to your satisfaction.

Darcy's fingers curled involuntarily around the edge of the parchment, wrinkling the fragile sides as he reread these lines. He wondered what business Miss Bingley had relating the news of his departure, and Darcy paled when he realized the cause of her writing such a letter; Bingley had been prevented in visiting Longbourn to take his leave. Darcy's breath caught at this realization, and he fell back into his chair as Mr. Bennet's missive fell limply to the desk. Given Mr. Bennet's apparent ignorance to the fire, Darcy determined that Bingley's abrupt departure kept him from delivering his apology. Pressing a hand to his chest painfully, he admitted that if this was so, Elizabeth had no idea of the true cause of his leaving.

"What must she think of me?" he whispered anxiously.

Snatching up the letter for a final time, his eyes roved the remaining lines, finding in them sentiments that were charity themselves given the circumstances:

Perhaps at some future time we shall have the opportunity to renew our acquaintance and play our promised match. I wish you well in your endeavors, sir, and hope you and your friend will one day find reason to return to Hertfordshire. I will only add, God bless you.

Thomas Bennet

Darcy groaned in frustration, and pressing his hands together, collapsed the parchment between them. Shaking his head, he laid his forehead against the crumpled message and twisted it unhappily. Settling back into his chair, Darcy tossed the letter to the desk and drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the hard mahogany. Rubbing his chin against the back of his hand worriedly, he stood abruptly from his seat and began to pace furiously across the room. As he walked, he turned his ring agitatedly and his mind raced uncontrollably.

‘What the devil happened after I left Bingley?' he asked himself, coming to a stop before the hearth.

He could not imagine Bingley would willfully refrain from delivering his message, nor could he believe he would forget to fulfill such a request. Darcy watched the flames turning angrily behind their grate, and raking an anguished hand through his dark hair, he surmised that Bingley returned to the house of his brother-in-law and sister.

"Why would he retreat from Hertfordshire?" Darcy wondered as he resumed his pacing.

Darcy found it improbable that Miss Jane Bennet would refuse Bingley's offer of marriage, and quickly dismissed it as the cause for Bingley's leaving. Crossing toward his desk, Darcy halted in front of it, and glancing down, his eyes traced Mr. Bennet's words again. When he settled on the line during which Mr. Bennet attributed his knowledge of Darcy's departure to Miss Bingley's note, Darcy's brow knitted in suspicion. Resuming his seat, he reflected on Miss Bingley's objections to Miss Bennet, and remembered her entreating Bingley to avoid such a connection the morning of the Netherfield ball.

Allowing his head to fall back against the chair, Darcy whispered, "What have you done, Bingley?"

Breathing deeply to calm his turbulent thoughts, Darcy took up his pen and set it urgently to paper.

Jane sat quietly in front of the fire in the drawing room, working distractedly on her needlework. More than once she hissed in pain as she pricked her finger as a result of her inattention. Sighing slightly, she laid her project on her lap and gazed into the fire. Despite her best efforts, she could not remove thoughts of Mr. Bingley from her mind. While she acknowledged he had not broken any promise with her, she could not deny she had desperately hoped they might form an understanding. Her mother had retreated above stairs following dinner, and though Jane felt guilty for such a feeling, she could not deny her mother's absence pleased her greatly.

Her mother had spent many of the previous days visiting with their Aunt Philips and Mrs. Long, seeking comfort over Mr. Bingley's departure. Yet with each journey into Meryton, Mrs. Bennet returned with a less favorable opinion of the young man. Her sorrow over his leaving the country had evaporated after the first week of the Netherfield party's absence and had changed into bitter disappointment. Mrs. Bennet felt no uneasiness in abusing Mr. Bingley in company, and much to her eldest daughters' discomfort, did so each day. Such reminders often forced Jane to retreat to the comfort of her room, where she was soon joined by Elizabeth. The two sisters would speak quietly of their disappointments, and wait anxiously for some news of the gentlemen who had so altered their lives.

Jane raised her tired fair eyes to Elizabeth's form across the room. Her sister spoke quietly with Mary, instructing her on a particularly difficult concerto. Tracing Elizabeth's profile with her gaze, Jane noted unhappily, the exhaustion in Elizabeth's countenance. Frowning deeply, she determined that like herself, Elizabeth had spent these many evenings in contemplation until falling into a restless slumber. Jane shook her head sadly, and resolved to recover, if not for her own sake, for Elizabeth's. Smiling slightly, she remembered her aunt and uncle's approaching arrival, and hoped that their lively conversation and warmth would lessen the disappointment she and Elizabeth felt. Her mind more peaceful, Jane resumed her needlework, but dropped it hastily when their youngest sisters entered breathing heavily.

"You all will never guess what we have heard!" Lydia cried heedlessly.

Mary and Elizabeth turned in surprise toward their sister, and Jane quietly declared, "Calm yourself, Lydia; you must learn to control your address if you ever want Papa to relent."

Lydia huffed and said happily, "Oh, Papa is of little concern at this moment, and you will agree when you have heard what we have to relate."

Catherine jumped giddily and added, "We have just had the most incredible news from Maria."

Lydia nodded, but feeling she might prolong her sisters' curiosity, for she was quite enjoying knowing something they did not, she leisurely removed her coat and gloves before turning her attention to her reflection in the small mirror on the sideboard.

Rolling her eyes heavenward, Mary declared hotly, "Out with it, Lydia, so that we might return to what we were doing. Undoubtedly what occupies us is more important than your idle gossip."

Sticking her tongue out unceremoniously, Lydia cried, "No one allows me to have any fun!"

"Let us tell them; I so want to see their faces!" Catherine exclaimed.

Sighing heavily, Lydia assented, and the two young sisters moved to sit in the settee across from Jane. Mary and Elizabeth retained their seat at the pianoforte, but listened attentively, wondering what news could bring their sisters such elation.

Lydia leaned forward and whispered, "Wickham is safe."

At the mention of that gentleman's name, Elizabeth bristled, for though she thought on his conduct at the ball often, she had not heard him mentioned by anyone. Turning fully toward her sister, she asked, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Mary King has been taken away by her uncle to Liverpool," Catherine explained calmly.

"And Wickham is not to marry her after all," Lydia finished happily.

Elizabeth released a relieved breath, and shaking her head in disbelief, she asked, "However did Maria Lucas hear of this?"

"Oh that is the most awful part," Catherine said sadly. "While shopping for Charlotte's wedding clothes, they were met by Mr. King."

Lydia nodded emphatically and declared, "He was at the milliner's to cancel the order for Mary King's wedding clothes!"

"How sad for Miss King," Jane said quietly, her mind turning to her own disappointments, and feeling a deep pity for the young girl.

"I am not at all sorry for her!" Lydia announced as she settled back into her seat. "Who could care about such a small, freckled little thing? I am certain her inheritance will quiet any disappointment she might feel, and Wickham is safe; that is all that matters."

Elizabeth inhaled sharply at her sister's unfeeling dismissal of Miss King, and feeling her anger toward Mr. Wickham grow, she said evenly, "Perhaps we should say that it is Mary King who is made safe by their separation."

Eying her sister curiously, Catherine asked, "Whatever can you mean by that, Lizzy?"

Before Elizabeth could answer her truthfully, Lydia crossed her arms in annoyance and said, "There is no call for you to be so dour. Just because Wickham never looked at you for a moment, but for a witty conversation, does not mean he is unfit for all of us."

"I do not believe he is unfit because of his lack of interest in me," Elizabeth declared, her voice filled with quiet determination. "I say it because he is no gentleman."

Lydia laughed slightly, and standing from her seat hastily, answered lightly, "I believe he is the ideal gentleman, and I would be honored to call him my friend."

"Thank Heaven our dear Papa would disapprove of such a friend," Elizabeth said shortly as her eyes narrowed.

Raising her chin, Lydia stomped her foot and fled the room quickly. Elizabeth sighed heavily at her sister's naivety, and turned slowly back to the pianoforte. Laying her fingers against the keys, she began playing quietly, and the smooth notes floated through the thick silence of the room. She felt her sisters' eyes on her, and she sat rigidly under their gaze.

"Lizzy," Catherine tentatively began. "What do you mean, Mr. Wickham is no gentleman?"

Jane pressed Catherine's hand in the hopes of restraining her from such a line of questioning, for she worried Elizabeth would be led to think of her unhappy encounter with Mr. Wickham at the ball.

Catherine looked toward Jane questioningly and asked, "Why do you look at me so, Jane? Have I done something wrong?"

Jane blushed at her sister's inquiry, and looking toward her sister, noted that Elizabeth seemed untouched. She watched as Elizabeth's hands moved over the keys with a practiced effortlessness and adept beauty. She noted the pensiveness in Elizabeth's countenance, and believed Elizabeth's thoughts had strayed back to Mr. Wickham's unworthy behavior. What Jane could not have known, was that Elizabeth's mind was occupied not with thoughts of Wickham's harsh grasp on her arm, but of Mr. Darcy's gentle hold on her hands.

"I would only ask that you are on your guard in his presence, Kitty," Elizabeth said calmly, jarring Jane from her thoughts.

Catherine studied her elder sister, and noting the determination in Elizabeth's voice, nodded distractedly and declared, "I will, Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled at this, and continued to play as her thoughts danced with sounds of Mr. Darcy's voice and reluctant laughter.

Later that evening, Elizabeth retreated to the comfort of her father's library. With Charlotte busily preparing for her wedding, and Jane's melancholy readily apparent to her, Elizabeth found that she was often left alone with her thoughts and doubts. Feeling she might find respite in her father's company, she knocked lightly on her father's door and entered.

"Good evening, my Lizzy," he said happily, putting his book aside. "Come to lose another game?"

Elizabeth blushed at this reminder of her inattentive playing, and answered, "No, Papa; I thought that we might read together if you are not busy."

Brightening noticeably, Mr. Bennet stood from his seat and quickly ushered his daughter into a comfortable chair by the fire. He had missed their discussions heartily, and as this was the first time since the departure of the Netherfield party that she had asked, he felt he could do naught but comply.

"Of course," he declared happily as he bustled about the room looking for his latest acquisition. "I have just purchased something I believe you will appreciate."

Elizabeth's brow twitched in anticipation and she listened in amusement as her father rifled loudly through his shelves and drawers. Hearing him suddenly exclaim in pleasure, she turned toward him fully to hear what volume he had purchased.

Smiling broadly and gazing at the small volume in his hands, Mr. Bennet declared, "I was quite hard pressed to find this. I had no idea it was such a rare collection."

Moving toward his daughter, he took the seat across from her and added, "I thought perhaps you would enjoy continuing our study of Coleridge. I have been very remiss in your studies."

"You have been no such thing," she said quietly, willing her voice steady.

She felt dizzy at the mention of the poet and her mind immediately returned to her short time sequestered in Netherfield's library with Mr. Darcy. Closing her eyes, she heard his voice reading; its tones caressing and comforting. Realizing she had never heard the remainder of his favorite poem, she inhaled sharply before schooling her features into a calm mask.

"Is ‘the Nightingale' in your new volume, Papa?" she asked casually.

Mr. Bennet turned idly through the pages before declaring, "Indeed it is; I remember your fondness for the piece. Shall we begin there?"

Elizabeth nodded emphatically, but realizing her anticipation, she folded her hands calmly in her lap and bid her father begin. Clearing his throat, Mr. Bennet began, and Elizabeth listened as the lines she had repeated countless times in her own mind filled the room. She closed her eyes as her father continued on past where Mr. Darcy had been interrupted, and she saw the vivid scenes and images of the poet's mind flash before her. She imagined Mr. Darcy's voice, his form sitting across from her. Her chest tightened at the intimate scene, and she felt a small tear escape her eye and wind its way slowly down her cheek. Realizing this, she quickly wiped it away and prayed that her father was so occupied by his reading he had failed to notice.

Mr. Bennet shifted in his seat as he reached the final line and read, "Once more, farewell, Sweet Nightingale! Once more, my friends! Farewell."*

He closed the volume, and settling back into his seat, asked, "Well what do you think of that, Lizzy?"

Swallowing painfully and taking a deep breath, Elizabeth answered calmly, "They were very fine sentiments."

Laughing openly at this sedate response, Mr. Bennet declared, "I expect such an answer from Mary, but not from you, Elizabeth. Surely you must have felt something else."

Blushing slightly, Elizabeth admitted, "I did, sir. I was very moved."

Mr. Bennet smiled in satisfaction and said, "I believe it is a poem created for you, my dear. Very few can speak with such an admiration of nature."

Nodding distractedly, Elizabeth agreed quietly as her mind returned to Mr. Darcy. She reflected that he seemingly shared that trait with her, and she remembered his vivid descriptions of Netherfield's park as they leisurely wound through its paths. Feeling herself suddenly very tired, Elizabeth thanked her father and stood from her seat.

As she moved toward the door, Mr. Bennet asked, "Are you looking forward to the arrival of your aunt and uncle?"

Elizabeth turned, and smiling broadly, confessed, "I am indeed, sir. They will be a welcome addition to our company."

Mr. Bennet nodded his agreement and added, "I look forward to you uncle's company; without the young gentlemen of Netherfield, I am quite without shooting partners!"

Not wishing to concern her father with her ruminations, Elizabeth quelled her sadness and answered lightly, "You could always invite Mr. Collins back to Longbourn, sir."

"Oh, Heaven forbid!" he cried, moving a hand to his chest, presenting himself in a way reminiscent of his wife.

Smirking at her father's antics, Elizabeth bid him a good evening, and slipped quietly out into the hallway. Once there, she ascended the stairs, and pressing her ear against Jane's door but hearing no sound, moved toward her own bedroom. She quickly readied herself, and moving under the thick quilt, shivered at the coldness of the fabric. Securing the blanket about her, she reached her fingers toward the small table by her bedside and retrieved Mr. Darcy's fine volume. Moving her hands across it as she had many times, her breath caught and she imagined his features and felt the light touch of his hand on her arm.

Closing her eyes quickly, she said softly, "You must stop this, Lizzy. You must."

Clutching the volume once more to her chest, Elizabeth leaned back toward the table, and opening its small drawer, carefully placed the small book within it, and closed it firmly. Lying down, she pulled her quilt tightly to her chin, and before she could restrain herself, began to weep quietly.

Having no idea of his daughter's current distress, Mr. Bennet sat quite contently in his library. After she retired, he resigned himself to reading some much neglected correspondence, and was heartily pleased to find a missive from the ridiculous Mr. Collins among the many letters. He smiled as he read over Mr. Collins' substantial exaltations regarding Charlotte Lucas' first meeting with Lady Catherine. Having received his patroness' approval of his bride, Mr. Collins felt they might soon choose a date for their nuptials. Mr. Bennet shook his head lightly, and imagined the benevolent Sir William visiting Rosings' Park, and wondered if Lady Catherine received him graciously.

'From what I understand of her, she may be the only person who can unsettle Sir William's goodness!' Mr. Bennet thought happily.

He desperately wished to witness such an interview, for such scenes amused him greatly, and provided him with endless examples of humanity's ridiculousness. Refolding the message, Mr. Bennet laid it aside before examining one written in an elegant hand on fine parchment. His brow knitted slightly as he examined the elaborate seal, and suspecting who the writer might be, he began to read:

December 8th

To Mr. Thomas Bennet,

Let me begin, sir, by extending my most sincere apologies for my hasty departure from your company. My business was unplanned, and I found when I retired on the night of the Netherfield ball that my presence was needed at Pemberley. My steward wrote to inform that the home of my groom was set ablaze by an errant lightening strike and the flames quickly spread to my stables. You may imagine how I felt and how I acted; I resolved to set off at once, and while my friend urged me to remain until the morning, for he feared I would do myself harm by riding out at such a late hour, I could not in good conscience leave my steward to bear the full burden of my estate at such a time.

Though I realize such an explanation does little to erase the discourtesy of my abandoning our game and leaving the country without having the opportunity to say a proper farewell, I hope you will permit me the opportunity of playing with you in the future. Please extend my apologies and best wishes to your family as well, most especially Miss Elizabeth, who I had looked forward to challenging during the course of the day. I hope you and your family enjoy this festive season, and God bless.

-Fitzwilliam Darcy

Mr. Bennet smiled slightly at the young man's manner of address, and felt comforted that the cause of his departure was indeed an urgent matter. Removing his spectacles, he laid the message aside and settled back into his chair. Looking toward the fire, Mr. Bennet felt he might have found a worthy correspondent in Mr. Darcy.

"Thank you, Perry," Darcy said sincerely as he clasped his steward's hand firmly.

Smiling proudly, the older gentleman declared, "I am only sorry we could not have completed the new stables more quickly, sir. Over two weeks, and the festive season coming; it is remarkable we endured only frost and frozen ground."

Darcy smiled ruefully and answered, "You are very right. Do not apologize for the time; I am only happy we were able to complete it at all this winter."

"Will you be traveling to London to be with Miss Georgiana, sir?" Mr. Perry asked interestingly.

Nodding and smiling, he said, "I will indeed; I have left her alone for far too long. I have been a very poor elder brother."

Waving his hand dismissively, Mr. Perry exclaimed, "Not at all, Mr. Darcy! I am certain Miss Georgiana understands completely; why the letter she sent to the Fielding family was charity itself. She extended such warm wishes to them!"

"She is a fine girl," Darcy said as he smiled proudly. "I am looking forward to my time with her."

"And when do you leave, sir?" Mr. Perry asked as he gathered his greatcoat and gloves from a footman.

"Saturday," Darcy said simply, walking beside the older gentleman toward the door.

Placing his hat atop his head, Mr. Perry wished his master a safe journey and fine holiday and promised to keep him apprised of estate business.

"There is no need to assure me of that, Perry," Darcy declared when he finished. "You have never failed to send me a report. Wish your family a merry Christmas for me, and I shall see you in the New Year."

Clasping the younger man's hand happily for a final time, Mr. Perry wished him a good evening before moving out into the freezing night air. Darcy watched as the man descended the stairs, and turning on his heel, he moved back toward his study. Pulling his watch from his waistcoat and noting the late hour, he reflected that he wished to attend to the post before retiring. Walking swiftly to his desk, Darcy resumed his chair and moved the reports of costs and materials of the new stables away from him before glancing at the small pile of letters. Saying a silent prayer that he might see one with the familiar hand of his friend, he reached for them tentatively. Shaking his head sadly, he did not see the untidy scrawling of his friend on any of the missives.

‘Whatever are you about, Bingley?' Darcy wondered as he distractedly moved through the pile again, hoping one might have been overlooked.

"I have never gone two weeks without a word from you," he added softly.

Feeling Mr. Bingley was undoubtedly nursing the wounds caused by his separation from Miss Bennet, Darcy resolved to visit at Grosvenor Street soon after he arrived in London. Sighing in frustration over the damage undoubtedly caused by Miss Bingley, Darcy continued to sift through the pile. His eyes widened when he noticed his name written in the curled hand of Mr. Thomas Bennet, and with his mind racing, he grasped the letter and broke its seal.

* "The Nightingale" by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1798