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Posted on Tuesday, 26 June 2001

Prelude ~ Selected letters dug out of Viola's desk drawer, dating from a year back

Dear Viola,

My niece, I insist that you come spend Christmas here at Rosings. I know how you enjoyed your time here in the summer, and as it will be a terribly long and unfavourable holiday this year, I think it best that you come. I do expect you to bring Darcy and Georgiana too. I know how much my Anne would like to see them. It is peevish that your cousin the Colonel cannot come, but it is no matter...

...Having written the above, I again insist that you come. There will be no protests. You simply cannot spend your holiday in London, for it would be too disagreeable to your health, though I know you are not so delicate as Anne is. Moreover, you know how much you enjoy a snowy walk in the park. I shall be expecting you in a fortnight.

Your affectionate Aunt,

Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

[December. Letter from Miss Bingley, Grosvenor Street, to Miss Darcy, shortly after Miss Darcy was called away to visit Rosings Park.]

My dearest Miss Darcy,

What a pity you could not stay longer at Netherfield. Your aunt is so anxious to have you with her. I cannot say that it is an ill thing to occur, for I would advise you to forget a certain gentleman who seemed to capture your fancy at the Netherfield ball-not even a gentleman really, if you consider that Lt. Denny is merely a regimental officer of little rank. It must be a blessing for you, Miss Georgiana Darcy, and Mr. Darcy to found such warm welcome at Rosings Park. I hear that Kent is simply the garden of England, and I cannot help but express that I would give my eyes to see the land. On my part, I have never once set foot on the county, and if what the odiously friendly Rev. Wm. Collins describes is true, you may have a condescendingly good time. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, I am sure, will enjoy your company immensely.

By the time you receive this letter, our whole party will have left Netherfield Park. It may come as a surprise to you, but my brother Charles had urgent business to attend to in London. He was, I own, rather reluctant to leave, but as the matter was pressing, Louisa and I urged him to depart immediately.

I can imagine your exclamation as you read this. Pray, do not have any fears-if your concern lies with a certain young lady, I can assure you that her heart can hardly be broken, when the truth must come out that Mr. Bingley was prevented from proposing his hand in marriage, as his heart is already engaged elsewhere. To whom, it would be rather indelicate to say on such an early note, but as Miss Bennet is such an angel, I am certain that she will understand. Besides, I have sometimes heard her mother say that Miss Bennet has had many admirers since the age of fifteen, and if that be true, Miss Bennet's heart-which I dare not to presume as wounded-will soon heal through the affections of another, dearer gentleman than Charles.

When you come back to town, of course you must visit me. I keep the same house on Grosvenor Street. Do say a word to your sister for me that recently meeting with Miss Grantley, I was reminded of the table lace Georgiana once shewed me.

I send with you love to your family, etc.

Caroline Bingley.

[January 181_. Excerpt of letter from Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, after her return to the house on ___ Street, London.]

...You wanted to hear about Mrs. Collins, I am sure, and I will tell you all about her. Mr. Collins has just come by with his new wife. On first appearance, she was simple enough, not plain exactly, but placidly calm. She was not at all what I feared she would be-frilly, excessive, loud and mindless. No, Mrs. Collins is decidedly level-headed for her age, and, when questioned, she proved to be quite clever, but not in a pretentious sort of way. I believe that she is smart for a clergyman's wife-I am not certain that is a good thing-but she is very well mannered and shows gentleness, which undoubtedly makes up for that flaw. I do not know her to be intrusive, and she acts with good discretion towards all things. For example, she has already received my advice on installing shelves in the closet. To accept that, I must say, is something of good brains. All in all, I do not find her tedious, as Mr. Collins is sometimes getting to be, and on a rainy day, I believe I shall quite enjoy her company. I will invite her to dine with me twice or thrice a week.

I do remember you mentioning of her in one of your letters. I am surprised that you never mentioned that she is the daughter of a knight. Mrs. Collins herself did not mention it, but of course, when it came to introducing her father to us, it was Sir William, and I had to inquire after the title. It seems that when the Prince once went to Meryton, or whatever the town it was that the Lucases resided in, Sir William was the mayor. That is a great comfort, to know that the modest wife of the clergyman of Rosings is indeed a well-bred lady, but who does not, fortunately, put up airs.

That is all for now. I am fatigued, but I know how you demand for long letters from Rosings, so I have tried to squeeze in as much as I could. I will retire now.

Your loving Aunt,

Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

[Note from Miss de Bourgh, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, ___ Street, London.]

Dearest Viola,

Will Mother never stop her peevishness! I wish so much that you were here. I always feel that I am sane and shall be in quite good health whenever you are at Rosings. I sneeze all day long now. I wish the ridiculous Mr. Collins would stop coming as he does. He seems to think that he has all the right and entitlement to come and go as he pleases. Mrs. Collins, I quite like. I do not mind her company at all. I am so glad that you'll be coming in March! Write to me soon-very soon, please!

Love,

Anne.

[March. Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, at Pemberley, shortly after her accident.]

My niece,

Mr. Oakham was greatly disappointed to hear of your accident. I am sure that had not such a misfortune occurred at this untimely moment, he would have made his proposals to you. You were always so modest about his attention, and I cannot blame the man for liking you. However, I do not think he is a patient man, so you will need to recover quickly before he leaves for India.

How unfortunate that you cannot come. I hope you have consulted a doctor to properly set your ankle. It would be terrible for an active young woman like you to limp the rest of your life. Darcy evades the real reason to why you broke that ankle of yours, and I must say, the story you supply yourself is rather ridiculous. I don't believe any young lady would be so silly as to fall off a horse while mounting, least of all, you. But, perhaps you had other significant thoughts in your mind at the time. For my part, I never felt that young ladies should ride. I never had to. I absolutely forbid my Anne from it. Her health is so weak and delicate, you know. I would not want anything to happen to her. Her breaking an ankle may not be very appealing to my nephew Darcy.

Mrs. Collins' friend from Hertfordshire is also here. I believe I have written about her already in the last letter. She is getting to be an unfortunate species of girls today who do not have much accomplishment, and have their own fine notions of the world even though she has never had the benefit of a tutor or governess. I say, her mother must have been quite a slave to her education. And all five girls out at once! Before the eldest is married! I never met with such scandal when I was growing up. You know, propriety is propriety, and it is only proper to follow it. You know how shocked your mother would be, if she were still alive, to hear it. She would never have Georgiana out before you were at least engaged. However, Darcy tells me that Georgiana has already attended some evening parties. I have tried to reprimand him on that, but he seems to see no harm in it. What a pity indeed. It will spoil Georgiana, I dare say. You must do your duty and prevent Georgiana from entering society at such a hasty rate.

Your Aunt,

Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

[Excerpt of letter from Mr. Darcy, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, recovering at Pemberley.]

...I was happy to hear from Mrs. Reynolds that your ankle is beginning to heal. She has written to me, at my express wish, to say that the doctor has ordered you to stay put, and to not put any weight on that foot; so although you have been evasive, I now know the doctor's own orders. I hope sincerely that you will follow the orders; they are certainly for your own good. If you were Georgiana, I would of course have no fears of your disobedience, but you are older than she is, and you have proved yourself to be as stubborn as I am.

You may alleviate your fears. Mr. Oakham did not come to Rosings. It is believed that he has placed his affections elsewhere, and is now planning his journey to India, an engaged man.

The Colonel and I are settling in. This visit, I imagine, should not be long. It is, as you know, a necessary visit to be made, since Lady Catherine has insisted on it. Fitzwilliam and I have gone riding and hunting. We have also taken some walks in the park.

Mr. Collins and his wife have been some means of diversion. Mrs. Collins is a calm and unassuming woman, and perhaps in some respects practical. She spoke well of you, and asked that I tell you that she would like to see you again. I have assured her that you shall know of it...

[Note from Miss de Bourgh, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, Pemberley.]

Viola,

Oh, awful, awful. It is such a pity you aren't here, for Mr. Oakham never came. I do worry about your ankle. Mother has been telling us all about a woman she once knew who did not see a doctor, and her ankle was never set right again. That, I told her, could never happen to you. You are too smart to not go and ask for a doctor. Please take lots of rest. I expect to see you in the summer or fall then. Take care. Write.

Love,

Anne.

[March. Colonel Fitzwilliam, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, Pemberley.]

Dear Viola,

Awful! Aunt Catherine has gone and spread a great deal of tales about you and your ankle. Darcy, in his usual, practical way, says that you are healing. Excellent news, cousin. Anne frets over it. I could do nothing but assure her that nothing terrible could possibly happen to you. You have the stubbornness of a hose. Darcy has another thing on his mind. I think your brother is preoccupied much with the thoughts of a certain lady here at Rosings, the clergyman's wife's pretty young friend. She persistently refuses to acknowledge him. Does the name Elizabeth Bennet ring a bell?

I am glad that you are too smart for Aunt Catherine's plans concerning Mr. Oakham. It would have been ludicrous to introduce you into my circles as, "My cousin, Mrs. Hamish Oakham."

Love,

Col. Fitzwilliam

[March. Excerpt of a letter from Mr. Darcy, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, Pemberley, after a disastrous day.]

...The truth of it cannot be avoided, as it will come out some time. I have, by your encouragement, proposed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and have been refused. The scene, fortunately, was not long, and as no one else was present at the parsonage at the time, my mortification was surreptitiously hidden. However, my shock and horror that I felt was genuine as I came to understand that Miss Bennet has always thought ill of me. Contrary to what you may believe she was neither ubiquitous in her reasons, nor abashed over then. She was, in every way, resolute and determined in her refusal.

The reason for this, you have perfect claims to know. She made countless accusations of my separating her sister from Bingley, which I had to admit, I at one point did. But of Bingley's latest leave from Netherfield, I hardly had to do with. It is true though, that had I not said a word of disagreement to Bingley, his exit from the country may have been prevented. However, I have my own perception of the events-your encouragement to Bingley must have faltered at some stage when we were away from Netherfield in December. I have my own suspicions that Bingley's sisters had a hand in the affair...

[March. Excerpt of letter from Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Hunsford Parsonage, to Miss Darcy, Pemberley.]

... Having been in a similar situation as yours, I understand the love you have for your sibling; I need not conjecture that Mr. Darcy must be indeed very dear and very beloved by you. Therefore, I also comprehend the surprise and disappointment you feel. However, given our brief acquaintance from last autumn, I do not believe that our acquaintance has yet called for the openness that you have requested in your letter. I shall simply state that given the circumstances, I could not lead myself to accept a man such as your brother.

Mr. Darcy's behaviour, since I have been in acquaintance with him, has been that of overwhelming pride and conceit. I am sorry to give you pain, but one cannot deny that he has behaved with presumption and intolerance in all public gatherings. Above all, his actions-of which he has proudly boasted to his cousin-in separating my most beloved sister from the man whom she truly loved, and whom showed himself to be mutually attached, cannot be so far tolerated. I am one to place the happiness of my sibling before my own, just as you persistently do for Mr. Darcy and Miss Georgiana Darcy.

Of what you told me in confidence last November, you may be sure, I have kept it in secrecy, and have revealed the knowledge to no one. I admit that the revelation has caused me to see some things in a clearer light--However, it has done little to persuade me that Mr. Darcy is a man of the character that you claim him have. Perhaps you think my treatment of this is harsh, but consider-it is not unreasonable to expect that one has to prove one's character through one's own actions...

[June. Letter from Col. Fitzwilliam, Brighton, to Miss Darcy, Pemberley.]

Cousin,

So, you get out of your cast soon. Glad to hear that it is to happen finally. As Anne may have mentioned to you already, I am currently in Brighton, with an old friend of mine from training, Colonel Forster. It seems that rascal of a George Wickham is in his regiment, and I have warned Col. Forster to keep an eye out for him. If Georgiana's reputation were not at stake, I would do much to publicize Wickham's shameful act.

On another note, an extraordinary thing occurred. Col. Forster's regiment has men who hold lots of promise. One of his officers, a Lt. Denny, saved him from near death. What happened was that some crazy young man in the regiment tried to kill Col. Forster, and the lieutenant wrestled the madman to the ground, kicking the musket out of the way. There is bravery for you. The Colonel was very impressed with the hero and has helped to pay half his commission to have him promoted to become a Captain. I have asked to have him transferred to the militia, actually, my militia. I have a vacancy for a Captain in my barracks, I am certain. On conversing with this newly made Captain Denny, I discovered that he was acquainted with you whilst in Hertfordshire. What a small world this is. He is a very nice chap, well mannered and not at all awkward.

You know I go to France next week? I think I shall persuade Col. Forster to let me bring Captain Denny with me.

Yours truly,

Col. Fitzwilliam.

[July. Letter from Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Rosings Park, to Miss Darcy, Pemberley.]

Dear Niece,

Now that your ankle has healed, I am anxious to have you here at Rosings. Come at once.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

[August. Letter from Miss Georgiana Darcy, Pemberley, to Miss Darcy, Rosings Park.]

Dearest Viola,

I am sorry that you are not here to meet Miss Elizabeth Bennet. The Bingleys are here, but Caroline is not the same sort of company. I must express that I like Miss Bennet dearly. She is so fond of my playing, as I am of hers. She is modest though, and will not admit that she sings well. There was a beautiful canzonetta that she sang when she was here yesterday. I think Fitz liked it very much. I am sure that there is something between them. Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Bennet's aunt, sees it also, for she has sometimes asked me about Fitz. Mrs. Reynolds thinks highly of her too, and says that, "not even Miss Bingley quite matches her for manners and charms."

Mr. Bingley does not look quite as well as before. He is happy whenever he sees Miss Bennet, but then, he looks haggard again moments later. Do you think he still thinks much about the eldest Miss Bennet? I think Fitz should try to help him, but I am afraid to suggest it, for I am never so good as you are at advising Fitz on matters outside of music.

I believe that Caroline grows to be more and more unpleasant. To be sure, she is very kind to me, but there is something I have never seen in her until now-a sort of condescension towards Miss Bennet and the Gardiners, which I do not like at all.

We miss your presence greatly. It is sad that Aunt Catherine had to call you away just now, when you have just started to get better. Anne writes to me to say that she dearly misses you. We are getting to be the best of friends, you know. Her correspondence is short but delightful. She has already asked me to go to Rosings in the fall.

Affectionately yours,

Georgiana.

[Another letter from Georgiana Darcy, dated three days later, to Viola Darcy.]

Viola,

Since writing the previous letter, a news of most alarming nature has reached us. Miss Elizabeth Bennet's youngest sister has eloped-with no other man than Mr. Wickham! I know how good Fitz has been to shield the truth from me, but the fact is that the news must be all over England. It was published in the papers, that is certain, for I would not have known of it otherwise.

Miss Bennet and the Gardiners have rushed back to Hertfordshire. Fitz tells me that they are going to try to search for Miss Bennet's sister in London, for although they were said to go to Gretna Green, they are not believed to have left the country at all. Fitz frets over it, so that I know there must be some feelings for Miss Bennet.

Write soon.

Georgiana.

[September. Letter from Mr. Darcy, London, to Miss Darcy, Rosings.]

Dearest Viola,

How can I ever thank you enough, Viola, for if it had not been your suggestion, I would never have thought of approaching Mrs. Younge. Since last year's dismissal, I thought Mrs. Younge would have been too bitter to have anything more to do with Wickham, but you were right, as you always are. They are in fact the best of friends. Had I not traced Mrs. Younge, I would never have found out the awful rake.

You may alleviate your fears. Miss Lydia Bennet is safe and secure. The wedding has taken place between them-I made sure of it. Wickham, as I predicted, had not the least intention of marrying Miss Lydia Bennet, and it would have meant the ruin of her and her family, had not you reminded me of Mrs. Younge. Wickham and his wife are now journeying to Hertfordshire, no doubt to see the wife's family.

I must be frank and open with you. Wickham would not have agreed to my stipulations, had not I granted his wishes. Firstly, he demanded that all his debts be settled, which I agreed to. Next, he insisted that I settle some sort of dowry on Miss Lydia Bennet. I am afraid to say that to this, I also agreed. But the last, that he have a reasonable house in London, I could not oblige, for I will not have Wickham loaf his life away as a parasite on the Darcy name. I do believe that what I have done is just: I have ordered that he remain out of the country as much as possible by purchasing his commission with the ___ militia, which is going to the barracks somewhere on the continent. You see, I felt that it was best that he be out of the country. With some money and a noble profession, I do not think he will stray.

I would add also that not a word of this true settlement be breathed anywhere. The credit of these dealings, I insist, are to be given to Mr. Gardiner, the young wife's uncle. For if I had not been more forward and indiscreet in our family's relations with Wickham, such a near disaster would not have taken place. I never realized what a danger I had cast upon others by keeping Wickham's character a secret until the day at the Lambton Inn when Miss Elizabeth Bennet was completely overcome with sorrow and fear for her sister. Little had I imagined what pain it was for others to witness a sister's undoing. Viola, I know that when you are pledged, you are more surreptitious than anyone else I am acquainted with. Do keep the knowledge of this even away from Georgiana. I do not wish to give her fresh cause for pain. I would have blamed myself if Wickham could not be dealt with in the way that it has.

And now, all these dealings are over with, and the man's name need never cross the pages of our correspondence again. Please take care. I will come to join you at Rosings in a few days, once the business is truly closed.

On your advice, yet again, I have one more piece of news to give to you. It is one that will give you great contentedness. I have talked sincerely with Bingley these last few days in town, and it turns out that Bingley has never quite recovered from the eldest Miss Bennet. I do believe that he has never loved, nor set eyes on, another, for he has not been able to find one who could equal or surpass Miss Jane Bennet in beauty or character. I do right, I think, to advise him to do what he earnestly believes to be best, without any regard to what his sisters or I say. He is rushing off to Hertfordshire, in a great hurry to reach Netherfield before dark.

I must apply to your sentiment and judgement on one more matter. I wish that a certain lady's feelings have changed since they were last sought for. I have told her of the misunderstanding between us. She seemed to have thought that I had a hand in the separation of her sister from Bingley, along with other things, such as my supposed pride. I shall not be oblique in my object of applying to your advice. Should I tell her otherwise? Moreover, should I enlighten her on what I have done for her youngest sister, instead of resolving to keep it secret? Tell me, Viola, in all your wisdom, do you think I have a chance at succeeding in doing what I failed to do in March?

Your brother,

Fitz.

[Late September. Letter from Miss Bingley, Netherfield, to Miss Darcy, Rosings Park.]

Dear Miss Darcy,

Thank you for your kind congratulations. I know how much care you take into dear Charles' well being, and I can assure you that my brother is indeed content over his recent engagement to the eldest Miss Bennet of Longbourn. It must come as no surprise to you that his engagement came after nearly a year in delay. He had been in great confusion over the matters of his own heart. I dare say he had trouble deciding whether to pursue a lady much greater in class than he, or to settle after a simple, gentle country girl who caught his fancy for a summer. Miss Bennet will be a comforting addition to Netherfield. Though she cannot play the pianoforte, nor does she play cards, she is well read, and I suppose a gentleman like Charles must need an intelligent and kindly wife.

Of course, I must extend my invitation to you to come back to Netherfield soon. It is the close of summer, but you must come, by all means. Charles will be sending out the invitations to the wedding soon, and I dare say that you will be coming as a guest of honour-There seems to be some indications that poor Mr. Darcy is still infatuated with a pair of fine eyes. I suppose he has never been able to get over the lady of his choice. Can such constancy be found in all gentlemen?

Your loving friend,

Caroline Bingley.

[Clipped from the Evening Herald.]

The ___ Militia returns after a heroic battle on the Continent. Amongst heralded heroes are Col. Fitzwilliam of ____shire, Captain Ross of _____shire, and Captain Denny of _____shire.

[October.]

Aunt Catherine pounded her hand down on the arm of her chair. "What is this I hear?" she hollered.

Anne and I eyed each other nervously. Another one of Aunt Catherine's temper tantrums was brewing.

"Mr. Collins meant that in a jesting manner, I am sure," I said quickly, glaring at the clergyman who was now nervously wiping his brow. "Fitz never told me yet whether he has been accepted."

"Just a fancy, Lady Catherine, just a fancy. Nothing has been confirmed yet," said Mr. Collins weakly.

Aunt Catherine gave him an icy look. "Yes, nothing has been confirmed between Miss Elizabeth Bennet and my nephew Darcy because no one has bothered to interfere in it before it was confirmed. Now, Mr. Collins, if I am not wrong, Miss Elizabeth Bennet is a dear friend of your wife?"

Mr. Collins nodded, slightly relieved that he could place the blame of the impending engagement on someone else's shoulders. "Yes, she is Charlotte's intimate-"

"And she is also your cousin?" continued Aunt Catherine in a cold, hard voice.

Mr. Collins nodded miserably.

"Then there is no doubt in my mind that you led her on. You must have had such design in your head when you told me a minute ago that Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet will be engaged. You might have used your powers as a clergyman to draw them into this folly. You know Darcy is engaged to my daughter, do you not?"

Anne protested. "Mother! How can you say that? There was never anything-"

"Your engagement was a peculiar circumstance from the beginning," admitted Aunt Catherine, "In your crib, your aunt Lady Anne, for whom you are named, and I felt that the two of you were destined for each other. It would bring greatness to the Fitzwilliam name and unite the Darcy and de Bourgh fortunes."

"Aunt Catherine, forgive me for intruding, but how can that be an engagement in the true sense?" I exclaimed. "Anne has never considered herself bound to accept, nor has Fitz formed any such designs towards Anne. I know both of them very well, and I can safely say that they feel nothing for each other but what is right and proper between cousins."

"And I do not know anything of my daughter and nephew? That is quite enough, young lady," said Aunt Catherine frostily. "I have heard that you encouraged Darcy. He has led me to believe as much."

"I merely advised him to follow his heart."

"Elizabeth Bennet may have drawn him in! She may have lured him into the match with her tricks."

"Mother," said Anne, "She has done nothing of the sort. I was with you that day at Longbourn, and she was not like that."

"Indeed," Mr. Collins ventured to say, "My fair cousin is harmless as a lamb."

Aunt Catherine pointed a rigid finger at him. "What do you know, Mr. Collins? I have not quite forgiven you. Had you not gone to Hertfordshire to marry your simple wife, none of this would have happened."

Mr. Collins stood up in surprising indignation. "That is enough, Lady Catherine. You have insulted me, and you have insulted my family, and now, you have insulted Charlotte as well. I have heard quite enough."

"Do you know to whom you are speaking, Mr. Collins?" asked Aunt Catherine. "I am your patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park."

Mr. Collins tried to look calm. "Yes, and I know too that you will soon not be my patroness, and that Mr. Darcy has offered me a post elsewhere, which I am now prepared to accept."

At first, Aunt Catherine's mouth opened and closed wordless in disbelief.

"Oh, go to, go to!" she hollered, in near hysterics. "Everyone, out, out! Pack your bags, all of you, and leave. You are all dismissed!"

We all got to our feet uncertainly except for Anne, who remained in her seat, playing with her handkerchief.

"You too, Anne," said Aunt Catherine in a low monotone as she stared at the ceiling. "I don't want to see you. You have been a very disobedient girl."

Anne looked at me, as if pleading for me to bring her with me.

"And no, you may not go with your cousin. She is bad influence on you. You may go to your room," said her mother, unmoved.

Fugue ~ Scenes before, during, and after the Wedding

It has been a year since I had that dream.

Netherfield was in a state of perpetual motion and anxiety. Mr. Bingley took the worst of it, but I think he purposely worked himself up in a state of frenzy. It was, after all, the man's wedding day, but I could not see why he would not calm himself, or at least sit still, as Fitz was trying to do.

Trying to. I might emphasize that. The two, had I not known better, were nearly like brothers in their actions and demeanor. By this afternoon, they would be brothers, but not just yet!

Everyone tried to swallow some breakfast, Georgiana included. She decided that she had to make herself frantic as well.

"Nerves," she whispered to me, "I think I have them after all."

"Nonsense," I answered back with a friendly slap on her wrist, "You have nothing to fear. Be calm. It isn't as if you're the bride."

"We are the sisters of the groom though," Georgiana said, "I'm so fretful that something will happen."

"Hush," I said sternly. "Hush, nothing will happen to interfere. Don't say something like that." But to own the truth, I'd begun to lose my appetite too. I felt almost as though, as Mrs. Reynolds would put it, my stomach had tied a knot against itself.

Only Miss Bingley was calm. She ate her breakfast as if nothing in the world was the matter. I could not even spy the remotest bit of a tear in her eyes. Fitz would, after all, be just a dream for her, nothing real and sustainable-was she not remotely sad over that? Last year, she had tried so hard to make Fitz fall in love with her. Luckily, it never happened.

Miss Bingley even managed to converse and laugh gaily with her friends, the Grantleys, whom Mr. Bingley had invited to the wedding. The Grantleys were at Netherfield last year at the ball, and I gathered that Miss Bingley had now transferred her hopes to Captain Grantley and was trying all her efforts at befriending Miss Grantley. Goodness, grant her luck. One dance with Captain Grantley had been enough to fill me with indifference for him.

"What time are we to be at the church?" asked Mrs. Hurst in a most commonplace way while she chewed on her ham.

The grooms stared. "Ten-thirty!" both Fitz and Mr. Bingley exclaimed at the same time.

Bingley cleared his throat in embarrassment. "I mean, ten-thirty. You should remember that by now, Louisa. You know that you've only been asking us that everyday this past month."

"I can hardly be expected to remember," said Mrs. Hurst indignantly, "There are so many guests going to be there. I had to save my memory for better things, such as the names of the guests."

"You know, the usual thing is for people to re-introduce themselves to each other. No one will impose themselves on you as if they expected you to remember them," said Mr. Bingley. "I certainly can't."

"Shocking, Charles!" Miss Bingley exclaimed. "All the more shocking that a groom cannot remember his own wedding guests. Do think what they must think if they were to find out such shocking news. They would wonder if the invitation had been addressed to them at all or if it were a mistake. You know, it would degrade the whole business of the wedding. It would turn it into something so common."

"You speak of common things as if they were vulgar," I said.

"Oh, the common practices of common folks are definitely considered to be vulgar," said Miss Bingley, "And I think having Charles condone a common wedding, as if it were some countryside spectacle, most vulgar."

"That isn't what Mr. Bingley means," I said in his defence. "He merely meant to say that with so many people present, it would be difficult to expect one to meet with everyone else. With a large company of guests, one would not be expected to know the names of all the gentlemen and all the ladies. One would not have the need to. A friendly greeting would be sufficient in many cases."

"The king is not expected to know the names of all his guests," said Mr. Bingley.

Miss Bingley tossed her head. "We do not talk of royalty. We talk of society. Moving about in society, one is expected to remember hundreds of names. I don't believe Captain Grantley would move about in society and risk not knowing the guests present."

Captain Grantley put down his fork and nodded. "Certainly, if it were my party, I would be sure to know everyone."

"But not well," I said. "You would not be expected to know them all well. Just by their face, their general character, how they are commonly addressed."

"Yes, that is my point, Miss Darcy," said Miss Bingley in interruption, "My point exactly. Perhaps I should have used the word address instead of name. One cannot move about in society without knowing how to address others."

Fitz cleared his throat. "Then I don't see a point to further discussion of the matter. Clearly, Viola and Bingley were talking of names, and you and the Captain were referring to an entirely different subject. Now, please let us pursue our breakfast in silence."

As if on cue, both Fitz and Mr. Bingley checked their watches. I looked at the clock over the mantelpiece. Nine o'clock.

We entered the church and found our pews. Ten-twenty. The ceremony would not be starting until eleven. Georgiana and I looked at each other with anxious smiles. Miss Bingley was drumming her fingers away at the prayer book already in her hands.

It was over. I could not believe that I could now call Elizabeth my sister. As soon as it was over, I climbed past the people and gave Fitz and Elizabeth a congratulatory hug and kiss.

"Viola, sister," said Elizabeth with a laugh.

"Yes, how good that sounds," I replied, also laughing. I turned to Fitz. "Now, you be kind, Fitz. Promise me that you will both be good to each other, and make each other very, very happy."

The confetti had to be tossed as they exited the church. The shoe that Georgiana had brought along with her for the occasion was thrown, missed the other married pair, and unfortunately hit Mr. Collins right in the head.

"Oh, it's no matter," said Mr. Collins almost graciously. "It is all...a part of the festivities."

Everyone assembled in their carriages and headed back to Netherfield, where the celebration was to be. All those who had no attended the church service were welcome to come. Colonel Fitzwilliam jumped by my side as I greeted the guests.

"Viola," he said, "I would like to introduce someone to you. Re-introduction in fact."

I was curious. "Who is it," I asked, smoothing out the front of my dress.

Colonel Fitzwilliam wove his way through a crowd, and then brought him over. It was Lieutenant Denny-Correction, Captain Denny.

Perhaps it was my imagination? Did time stop still?

I did not know where to look at first. "I have heard about your promotion," I said, when I finally found my voice. "Allow me to congratulate you."

Captain Denny ran a hand through his dark hair, which was now trimmed to short locks now. Over his upper lip was a dark, thick moustache, not entirely fashionable, yet becoming. To me, he still looked every bit the same in other respects, young, tall, broad, and active. "Thank you," he said, with an earnest light in his round, black eyes. "I hope the tale has not become exaggerated though. It was what anyone would have done under the circumstances."

"I am certain that not every gentleman would have met with such circumstances," I said. "And you must not deny that your actions did save Colonel Forster."

Again, he smiled, but he said nothing.

"What brings you into these parts of the country?" I asked, trying to maintain some steady, normal conversation.

Colonel Fitzwilliam wisely excused himself as Captain Denny made an answer.

"I have been travelling with your cousin. He has been very kind to me, and shown me around the barracks," he said. "In fact, we have just returned from battle two months ago."

"From battle? I read something of it in the evening paper," I said. I swallowed and looked away. "Did you find it very difficult, going from the regiment to the militia?"

"No, not at all."

I smiled and nodded at Lady Lucas who was smiling back at me.

"It seems that you are playing a host of sorts," said Captain Denny at last. " Well, I will not keep you away from your duties."

"Will you be in Hertfordshire long?" I asked before he could withdraw.

"No, we leave tomorrow."

Captain Grantley strolled over at that unfortunate moment.

"Denny," he said enthusiastically, and to my mortification.

"Captain Grantley," Captain Denny returned.

"Miss Darcy," said Captain Grantley, "Are you well acquainted with Captain Denny? He is a hero, you know. There's more talk of promoting him to the rank of Major. Major David Jones Denny, it would be then."

"You are friends?" I asked, remembering that they had not known each other yet at the Netherfield ball.

"We have only just become friends. It's hard not to be friends with Captain Denny," said Captain Grantley.

I excused myself. It seemed too mortifying to think that Captain Grantley, of all people could-Oh, I had nothing against the naval officer, except that I disliked his indiscreetness. It seemed that he always had a knack for intruding at the wrong time.

Perhaps more mortifying was that Captain Denny did not seem at all to react to me as he had last year. Well, there is no constancy in men. And what am I to care, for a mere officer whom I hardly know anything about? I had to admit that Miss Bingley was right-it was ridiculous.

"Will you and Georgiana really be alright?" Fitz asked as he pulled a warm blanket over Elizabeth's knees and his own. I watched as Elizabeth snuggled against my brother's shoulder.

"Yes, of course," I said. "I am certain that Mrs. Bennet will be very hospitable to us."

"I cannot see why you will not stay at Netherfield. It would only be a week," said Fitz.

"I would like to know my sister's family better," I said, casting a smile at Elizabeth. "I imagine we may be seeing some of them at Pemberley in good time, and I want to get to know them before."

"Mary will not give you a hard time if you listen to her play, and Kitty longs for any kind of diversion," said Elizabeth knowingly. "Papa will not want anyone to disturb him in the library, and Maman will want someone to talk to in the evening."

"You need not worry," I said with a laugh, "I am self-sufficient Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. If they were unfriendly, I need only ask for Georgiana to come fetch me back to Netherfield."

"Remember to write to us," said Elizabeth.

"Oh, I will," I agreed, "And if you write to us, we'll be back in London after one week."

Fitz gave directions to the coachman to drive on, and I waved to them until they turned a corner and were out of sight.

I slowly walked back to the house, clutching my shawl close around me. Before I had stepped back inside, Mrs. Bennet was with me.

"Oh, Miss Darcy, what do you think of that," she asked me with tearful pride, "Three daughters married within a year. The Lord has been very good to me."

"Yes," I said with a smile, "And He has also been very good to my brother."

"Oh, I do not say that my Lizzy is not a good girl," said Mrs. Bennet, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief, "She has brought our family a lot of pride. To think I had nearly married her off to Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins! Well, he may kick us all out of Longbourn when Mr. Bennet dies, for all we know, and then my poor helpless daughters, and I a widow, will have nowhere to go, except to live with my brother Gardiner."

"Do not think of that day," I soothed her, "It is still a long way away, and I am sure that Mr. Bennet is the healthiest, most active man of his times."

"I should think so, or I would not have chosen him."

"Maman," said Kitty, running over, "Can we go home now?"

"Why, is the celebration over already?" asked Mrs. Bennet.

"Miss Bingley has asked the musicians to stop and everyone seems to be leaving already," said Kitty. "I'd like to get home and finish the trimming on my green dress."

Mrs. Bennet turned to me. "We'll be expecting you as planned, Miss Darcy?"

I nodded. "Yes, I will arrive some time around two o'clock."

I had to take my post inside and say goodbye to the guests and thank them for coming. When my cousin the Colonel came, he shook my hand, leaned over my ear, and said, "You've made a good impression."

"What do you mean?" I whispered back, my stomach in a knot yet again.

"A certain naval officer seems to take an interest in you," he whispered back.

"That is an awful thing for you to say," I answered, "Where are you staying?"

"At Meryton. I've taken up rooms there. We leave tomorrow, so I'll come call on you at the Bennets, alright?"

I made a face. "You mean, to check on your cousin to make sure she was not being bullied."

He made a great big laugh. "You are funny, Viola," he said, still chuckling, "That was hardly what I was thinking. You would be the last lady in England who could be bullied."

I continued to bid other guests goodbye (slightly disappointed to not see Captain Denny again), and finally trudged upstairs to my rooms to gather my things.

"Viola," said Georgiana, coming into the room. "I wish I could go to Longbourn with you."

"You know Fitz wants you to stay here," I said, packing all my dresses and things into the bags. "Besides, you will get on well with Miss Bingley since she likes you."

"It will only be a week, you're certain?"

"Yes, my dear, and then the house in town will be ready for us, and a carriage will be sent to fetch us."

Georgiana was still hesitant. "I should very much like to go to Longbourn. I think I would like to know Kitty and Mary just as much as you."

I closed my bags and looked over at my little sister, who had a forlorn expression on her face. I was overcome with sympathy.

"Georgie," I said, hugging her, "Do not be sad. Think of it this way-You will have lots of opportunity to visit Longbourn. Fitz and Elizabeth are married now, you know, and you may be expected to call on the Bennets whenever you are in Hertfordshire."

Georgiana and I made our way down the stairs, side by side.

"Ah, Miss Darcy," said Miss Bingley, looking up at us from below, "Why have you not rung for my porter or one of the men to take your things down?"

"I did not want to trouble them," I said as I stepped down the last several steps.

"The carriage has been ordered to take you to Longbourn," said Miss Bingley. "I hope you enjoy your time there with your extensive family."

I could not help but smile. "But now, they are yours, too."

I loved the expression that showed on her face. I loved the moment immensely.

Andante ~ At Longbourn

"We are expected in town," I answered, "Lady Fitzwilliam wishes to have my sister and me there for Christmas."

"Lady Fitzwilliam must be a grand lady," Mrs. Bennet observed, "I hear her name mentioned often. Is her husband of the peerage?"

"Oh yes, she is my aunt. Lord Albert is the Earl of ______, but he prefers to keep house in London."

"I do not blame him," said Mrs. Bennet, "London is a very desirable place to be in. I say there is nothing short of diversion there."

Her husband looked amused. "Well, I dare say, I've heard you mention yourself that you preferred the country for its variety of characters."

Mrs. Bennet pursed her lips tightly for a moment. "Mr. Bennet, you have heard me say that in the spring and summer seasons, when the country is infinitely preferable to town. But in the winter, when we are mostly confined indoors in the country, the town can offer more amusement."

"I say we all go to Bath," said Kitty suddenly, "It is simply marvelous there, I have heard."

Mr. Bennet stared. "I would not trust you as far as Eastbourn," he said to Kitty. "After Lydia's escapade, I would not let you run off of this vicinity."

Kitty pouted. "Lydia turned out alright for it," she said.

Her studious sister was shocked, as I was. "Kitty!" exclaimed Mary, "What a woman does is not necessarily considered acceptable. What Lydia did was neither virtuous nor excusable, for once a lady loses her virtue, then all is lost."

"You need not put it so severely," Kitty protested, "I merely suggested that we go to Bath for a holiday."

Mr. Bennet put his fork and knife down. "Consider, my dear, after I provide for Lydia's annual income, we shall all be too broke for a holiday anywhere."

"Oh, do not be unkind, Mr. Bennet," cried his wife from across the table. "We can afford a little diversion, can we not? I think it would be just the thing to calm my nerves."

Mr. Bennet smiled, despite his attempts to look grave. "My dear Mrs. Bennet, your nerves would be quite shocked out of order to hear the sort of expenses one can incur by living in town for a season."

"You only say that to vex me. You have no consideration for my poor nerves," cried his wife. Turning to me, she asked, "My brother Gardiner has never said a word against it. Tell me, Miss Darcy, is town very expensive?"

I coloured, not wanting to put my host in her place. "It all depends on what one does, I suppose."

"I would say that it was expensive then," said Mr. Bennet with a laughing twinkle in his eyes. "London's a hopeless cause too. And even if any of you decide to elope, I will not be paying for your trips."

As I combed my hair before bed, Kitty knocked and entered.

"Miss Darcy," she said, "May I come in?"

I smiled into the mirror and her reflection. "You already have. And please call me Viola."

"Viola, then. Have you ever been to Bath?" she asked, sitting down on the bed.

I nodded. "But only once."

Kitty sighed. "At least you have been there."

"I was very young though. I had just turned ten."

Kitty smiled. "So, then you practically didn't go."

"I can remember little things about it, but I dare say that it has greatly changed within these last twelve years." I paused and looked questioningly at her. "Kitty, you seem to want to go a great deal."

"Oh, I do, I do," she answered. "Maria Lucas talks of going. She is turning eighteen, and for her birthday, Sir William and Lady Lucas will be taking her there. I am already eighteen, and yet I may not even go as far off as Meryton without first asking."

"Have you any relatives who will go and take you with them?" I asked. "Or have you asked Maria? Perhaps Sir William and Lady Lucas will be kind and take you with them."

"But I would need to worry about the cost," said Kitty, to my surprise. "We are not as well off as we appear. We live comfortably enough, with enough for a new dress each year, but we can by no means be extravagant."

This was not the sort of Kitty Bennet that Elizabeth had given me the impression of, and indeed, it was not the same girl whom I had encountered last year. She had started to grow serious, and her head was not in the clouds as it had been wont to do.

"Kitty, if you are very good, I will talk it over with Elizabeth and my brother when they return from their wedding tour," I offered. "I do not think that they will be unreasonable."

Kitty sighed and leaned into my pillow. "It is so hard to be patient."

"You are improving every day."

"You would hardly know that. You are only saying it to please me."

I shook my head. "But I can see that you have changed since last year. This may not sound flattering, but when I first knew you and your sisters, you were silly and unrestrained. I see now that you have greatly improved."

Kitty played the hem of her dress. "I don't think I shall ever become as good as Jane, as clever as Elizabeth, or as-well, I would not want to be like Mary-but I shall never be very well-read. Do you know that I've always been the follower in the house, the sheep? When Lydia was here, it always seemed as though I were the youngest, for everything she said and did, I felt obliged to copy."

I sat down beside her. "I never knew Lydia well, but of her character, there was enough of it to suggest her constant need for attention and entertainment. You know now that that is no way to live. You see, you know it now, because you've begun to do some thinking of your own."

"I should not like to be another Lydia," said Kitty.

"No one would want you to be."

"Is there a chance that I may turn out-all right?"

I nodded and gave her a hug. "You've already begun the process."

Kitty climbed off the bed and stood up. "Thank you, Viola," she said with a small smile. "It has been good to talk to you. I've never been able to talk like that to anyone before."

"Do you keep a journal?" I asked. "You ought to being one, if you haven't. I find it a great comfort to write."

Kitty nodded and said good night.

I smiled at my reflection in the mirror as she left the room. It felt good to have given hope and good influence to someone so impressionable. Kitty will turn out well.

I blew out my candles and snuggled into the warm bed of blankets.

The next morning, Kitty and I walked into the snowy park behind the house, with the idea of pretending to be children again and building snow figures and snow angels. Kitty grew cold, as she had forgotten her scarf, and I quickly shooed her inside to fetch it. As I was thus occupied in my own little snow world, I heard the sound of approaching feet walking near the park entrance. There accompanied with it the voices of two gentlemen. I immediately recognized them.

"We are expected to be in town by this afternoon," said Captain Denny. "If we do not set off soon, the roads may be very bad for travelling."

"What is the matter, Captain Denny?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam in a teasing manner. "Have you a fear of seeing my cousin?"

I imagined Captain Denny shaking his head. "No, certainly not."

"Well, I thought you might have wanted to say goodbye to her too," answered the Colonel. "I thought you mentioned once some fancy you had. If you do not take care, you may be too late."

"It is too late," said Captain Denny quickly.

"What do you mean? She has not grown old in one year, has she?" my cousin joked.

"I thought her a great deal changed yesterday. I hardly knew Miss Darcy again."

I felt my face grow hot as I buried my hands into my snow sculpture. So, this was what he thought of me!

"Well, I admit that Viola has missed some chances of being married, and that may have rid some of her bloom," said my cousin, to my frustration. "There was a grossly wealthy gentleman of our aunt's acquaintance who proposed, but she would have nothing to do with him. Luckily, she broke her ankle, and never had to confront the man."

"I wonder why she would not have him," I heard Captain Denny say.

"The gentleman was not old, if that is what you are thinking," laughed my cousin. "Rather young, actually, only three-and-twenty. A year older than Viola."

Then, I heard another pair of feet coming in my direction. I knew it was Kitty running over, but she stopped short before entering the park.

"Uh, good morning," I heard Kitty say. She paused. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, Captain Denny."

"How do you do," my cousin replied with surprise in his voice. "We were just about to enter the house. We are calling on Miss Darcy, to bid her good bye."

"Oh, Miss Darcy is in the park," said Kitty. "I was just going there myself."

I straightened up and composed myself. The best thing to do was to appear dignified and ignorant of the conversation that had passed.

Kitty, with a scarf around her neck, was soon by my side. "You're all cold, Viola," she said to me, "Your face is all red and chapped! You had better go inside."

"Yes, I think you had better," said my cousin, taking my arm. "Are you quite well?"

I shook myself free from his assistance. "I am quite well, Colonel Fitzwilliam. You need not think I am an invalid."

"You ought to take care of yourself," my cousin said, "Think of your ankle."

"It has healed properly," I reminded him, "I do not limp, and I am not yet an old lady, so please do not pretend to be my crutch."

I curtsied properly to Captain Denny. "Good morning," I said to him as civilly as possible.

"Good morning, Miss Darcy," he said in return.

"I am surprised to see you here," I said, turning back to my cousin. "What are you doing still in Hertfordshire? Should you not be making your way back to town?"

"I thought you might have wanted to see us," said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Well, I think I shall see you in a week anyway," I said. "Aunt Margaret would like to have Georgiana and me over this Christmas. She would not hear of our staying alone over the holiday."

"Oh, yes, of course, lovely Mother and her notions. I may see you there. But what do you do in town the rest of the time?"

"It will only be for the rest of winter," I said, gathering strength. "In the spring, Georgiana and I shall be back at Pemberley."

There was a pause.

"Have you written to Anne?" asked the colonel at last.

"Yes. We have been corresponding. I think by spring, Aunt Catherine will be brought round the idea of Fitz's marriage."

"Do you think I should go to Rosings?"

"You certainly should," I answered. We were at the front door.

"Will you come in and warm up a little before your journey?" asked Kitty to my cousin and his friend. Both of them shook their heads.

"The roads may be difficult. We should make our way," said Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I just wanted to be sure that Viola was comfortable, and I see that she is. Good bye then, and take care."

I attempted a smile, failing miserably. "I will."

Allegro ~ The Winter in Town

"If Mrs. Darcy is as lovely and witty as my dear Richard tells me, I shall be very well pleased with her," said Aunt Margaret, two days before their return. "I do believe that it would be a shame if Darcy were to go through his entire life as unrelentingly serious as he was as a child. He is in much need of improvement."

Georgiana and I found it humourous to hear what our dear aunt thought of Fitz.

"I suppose," I said, "That I can safely say neither Georgiana, nor myself, were ever as serious as Fitz?"

Our aunt started. "Oh dear, you cannot say that, Viola," she exclaimed, "You were as serious a child as any! You look surprise to hear it, but it is true, when you were children, I thought Georgiana a great deal more chattering and fun than you were. It seems, though, that years and age has done a lot to reverse the situation."

I laughed. "I am heartily pleased to hear that. I do not think I can live being severe and grave all the time. This last year has made me more serious than I ever want to be my whole life."

"This last year?" Aunt Margaret repeated. "I dare not think so-In one so young? Have you already faced trials and errors in your fresh age?"

"There has been a great deal of change," I said, teasingly. "Already, you see me supplanted as the mistress of Pemberley."

Aunt Margaret laughed at the joke. "You are fond of Pemberley, but I do not think you were ever fond of considering yourself the mistress of it. I don't believe you ever wanted that sort of responsibility."

"No," I agreed. "It is too much of a task. We trust in Fitz, and the judgement of Mrs. Reynolds." I sighed, thinking of Miss Bingley. "I know of many young ladies of my age who consider themselves quite the mistress of their house, but yet, I cannot bring myself to that status."

"There is something flattering, as well as uncomfortable about the whole business," said our aunt. "I suppose Lady Catherine is quite at home with her position, but you know, I like to not have to make the decision all the time."

"I wonder how Elizabeth will get on then," said Georgiana timidly. "She is always so nice and hardly at all like Fitz. She is not so severe and demanding as he is."

"Oh, she shall manage," said Aunt Margaret. "It all seems to me that we settle in, each and every one of us, especially when all of society is ready, waiting to pass judgement."

"I hope no one will judge Elizabeth, though," I said. "She is too good to be judged. I am sure I have never met with anyone quite as open and witty, and so natural, as she is. I sometimes think that perhaps my expressions are artificial and contrived when compared with her."

"We shall see about the judgement," said Aunt Margaret. "Now, about another thing. I am arranging a holiday to Bath. During the spring, when all the snow has melted and it grows warm again. I would like to have you with Lord Albert and me. You know that George likely will not accompany us, and Richard comes and goes at his own whim. Will you both come?"

Georgiana looked disappointed.

"What is the matter?" I asked.

"Remember the Delisles? I promised that I would spend a month with them. Fitz has already given me the consent to go with them to tour the lakes."

I shook my head. "Oh, how could I have forgotten."

"It's no matter than," said Aunt Margaret. "Another time, we shall have you with us, Georgiana. But you, Viola, you are not already engaged, I hope. I have been quite counting on having you with us. There is no question of bringing Anne, you know-Lady Catherine and I are on an awkward footing with one another as it is, and Lady Catherine is sure to not approve of Bath, however many proclaim its medicinal benefits."

I paused before answering. "I have no prior engagements. I would love to come, for I have not been to Bath for many years..."

"And?" asked Aunt Margaret. "You seem to have something else on your mind."

"I have a friend who is quite anxious to see Bath. Would you be so good as to let her take Georgiana's place, as Georgiana cannot go? I can assure you that she has not been so fortunate as to see travel much, and she is a very good girl. To own the truth, she is Mrs. Darcy's youngest sister but one."

Aunt Margaret was at first reluctant. "But she is not wild and boisterous like the other?"

"I can assure you that she is much improved."

"What is her name and age?"

"Kitty. Well, Catherine. And she is eighteen." I added, "She is out, so it is not as though you need launch her into society, or anything silly like that."

Aunt Margaret smiled. "If Miss Kitty Bennet meets with no opposition from her parents and guardians, than I shall not object. It is no small favour, you know, but I do understand why a young girl longs to see Bath. And perhaps our society will do her a lot of good."

When told the news, Fitz was reluctant-Perhaps, he still struggled with his early notion of her. I managed to wrestle the idea successfully with Elizabeth, though, who, in the end, brought Fitz round to the idea.

"I will pay for her trip if Kitty promises to be very good and very rational, and only after Papa agrees to let her go," said Elizabeth.

Mr. Bennet was quickly applied to. In the first letter, he was adamantly against the idea, but as more and more notes were sent by express to Longbourn, he at last relented. Speaking it over again with Aunt Margaret, it was all decided. We would leave in May for Bath, where the Fitzwilliams had a good town house, stay until summer, and return home. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Albert would go back to her house in London, and Kitty would accompany me to Pemberley for her first long visit with the Darcys of Derbyshire.

A week later, while we were in the dining room, Elizabeth produced a letter from her pocketbook.

"I hope you do not find this ill-timed, Fitzwilliam," said Elizabeth. "A post arrived this afternoon, and it's from Jane."

Fitz was in good humour, and nodded, telling her to proceed.

"Jane writes to say that she and Mr. Bingley will be in town, along with Kitty."

"Good Bingley for not saying so to me. There is diversion for your younger sister," observed Fitz.

"Do read it aloud, Elizabeth," I said.

"That is," added Georgiana, "The parts that can be read aloud."

"True," I added.

With a wry smile cast in my direction, Elizabeth recited from the paper in front of her:

"My dearest Lizzy,

"Charles and I have been settled in Netherfield for two months now, and upon the insistence and hints on Papa's part, my husband and I have agreed to come to town, and to bring Kitty along with us, as she longs to see London. We felt that as Kitty is eighteen, she should have a chance to see a little more of the world. You may be surprised that it was Papa who insisted she take such a journey with us, but you shall see later the reason behind it.

"Maman has also been telling us of your plan to have Kitty go to Bath. That is simply splendid! Charles and I could not have offered her a better opportunity than this. Charles has voiced a longing to go there himself, but we believe that we may wait a year before taking such a step. However, for Kitty's sake, we truly are delighted."

"Is there nothing more?" asked Fitz, after chewing and swallowing a piece of chicken. "If I may say so, it is a rather abrupt ending."

"There's a bit about Lydia," Elizabeth said gravely.

"Go ahead. Read it aloud," said Fitz, not at all affected. Georgiana and I looked at each other in surprise. This was a new indifference. "Lydia is your sister," Fitz explained. "Though I do not wish her or her husband to set foot in my house, I do not think I ought to deprive even her sister of the news of her doings."

I caught Elizabeth look uncertainly at Fitz, but she read on.

"Lydia has at last written. She has given birth to a healthy young girl, who weighed eight pounds and one ounce. Both mother and daughter are doing well. The baby is to be christened Bella Iseult. It seems to be that the child owes a great deal more of her looks to the mother than to the father. Maman is proud of this, for Lydia takes after her.

"Needless to say, Lydia has asked for a visit to Longbourn. Her reason for this cannot be supposed to be any matter other than to ask for what even one's family cannot possibly grant her. Alas, it must be confessed to you, dear Lizzy, that this is the cause of our leave from Netherfield. Although Papa has often said that he does not wish Kitty to leave Longbourn, the impending visit from our youngest sister has no doubt cast some anxieties on his mind. Papa expressly wishes that Lydia's influence on Kitty be minimized, if not, dissolved completely. Therefore, Charles and I have resolved that it would be best to bring Kitty here.

"Naturally, Netherfield will need to be closed up until we come again, as we could not bring ourselves to trouble either our sister Caroline, or Mr. and Mrs. Hurst with the burden of maintaining it while we are gone. I cannot say for how long this arrangement will be, but I trust completely and faithfully in Charles, and he has not failed us yet in any decisions that he makes. Thus, what remains for us is that our journey will bring us safely to town. We heartily look forward to seeing you and Mr. Darcy, and your sisters, the Miss Darcys. Until then, I remain,

"Yours, etc.,

"Jane"

"Bingley never was the sort to handle correspondence well," observed Fitz, "He has said himself very often, that he blots most of his words, and leaves out the others."

"He writes slower than he thinks, that is all," said Elizabeth.

"And still, he should take more care in his letters," said Fitz. "It is almost an absurd form of pride for Bingley to keep his unsteady correspondence."

"Come, Fitz," I interrupted, "We have made this the subject of one previous conversation, to no result. Do let us leave Mr. Bingley's correspondence as it is and not endeavour to change his vocabulary and style of writing into yours." I turned to Georgiana. "Believe it or not, Fitz and Elizabeth battled over this exact subject, over a year ago, in the drawing room of Netherfield."

Georgiana laughed. "Indeed, Viola, I remember you writing about it."

Uncle Albert and Aunt Margaret were delighted with Fitz's choice of wife. The Fitzwilliam clan was, in my opinion, in dire need of someone new and refreshing. After so many generations of producing the likes of Lady Catherine (and that is not to say that my mother or Uncle Albert were anything like Lady Catherine because they were rather exceptions) bringing in a niece-in-law such as Elizabeth Darcy was infinitely preferred. It need not be spoken, either, that in a sense, Aunt Margaret was hoping that Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam would only take the same sort of initiative as his cousin to secure a young lady of equally good merit.

Within a week of the Bingleys' arrival in town, Aunt Margaret invited us all to dine in her home. It was to be something more special than the usual dinner party-there were additional guests invited, and dancing was to come afterwards, "Not entirely improper, I am sure," said Aunt Margaret. "When there will be plenty of young people."

In consequence, that Tuesday evening, we found ourselves-Fitz, Elizabeth, Georgiana, and I-packed away in our barouche for the short ride to _____ Street. When we arrived, we were pleased to see Mr. and Mrs. Bingley already there with Kitty by their side. Of course, much to Elizabeth and my chagrin, Aunt Margaret had gone ahead and extended the invitation to Miss Bingley. I suppose it was only considered proper, what she did. And to my surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam had managed to secure an invitation for several naval and army officers whom he was well acquainted with...Including Captain Grantley and Captain Denny. A greeting, a curtsy, could not be avoided, but immediately after, I made my way to Kitty Bennet.

"Kitty, I am glad to see you," I said, still slightly flushed. "Is it not wonderful that you can at last see Bath?"

Kitty smiled. " I know I would never have been invited if you hadn't put in a good word for me."

I linked my arm in hers companionably and we proceeded to one of the sofas. "You must not thank me. I am sure that had Georgiana not been elsewhere engaged, you would have missed this chance entirely. Georgiana is very good indeed, and of course, there is also Lady Fitzwilliam's kindness that must be accounted for."

"I am looking forward to the journey with such anticipation!" Kitty exclaimed. Quickly lowering her voice, she added, "Of course, I will contain my excitement. I must not undo what I have done, should I?"

I introduced her to Georgiana, and the two made friends readily. They were nearly the same age, and trusting Georgiana's character and nature, I knew she would be a good influence on Kitty's manners, if Kitty's character still remained to be impressionable.

"Viola," said the colonel coming over, "You do look particularly well tonight."

"Thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam," I said coolly as we stood apart from them. "And you do not look quite so ill, either."

"Why is it that you endeavour to address me as colonel even when we are in an informal setting?" he asked in amusement.

"It comes rather as a habit," I replied. "You do not mean to say that after so many years, you object to it?" Seeing his troubled face, I knew that he must have had a favour of me to ask.

"Well, what is it?" I said quickly, "What ever is on your mind, cousin, I will try to relieve its stress. Of course, the only obligation you would need to bear in the matter is that of communicating the matter to me."

"It's a wonder that my mother does not invite Anne to come," he said at last.

"Oh!" I exclaimed quietly. "If that is what worries you, then all I need to do is give a hint, and you know Aunt Margaret will do it. But, your problem, I think, lies not with Aunt Margaret, but with Aunt Catherine."

"Is it not hopeless? Do you think I am being quite foolish?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"Well, I cannot say that I think you are sane at all times, but I am certain that Anne thinks well enough of you."

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled. "For saying that, I shall repay you with a favour."

"Please, sir, if my intent had been to receive a favour from you," I retorted, "I would have paid you flowery compliments, no sooner had I entered the house."

"I have gotten Mother to invite Captain Grantley tonight. You saw him arrive a moment ago. I believe you do not need an introduction?"

I stared in disbelief at my cousin. "Do not dream of doing anything. I will have nothing of that nature to do with Captain Grantley."

"Why? What is the matter? He has a sizeable amount of property in the West Indies, and he makes money in investments, which were given to him from his parents. Furthermore, he shows signs of making receiving further promotion. Lastly, though I am no judge, I have heard fine young ladies pronounce him to be very handsome."

"Thank you, but those items alone do not attract me," I said. "Pray do not think that I am one of those silly girls who runs after soldiers and officers."

"You are not, that is certain. But, if you do not take care, Miss Bingley may beat you to your place," laughed Colonel Fitzwilliam quietly, looking over at Caroline Bingley, who was now chatting with Captain Grantley.

"That is of no concern to me," I replied. "Why should it matter to me or to you?"

"Surely, you do not expect Darcy to take care of you all your life?" questioned my cousin.

Indignantly, I lifted my chin just a little higher. "No, certainly not! But that is rather due to the bondage of social expectations. If women were not expected, as they are, to remain at home, and if it was widely considered respectable of women to seek employment, I would do it."

"And I believe you," said Colonel Fitzwilliam in admiration. "I do not think you pronounce those ideas vainly. I know you too well to doubt you. But do you not think that it was time that you settled down? By no means should you choose one such as Hamish Oakham; but if there were one better, would you not accept him?"

"You are eager to hear my secrets, Colonel," I said. "You have certainly satisfied your curiosity tonight."

"I do think Captain Grantley would be a perfect match for you."

"Oh, do not be so silly as to put the idea into your head that you can make matches for all your unmarried cousins. That is no employment for you. You had much better remain an army man."

"There are no objections to naval officers though?"

"That is enough, cousin, I will not address the subject further." I moved to the verandah, but Colonel Fitzwilliam soon followed me.

"I suppose you are upset," he said.

"About what?"

"About Captain Denny."

"I am shocked by your suggestion," I exclaimed. "You have no right to induce me into a reply on these affairs. You are not my guardian."

Colonel Fitzwilliam ignored me. "I must admit to have formed a match between you and Captain Denny, after I heard from him that the two of you were acquainted in Hertfordshire, but I see it came of nothing. I am heartily sorry, for he is a nice chap. But, I understand that Captain Gr-"

"This conversation was officially over a minute ago when we were inside," I said. "If you continue to pursue it in vanity, you leave me no choice but to leave this party immediately."

My cousin finally comprehended. He shrugged and left me alone.

Sighing, I sat down on chair conveniently near by. As I looked at the balcony beside mine, I started. Standing there were two people, and though I could not see them well in the darkness, I could instinctively make out their silhouettes to be that of Captain Denny and Kitty Bennet. This discovery was further confirmed by the occasional laugh and accents of their voices, which I was so familiar with. Never had I, until that moment, felt myself terribly old. I was only two and twenty in years, but inside, I felt closer to forty.

"What do you do out here alone?" asked someone stealing up behind me. It was Jane Bingley.

I greeted her with a smile. "I needed some fresh air."

"It can be quite stifling indoors at times," Jane agreed, "But do you not find it cold out here? It is barely March just yet."

"It is the last of the winter," I said. "I rather like being out on a winter night."

"May I sit down?" Jane asked, gesturing at the chair beside mine. I nodded, and she took it gratefully. "If I am not wrong," she said, smoothing out her dress, "Something troubles you."

I tried not to look over at the adjacent balcony. "I feel all of my twenty-two years," I said, fully knowing how silly it sounded.

My remark did make Jane smile, but it was not done mockingly. "If you must know, I have been around in this world longer than you, and I have never once felt old, except for the time, when I thought Mr. Bingley had left Netherfield for good."

I was surprised Jane understood me.

Placing a sisterly hand on my arm, she said, "Please do not think that because we are not true sisters, we cannot confide in each other. I still remember the great kindness you paid to me when I was taken ill at Netherfield. I would be more than willing to repay your generosity with my friendship."

"Do not speak of my generosity as if I had any," I exclaimed. "I am not at all a devoted, kind person. I do not consider myself nice. I may be lucky at times, but I am not at all what one would call nice. I am proud, and I have a tendency to say too much at the wrong time, and say nothing at all when I ought to say something."

"I cannot believe that of you, Viola," said Jane. "I may call you Viola? I do not think you are what you call yourself." She smiled and leaned forward. "I like to think that everyone has a nice side in their character. I do think that those who cannot acknowledge it are only tormented by it because they are so good that they see also their own faults clearly."

"Then you know your own faults?" I asked, meaning to be at least ironic.

"Of course," Jane answered good-naturedly. "We all do. You have told me yours. Mine, on the other hand, is that of never wanting to pass judgement on acquaintances."

"That is hardly a fault. It just shows what a dear girl you are. There are very few of us who can be as considerate and well-minded as you."

"There, do not praise me again," said Jane lightly, "My purpose for seeking you out was to cheer you up, and now, you have done nothing but reversed my intent."

"Shall we go inside?" I asked. She nodded.

"Do not forget," said Jane, "I will always be ready to help."

"Thank you. I will not forget."

Dancing commenced. Uncle Albert ordered for the carpets to be rolled back and the tables and chairs moved against the walls.

"But who will play the music?" asked Aunt Margaret, forgetting that my sister had not yet overcome her fear of performing in public. "Ah, Georgiana, will you?"

Georgiana blushed and stammered.

"I believe," spoke Miss Bingley, "That Miss Georgiana Darcy is shy to play."

"If you do not mind, Aunt," I said, "Do let me."

"But do you not wish to dance instead?" asked Aunt Margaret in surprise.

"No, I have no inclinations to dance this evening."

So it was to be-I played dance after dance, the maggot, the air, the gigue. I unconsciously watched Kitty and Captain Denny dance. They seemed to grow close with one another. Then I recalled, horribly clearly, that they had known each other from the time the ____th regiment settled in Meryton, Hertfordshire. I could not dislike Kitty for it though, for she was earnestly a good girl, and perhaps my behaviour had not been altogether recommending in itself. Besides, perhaps two Decembers ago, when Captain Denny was merely Lt. Denny, he had only sought for my friendship, and nothing more.

Miss Bingley, who was not dancing, glided over to the pianoforte.

"Pray, Miss Bingley, what ever it is you wish to say, do make it remarkable," I said.

"Oh, could I? I would like to commend you on your excellence in both speaking and playing the pianoforte simultaneously," she said innocently. Since I did not answer to this, she stood stupidly for a while, continuing to expect a reply. When at last she saw that I was not going to comment on what she had said, she asked,

"Would you not at least enjoy one dance? Surely you must be popular with one of the officers present this evening."

There was no mistaking the condescension in her tone. "No," I said, "I would much rather play tonight."

"Oh, I suppose you have always preferred music to dancing, have you not?"

" I admit, you are correct, for I have always valued music. But that does not account for why you do not dance," I said, taking swift revenge. Unfortunately, as I so said this, my index finger slipped. I quickly recovered without losing a beat.

"I had better not disturb you, Miss Darcy," said Miss Bingley. "I see this is all quite a handful for you to manage. But pray, next time, I hope you will play something a little more suitable to your talent."

I refused to answer.

"Viola, dear," said Aunt Margaret as we prepared to leave for the night. "I am so sorry you did not have a chance to dance. When was the last time you danced since breaking your ankle?"

"Please, Aunt, it is hardly serious. Playing does me a great deal more good," I said. It was true, though, for playing the piano did give me an inexplicable serenity and joy.

"Well, perhaps another time, I will set you up with one of the gentleman here," she said, kissing me on the cheek.

Inwardly, I groaned. "Please, Aunt, don't."

What was the matter with the world? Did they not believe that I could find harmony by remaining a single woman of good fortune?

Continued in Next Section