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A Cadence ~ The Last Scene of Importance in Bath (cont.)

To summarize all the events and feelings of the past couple of months spent in Bath would have been redundant, and so, I shall leave them entirely aside, and instead, focus on our exit from the dazzlingly white city.

My aunt and uncle trusted us to make our journey from Somerset to Derbyshire in relative ease, and with Pemberley's trusted coachman, and Fitz himself to bring us home, neither Kitty nor I were in want of additional security.

I was glad to see Fitz well, and when pressed with our eagerness for news on Elizabeth's progress, he was elusive and mysterious in his answers -- He merely smiled a demure smile, and would ask after the points of interest which we had seen, the people we had met, and whether we felt our spirits in better shape than before. By the time that we had made a pause in the middle of our journey, I realized that it would be useless to press for more, for clearly, Fitz wished to keep the anxieties and sweet anticipation to himself alone. "Selfish brother," I said to him in jest, once or twice, "Baby shall grow up to rue you for your secrecy. Baby shall take his dear aunt's side in all matters of discourse against Baby's father."

When we had finally arrived in our county, it had just begun to grow dark, but nonetheless, our reception at Pemberley was a warm one. Immediately upon sighting us, Elizabeth dashed out onto the drive to greet us with a hug and a kiss, and then proceeded to give orders to the servants with her. I saw Mrs. Reynolds standing by the door, with her usual, ready, maternal smile, and I waved to her. She nodded her head back at me, as if to say, Welcome home, my dear.

Then, as Mrs. Reynolds gave orders to the rest of the maids and servants who had just come to the drive, Georgiana rushed out, her hair slightly out of order from evident haste, and looked the part of my child sister. She shyly greeted Kitty, who returned the greeting without affectation, and they were soon well at ease with one another. Fitz bade us go inside, for it was growing dark, and it would never do to have us all standing about out of doors in our wild manner. Laughing, I took Elizabeth's arm good naturedly and asked how she had gotten along with Pemberley.

"It would be a difficult thing indeed if I did not adjust to it," she said, "But you know that I fell in love with the grounds so immediately, once I saw it."

"And you do not regret leaving behind town, or your friends?"

"I have new friends here whom I have learned to like just as well. How was your trip to Bath? Do you miss being there?"

I was thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose there were certain events I would rather wish to improve, and others that I would not mind to experience again--" I stopped myself as I felt myself grow warm. "Of course," I said, recovering, "All good things must end at some point."

Elizabeth then proceeded to ask after how Kitty enjoyed her trip to Bath, and as we walked through the front hall, Kitty talked of all the things that she had seen and loved.

"An acquaintance that you made in Bath," said Elizabeth during a pause, "Once came by to make his apologies for not calling sooner, but naturally you were not here yet. His name was Mr. Clarence, and he has taken the living at Kympton."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Clarence," said Kitty, "He is a very nice sort of gentleman. He was extremely polite and spoke ever so fluently on every subject of discourse we had."

"Then you are well acquainted with him?" asked Elizabeth, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Well, naturally only as well acquainted as one can be in a public place," Kitty said quickly, looking over at me for aide.

"Mr. Clarence was introduced to us by a friend of Lady Fitzwilliam," I explained. "As he knew not many people there except for his older brother and his sister-in-law, and so many ladies were present as to be in want of partners, he was happy to oblige us with his presence."

"A gentleman he is indeed," mused Elizabeth. "Of course, I would have guessed so much, from his manner of address, and his general appearance looked to me as though he were a very well bred, well read gentleman of no little consequence."

"He belongs to the clan of the L_______ Clarences," said Kitty. "Don't ask me what that means, though -- I am guessing that it must be of some social stature."

Elizabeth laughed at Kitty's words. "I know not how well one's 'clan' can give to recommend an individual, but if the Clarences have so good a reputation as the Darcys do in Derbyshire, then I will be more than convinced that Fitzwilliam and I have done the right thing in inviting him to dine with us tomorrow."

"Come to the gallery," said Fitz, suddenly stealing up behind us. "I have something to show you all. It has just arrived, not two minutes ago."

I saw Elizabeth and Georgiana exchange a smile with one another. Kitty and I, meanwhile, were equally curious to know what this meant.

As we filed down the gallery, Fitz nodded his head in the direction of Robinson and another man, who were now setting a painting down on the floor so that it leaned against the wall. The other man looked up at us and bowed, with a smile on his face. I vaguely recalled his name -- Mr. Guillory, the artist that my father had commissioned to paint Georgiana and my portrait when we were children. The Darcy Sisters, it was called, and used to hung on the wall of Maman's sitting room in her own private cottage. Since Maman's death, it had been stored away in a back room somewhere in Pemberley, never to be seen or revealed again to the living.

Fitz had commissioned Mr. Guillory to paint the portrait of Elizabeth, and my sister-in-law had attended three sittings before the exact light, shade and shape of her eyes could be precisely captured. As for the colouring of the rest of the portrait -- the finery of the wedding gown, the jewels and flower adornments, and the background setting, a view of one of the finer natural walks of Pemberley, were all accurately painted, and perhaps even romanticized. It was a marvelous painting, and about as large as even Fitz's own portrait had been, and Robinson explained that all the portraits in the gallery would be rearranged to make way for Elizabeth's likeness, in a place of honour, beside that of Fitz.

"There is one more thing," said Fitz, clearing his throat. "I would like it very much if you will be so good as to prepare for me a miniature of Mrs. Darcy, to be placed in the glass cabinet by the main staircase, and another to be placed in a locket."

This time, it was Elizabeth whose face looked surprised and curious. "What shall you want a picture of me in a locket for?" she asked gingerly, though clearly delighted.

"I should like it to be a keepsake, for when our child is old enough to want such a keepsake," said Fitz simply.

I recognized that tone of voice, the special tone and look which he used only in addressing Elizabeth, and Georgiana, Kitty and I excused ourselves and left the gallery hurriedly, as we noticed that Robinson and Mr. Guillory had also tactfully made their exit.

"It must be such an honour indeed to have a gallery all to yourselves, the Darcy family," said Kitty wistfully. "There is no such thing as the Bennet portraits."

"Surely there are at least miniatures?" I asked, it having never occurred in my mind that perhaps portraits were so very rare.

Kitty smiled uncertainly. "There are miniatures of us, only they are rather crudely painted by one of Maman's friends. They are very unlike us. We have tried to hold up the miniatures to the mirror, to see if it was just the trick of our eye, and to test the reflection, but it was strangely unlike us."

I was seized with a sudden fancy. Stopping by my room, I grabbed my sketchbook, and my box of pencils, ordered Kitty and Georgiana to sit down on my bed, and began directly to sketch their faces on paper. After several minutes, I showed my work to them, and Georgiana smiled.

"Very like, I will most unmodestly say," she exclaimed, handing the picture to Kitty to observe.

"It would do much better to have colour as well," I said. "But, I shall make another copy of it tomorrow, then Kitty, you may bring it home with you."

Kitty was ecstatic, then apologized for, what she supposed was, being simpering.

"May I look through your sketch book?" she asked eagerly. I nodded, and she began to turn the pages over gingerly from the beginning. She had flipped through several more pencil drawings that I had done before she made a cry of surprise and curiousity, and asked me after its subject. "I thought so indeed," said Kitty, after I answered to her satisfaction. "I did think it looked remarkably like Captain Denny. When did you have the time to draw this? It's not even dated from Bath."

"No," I said slowly. "But if I tell you the circumstances of the drawing, you shall think me a very fool indeed."

"Perhaps I won't," said Kitty. "I may be full of silly, romantic notions in my head, but if you give me a very reasonable explanation as to why you have taken the efforts to sketch Captain Denny's face, I should never reproach you." At this, Kitty and Georgiana exchanged secretive looking smiles.

"It certainly is not what you think," I replied indignantly, taking a hold of my sketchbook and closing it firmly. "You shall never take me seriously, but I drew that even before I had met him, or heard of him. It was art done out of my boredom, and if you do not believe me, I made this sketch when I was at Netherfield the first time. Your sister Mrs. Bingley was taken ill around that date, and we were all in the same house together."

"Well, I certainly recall Jane being ill at that time," said Kitty, leaning back into my pillows and stretching her arms up into the air. "Ah...How Papa did make fun of us for being the silliest girls in all of England, all because of Maman's silly notions. But I suppose I really was as silly as Papa did think me."

"Do you mean to say that Mrs. Bennet sent your sister on purpose to Netherfield, on horseback, so that she would be taken ill and stay a week at Mr. Bingley's home?" I asked incredulously. I had fancied as much at the time, but had dismissed it as being too improbable.

Kitty grinned. "It was a ridiculous scheme."

Our attention then turned to the idea of ridiculous schemes, and other rather ludicrous acts which we had either witnessed or unwittingly participated in. We little knew that soon, we were to experience one of those sadly comedic scenarios, after the visit of Mr. Clarence.

Felix Clarence arrived promptly at five o'clock. At this exact observance of time, Elizabeth nudged me, and indicated that this vicar was indeed a man of punctuality. Aside from seasonable arrival, Mr. Clarence had also endeavoured to be in his best appearance, with well-combed hair, a good suit and jacket, and highly respectable riding breeches (for he had come by horseback). The latter point was enough to recommend him some more, for despite his manner of transport, he was very neat, and did not look to be suffering from over exertion -- We concluded that he must be an active, sporting man as well.

After several minutes of making proper greetings and general remarks of the weather, and such civil nonsense, Elizabeth showed us to the sitting room, where Fitz engaged Mr. Clarence in a conversation about hunting, and other lively sports. Very timely, Mrs. Reynolds entered to announce to Elizabeth that the dinner was ready to be served, and my sister-in-law rose, leading us the way to the dining room.

At first, we were all quite silent as the soup was served, but soon enough, Elizabeth, in her resourceful, lively way, introduced the subject of Kympton, and Mr. Clarence easily addressed all inquiry, opening himself up in his facile, animated way. It suddenly occurred to me that every way in his manner of address and expression reminded me of Mr. Bingley's unaffected air -- a comparison that I could not believe I actually overlooked -- and at the same time, there was something more in him that was also very dignified and well learned. Furthermore, I took to the role of making a match for him, and the lady I settled on was no other than Kitty -- He had shown a marked friendliness towards her in Bath, and they seemed to have every intention of continuing their acquaintance with the same agreeable affability as ever before. It did not take long for me to hope that soon, I might be able to congratulate Kitty Bennet on her good fortune.

[Letter from Miss Grantley, Galloway Towers, Hertfordshire, to Miss Viola Darcy, Pemberley, Derbyshire.]

Dearest Miss Darcy,

You must allow me to write about how exceedingly disappointed I was of having missed your exit from Bath, though I will admit that no sooner had your party left, I too found myself taking leave of the dear place. I believe that I have thoroughly enjoyed my stay, short as it was, and receiving the chance to know you better was, more than anything in the world, a greatly treasured thing. I shall not burden you with more of such phrases, for you will think them empty, and perhaps even insipid -- though I am neither. Nevertheless, our friendship over the past two months must merit some exchange of letters and correspondence, and I am only too delighted to be the first to begin it with one as charming and witty as you.....

.....Please permit me to continue by saying that the company of my brother at present is almost no company at all. I have never spent a duller moment at Galloway Towers as I have the last several days. You need only guess the reason for his brooding in the absence of your company. I attempt to divert his attentions to other things, but alas! I ought to know better than that. You may well advise me, Miss Darcy, on what ought to be said and done in a situation such as this. If it were only appropriate, I would fondly include some of his words which he wishes to communicate, but I shall leave them well off this page out of respect for propriety, and will simply dare to say that we are both in very good health and hope to hear from you soon. Please be so kind as to send word to,

Your friend,

Mary Grantley.

...In the receipt of your last, I could only say that I am delighted to know you have met other acquaintances which you made while in Bath. I wonder if you remember anything of the Gilfords of Glowervale. My aunt, Mrs. Grantley, is not at all an intimate friend of Lady Gilford, but she has for some time been acquainted with her sons, one of whom is actually her barrister or attorney, or the likes of it. What are their names? The eldest's name escapes me for the moment, but I remember well the two younger sons are the Honourable Clement and Aidan Gilford. I did run into Mr. Aidan Gilford once, but it was at a most inconvenient time, and we hardly had a chance to talk, but I am sure that very little else is changed with him. What think you of Mr. Aidan Gilford? He is very gentlemanly, and no doubt, his service to my aunt is very favourable.....

.....Well, I do ramble on long, do I not? I shall have to conclude now, enclosing with this letter the best wishes of my brother Henry. As always, I remain,

Yours, etc.

Aidan Gilford... I remembered him. He was a cordial and attentive young man, but not at all one who struck me as especially fascinating or worth marked attention. Also, I did not like the way Miss Grantley took it upon herself to court me for her brother. Poor, misguided girl.

Lydia

The day started off as usual, with Georgiana, Kitty and I taking our breakfast of cold, smoked ham, eggs, bread with sweet jelly, coffee, milk and fruits. Elizabeth and Fitz were accustomed to breakfasting rather later than the three of us, and we did not mind much, leaving them to decide their morning. Soon after eating, the three of us decided to walk down to the edge of Pemberley and make sketches of the scenery.

Returning to the house for luncheon, I immediately stopped on the walk as I noticed a strange open carriage parked on the drive. There were no recognizable coat of arms along the side, nor was the driver one whom I recognized. As for the occupants of the carriage, there were three -- one gentleman, and two ladies -- all finely dressed. Actually, I noted that one of the ladies was more pompously dressed than the other, and had a wide brimmed hat plumed with large, coloured feathers. She dashed out of the seat without so much as requiring the help of the gentleman in their company, and when she saw us, the first sound that she let out was a great, rattling laugh.

"Kitty! Is that you? What a good joke! I hardly recognized you," she burst out at the top of her lungs.

"Oh God, it's Lydia," exclaimed Kitty to us.

I felt rather down at the thought of Mrs. Wickham entering my house, and in Georgiana's presence, too. Surely Lydia could never have been invited to Pemberley? I looked behind her, at the couple, and I recognized them now to be Colonel Forster and his wife.

"Oh, you know how it is," said Lydia, barely escaping from her giggles, "Colonel Forster and Harriet took me with them on a tour of the fields of the county--"

"Moors," I corrected her.

"Yes, well, whatever they call it. It all sounds so droll. Harriet wanted to see some of the country houses too, since there are so many famous ones in the county, and I said that we must absolutely see Pemberley." She stopped and looked about her, passing her judgement on the grounds at once. "Of course, I don't think now that it is as grand as Chatsworth, but I dare say it is very agreeable, don't you think, Harriet?"

"Then you come to tour the grounds as visitors?" said Kitty uncertainly.

"Oh, I imagine I shall be a guest too, you know," said Lydia with a shrug of her shoulders. "The mistress of this place is my sister, after all, and I can't see why I should not be treated as an important guest."

"We do not wish to intrude at all," said Colonel Forster immediately. I silently approved of his tact. "It was not our desire to come at all, if it should prove to be an inconvenience to the family. You see, my wife and I are merely idle visitors to the county, and we would not wish to put you out of your comfort because we press our presence upon you."

It seemed likely that the colonel would then call for his wife and Lydia to return to the carriage and drive off, but my brother and his wife came out to see what commotion Lydia was causing.

"Lydia!" exclaimed Elizabeth. I also noted some hint of surprise, and also disgust, at her unannounced, ill-prepared arrival. She cast a look at Georgiana and me, and I shook my head -- Georgiana was not yet affected.

Lydia, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying the attention that she was receiving. "Well, Lizzy?" she giggled, "What do you think? Do I not look well in this new dress and hat? Kitty, of course, would not pass judgment on it, but I dare say it is because she has always been a little jealous of my wardrobe. Well? Aren't you glad to see me?"

I watched as Elizabeth and Fitz exchange worried looks.

"You seem to be in your best spirits," said Elizabeth at last. "What are you doing here, Lydia? Shouldn't you be in Dover?"

Colonel Forster cleared his throat. "If you will pardon me, Mrs. Darcy, this was very much due to my indiscretion. My wife Harriet, and I, wished to visit some of her relatives who reside in Lincolnshire, and we decided that we would also tour some of the sights in Derbyshire as well. We offered to bring Mrs. Wickham with us, for Harriet wished to have her company, and thus we set out on our journey."

Georgiana whispered to me faintly whether Lydia was really George Wickham's wife, and I nodded me head a little.

This time, it was Fitz's turn to clear his throat. "Unfortunately, we had been rather ill-prepared for tours this time of year, but if you wish, I will call for Mrs. Reynolds. She is our housekeeper, and is accustomed to speaking with the visitors."

Colonel Forster understood the hint, and nodded his head respectfully. "Our presence was rather intrusive, and I do not wish to trouble you further. Harriet, shall we return to Lambton?"

Mrs. Forster looked disappointed and began to fan herself, but she nodded, complying with her husband. Lydia, meanwhile, did not take to this kindly.

"Oh, but surely you would not turn us out of your house, Lizzy," she said reproachfully. "I have come all this way and distance, and you refuse to show your sister inside? It would not be fair, as you let Kitty visit you."

At this accusation, Fitz braced himself and firmly tightened his mouth. He opened it again, and only said,

"We shall be more than happy to receive you. We were just about to take lunch. Would you like to join us inside?"

I watched as Colonel Forster and Mrs. Forster give each other an embarrassed look, and they followed the loud, boisterous Lydia and the rest of us into the house.

"Good lord," said Lydia loudly, as we settled into the sitting room. "This is very spacious. Lizzy, how do you afford to live in all this splendour? It must cost a fortune." She gasped at herself, and then laughed it away. "But I forget -- You are handsomely rich now, aren't you? How do you like married life? Do you keep as many as ten carriages?"

"Georgiana," said Fitz quickly, hoping to rescue our sister from Lydia Wickham's speeches, "Would you care play one of your songs for us? I am certain that Miss Bennet will be more than obliging to turn the pages for you."

Both girls walked to the pianoforte and began to play some soft sounding pieces, while Lydia talked on violently, barraging herself on every subject of life at Pemberley that she should not have entered into discussing.

"Where do you stay then?" I asked, as Fitz's face grew still with gravity and contempt, and Elizabeth's face likewise growing more grim by the minute.

"Oh, did I not say?" asked Lydia. "In Lambton, of course. My Wickham was talking about it incessantly, you know. He was a great favourite with the village folks there when he was a young boy."

"I am sure that is not true," I answered. "He surely could not have been meaning the same Lambton."

"Well, my husband never lies, if that is what you mean," said Lydia warmly. "He may be prone to exaggeration, but what good is a man who cannot boast of something? At least he can kill more birds on the first of August than anyone else in the country."

"That is worth a boast, undoubtedly," I remarked. I turned my attention to the colonel and his wife, hoping to silent her on the subject of her husband. "We have not met since your regiment was stationed at Meryton, I believe."

Colonel Forster was all easiness with this subject. "No, I do not recall any other time of our meeting. However, I think I may say that I have met your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and we are good acquaintances of each other."

"Yes, and so he mentioned in one of his letters," I agreed. "Tell me, what becomes of your regiment now that you are here in Derbyshire?"

"I am taking a short leave from the army," he explained. "And I let others take over a bit while I have my holiday. I know of many of my men, who are exceptionally dependable."

Not Wickham, I thought, but I smiled and nodded my head.

"You may have heard of a lucky escape that my husband had," added Mrs. Forster, not to be outdone. "He was very nearly killed, and one of the officers he trained himself was able to save my husband's life." She said it as though the thought of having a husband nearly dying was a romantic thing to have happened.

"That's right," said Colonel Forster, "One of my very own men. Captain Denny, it was, you know. I got him his promotion after that."

"What exactly happened at the time?" I asked, trying not to sound too interested. I remembered Colonel Fitzwilliam writing about the event to me.

Colonel Forster sighed. "One of the young recruits that I had suddenly took a turn in the mind --went quite mad, and thought I was his father, who had been an abusive man, took to drinking too much all the time. This boy, for really, he was of a tender age, took a musket and tried to run it into me, during one of his bouts of madness, and luckily for me, as I was talking with Denny at the time, and Denny was an alert young man, he was able to push me out of the way and wrestle the weapon out of the boy's hands."

"A very impressive feat indeed," said Elizabeth. "I knew Captain Denny from Hertfordshire, but he did not strike me at the time as such a quick-thinking gentleman."

"Oh, he is," said Colonel Forster, "Without a doubt. It was the reason for his promotion. I paid for half his commission because he would not accept any rewards -- the least I could do to thank him for preserving my life."

"And did this happen in Meryton?" asked Elizabeth.

Lydia snorted, and everyone stared at her.

"What?" she exclaimed. "I only laughed because you asked such a stupid question, Lizzy. You know it had to have happened in Brighton. I was there, you know, and I very nearly saw the whole thing."

"I would hope not," said Colonel Forster gravely. "Or at least, I am very sorry for anyone who witnessed it. Silverman was indisputably a pitiful sight in the end. Had to send him home, with a warning to arrest him, should he not obey."

"Oh, I don't mean I saw what actually happened," said Lydia. "I only mean that I was there when Denny was promoted. Luckily it took place before I went to London, or I would have missed all the fun."

It was an unwise thing for her to have said, and Elizabeth reproached her for saying it.

"Will you be staying in Lambton long?" my brother asked suddenly. I knew that he did not relish the idea of being under the same roof as Mrs. George Wickham.

"Oh, I suppose only for a few days," said Lydia. "Wickham wanted to pay a visit to some friends there."

I was surprised, for she had not mentioned or implied yet that her husband was here. At least, I was glad that Mr. Wickham had no intentions of setting foot on Pemberley's grounds, even though he was in the county.

When at last Fitz and Elizabeth took Georgiana and the colonel and his wife to tour the house, Kitty and I stayed with Lydia to try to quell her wild manners a bit before rejoining the rest.

Searching for a topic to discuss was not difficult.

"You never mentioned little Bella," said Kitty, reminding her sister of the existence of her child, as we walked out of doors.

"Bella?" said Lydia, wrinkling her nose, "We call her Iseult. She is fine, if you can call a baby fine. She is six -- no wait, seven -- months old now."

"Do you mean to say that you didn't bring her?" asked Kitty in horror. "You left her behind, all alone, and not even a year old? Who is to feed it and clothe it?"

Lydia stared. "Well, I do have a nanny for it, you know," she answered defensively, "And I dare say that Florrie does a good job with her. Babies are ever so cranky all the time, but Florrie does wonders."

"Florrie is a nurse, I hope," I ventured to say, "Or at least someone with a good amount of experience in looking after babies."

"I don't imagine Iseult needs much looking after," said Lydia with a shrug. "She was hardly a thing to worry over, except when she's hungry, of course, and do look at me -- I haven't lost my figure yet at all. Everyone tells me that Iseult was a large baby. Do you think eight pounds is a lot? My, imagine how heavy Lizzy's baby shall be -- with all the advantages of a large house and a good cook."

"Do you keep a cook?"

Lydia choked on her laughter. "The cook? Hardly."

"Well, in that case, it cannot be so bad to occasionally venture into the kitchen yourself and doing the cooking."

"Me, in the kitchen? Maman would never hear of it. She's always said that the kitchen is for those less than genteel."

I tried to bite back a retort, for Mrs. Bennet was unusually uneducated.

"Lord, you are as dull and serious as Jane and Lizzy," Lydia said stretching out her arms in front of her. "Can't you let yourself have a little fun? Do you ever run over to Derby? Is it good for shopping at all?"

"When at Pemberley," I said, "One is perfectly happy to remain on its grounds, and have no desire for what you call 'a little fun'."

"Well, at least Kitty will tell me if there are any good gentleman out here worth catching," she said, not stopping to check her words.

"Lydia!" Kitty exclaimed in horror. "You know that you mustn't think of that."

"What is the problem in what I said? If we were only in Dover, I could easily get you a husband. Of course, Miss Darcy, I could get one for you too, because I guess we really are sisters-in-law after all, and all sisters must do a good turn for each other. Are you closer to Jane's age, or Lizzy's age?"

"No thank you," Kitty interrupted, "I don't think we particularly like your way of getting husbands."

Lydia stopped and stared at her sister, round-eyed. "What a Lizzy thing to say. Well, you are a foolish goose indeed, if you won't take a soldier for a husband. I know of no other profession that is more noble and daring, and exciting, as the occupation of a man in a red coat."

"Thank you for that view," I said for Kitty, "But you should hardly burden yourself with the trials of your sisters. I would prefer to keep my own affairs to myself, and would not oblige you to suffer them also."

Lydia sighed loudly. "That is what I mean, Miss Darcy, you don't take to these things very well, do you? But I suppose, you are a very rich girl, and can afford to die an old maid. As for me, I hope you and Lizzy and Jane might think on me some time, and dare to remember the financial hardships that Wickham and I alternately go through."

I stopped and stood quite still. "I hope," I said, "That what I say shall not be so frank that it becomes unpleasant, but as you also acknowledge, we do have a sort of sister bond, so I will bluntly tell you that I have no intention of dying 'an old maid'. If I should never marry, then at least I die an independent, self-reliant woman. Secondly, you and Mr. Wickham go through numerous financial woes, only because you are both so very extravagant. If you would curb your ways, then you would both be in a much better situation."

"Well, you are a proud one!" exclaimed Lydia. "Not every one of us is so lucky as to have your thirty thousand pounds."

I gritted my teeth. What I said did sound extremely arrogant, but I was not going to take them back because of its truth. I could be an independent woman, and the Wickhams were not at all thrifty with their spendings -- The last thing that they deserved was to have Elizabeth and Jane consistently pay, through their own allowances, for the Wickhams' extravagance!

Lydia yawned violently. "Oh, this is such a bore. Come on, Kitty, tell me if there are any young men around here whom we can talk to."

"I will certainly not," said Kitty, horrified. "I hope you will get a handle on yourself, Lydia, or you will get us all into trouble again."

"Again?" her sister replied. "What do you mean 'again'? I have done nothing bad, have I?"

"The least you ought to do is act like a married woman," Kitty blurted out with pink cheeks. "don't go about in all your wildness as if you were still fifteen."

Lydia gasped in shock. "I consider myself to be practically an old woman," she exclaimed. "And I do think that I deserve to have a little fun after being cooped in with the army wives for months and months on end. They are all of them very dull." She fanned herself quickly. "There was one particular lady, Mrs. Stevens, who was ever such a nuisance. I wasn't surprised when she told me her father was a rector."

"There is nothing wrong with being a rector's daughter," replied Kitty indignantly. "I think theology is a perfectly respectable field of work, and should not be looked down on. I am sure that Mr. Wickham could use a little of its aide."

"Well, I won't say another word on clergymen," said Lydia quickly, not wanting to offend her sister. "I'll talk about the officers though, if you'd like. You know what Colonel Forster was talking about, concerning his near accident? Captain Denny was ever so brave, you know."

"And so we have heard," I said.

Lydia sighed. "I almost wish it had been my own dear Wickham. You know, I was a great favourite with Denny and all the rest?"

"I wouldn't know that," I answered quietly.

"Oh, but I was. Surely my mother must have said a word on it to you? Well, it is true, though, I was very popular with all of them. I actually knew all along that Denny would amount to something -- He was so much more serious and mature than the others. Of course, I always thought that was droll, but I liked him for it."

"Perhaps he is generally well liked."

"I don't know -- He doesn't do much to promote himself, that is for sure. I think if he had been my Wickham, I would push him to be more forward."

Kitty interrupted. "We did meet him in Bath, Lydia."

"Who? My Wickham?" asked Lydia.

"No -- Captain Denny."

"Good Lord, what could he have been doing there? He is not in ill health, is he?"

"His aunt was taken ill," explained Kitty. "And he was a favourite of his aunt. Did I not already write to you about it in one of my letters?"

"What?" said Lydia, "I didn't see it. You know, married women like me hardly have the time to check what letters we get. I am sure I have never been able to read a half dozen together in a month, so busy I am. I suppose you have more time to write, though, as you have nothing better to do." She yawned again. "Anyway, I'm tired of talking about Denny -- He is a bit tiresome sometimes when he goes on and on about books. Who needs books anyway?"

"It seems that you had better get some rest," said Kitty. "You should return to your lodgings soon and sleep some."

"I wasn't planning to go back to Lambton today," said Lydia with a little laugh. "Didn't you know? I was going to stay here for the night. I am sure that Lizzy would expect my to."

"Elizabeth is rather occupied," said Kitty, "And would it not be rather inconvenient?"

"What, and not to invite one's sister under the same roof? I'm sure Pemberley is not at a loss of spare rooms." Lydia placed her hands over her mouth as she giggled. "God, that's funny. Imagine Pemberley out of spare rooms. What a thought!"

Fitz was adamant that Lydia should not stay. "Not when my own sisters are under this roof. It would be unbearable for them, especially for Georgiana, and you know why."

"But do be a little reasonable," said Elizabeth, "We cannot expect to send her away in this fashion. You know how Lydia is, and how people will talk if it were discovered that we would not welcome her under our roof for the night. It would only invite more suspicion if we did not let her stay for one night."

Fitz bowed his forehead in his hands.

"What do you think of Mrs. Wickham," Georgiana asked me quietly while sitting up in her room. I was combing out the fair locks of hair that curled around her face and hung down past her shoulders.

"Lydia?"

"Yes. Do you think she is happy to be Mrs. Wickham?"

I bit my lower lip. "I hope you don't mean to ask that with regret, Georgie."

"Certainly not," she answered softly.

"Then why do you ask?"

"It is only natural in one to ask another what is generally thought of a woman in a position such as Mrs. Wickham's. I do not ask because I wish to indulge myself in gossip, but only because I'm curious, whether what I observe is also what others see." Georgiana pulled away and turned to face me with a solemn look in her clear blue eyes. "I think I could be in her company, and call her by her new name without feeling any pain, but her words and her character are all so different from what I expected."

"You expected to see a woman of fine breadth and dignity, and who held her head high as an heiress would," I extrapolated. "You did not think Mr. Wickham would have settled for less, and it troubles you to think that Mrs. Wickham is anything but a lady."

"You wrong me," said Georgiana standing up. "I am not troubled. I am only concerned. I thought one would have to be a strong woman to stand living with Mr. Wickham."

"Ah, but only weakness would have began the folly."

Georgiana took my hand and pressed it to her cheek tenderly. "Viola, you are very good to me, and I don't know whether I deserve it completely. I am not in love with Mr. Wickham, and I don't think I ever truly was. He might have dazzled me for a time, but I think I am more sorry that he did not turn out to be like a brother, than to have him a settled man."

"Do you feel more sorry for Lydia then, than for Wickham?" I asked.

Georgiana nodded.

I tried to swallow a smile. "I can assure you that Mrs. Wickham will survive anything that comes in the way of her husband. She does not yet strike me as one who will pass herself as a helpless creature. No -- She shall put up a fierce fight if she knew a battle were necessary. I think her blindness towards Wickham's intentions before is now quite gone. You see, she hardly thinks on Mr. Wickham except in aspects of his character that she can boast about, and her daughter is almost always never mentioned."

"Poor baby then," said Georgiana sympathetically.

"There is little one can do for Bella Iseult," I agreed.

Georgiana made a face. "Is that what they have called her?"

I nodded.

"I have not objections to Bella, but is not Iseult a perfectly tragic name? How can a parent name one's child Iseult? It seems almost to me as if Iseult is doomed to fail in life, even before she has begun to live," mused Georgiana.

"We mustn't think that now, must we?" I kissed her goodnight and took my candle up. "I hope you get lots of rest. We may have to deal with Mrs. Wickham further tomorrow."

Fitz asked me to show Lydia Wickham to the carriage in the morning, as he did not wish for either himself or Georgiana to see Mr. Wickham. I assented, as I felt myself strong enough to meet Mr. Wickham on firm footing, harbouring no fear of his presence.

As Lydia hurried out south entrance of the house, she dropped something on the ground.

"Do not forget this," I called after her, holding out the object of a locket to her.

"Oh!" exclaimed Lydia with a laugh. "How could I have dropped that? Thank you, Miss Darcy."

"You should be careful with your jewelry," said Kitty cautiously. "You don't want to go about losing a valuable locket."

"How do you know it's valuable?" said Lydia carelessly.

"Why, only because it was the one Maman gave you," exclaimed Kitty.

"Oh, I was not thinking of that." Lydia opened the locket and showed its contents to us. There were several locks of hair inside. "These," she said, "Are the locks of hair all the gentlemen I've liked have given to me. I intend to keep track of them all, you know, for it's quite a history. See, these are the locks of Anderson, Ogilvy, Francis, Denny, Stevens, and my dearest Wickham."

I tried to contain my curiosity and my blush as she named off all the men as if she had the list memorized in her head. So, Captain Denny had once given her a lock of his hair? That did not seem to me to be an entirely appropriate thing to be doing, especially to give a lady something when the lady was neither relation nor fiancée.

Kitty was shocked. "Lydia! You cannot do that. What if someone were to discover it? Then you would be branded no better than a common flirt."

Lydia shrugged. "Wickham knows of it already -- He's very proud of it, to know that his wife should have picked no one but him for a husband."

I felt very sick as I followed her out to the gravel drive, where her husband's modest carriage was waiting.

"Good morning, Lydia," said Wickham jumping out to greet his wife. I noticed it was nearly ardent, a good public show of affections, which pleased both parties, no doubt. Wickham turned to us and bowed.

"Ah, it is strangely remarkable to be here again, Miss Bennet and Miss Darcy. I never thought I would be here ever. Pemberley was such a bygone dream, you know," he said in what, I once thought, was a pleasing manner.

"Perhaps it was no more than a passing fancy, as it is for many people," I said.

"Quite right, Madam. Such things as Pemberley cannot be taken too much for granted. And how is it with you now, that another has come to be the mistress of the grounds?"

I was pensive. "What do you expect me to say," I said lightly, "But that Mrs. Darcy is indeed the perfect mistress of Pemberley? Never has so much good been done for it since my mother passed away."

Mr. Wickham smiled at the recollection of my mother. "If our sister-in-law can even exceed your mother, then she must be highly commendable. Lady Anne Darcy, she was a generous woman indeed."

I shuddered at the realization of being related to Mr. Wickham. "Though I suppose you were more of my father's favourite than my mothers," I said quickly and sharply, and was satisfied in seeing him look foolish and silent. "I wish the two of you a safe journey. I am sorry that Fitzwilliam could not come out to greet you too, but I am sure that you would not wish to miss his absence too much."

Mr. Wickham looked awkwardly at me for a moment, and hesitantly said, "No, you are right, Miss Darcy. Well, Lydia, we should be well on our way. Let us say good bye to them now."

Lydia turned to us with a brilliant smile. "I hope you will write to me often, Kitty."

"I always do," replied her astounded sister.

"Oh, I know, but I was just reminding you. Well, I guess you don't need to write frequently, because I can't imagine I should have any time to read everything, but you can tell me all about balls and dresses, for I should be able to write a quick reply to those easily. Good bye!"

Kitty and I watched the carriage drive away. As Lydia and Wickham did not try to wave to us, neither Kitty nor I ventured to. I was not the least bit annoyed with it. My thoughts were, more than anything else, occupied with the thoughts of Lydia's contemptible locket.

The days could not have been stranger than with the arrival of a letter from Lady Catherine de Bourgh. It had been so long since she had written to me, and I to her, that I had quite given up hope of being forgiven for being a Darcy. Naturally, when I took the letter from Greer shortly after breakfast commenced, I placed it aside from me, not prevailing to ruin my appetite with its words, but Georgiana was anxious to know what it was that our aunt would write to me about.

"Had you not better read it?" she asked, cutting a piece of cold ham. "It has been months since Aunt Catherine corresponded with any of us."

"You will take care to remember, Georgiana," I answered airily, "That we Darcys have done the Fitzwilliam clan much wrong. It would only upset us if I were to read from it now, when everyone is in such good spirits."

"Viola," said Fitz sternly, "You cause only yourself to be ineffectual by pretending to be enigmatic. Open the letter. I shall not object to hearing what Lady Catherine has to express, though I acknowledge, I may repent for saying so before long."

Elizabeth and I exchanged wary glances, and in her eyes, I saw her comprehension. Nothing of any good ever came from Lady Catherine de Bourgh. A letter from her could, and must, only communicate the worst.

My sister-in-law nodded at me, encouraging me to proceed. Accordingly, I broke the seal.

Lydia (cont.)

"Well, you will open it, won't you?" sighed Kitty. "You look as though you were intoxicated."

"Kitty, that is hardly appropriate," Elizabeth reprimanded her. "The letter is from Lady Catherine, and it must be of great importance. Your cajoling will do nothing for Viola."

I unravelled the crisp sheet of paper and handed it to my sister.

"You want me to read it?" asked Georgiana incredulously. "But what should I make of it? Lady Catherine would hardly expect me to read your letters."

I sighed, even though I knew I was only being foolish in refusing to read the letter. I worked up my nerves to peruse Aunt Catherine's clean, severely neat handwriting and was surprised to see that it was signed from London.

Dear Viola,

It has been long since I last heard from you. I do not understand why you have not kept up with your correspondences. I hope it is not because you have grown idle, and decided to abandon all communications with the de Bourgh family. I would have asked after you through my daughter, but then I can get nothing out of Anne these days, except monosyllabic answers to infinitely any question I pose, and I can think that it can only be a sign of some impending illness to her health. My displeasure cannot be more closely described, except by perhaps Colonel Fitzwilliam--but then, he was always the best nephew I ever had.

The real purpose as to why I write is to inform you that you are to come immediately to Wimpole Street, London, the address of my house in town, without delay. The nature is purely of a business one. It appears to be that a more recent will drawn up by my late husband, your uncle Sir Lewis, was discovered, and by my lawyer's account, proves to be most favourable to yourself. Sir Lewis always upheld you in his esteem of his nephews and nieces, and in his memory, I am willing to, just this once, make amends with you, and accept you once more into my family circle. Sir Lewis himself was always wisest to judge, and as he never lost his good opinion of you, I will try my best to like you again for who you are. I believe that your mother Lady Anne would have approved of this action which I take. You know that I do not often bow to such steps, but in this case, I believe it is justified, for, I reason, who would not wish to be allied with such a prestigious name as de Bourgh?

I have already made arrangements of transportation for you, and you can expect to see one of my personal carriages ready to pick you up in Derby and drive you to London, a fortnight from the arrival of this letter...

"What does she say?" asked Georgiana impatiently. "You look as though you're not one bit disappointed by the letter."

I felt my face break into a reluctant smile. "I feel...as though someone has given me an armful of rubies, and I hardly know what to make of it." With shaking hands, I passed the letter to Fitz to read aloud at the table.

"There--that is good news," cried Kitty at the conclusion of the reading. She was clapping her hands in delight. "Before you opened the letter, your face looked positively ghastly with anxiety. Now, you can take pleasure in it all you like."

"But what 'will'?" spoke Elizabeth. "Why was it never found before? Why was it just discovered now? And why does its discovery make it necessary that Viola's presence be in town? I know how ill this may sound, but is it not strange that the business transactions cannot be made without Viola being in London?"

"On first account, the matter does seem remarkably unusual," agreed Fitz, "But not at all uncommon with our uncle. Sir Lewis de Bourgh was infamous for constantly revising his wills, and one knows not where and when a more 'recent' one should be 'discovered'. The latest, or what we once thought was the latest, will was brought into effect only five years ago. We do not know how many more of these wills Sir Lewis was able to draw up."

"I have a proposition to make," I said, clearing my throat. "I do not know yet whether I wish to go to town at all--certainly not by myself. We were all happy with the arrangement of the last will, and I do not see why I should have to be the means of troubling others in order to accept some advantage which was not thought fit earlier. Do you think that perhaps I could decline what ever it is that is offered to me?"

Fitz shook his head. "I know you may not have mercenary claims, certainly, and I understand what you mean, but it would be best that you go to town and discover what this business is all about."

"For my part, I would like to go to London, brother, if you do not mind," said Georgiana shyly. "I could be good company to Viola, and we should be able to take care of each other."

"In that case," observed Elizabeth, "We might as well all go to London. We cannot allow either one or the two of you to go unchaperoned."

"No," said Fitz firmly. "Not in your condition, my dearest. I absolutely forbid you to risk your condition for that. We shall stay quite well at Pemberley. If Georgiana and Viola wishes to go into town, then I shall write to Colonel Fitzwilliam and ask that he come and accompany his cousins to London."

"Fitz," I protested, "I am hardly a child anymore. Hard as it may be to believe, you know that I am nearly three-and-twenty, and need not be treated like a fine china doll."

"Of your constitution, I certainly have nothing to fear, but since your return from Bath, I have always carried the impression that you have grown--" He stopped himself.

"To become what?" I prompted him.

"--Less...sharp and caustic. I think that Bath has refined you."

I shook my head. "I hardly know whether to treat that as a compliment to myself, or whether to simply be ignorant of your meaning. If your idea of refinement leads you to believe that I must not venture into the streets of London alone, then I hope that refinement likewise does not prevent me from being the same girl that I always was. I would be sorry indeed if you thought me grown quiet, coldly silent, as many 'refined' girls in society are so wont to be."

Fitz could not help smiling at my exaggeration. "No, that is not at all what I meant. However, that hardly answers for my concern of your safety and Georgiana's. I will send an express to Richard Fitzwilliam, and I will have him come for you both."

"What becomes of the fine de Bourgh carriage?" I asked. "Lady Catherine will be 'most seriously displeased' by this turn of events. Remember, she dislikes anyone who changes her plans without prior consultation with her ladyship."

"She can consult the memory of Sir Lewis if she likes," said Fitz, caring very little for our aunt's ideas, "But I will not personally allow you to go alone, even if you have each other's company. Particularly, when entangled with the cause for your departure to town, I would not trust yourselves to be unaccompanied."

"Will it detain Colonel Fitzwilliam from his duties, though?" asked Georgiana. "Does he not need to attend to his own business?"

"He can readily spare the time."

To London

"Georgiana, Viola, how are you both?" he asked lightheartedly. "Were the Delisles pleasant to you? I heard from my mother that Bath was a pleasant trip."

"'Pleasant' seems to be in your vocabulary today," I could not help replying.

"Everything is pleasant. Everything is good," said the colonel simply. By the sparkle in his eyes, I guessed that he had some happy news to communicate, but was not about to tell them just yet. I left that knowledge alone, content to wait until a more appropriate time should come for the hearing of it.

How displeased Lady Catherine might have been to the addition of two others in her carriage could not be estimated, but we took it upon ourselves to be satisfied with the turn of events. Saying good-bye to my brother and sister-in-law and to Kitty was more difficult than I deemed at first, for Kitty would not stop looking forlorn, as if I had just decided to abandon her. Of course, I had to assure her that this arrangement was only temporary, and I should be back at Pemberley before the summer was through. Deep inside though, something troubled me, and told me that I might not return as soon as I expected to.

"Even so, I can foresee that I shall see no more of you for a long time," answered Kitty. "I have to go back to Longbourn soon, and then I shall miss you. You have been my best friend since we became well acquainted."

For some reason, I felt honoured by her simple confession, and presented her with a painting of her portrait, which I had secretly done without her knowledge.

"That," I said, "Is for you to take home with you, and to hang on any wall you like, or to be buried in the top drawer of your cupboard, or in any other place which you fancy needs a portrait."

"It is like the sketch that you made of me," exclaimed Kitty.

I nodded. "It was as like as my abilities would allow. I am sure that had Mr. Guillory been consulted, it would have turned out much better."

"It is already a great improvement on the one that sits at home," she assured me. "I don't fancy people would admire a silhouette of me made when I was thirteen. This is much superior, Viola, and you must know it."

Bidding farewell to Mrs. Reynolds was easier. She looked fondly at me, and returned my embrace. "You will be back at Pemberley before you know it," she said encouragingly.

Elizabeth, likewise, was encouraging and warm. "I am sorry that you are off again," she said, smiling at me. "Just when you've settled down, you have to be off like this again. If you ever need anything, you must write to us, and even if you are not in need of anything, you must write to me."

"I will."

"Should you require anything, any assistance of any kind in town, you know that Mr. Gardiner lives on Gracechurch Street," Fitz reminded me.

"Fitz, I remember. Fear a little less! Georgiana and I won't take up the town house--we'll be staying with Uncle Albert and Aunt Margaret, and everything should work out fine from there," I said with a laugh.

"I promise you, Darcy," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, "That nothing disastrous will happen to them. You forget that Georgiana is also my ward, and Viola is her sister, so I would not allow anything to endanger them."

"You have not disappointed me so far," said Fitz, helping us into the carriage. We waved good bye to the bystanders, and the carriage pulled away from Pemberley. Immediately, I had the premonition that unlike what Colonel Fitzwilliam had so easily refuted, something was going to happen.

In London

It was this same feeling which I had inside me as we were ushered into Aunt Catherine's town house after we had seen Uncle Albert and left our bags and cases at his home.

We were announced and shown into the drawing room, which itself resembled the one at Rosings, only smaller in scale. Similarly, Lady Catherine de Bourgh was seated at a throne-like chair, with both hands clutched pompously at the arms of the chair; her head was held high, and she looked at us from beneath a gaze that told of her supreme class stature.

"Viola, Georgiana. It is good to see you both well and alive." She turned her gaze to Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Ah, the colonel has also come. To chaperone, I am guessing?"

We returned with our polite replies, and she waved a hand at the sofa, indicating that we were to sit down.

"The contents of the letter," she said, "I hope they did not alarm you?"

I hesitated. "No, they did not."

"That was not a hesitation, I hope," she said. "There are many young ladies who come into unexpected inheritances, and they were all better off for it."

"But you ladyship," I spoke, "I am not one of those young ladies."

Aunt Catherine cast me a sideways glance full of inquisitiveness. "I have asked that my lawyer be present here tomorrow morning, in order to attend to the business of Sir Lewis' will. The lawyer's name is Gilford, and he is a younger son of a viscount. I ask that you treat him with some politeness and sensitivity, for he is, in some respect, your superior."

We nodded awkwardly. I noted the name Gilford.

While eating a late supper, Aunt Margaret inquired after Aunt Catherine.

"I do not suppose she has much changed," she said. "Still as obstinate as ever."

"It is a trait of the Fitzwilliams," laughed Uncle Albert heartily. "But Catherine has got the worst of it."

"I am certainly relieved that my sons turned out all right in spite of it," said Aunt Margaret. "Else, I no not see how I would deal with them."

"Mother, I could never be obstinate towards you," said Colonel Fitzwilliam.

"That we shall see," I interjected. "One knows not when you will decide to be stubborn and unreasonable."

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at me with a glint to humour in his eyes, reminding me of the thing which he wished to tell me.

After supper, while I perused a novel and Georgiana embroidered, our cousin strode over to me and sat down.

"I have made an interesting discovery," he said quietly to me.

"What is that?" I asked distrustfully, not entirely liking the expression of intrigue on his face.

"I have found out Lady Catherine's lawyer. He is Aidan Gilford, of Glowervale, and he is the second son of a viscount. Mr. Gilford mentioned your name, which led Mother to remember that you had met before in Bath."

I shook my head. "My dear cousin," I answered sarcastically, "What notion is in your head? I realized soon enough from Lady Catherine's own words this afternoon the identity of her lawyer. You need hardly expect to surprise me with this communication."

"I'd expected a different reception from you, Viola."

"What expectation can one derive from the knowledge of one's aunt's lawyer? It is of no concern to me whether I have met him before or not." I groaned. "Oh, Colonel, please do not tell me--"

He smiled. "Yes, I have made myself acquainted with the man already. He speaks quite positively of you. I am sure it is not every young lady who can attract such a gentleman's attentions."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, will you please leave off this subject? I have no desire to hear it. You see that my novel quite occupies my attention." I held up my book and blocked his face from me.

"Ah, Viola," he said, pushing the book down, "Need I conjecture the reason for this reception? I only have what is good for you in mind. In another year, I shall perhaps concentrate more on Georgiana's well-being, but for now, while you are still relatively considered young--"

"That is indeed a compliment to a lady," I fumed, "To hear oneself described as 'relatively considered' to be young. Well, I have a word for you. Matchmaking in a lady can sometimes be disquieting, but matchmaking in a gentleman is absolutely insufferable."

Colonel Fitzwilliam sat down and took up a different book. "Then I shall have to take refuge in a novel, won't I?"

Making Aidan Gilford's acquaintance again, I became more aware of his good manners and friendly address. Outside of business matters, he was a delightful conversationalist, and had a joviality about him which was infectious and pleasing.

"I hope I do not appear ridiculous," he said once in reply to my making such a remark, "I would feel foolish indeed if I were to be the source of ridicule because of my character."

"Oh, there is nothing ill about my comment," I exclaimed. "I meant it only in the very best way. It is a difficult gift to master--to give pleasure wherever one goes, and whatever one says. It is certainly not a talent to be ashamed of."

"Now I am quite assured that you mean well, Miss Darcy," he said with a smile. "Though I never doubted you, and only meant to tease a bit."

While attending an evening party held by one of the Fitzwilliams' acquaintances, he brought along a brother younger than himself, a boy really, of only seventeen, and endeavoured to make something good out of his shy sibling. Clement Gilford was certainly quiet, but he was by no means abashed at observing. It was somewhat of an embarrassment to overhear him whisper to his brother, upon their entry, "That is the Miss Darcy of whom you mentioned?--"--and further, to feel, throughout much of the visit, his pair of young eyes watching me unabashedly as though I were an object worth looking at. Having now acquainted myself with Aidan's character and interests, I decided to try my fortune at conversing with his brother, in the hopes of curing Clement of his evident delight in watching.

"And what do you do while Mr. Gilford is at his office?" I asked him, when I caught him gazing again at me.

For a moment, he seemed almost stunned that I had spoken to him. He recovered quickly, and looked pleased that I was striking up a conversation. "I sometimes attend to him, with files and different papers. Mostly, I am like an apprentice."

"That is a good thing," I said, both in praise of his work, and in relief that he knew how to speak. "A profession is undoubtedly an exciting thing."

"Surely you would not want to work, Miss Darcy," he said with an incredulous tone. "You would not want to be working."

I smiled to myself. "I do not see why I would not. I think a profession can give one independence. Once would not always wish to be dependent on others."

Clement Gilford propped his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked carefully at me. "I must admit I have never heard any young lady speak such words."

"Now you have," I answered, sensing some danger. Leading a seventeen-year-old boy was certainly the last thing in the world that I wished to do. "Perhaps your brother Mr. Gilford will be kind enough as to enlighten us on the subject of professions."

Upon hearing his name mentioned, Aidan turned to us. "And what does Miss Darcy desire to hear?"

"I was only going to ask after what you felt of having a profession," I answered lightly. "Your brother seems to be surprised that I should think well of anyone who has a career."

"Clement is still young and untried yet," said Aidan with an amused smile. "Tell me, Miss Darcy, I never asked you, what did you think of Bath? My mother wished for me to ask after you, as she could not attend tonight's function--she had a most favourable impression of you."

I was pleased. "I feel honoured that she should feel so," I said. "Lady Gilford is too kind with her words."

"It is always interesting to see what sort of acquaintances one is able to meet just by going to a small attraction such as Bath. Already, I have met with many different people whom I first knew in being at Bath," said Aidan, taking a drink from a passing servant. "Only the other day, I met with the Grantleys. You do know the Grantleys? They seem to be residing in town."

"Are they really?" I asked. "I thought Miss Grantley, at least, was staying with an aunt in Hertfordshire."

"I have seen her several times in London," said Aidan. "And her brother, Mr. Grantley also. He is a most friendly man. He has had good experience in the navy, as I understand."

"Yes, but he left the navy."

"And he must have had good reasons to," said Aidan. "I do not believe Mr. Grantley would not take a drastic step without thinking through it thoroughly first. The man has property in the West Indies, I believe."

"I heard his sister mention it before," I agreed. "Miss Grantley actually did speak of you once in one of her letters to me. I think she said you worked for her aunt?"

"Yes, she is one of my clients."

I did not like the turn of this conversation. Perhaps Aidan Gilford was more well acquainted with the Grantleys than he let on? But as soon as this thought occurred in my head, I dismissed it as impossible. He may be acquainted with them, but if there was any further intimacy to that, he would never be the one to hide it.

"It is a fine evening is it not?" asked Aidan, setting down his glass on a table beside him. "It is such a sad thing that this is the end of the season in town, and not yet the beginning of the later season."

"Usually, in late autumn, there more people enter London to leave their summer houses behind," I agreed.

"I have heard that Pemberley is a very fine place, though I myself have yet to see it. Is it as grand as one says?"

I laughed. "I hope it lives up to one's expectations. Truly, I know of no other place which could replace Pemberley, but then, I am rather a biased subject in this respect, am I not?" I did not understand where the turn of this conversation would lead us.

Clement broke my thoughts when the musicians struck up a waltz. I heard some ladies gasp, while some couples boldly approached the center of the room to attempt the daring dance. Clement held bowed to me and asked whether I would be kind enough as to dance one dance with him.

I coloured. "I'm afraid I don't dance the waltz," I answered. I saw his expression drop a bit. "I hope you are not offended."

"No, Miss Darcy, why would I be?" said Clement, quickly recovering.

"Well, that saves me the trouble of asking," said Aidan Gilford in amusement, "For I dare say I was going to ask Miss Darcy for the same."

"I hope," said Aunt Margaret, taking my hand warmly on our ride home, "That you have not any designs towards either of the Gilfords." Although she spoke in a lively tone, the look in her eyes was a serious one.

I could not help laughing a little at the absurdity of her words. "My dear Aunt, I can assure you that I have not treated either of them with any marked preference. I have no such 'designs' as you call them, and do not ever intend to."

"Do be serious, Viola, I want an honest answer. Of Clement Gilford, I am quite convinced that you could entertain nothing, but what of his brother, the barrister? You recall, in Bath, all the Gilfords had been mindful of you, and Lady Gilford herself spoke quite generously of your character."

"My character?" I tried to hide a smile. "I beg your pardon, but the humour of that could not be lost on me--I must say that it would be quite impossible for Lady Gilford, under the circumstances of our acquaintance, to be truly familiar with my character. Disrespectful as this may sound, I have to admit that I am not familiar even with myself, and I have known 'me' since age zero."

I was relieved to see my aunt smile. "That is true," she said. "But you understand that Lady Gilford spoke in exaggeration. Regardless of what she may think of you, I would like to be assured that you will not set your sight on Mr. Aidan Gilford. He may be of the right class and breeding, but I do not believe he is at all what you need."

"And pray, why not?" I asked, deciding to tease Aunt Margaret a little.

"It is that you hardly know all his virtues and his vice. Many most imprudent matches have been made where very little of the other partner was known before they entered into matrimony. I should not like to have the pain of seeing you in such a match, where you cannot respect your partner."

"Aunt, I know what you are alluding to, but I have always supposed imprudent matches to have been made because one was willfully blind to the other's faults. I cannot suppose myself to be of the same; I have--I hope I have--too much sense for that."

"I am glad to hear of it," said Aunt Margaret, squeezing my hand. "I only wished to put you on your guard."

With a few more kindly words, we closed the subject entirely, and turned our attentions to other things--of Fitz and Elizabeth, Georgiana, and also Uncle Lewis' will, which was to be disclosed in two days. Whether it was truly in my favour, I did not anticipate to find out. It all meant very little to me anyway, for although I had liked and respected Sir Lewis de Bourgh, I had never supposed myself to be named directly in his will.

The Stipulation of the Will

"Plainer terms?" said Aunt Catherine dismissively. "No, I comprehend fully what has been drawn up, although I cannot say, on my part, why it should be. Why should it be? It seems to me that this will must have inaccuracies."

"I beg your pardon, your ladyship, but the terms of the will are stated as clearly as Sir Lewis himself wished them to be. And judging from the date of which it was drawn, it can only be realized that this is the final will and testament of your late husband."

"And there is nothing in there which takes away from my nephew Darcy?" she continued.

"No."

"And it truly made mention of my niece Viola?"

"Yes."

I myself was as incredulous to hear the terms as everyone else. I could not have been more surprised than anyone on that respect--that Uncle Lewis had decided to give me ten thousand pounds, from I knew not where he spared this, and to add on a further stipulation to it was far beyond my comprehension. It seemed that my cousin Anne's fortune had likewise been augmented, but in there being an augmentation to someone's fortunes, someone else's likely diminished--and this was found in what Aunt Catherine received. Five thousand was to be taken from her, and placed in favour of her daughter.

"However," said Aunt Catherine, "From the terms of this will, it does state that in order for Viola to inherit this ten thousand pounds, she must first agree to marriage to an honourable, suitable man of my blessing? Otherwise, she does not receive anything?"

Aidan nodded. "Yes, that is indeed the case."

"That would make you a woman worth forty thousand pounds," Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed softly. "There is danger there indeed."

"I cannot help but suppose that you would not wish for this will to be ratified?" asked Aidan. "If your ladyship wishes to declare this will void, for, with the complacence and agreement of all parties affected, it would not be as unfair as you think it, to not ratify the will. The only major change would be to the fortunes of Miss de Bourgh and Miss Darcy."

"By all means," said Aunt Catherine adamantly, "If it is Sir Lewis' will, then it must be done. Yes, we must make this effective immediately."

[Excerpt of letter from Miss Kitty Bennet, Pemberley, Derbyshire, to Miss Viola Darcy, ________ Street, London]

Dear Viola,

All I can say is I congratulate you--although I don't know whether those are the right words to use under the circumstances. How is it that you manage to have such fortunate circumstances? Naturally, I do envy you for your situation--what girl could not--but I have no desire to trade your present position with mine for the time being. I have only to explain that Mr. Clarence has come by to see Mr. Darcy yesterday, and Elizabeth has invited him to dine with us tomorrow. It is not uncommon either, for me, in my morning rambles, to come across him paying a visit to one of his parishioners, and as a consequence, have found myself becoming more acquainted with him. I have hardly the heart to write of this to anyone else, and as of now, I have told this only to Elizabeth and yourself. I trust that the two of you would know what to do in such a circumstance as this. Perhaps I am too much of a romantic to suppose that there is anything to be derived from these visits and chance meetings, and a dose of your good reasoning is just what I need...

...I have given Lady Fitzwilliam my consent to have you prolong your stay in town. It seems that she is more anxious to have you with her than you are needed at this time at Pemberley. Certainly, Elizabeth is progressing well in health, and there is little for you to worry over in Derbyshire. I write only to assure you that you must enjoy yourself in London, and make the best of this visit. As to the terms of the will, of which you dedicated much of your letter to, I can give you no advice, but that you must choose your own fate for yourself. You have so often said to me that you wish to have your own way, as you have been of age for some time, and I defer not from your wishes. However, let me remind you that you ought to choose wisely, and should there be cause for it, perhaps it is most prudent to forget the will all together. In this, I have no doubt, I am not alone in believing...

Autumn in London

"Miss Georgiana and Miss Darcy," exclaimed Mr. Gardiner, extending a hand towards us. "It is a pleasure to see you both. What brings you to London? My niece did not inform me that she was in town."

"She is not," I told him, "Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam are staying the winter at Pemberley. However, Georgiana and I are staying at my aunt's home on _____ Street, and we decided, that since we were here, that we would call on you." I looked around at several customers in the shop who were looking at some of the items on display. "I hope we are not intruding," I apologized.

"No, no, not at all," answered Mr. Gardiner, with true hospitality. His round face was already lit with a cheerful smile. "Unfortunately, you will not find Mrs. Gardiner here today. She is staying at home, and I have only my daughter Molly with me." He excused himself to call for his daughter, a girl of about twelve or thirteen, who soon came to join us at the front of the shop, with a shy smile on her rosy face.

After exchanging the usual greetings and remarks, Mr. Gardiner excused himself to his work, and Georgiana offered to take Molly with us for a walk through town. Molly looked delighted by the suggestion, and after grabbing her bonnet, came along with us.

"And do you help your father often at the shop?" asked Georgiana.

"Yes. Father says I am a great help. My brother James would have come today too, only he has a cold, and Mother wished to stay indoors with him."

"That is unfortunate," said Georgiana sympathetically. "A cold is a most inconvenient thing to have. Please give him my wishes for his quick recovery."

Molly nodded. "I will."

I had remained silent most of the time, rather enchanted by Georgiana and Molly's quick bond with one another, but I was persuaded to speak when at once, when Molly stopped to ask us who was the gentleman across the street, now trying to catch our attention. I looked also, and saw to my surprise--no other than--

"Mr. Grantley," said Georgiana with some surprise. "That is he, is it not, Viola?"

I nodded, and the gentleman crossed the street quickly towards us. "I suppose," I whispered hurriedly to Georgiana, "We mustn't cut him."

"Good day, ladies," he said, tipping his hat at us. "It is a surprise to see you. You are each in good health, I trust?"

"We are all very well, thank you," I said composedly. "And how is Miss Grantley? Is she in town?"

Of course, from my communication with Aidan Gilford, I knew very well that Miss Grantley was in town, but I was at a loss as to what I ought to say.

"Yes, she is," said Mr. Grantley. "In fact, she was just inside the shop across the street there with some of her friends. Where are you all walking to? I shall make myself useful and accompany you."

"Thank you, but that would put you out of your way," I answered. I introduced Mr. Grantley to little Molly Gardiner, who carried herself reasonably well for her young age.

"Is she a cousin?" asked Mr. Grantley.

"By marriage, yes," I could not help saying. "She is Mrs. Darcy's cousin." For a moment, there had been a stricken look on his face, though he recovered himself quickly and quite nicely by extending his arm to me. I stood myself a little further from him and pretended not to notice this gentlemanly gesture, and instead, we kept on walking.

"How is your aunt and uncle?" asked Mr. Grantley at last. "I hope that Lord Albert has not suffered anymore from his illness?"

"No, he has been in full recovery since he tasted the benefits of Bath."

"Bath proves itself to be quite miraculous. So many people have received its advantages most favourably."

"Who would not, given the chance?" I asked calmly. "However, I do believe that Bath has not proved itself all that beneficial in some respects, for I knew nothing but rather too much light-headed diversion all the days--and we cannot all live our lives in complete entertainment for a long period."

"I am sure that you, Miss Darcy, would engage your time in a more useful manner," said Mr. Grantley. He turned to Georgiana. "Miss Georgiana Darcy, I have heard your friends and your sister say that your talents in music are considerable. I hope that some time, my sister may take lessons from you."

Georgiana blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, I do not know whether I ought to deserve such praise."

"Certainly, you and your sister have too much modesty. You would not allow for any veneration of your abilities," said Mr. Grantley with a ready smile.

"I sometimes supposed that you meant to censure, not praise," I could not help saying.

Mr. Grantley gave up trying to please me and instead focussed on being generally acceptable, and soon, he even gave up his walk with us, much to my satisfaction and relief. Georgiana, who understood the exasperation I felt in being near him, expressed her sympathy with a touching look directed at me, and I pulled myself together enough as to render myself agreeable for the rest of the time we spent with our charge, Molly.

Soon after returning home, I felt a headache coming on. It came at a rather fortunate time for Aunt Catherine had wanted everyone collected at her house for dinner.

"Viola simply cannot go in this state," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, understanding that I did not wish to battle with Aunt Catherine at this time. "Why do we not let her stay here this afternoon? It should not be of any ill consequence if we make her excuses for her to Lady Catherine."

"Thank you," I whispered to my cousin, glad that he was not so thick-headed as he often led on, and the Fitzwilliams agreed to leave me alone. Thus, the house was all quiet when they left, and I allowed myself some time to rest and nurse my aching head.

It was not soon after five that Nancy knocked on my door and announced that I had a visitor.

"Did the visitor leave her name?" I asked, smoothing out my dress.

"It is a gentleman, miss, and he asked me to give you this card." She handed the little white card to me, and I took it, noting that it was from Aidan Gilford.

"Did he say what his business was?"

Nancy shook her head. "He only said that it concerned Miss Darcy."

"Thank you. I shall be down presently. Will you please show him to the sitting room?"

Nancy nodded and left.

What could Aidan have come for? I wondered to myself. It seemed like strange business indeed that he should come and call on me--when there were no transactions owing between us, which required such secrecy. Nonetheless, I hurriedly fixed my hair and washed my face so as to make myself look more respectable. My head still felt a little dull and heavy, but, I supposed, I would be able to go through a visit from an acceptable acquaintance.

As soon as I entered the sitting room, though, I was entirely unprepared for the surprise. It was not Aidan Gilford standing there by the window, but his younger brother! The sound of the door opening had caught his attention, and he turned his face towards me, with a brilliance in his eyeglass-framed eyes, and a flush in his cheeks.

"You surprised me," I said with a startled laugh, "I did not expect my visitor to be you. Is anything the matter? Should I go to see your brother immediately?"

Clement approached me slowly. "I've come on a matter that does not at all concern my brother. At least, not yet."

"Would you like some tea?" I asked hurriedly. "I shall ring for Nancy."

"Please, Miss Darcy," said Clement, holding up his hand, "I wish to speak to you, uninterrupted, if you will allow me."

Inwardly, I felt a weight drop inside me--I had no desire to be sitting here, listening to whatever protestation a seventeen year old boy had to make to me--The situation seemed too fixed to have been made by chance. "You will please take a seat first, Mr. Gilford," I said, avoiding the pronouncement of his Christian name. Under the circumstances, it would have hardly been appropriate.

Clement took the chair offered to him and eagerly sat down. "I met with your family on my way to Aidan's office, and they told me that you were here, so I thought I would just drop by and say hello in passing."

"That was very kind of you. I had a headache, and wished to be alone," I said, unwilling to encourage him.

"Please, Miss Darcy," he began again, "I only wish to say--" Just as eagerly, he darted up again, and now took me so wholly in surprise with the sudden taking of my hand.

"Please allow me to say how much I admire you, Miss Darcy. From the moment I met you, you have been the object of my inspiration, my muse, if you like, and I cannot see how I shall endure the ache any longer until I have heard you tell me that my affections are not held in vain--"

I extricated myself from him in horror. "I pray that you would not continue," I declared, drawing myself up. "You will soon feel more sorry than triumphant in beginning thus. Why, we are so little acquainted! You hardly know me well enough as to--derange yourself into such a conclusion."

He got up on his feet hurriedly. "If I appear deranged, it is only because your loveliness drives me to distraction. Miss Darcy--nay, Viola--you must let me call you thus--"

"Not another word on this subject," I retorted. "And you must continue to address me as Miss Darcy, never by my Christian name. If you will please sit down again, Mr. Gilford, I will oblige you by attending to more wholesome, rational conversation; but if you continue in this thread of nonsensical fancies, then you leave me no choice but to leave the room instantly."

Clement sat down, but looked agitated. "Can I not make you feel one jot of affection for me?" he could not stop himself from asking. "Truly, you must feel something for me, or you would not have paid me all the kindness that you have."

"Kindness, and that was all," I said firmly. "Kindness as required by civility. I conducted myself with propriety in my sisterly attentions towards you, and believe me, I have thought of nothing, done nothing, but what was sisterly and civil."

"Miss Darcy," pleaded Clement, "Will you please consent to be my wife as soon as I come of age?"

I looked at him frankly and shook my head. "No, I cannot and will not." I stood up and made the gesture to walk towards the door and open it when he threw himself in front of it.

"Mr. Gilford," I said indignantly. "Your visit has been most unwelcome and unexpected. It is only right that you take your leave now."

"I shall not go until you answer me as to why you refuse my offer," he said, in anger and embarrassment.

"Mr. Gilford, I am not the right woman for you," I said, not wishing injure his young feelings. "I am not at all who you think I am. You have misled yourself, clouded your reasoning, and fashioned your image of me into something idealistic and wholly unreal. I am sorry indeed, if you thought I had meant to attract you, but all I have ever done was only address you as politeness dictated, and given my acquaintance with some members of your family, it was necessary and required."

He bit his lower lip. "I understand now," he said slowly. "You refuse me because you think I am too young."

I would not have suggested this, but as he had made the first step to imply it, I reluctantly nodded.

"Oh God!" he exclaimed, hitting his forehead with a fist. "Why must age matter in anything? Would my feelings for you be any stronger if I were older, if I were your equal in age?"

I begged that he would sit down and be calm again. "I know that you may think this very unfair," I said, after taking a deep breath. "And I know, feelings cannot be weighed equally with age, and neither can experience. But the truth is, that in the matters of the heart, time is a necessary factor to consider."

I watched him pace about the room, and sighed.

"In a few more years," I said, "You shall meet with one who far exceeds the merits which you deceive yourself into seeing in me, and then you shall congratulate yourself on being a free man. But now, you have not yet been tried by time--Do consider, there is so much before you which you have yet to learn, to feel. I cannot let you commit yourself to something which you have tricked yourself into believing. You will see very quickly, that you never really loved me."

"No, what you say is all folly," replied the boy bitterly. "You cannot respect me at all because I am not as old or established as Aidan."

Clement Gilford shook his head and threw open the door, dashing himself out at once without so much as a bow or goodbye. I sighed as I stood by the window, watching him hurry down the street, a poor, deeply injured boy.

When the Fitzwilliams and Georgiana returned from Aunt Catherine's, I spoke nothing of the matter, and none of the servants let on that I had received any visitors. However, at night, I confided in Georgiana, who much to my relieve, found the entire episode to be ridiculous and humourous.

"You would laugh," I said, half reproachfully, "Wait until someone tries to speak of violent love to you, and you shall see how unpleasant it is."

"I am sorry that it should have happened," said Georgiana in recovery. "I suppose, if I had stayed behind with you, you would have been spared the embarrassment of seeing him. But he certainly had no right to use his brother's card in order to lure you out of your room."

"I shall forgive him for his age and inexperience," I answered. "But I fear that he shall be bitter, as anyone of your age would be bitter of disappointment. At least, I shall have no more worries of any designs he may have formed in his mind."

Aunt Margaret asked that I would help her pick up a package of special ribbons and laces which she had ordered the other day at the milliner's. Colonel Fitzwilliam offered at once to go with me, as he had the intention of taking some exercise himself. Thus walking along the street, my cousin came to ask me whether I had yet received any callers.

"Perhaps you ought to be more specific," I said calmly.

"It is only generally known throughout our parts that you have inherited a large sum of money to go along with the large portion you already have," he answered. "And you are not so plain as to render yourself inadmirable."

"I thank you for thinking so high of my appearance, but I will not have you pamper my vanity," I retorted sarcastically. I grew serious. "I know not how many people know of the news yet, but I will say that since receiving this knowledge of Sir Lewis' will, I have met the Grantleys more then once in the streets." It was true. Since coming across him during my walk with Molly Gardiner and my sister, I had seen him three times, Mr. Grantley had paid excessively good manners to me, leading me to believe that he had not yet given up in his pursuit in "making a hole in my heart".

"Henry Grantley still pays his attentions to you?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I am not at all surprised. He sees your worth, for even a man with some money cannot always afford to marry where they like."

"Then you believe he is mercenary?" I asked in surprise. "Why did you endeavour to take pains in making us acquainted with one another? Only evil would have come of it."

"I had to see whether he was mercenary," replied my cousin, "And I still cannot decide. He certainly has a great vanity in himself."

"Which, I think, is the most likely cause for his wish to make me like me." I paused. "His vanity wishes to be pampered--he cannot bear to have any woman think ill of him."

"And yet you persist in hating him."

"You would too, wouldn't you?" I asked pointedly.

We had at last arrived at the milliner's, and as I paid for my aunt's orders, the clerk kept looking at me in a puzzling way.

"Good day, Sir," said Colonel Fitzwilliam to the clerk. "Is there something which you wish to add?"

The clerk coloured and stammered. "I beg your pardon, Sir. I only wondered whether this lady was Miss Darcy."

"Yes I am," I said. "As I mentioned, I am here to pick up a purchase which my aunt made, and I am her niece, Miss Darcy."

"Pardon me," said the clerk with a bumbling smile on his face, "You may not remember me, but I believe I made your acquaintance in Hertfordshire. I was invited to the ball at Netherfield?"

I looked foolishly at him, for I truly could not remember him well enough to recall his name. He seemed to read my thoughts,

"My name is Chamberlayne."

"Oh!" I exclaimed, remembering with a laugh, "You were with the _______ militia, under Colonel Forster's company."

He blushed. "I'm afraid everyone only remembers me as the officer that Lydia Bennet and Pen Haggerston tried to dress up in her aunt's clothes."

"No, I assure you, I was not quite thinking of that," I said. "It is indeed good to see you. What brings you here though? Are you no longer in the militia?"

His face grew grave. "My father passed away, and I was obliged to leave, in order to look after my mother and siblings. I have taken up occupation here, to be nearer to them."

"I am very sorry about that," I answered solemnly.

Chamberlayne's expression cheered up. "Well, I wonder if you have seen anything of Lydia Bennet and Pen Haggerston at all since I left?"

"Miss Lydia Bennet married Mr. Wickham," I said tentatively, surprised that he had not heard of the news.

"Is that really so? I knew not of it. I see that Lydia has gotten her wish. She did try so hard to make one of us consent to be her husband."

"It was all a joke, I am sure," I said carefully, though I understood exactly what Chamberlayne meant.

"It was worse than a joke at times," said Chamberlayne, shaking his head. "But very few of us knew how to resist her games. That must be why I allowed her to dress me up in a woman's gown."

"I suppose," I said hesitantly, "All your fellow officers did not think worse of you. They must have known her ways."

Chamberlayne shook his head again. "No--Wickham and Denny caught me in the dress. Wickham, of course, thought it was hilarious, but Denny was much more stern. He didn't think I ought to have indulged the ladies in their fun."

I could not prevent myself from tumbling out further remarks. "I am sure that Mr. Denny must have been well acquainted with Mrs. Wickham before she was married, though."

"Well acquainted?" repeated Chamberlayne. "It would depend on what you mean by that. I can assure you at least that neither Denny nor Lydia cared three straws for each other. It was only from one of Lydia's tricks that she was able to snip off a lock of Denny's hair, or he would never have allowed for it."

I stopped in my tracks.

"He wouldn't, would he," said Colonel Fitzwilliam with a knowing nod.

"I knew even then that Denny was different from all of us--" continued Chamberlayne, "He was...well, very upright. To be sure, he had a great sense of humour, but there were times when no one could not quite understand his need for seriousness."

"And do you know what became of Denny, with all his need for seriousness?" asked Colonel Fitzwilliam rather humourously.

"No, Sir, I'm afraid I don't."

Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned across the counter and looked steadily at Chamberlayne. "He has long been promoted as Captain in my regiment." He extended his hand to the poor, embarrassed clerk. "I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and a friend of Colonel Forster. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance, Chamberlayne."

"Thank you, Sir," said Chamberlayne, as though not quite certain what to make of it.

I gathered my aunt's package in my arms and allowed my cousin to open the door for me. Even had my arms not been full, I would not have been capable of making so simple a gesture as opening the door, for inside me, I was only aware of a pleasant flutter of the heart, as though there was a lightness there, which had never existed before. As we left the store, my cousin tipped his hat at the shop clerk and called back, "You're a good man, Chamberlayne."

I could have echoed his words many times over!

Continued in Next Section

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