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Chapter 13

Fitzwilliam Darcy strode powerfully through the heavy, oak doors of his Club and pealed off his great, black cloak, shaking off the raindrops as he did so. He took off his hat, pulled the leather gloves from his hand, and ran his chilled fingers through his damp and mussed hair. Passing over his wet belongings to the butler who had suddenly and mysteriously appeared by his side, Darcy sighed audibly. He hated it when it rained, which it unfortunately did with great frequency in London. A footman promptly approached to walk ahead of him and clear a path for him, leading Darcy towards his usual table in the dimly lit, far corner, out of sight from nosy intruders.

As Darcy drew near his table, he frowned to see his brother-in-law sitting there, whistling with idleness as he looked around the room, obviously waiting for him. His brother-in-law was also his first cousin from his mother's side. They had grown up together as friends as well as cousins and now they were brothers too for Colonel Fitzwilliam had relinquished his right to shared guardianship of Georgiana some odd number of years ago when he took her as his wife. Whatever misgivings Darcy might have had at the thought of anyone courting his little sister, he was now truly happy for their shared felicity. He thought the Colonel to be a perfect fit for his younger sister. His natural exuberance and perpetual state of good humor drew Georgiana out from her habitual shyness just as her gentle character tempered his constant eagerness.

"Darcy!" Colonel Fitzwilliam cheerfully called out as soon as he caught sight of his cousin walking towards him. He stood up and held out his right hand. "I've been sitting here, waiting for you for quite some time in the hopes of meeting you. I was beginning to think you'd never come though. I'm glad you did not disappoint me for I know you never stray from your schedule."

Still frowning, Darcy shook his brother-in-law's offered hand and then seated himself in the chair the waiter held out for him, opposite from the Colonel. "Fitzwilliam! What a surprise... to say the least. You are probably the last person I ever expected to see here on this cold, winter evening. Why didn't you tell me earlier that you and Georgiana were planning on coming to Town, I would've had you over to the townhouse for dinner or something." As an after thought, he asked, "How is my dear sister?"

"Well... I think."

"You think?" Fitzwilliam's vague answer caused Darcy to narrow his eyes, as he asked, "Why are you sitting here at the Club tonight and not at home with Georgiana instead?" It was generally known amongst the ton that husband and wife rarely traveled anywhere without one another and that the Colonel had spent less time at the Club ever since his marriage to the former Miss Darcy.

Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair and brought the tips of his index fingers together. It was time to enjoy the show. "Very simple," he answered easily. "Georgiana has not come to Town with me. I have come alone."

"What?" Darcy exploded, his mind instantaneously turning to the worse. "Why? Have you two quarreled? Did you leave her?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam should have been appalled that his cousin and brother-in-law could think so cruelly of him, but he was more amused at how quickly and effortlessly Darcy could be riled. Besides, he was accustomed to Darcy's over-protective nature where his younger sister was concerned and actually expected it. Toying with his brother-in-law's emotions, Colonel Fitzwilliam purposely did not explain himself fully, leaving even more room for Darcy's imagination to take a creative turn.

"Actually no, I did not leave your sister."

"Oh, good," Darcy exhaled with relief.

"It was she who left me." Colonel Fitzwilliam tried to hide the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"What?" Darcy felt as though he had been dealt a blow to the stomach. He thought that maybe his ears were playing a trick on him, but his worst fears were confirmed when the Colonel spoke again.

"Georgiana has returned to Pemberley and taken Dickon with her. And I have come to London instead." There, I cannot be accused of lying for I have said nothing but the truth... even if I have managed to leave out some details.

"Are you stark raving mad?" Darcy shrieked; his voice reaching heights even he did not know was possible. "You tell me that my sister has left you and the least you can do is come to London? You should be at Pemberley as well, begging her return! Get up and go - go after her!" Colonel Fitzwilliam thought the way his cousin was shooing him away with a wave of his hand particularly amusing to watch.

"If only she would come home with me! But she claims that she is needed at Pemberley and refuses to return. Your sister is beyond reason, Darcy. I have tried," Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged, "but tis a hopeless business."

Darcy was truly flabbergasted. He had come to the Club seeking reprieve from the trials of a busy day, hoping to spend a quiet evening reading over his papers and eating a nice meal, and maybe even running into a friend or two, but now his whole evening had been ruined. His baby sister's matrimony was falling apart, Georgiana had gone back to Pemberley and her idiot husband sat comfortably in London, not looking the least bit bothered by his separation from his wife, and not doing anything... and there was not a thing Darcy could do to help her. He could not believe that his cousin could be so blasé about everything.

"This is positively ludicrous!" Darcy bellowed. "I can't believe I'm hearing this. What on earth did you do to my poor, little sister?!" Darcy demanded. His voice practically reverberated throughout the room and Fitzwilliam winced as several heads turned their way. Though his initial reaction had been helplessness for being unable to salvage Georgiana's marriage for her, Darcy's protective nature surged and cousin or not, he was now fully enraged.

"Shhh... not so loud, Darce." Colonel Fitzwilliam motioned for Darcy to lower his voice as he noticed the stares of neighboring patrons. "Do you want to send the tongues wagging tomorrow morning?"

"I don't care if they do," Darcy quipped, surprising the Colonel with his defiance. For a man who was usually so protective of his private affairs, Darcy was certainly not doing anything to keep his family affairs hushed this time around. "Let London talk!" he continued. "Nothing ever stops them anyway. And you deserve to be publicly disgraced for whatever it is you have done to Georgiana. I swear, Fitzwilliam, mark my words, if you have done anything to hurt my baby sister, I will tear you to pieces. I don't care if you're my cousin, I don't care if you're supposed to be one of my best friends, I don't care that you're my sister's husband, and I certainly do not care if your father will have my head for touching your hide, for I will have yours first."

The menace and the blood thirst in Darcy's voice as well as the protruding veins throbbing deep within his temples proved to be too much for even Colonel Fitzwilliam to bear. Not wishing to cause his brother-in-law to have a heart attack or worse, he quickly moved to mollify Darcy's flaring temper. "Relax, Darce!" He reached out and patted Darcy's hands. "Why jump to conclusions, eh? Nothing's the matter between your sister and me. Everything is perfectly fine."

It took a full minute for the import of Colonel Fitzwilliam's words to register in Darcy's mind. When it did, the impact was felt immediately.

"Everything is fine?"

"Perfectly fine," Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated with a silly grin gracing his face.

"Why you little..." Darcy thundered.

Colonel Fitzwilliam took off on a fit of laughter, doubling over as he howled with glee. "Easy old man, you've never been one for swearing and you certainly don't want to start at your age." He slapped his thighs hard as he struggled to catch his breath. Darcy watched his cousin's face turn bright red with minor satisfaction.

The same neighbors who had been caught staring only minutes earlier now looked curiously at the pair. More whispers flew around the room. Darcy threw his napkin at Colonel Fitzwilliam's face, which Colonel Fitzwilliam caught deftly. Whether or not Darcy ever considered throwing his steak knife at his cousin is unknown. Darcy leaned over the table and held his forehead in his palms. He took several deep breaths and felt the blood rush down from his head.

"Ahhh... there you go, looking a little less red now," Colonel Fitzwilliam mocked.

"You should look in the mirror," Darcy smirked.

Colonel Fitzwilliam ignored the comment as he handed Darcy his handkerchief and said, "Here, you may borrow mine."

"Whatever for?"

"To wipe the foolishness from your face," Colonel Fitzwilliam snickered.

"That was a cruel trick to play on me, Fitz. And completely uncalled for!" was Darcy's good-natured reply. Darcy knew he had been played for a fool and accepted the ribbings like a man.

"Of course it was warranted. Because of you, my wife has left me. This was payback time."

Darcy shook his head. "You always have an excuse, reason, or explanation handy, Fitzwilliam. How do you do it?"

"I learn from the master," Colonel Fitzwilliam tipped his hand towards Darcy, who promptly rolled his eyes.

"Why has my sister returned to Pemberley, if that is in fact where she has gone?"

"As it turns out, that is precisely where my wife has gone. Though I might have misled you, I didn't say a word that wasn't true."

"My, isn't that impressive?" Darcy dryly noted.

"It is, isn't it?" Colonel Fitzwilliam was immensely proud of himself for playing the best trick yet on his brother-in-law. Darcy rolled his eyes a second time.

"Georgiana has taken Dickon to Pemberley at the behest of Mrs. Reynolds, who wrote us a letter about a fortnight ago asking Dickon to visit. Apparently your little guest, Miss Mary Bingley, was lacking for company. A stranger to England, with no relations near, Mrs. Reynolds took pity on the poor girl and sought company for her in my family."

"But that is what Colin is for. They were to be playmates," Darcy protested.

"Colin has not claimed the best of health this winter, Darcy. Surely the old gal must've written to you about it," Colonel Fitzwilliam said, referring to Darcy's trusty old housekeeper. "Besides, you cannot always expect children to hit it off with just anybody. It may be that Colin and Mary are just not to be. You can't force friendship. And it doesn't hurt for Mary to know more than one person in England either."

Darcy's silent response gave Colonel Fitzwilliam leave to continue. "Georgiana was only too happy to pack up her things and take Dickon with her. Dickon was no less eager to meet Mary and see what she was like. I'm sure they are having the time of their lives at Pemberley right now."

"I'm so sorry, Fitzwilliam," Darcy soberly replied. "I had not intended on inconveniencing you or your family."

"Don't be ridiculous, Darcy. It's no inconvenience at all! As I said, Georgiana and Dickon were more than willing to go."

"Still. I am sorry for your troubles."

"Darce," Colonel Fitzwilliam began. He was not sure how he should continue. Although he was hesitant to offer any advice where Colin was concerned, he felt duty bound to mention something about Mary. His wife had given him strict orders before she left for Pemberley and he was there to carry them out. "How long are you going to hide here, in London?"

"Hide? Whatever are you talking about Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes, hide, you know."

"I'm afraid I don't have the pleasure of understanding you."

"Then let it put me to you plainly. There is a little girl by the name of Miss Mary Bingley who was sent to live at Pemberley by her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley who are currently residing in India. She has been living there for several weeks now and still she has not yet met her host. That's not a very hospitable way to treat a guest now is it, Darcy?"

"Well, since you put it that way, I suppose not," answered Darcy, shifting uneasily in his seat.

"That's not like you, Darcy." Colonel Fitzwilliam leaned in close. "What is it about the little girl that frightens you so much? Her size? Or her aunt?"

The Colonel's voice had floundered before he could put the last question into words. It had been a long time since either of them had come near broaching the subject though Colonel Fitzwilliam suspected she was never far from his cousin's thoughts.

Darcy looked up abruptly, shocked and paralyzed. Words were unnecessary; his reaction was answer enough. Colonel Fitzwilliam's suspicious were proven correct.

"I thought as much," nodded Colonel Fitzwilliam grimly. He pushed on, choosing to face the situation head on rather than pretending he did not know what his brother-in-law was thinking. "You can't stay away from her forever, I'm afraid. It's not fair to poor Mary, Darce. She doesn't know of your past. From her perspective, all she knows is that her host doesn't want to meet her. But she doesn't know why. You are going to have to see her at some point, my friend, and you might as well do it sooner rather than later."

"I'm not ready," Darcy groaned.

"It's been over ten years, Darcy. Won't you ever be able to let go?"

"No," Darcy clenched the tendrils of his hair and shook his head hard. "But I've tried, Fitzwilliam. I really have. It's no use though. She haunts my memories by day and my dreams by night. She's everywhere and there's no hiding from her. Look at me, Fitzwilliam. I'm a man falling apart! I'm going crazy. I can't sleep, I can't eat, and just knowing that a flesh of hers is living in my own house is driving me insane."

Darcy held out his hands for his brother-in-law to gaze upon. If Colonel Fitzwilliam had not known Darcy as well as he did, he would have thought his brother-in-law being overly dramatic. Large and muscularly built, Darcy's hands quivered with trepidation.

"There's no way I can go back to Pemberley. I don't know what I was thinking when I invited her there."

Colonel Fitzwilliam took Darcy's hands and steadied them in between the palms of his own hands and looked deep within his cousin's haggard eyes. "Then think of her, not as Elizabeth Bennet's niece, but as Bingley's daughter."

"Bingley's daughter," Darcy repeated haltingly.

"Yes, that's right," Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded slowly. "Mary Bingley is your best friend's daughter."

"Mary Bingley is my best friend's daughter," Darcy repeated as though he were in a trance. "You're right, I should go see her and face my responsibilities. I owe it to Bingley."

"Yes, you do."

"I should go to see her then?" Darcy looked questioningly at his cousin.

Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded his head enthusiastically. "Absolutely. From what I hear, she's an absolute dear. You will love her and I promise you, she won't bite," he answered, his hazel eyes twinkling.

"I will go see her then," Darcy answered resignedly.

"Capital!" Colonel Fitzwilliam happily clapped. He hopped up from his seat immediately and walked over to Darcy's side to help him out of his seat and push him towards the door. "I knew you'd come around, Darce! You'll go home and pack your things and I'll call for you in the morning. Tomorrow we are homeward bound."

"Right, yes, of course," Darcy's uncertainty was gradually giving way as his courage rose with every sound of his voice. He took his hat and glove from Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand and donned them both. His black cloak followed next. Bundled tightly for the winter cold, Darcy turned to face his brother-in-law one last time that evening. "Fine, I shall see you tomorrow then."

Colonel Fitzwilliam clapped Darcy's shoulders and smiled broadly. "Sleep well, my friend. We have a long day's journey ahead of us tomorrow."

The sun was glistening the next morning when Dickon woke up. Climbing out of bed, he dressed hurriedly and ran down the hallway, stopping at Mary's door and rapping on it loudly. After a few minutes, it finally opened. Mary stood there in her long white nightgown and hair still covered by her nightcap. She rubbed her eyes. "Goodness Dickon, what are you doing here so early in the morning? Do you want to wake the entire house with all your ruckus?"

"The sun, the sun, the sun Mary! The sun is shining," Dickon said excitedly.

Mary ran quickly to the window and leaned up against the windowpane. "It is!" she happily replied.

"Come on, there's no time to be wasted. Today is the day, I know it."

Shutting the door, Mary quickly dressed and was ready in a matter of minutes. As she reappeared in the hallway, Dickon asked, "Did you remember?"

Mary held out her hand and unfolded the fist. There, tucked safely within lay the key to the Secret Garden. Nodding his head, Dickon took her by the hand and whisked her down the stairway. As they ran through the foyer, they startled Martha who had just walked by with a tray.

"Whoah! Oh dear," Martha struggled to regain her balance and not drop her entire tray.

"Sorry!" Dickon yelled. Neither children bothered to stop and apologize properly or help the poor maid. They were bent on getting outside before something or someone could stop them.

"Where are you going, children? You're breakfasts! You haven't had your breakfasts yet, come back!" Martha shouted, following them to the door.

"We're not hungry," Mary called back.

"We'll eat when we come back," Dickon answered. "Tell Mother and Mrs. Reynolds not to worry."

"We'll be back in a little while," Mary finished for him.

Martha sighed heavily as she watched their backs grow smaller and smaller until they were nothing more than a tiny speck in the distance.

Georgiana came down the marble staircase and saw Martha standing in the doorway. "Was that the children?"

Closing the door, Martha then turned around and said, "Aye, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, the children it was."

Georgiana shook her head. "I suppose there's no use in trying to call them back for their breakfast."

"Do you want me to try, ma'am?"

"No, oh no. Thank you, though Martha. You may let them go. They have been anxious to get outside for days now. We might as well let them be. Just be sure to have some breakfast kept warm for them for when they return. They'll be hungry for sure by that time."

"Yes, ma'am," Martha curtseyed.

"At last!" Mary shouted, once they were out of earshot from the house. "I thought we'd never make it out of that house." She breathed in the fresh air deeply and looked happily up at the spotless sky. "Isn't it magnificent, Dickon?"

"Positively glorious," Dickon agreed. "Now come on and stop dawdling. There isn't a moment to be wasted!"

"Race you to the garden!" Mary hollered as she sped past Dickon, one hand atop of her head to steady her bonnet.

"Don't forget, you need me to show you where the door is hidden," Dickon hollered after her.

Down the hill, Mary and Dickon raced. When they reached the walls to the Secret Garden, they were both out of breath. Mary collapsed onto the bench and said in between gasping breaths, "I won."

Leaning over and holding his sides, Dickon scoffed. "You had an unfair head start."

"Perhaps I did, but you still did not catch me," Mary announced triumphantly.

"No, I did not. But next time, I shall," answered Dickon, with confidence bountiful in his voice.

Mary smiled sweetly. "We shall see."

Dickon rolled his eyes. "The garden?"

"Yes, of course! Where is the door, Dickon?" Mary jumped up enthusiastically from her seat.

"Right this way, madam," holding out his hands with a flourish, Dickon led the way to a remote corner of the wall. Brushing aside the ivy vines and clutter dead leaves that had collected there through the years, he revealed an old, wooden door. Though faded and crumbled in some places from old age, it was still as sturdy as it was the day it had been installed and refused to budge without a key.

Mary sucked in her breath at the sight of the wooden door. Reaching out ever so gently, she caressed its façade with great tenderness. "I cannot believe it was here all along, right before my eyes," she whispered. "I cannot tell you how many times I have walked along this very wall. And here it was, all this time. Thank you, Dickon. Thank you for showing me the door."

Reaching into her pocket for the key, Mary had a hard time extracting the key from its depths because her hands trembled too much. After fumbling around for a few seconds, she finally drew the key from her pocket and promptly dropped it on the ground by accident. Dickon hurried to reach down and retrieve the key and then dusted off the dirt. He held it out to Mary, but she shook her head.

"You have to be the one that opens it, Mary. It was you who found the key. This has been your dream."

"I can't, Dickon. I'm too nervous. You open it."

"Are you sure?"

Mary nodded impatiently. "Yes, yes, of course I'm sure. Now hurry. I want to see what's inside."

"All right then." Dickon stepped up close to the door and inserted the key into the hole. "It fits!" he cried out elatedly. Turning it ever so slightly to the right, he tugged until he heard a click.

"You've done it!" Mary clapped, jumping up and down in anticipation.

The door was stuck from years of abandonment. Leaning heavily against it with his shoulders, Dickon pushed and pushed until it finally gave way. Opening it the rest of the way, he ushered Mary in first.

Mary gingerly stepped over the threshold and into the depths of the creeper-clad garden wall. Dickon followed immediately and tripped over a loose rock in the stone path. Picking himself off, he brushed off the dirt from his pants and gazed with wonder at the sight in front of him. Never in all the times that he had visited Pemberley had Dickon ever imagined that he would one day be standing in his present place.

While Dickon stood ogling the Secret Garden, Mary outstripped him as she continued down the path of curiosity. Overgrown bushes and untrimmed trees lined the walkways, blocking her path. Pushing them aside with her forearm, Mary let nothing deter her from her purpose. The fallen leaves of yesteryears rustled beneath her feet as Mary traipsed through the entire garden, inspecting every inch of it. The garden looked dead with its barren trees and yellowed, messy ground. Winter had taken its toll on the garden and what did not lay dormant in hibernation was now dead. Through the misty haze of morning dew, Mary could see a small, low stone footbridge set off to one corner of the garden. What had once been a tiny, trickling stream beneath the bridge was now a stagnant pool of rainwater, but it did not matter a whit to Mary. To her, the garden was pure magic and one look at it had caused her to fall in love with it.

Dickon ran to catch up with Mary. "Well? What do you think?" he finally asked after a while.

Mary turned around in a circle ever so slowly before stopping to face Dickon. "It's heavenly," she breathed. "I can't believe we're really here. Pinch me, Dickon. I feel as though Martha is going to walk into my room at any moment now and wake me from this marvelous dream."

"I know what you mean," Dickon nodded. "But this is for real, Mary. We finally found our way into the Secret Garden!"

Mary did not deign to give an answer. Instead, she continued on her rambles through the garden. Something in the corner of her eye caught her attention and she quickly moved in its direction. "Look, Dickon!" she called back to him. "It's a swing! What fun!"

Mary tugged on the string. "Do you think it's safe?" she asked.

Dickon pressed down on the worn, wooden seat with one hand. "I think so. But you should still be careful. It's old and you can't be sure that the wood hasn't rotted away on the inside."

His warning went unheeded as Mary promptly sat down on it and looked up at him with her winning face and ordered, "Push me."

The grandfather clock in the hallway gonged the hour, its sound echoing throughout the rest of the house wing. Colin sat up straight in his bed and strained to make a count of them. He gave up when he lost count after the first few gongs and turned back over to the face the window again. For the first time in weeks, he had asked the maids to pull back the shades and let sunlight flood his room and now he lay in his bed, doing nothing, but staring up at the cloudless sky and wondering what the rest of the household was up to. Colin had initially thought that his house guests would return today to take tea with him. He had even prepared himself for the occasion, taking care not to ruffle his bedclothes and opening up his windows to light. But as the minutes ticked by and the hours gonged away, it became more and more apparent that his guests would not be returning so soon after yesterday's display. And though he would not readily admit it, a small pang of regret hammered away at what Colin thought was his stomach, but was actually his heart - especially when he could hear the laughing sounds of Mary and Dickon coming from across the moors.

Chapter 14

Quietness enveloped Dickon and Mary as they walked along the perimeter of the garden, each lost in his and her own thoughts. Reaching down, Mary scooped her hand through a pile of dead leaves. Her heart tugged. Although she had already fallen in love with the garden and wanted to restore it to its full glory, its ruined and deplorable situation caused Mary to momentarily lose hope and mourn the garden's miserable condition just as the dark, menacing clouds in the sky wandered past the sun and blocked the sun's rays from reaching the earth and suddenly casting the entire world in its ominous shade. Mary shivered. She feared for the garden's existence. It pained her to think that the poor garden would never realize its full height of bloom ever again. A single tear rolled lazily down her cheek. She turned abruptly away and tried to hide it from her friend, but Dickon was far too fast for her.

"What's the matter, Mary?" he asked kindly.

"The garden," she waved carelessly around her. "It is dead, Dickon. It's the most forgotten place I've ever seen. Look at how the loose, gray branches and dead roots and leaves are all tangled up on the ground. It is a dismal mess!" The anger that had been brewing inside of her as soon as she had first set her eyes upon the garden lashed out. Mary did not understand how anyone would want a garden as heavenly as this one had the potential to be to fall into such a sad state of disrepair.

Dickon looked around them and took in the fallen branches, empty bushes, cracked stone benches, and covered lawn. It did look barren and ugly to the unimaginative eye. But if one could see beyond that and see the wonders that the garden promised, Dickon was sure that hope would prevail.

"Now, Mary," he reminded her, "If you take a real close look at the garden, you will see that even the strongest roses will fair thrive on being neglected - if the soil is rich enough."

Dickon's words gave Mary the boost of hope she sorely needed. "You mean it might be alive?" Dickon nodded.

"How can you tell?"

"Oh, I can tell if a thing is wick." Dickon had not idly spent his days out in his own father's garden for nothing. Having befriended their family gardener at a very young age, Dickon had learned a thing or two about flowers and gardens over the course of his youth.

"Wick. I've heard Mama say the word wick before."

Dickon reached out and took a branch in between his fingers. Snapping it cleanly, Dickon broke off a piece of the twig and then held up its green end for Mary to see. "Do you see this?" he asked her. "Somewhere in every plant or tree there's a single streak of green inside it."

"Just like that?" Mary pointed to the greenish center of the twig and poked at it with her index finger.

"Just like this," Dickon nodded encouragingly. "When a thing is wick it has a light around it. Sometimes we can't see it. Like right now, for example. But hiding down below in every plant or tree is a spark asleep inside it, waiting for the right time to be seen."

"When will we know that the time is right?"

"First we'll clear away the dead parts so that the tender buds can form. Then we'll loosen up the earth and let the roots get warm. Once the weather turns milder and the warm rain feeds the earth's thirst, they will grow."

"Do you really think they will, Dickon?" The cloud that had blocked the sun's rays began to drift away with the melancholy winter winds. As the sun began to reappear, so too did Mary's hope.

"I know they will, Mary," Dickon answered assuredly. "When you give a living thing a little chance to grow, that's how you will know. If she is wick, she will grow. She'll grow to greet the morning and leave the ground below because when a thing is wick, it has a will to grow and grow," he explained.

"That sounds heavenly," Mary sighed happily. She clasped her hands rapturously against her chest and imagined the bowers of fragrant roses that would one day bloom over her head.

"It's the magic of Mother Nature," Dickon agreed.

"Come Mary," Dickon gently called, stirring Mary from her pleasant imageries. "It is time we returned to the house."

Mary's eyes lingered over the garden as she pouted. "Must we, Dickon?"

"We have been gone for quite some time now and Mother and Mrs. Reynolds will no doubt be wondering where we are. It would be best if we did not rouse any suspicions now that we have found our way into the garden and we certainly do not want to run the risk of having servants sent after us," Dickon answered sensibly.

Mary sighed heavily, knowing that Dickon spoke rationally yet wishing that she did not have to leave the garden either. She grudgingly gave her assent as they poked their ways back towards the garden's tiny door. As Dickon locked the garden door and tugged on it to make sure that it was actually locked, Mary could scarcely contain her contentment.

"I'm so glad that you think the garden can be saved Dickon."*

The wind whipped furiously through Darcy's thick, wavy hair. Keeping one hand tightly gripped around his horse's reins, he pulled the collar of his coat higher with the other and lowered his head, leaning over until he was almost parallel with the black stallion below him. Darcy let the horse take control and rode on. He was aware of nothing else except for his horse's pounding hoofs against the cold and hardened dirt roads. It felt good to be one with the wind.

Darcy had started out the morning with a nervous knot in his stomach. It had spoiled his appetite and he had managed to swallow only a few bites of toast, which had thought unnaturally dry, before he had found himself walking the rug to pieces in the front hallway of his townhouse waiting for his cousin to arrive. Perhaps it was not such a good idea, returning to Pemberley, he had deliberated. In the daylight and away from the dark recesses of his Club, he felt exposed and less secure. He wondered what insaneness had possessed him the evening before when he had so recklessly fallen into palm of Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand. The more Darcy paced and pondered, the more he had wanted to run away and hide, yet his polished riding boots had stuck firmly to the floor refusing to let him escape. The sight of Colonel Fitzwilliam's cheery face flying through the front door had helped him a little - enough to get him atop a horse and riding out of London, at least. For the first couple of miles or so, Darcy had still thought about turning his horse around and returning to his townhouse in London. But now, racing through the countryside, Darcy felt happy and carefree. It was as if all his worries and fears had fallen to the wayside, swept away with the biting wind. Not for the first time, Darcy was thankful that Colonel Fitzwilliam and he had chosen to send their carriage ahead and ride horseback home. He knew his valet had thought him out of his mind to want to ride when it was so cold out, but it felt good to be out in the open and breathing in the fresh air.

Colonel Fitzwilliam glanced over and saw that his cousin had pulled ahead of him. Gently digging the heel of his boots into his horse's side, he urged his brown mare ahead. He pulled up astride of Darcy and reined in his horse, keeping pace with his cousin. The colonel took a quick look to the right and saw the look of contentment spread across his face. "A penny for your thoughts, Cousin. I haven't seen you looking as easy as you do now in a long time."

Darcy looked over and smiled knowingly. "Tis nothing, Fitzwilliam."

He cracked his reins with a flip of his wrist and took off again. Darcy felt an unusual peace with the world right at that moment and he was satisfied to be alone to revel in it.

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head confusedly and followed respectfully from behind. There were times when it was best not to question or push his cousin.

Sarah walked hesitantly into the room, her legs quaking in her shoes, and her unsteady arms laden with bed sheets. She was new to Pemberley's staff and she had just left the kitchen where idle servants had apprised her of certain situations. Warned and now certifiably scared, Sarah entered Colin's room with so much timidity that it was as though she were entering a lion's lair. She could not refrain from thinking that it was just her luck that within her first week at Pemberley, Mrs. Reynolds would send her to change the young Master's sheets.

The nurse, in anticipation of the weekly cleaning of Colin's room, had already removed the frail child to a rolling chair and parked it by the window. Colin turned around immediately at the sound of someone entering his room. Hoping to see Mary and Dickon or even his aunt, Colin was let down. His smile quickly turned upside down into a frown when he saw Sarah standing there, her frightened gray eyes peeping over the stack of white linen.

"Who are you?" he barked disappointingly.

Sarah stood cemented to her place in the doorway, yet very much about to swoon, and tried very hard to remain standing.

"I demand to know who you are!" Colin rapped his knuckles disapprovingly on the arm of his chair.

Sarah whimpered audibly and threw the sheets into the air before turning around and scurrying away. She tore down the hallway, a fist in her mouth, and tears streaming down her face. She would rather quit her position at Pemberley than face the holy terror again.

A quarter of an hour later, Mrs. Reynolds strolled leisurely into Colin's room. Colin was not surprised to see her considering what had happened earlier and Mrs. Reynolds did not seem the least bit phased by the turn of events either. "Well? What did you do this time?" she asked calmly.

Colin was just as relaxed in his own reply. "What did I do?" Colin asked frostily. "I think the question should be, where do you find the help, Mrs. Reynolds? Honestly, they become more and more unreliable every day."

"Perhaps if you did not insist upon scaring them with your tantrums every day they would not feel the need to run away," Mrs. Reynolds chided.

Colin shrugged. "I did not throw a tantrum this time. I merely asked who she was. I did not recognize her."

Mrs. Reynolds peered down at the boy to see if he was telling the truth. Amazingly, she found herself actually believing him. "Well, perhaps she just had a case of nerves. This is only Sarah's first week and she is still overwhelmed by all of her new responsibilities. I will speak with her."

"Yes, see that you do," Colin said imperiously. Mrs. Reynolds tried very hard not to roll her eyes in front of him.

"You are looking very well this morning, Master Colin," Mrs. Reynolds said after a while. "I haven't seen you looking so... energized in a long while."

"I felt better today," Colin admitted. "I-I-I was hoping I might have visitors today." He tried not to sound too eager.

Mrs. Reynolds restrained the smile that threatened to break out over her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Colin. I'm not sure that is possible today. You see, your aunt is preoccupied with other affairs this morning and cannot be spared. And the children are playing outside now that Mother Nature has finally decided to grace us with some good weather."

"I see. Yes, I could hear them laughing on the moors," Colin glanced wistfully towards the window.

"Perhaps I might be able to persuade them to join you for tea later and they can tell you all about their adventures outdoors."

"Would you?" Colin asked, looking as though he had been promised something golden.

Mrs. Reynolds took pity on the poor boy. "I shall try."

The children had finally returned from their morning outing and Georgiana saw to it that their breakfasts were sent up to them immediately. She followed them upstairs, bringing them two large cups of warm milk and found them happily preoccupied with a game of chess. Georgiana looked on amusedly as she watched her son trying to explain the game and tactics to Mary. She did not bother holding back her laughter though when Mary ended up besting Dickon with an overlooked move and left him staring at the board with intense confusion and wonderment written all over his face. It was obvious that Mary was more than a fast learner. With a little bit of prodding, Mary finally admitted that her father had taught her the game when she was only six years old and had relished in the game ever since. Dickon stuck out his tongue at her and Georgiana tried admonishing her son for his display of ungentlemanly manners to no avail. It was very hard trying to discipline someone who was caught in a fit of laughter and it was even harder trying to discipline someone when everyone else found his laughter undeniably contagious, his mother included.

Satisfied that Mary and Dickon were not up to any sort of mischief, Georgiana left them to their own devices after a while and thought she would spend the morning catching up on some correspondence. As Georgiana wended her way down the tall staircase, she looked impulsively out the window and across the green expanse that was the Pemberley lawn. Something moving in the distance caught her eye and she pressed her face up to the glass, squinting to get a better look at what it could be. As the object drew closer to the house and Georgiana saw that it was not one but two objects moving in the distance, her heart leapt. Georgiana would have recognized them anywhere. She flew down the rest of the stairs, almost tripping on the last step. By the time she had wrenched open the main doors to the house, the men had already left the avenue of bare elm trees and entered the carriage drive that circled the entrance front of the house. Both were currently in the process of dismounting their dusty horses.

"Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana squealed excitedly from the top of the staircase.

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned around and looked up expectantly at his wife as he absently handed over the reins of his horse to the stableman who had run up immediately from the stables as soon as he had seen his master and guest tearing down the Pemberley driveway. The moment Colonel Fitzwilliam had heard his wife's melodious voice, he had instinctively turned and now, as he saw her standing at the top of the staircase looking like the angel that she was, he could not wait to hold her in his arms again. In truth, it had only been a few days since they had parted, but to Colonel Fitzwilliam it already felt like eternity. Which is why when his wife ran down the stairs, passed him without any sort of acknowledgment and went instead straight into Darcy's open but startled arms, he could not prevent the small pang of hurt that ran unwittingly throughout his body.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam! It has been so long since I have seen you! You keep yourself hidden so much. Are you well?" Georgiana asked with great concern.

Darcy patted his sister on the back and over her head, looked apologetically at his cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam returned the look, grinned half-heartedly and shrugged. "Of course I am well, my dearest sister. Why must you always think I am not well?"

Georgiana ran a hand tenderly through her brother's fine hair. "Because you never look well."

"Do not be silly, Georgiana," Darcy took his sister's hand and kissed it reassuringly.

"I am not silly," Georgiana pouted.

Fitzwilliam ignored his sister's comment. "But what of you?" he asked instead. "Are you well? It is you who I was worried about. When Fitzwilliam here came to me in London and told me that you had come back to Pemberley, I thought that the two of you had perhaps quarreled."

Georgiana pulled back and looked questioningly at her brother. "What would you make you think such a thing like that?"

Darcy pulled his sister back into his enveloping arms and gave her another tight hug. Looking pointedly at Colonel Fitzwilliam, he answered, "It does not signify, my dear. I am just happy that I was mistaken in my assumptions. In any case, it truly is good to see you at Pemberley again."

"And it is good to see you at Pemberley again as well," Georgiana hinted.

Darcy averted his eyes and Colonel Fitzwilliam coughed softly. Georgiana immediately turned around to look at her husband who was standing aloof with his arms crossed against his broad chest. "Forgive me," the Colonel spoke smoothly. "But I was wondering when I was going to have a chance to properly greet my wife... If she would care to greet me that is."

Darcy stepped back, his boots crunching on the gravel, "Of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Forgive me."

Georgiana giggled as she walked over to where her husband stood. "My apologies, dearest. I did not mean to be remiss in my greetings. I was merely overjoyed at seeing my brother."

"You were not overjoyed to see me?" Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned.

"I have not had the pleasure of seeing my brother for several months now," Georgiana pointed out. "However, I see you everyday of the week. Not that it is a bad thing," she hastened to add.

Colonel Fitzwilliam puffed out his chest in preparation to play the role of the indulgent husband. "Most understandable indeed, dearest. I am not in the least offended now that I know you do still care for me."

Used to her husband's teasing manners, Georgiana answered lightly. "Of course I care for you! What a thing to say. You are a silly tease, husband."

Colonel Fitzwilliam extended his arms, ready to take his wife into a passionate embrace, when Georgiana thwarted his efforts. Standing on her tiptoes, she kissed him chastely on his right cheek instead. Colonel Fitzwilliam frowned again. "Is that all I am to receive?"

"Richard, we are in the company of others," Georgiana quietly reminded her husband.

Colonel Fitzwilliam would have sulked except that he found his wife's blushes most becoming and definitely distracting. Looking up, he saw that Mrs. Reynolds had appeared at the top of the doorstep with the rest of the household staff assembled behind her in the front hallway of the great house.

"Ah, Mrs. Reynolds!" he called up. "Just the woman I was hoping to see. I don't suppose you'd be more inclined to give me the warm welcoming that my wife insists on withholding from me, would you? Or perhaps you too would rather save it for Darcy over there?" He inclined his head, motioning towards his cousin, who was at the moment still shaking his head over the Colonel's silly antics.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather not scandalize the entire Pemberley Staff," Mrs. Reynolds answered respectfully but with a merry twinkle in her eye.

Colonel Fitzwilliam bounded up the stairs, taking care to bring his wife along with him. Bowing over the good housekeeper's hands, Colonel Fitzwilliam said, "Of course, Madam. You are most wise. Perhaps later, when we are alone and out of sight from gossiping mouths," he winked.

"Oh, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Mrs. Reynolds tittered. "You never change, do you? You are the most incorrigible flirt!"

"Indeed!" Georgiana slapped his arm playfully. "What shall I ever do with you?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam quirked his eyebrows with sudden interest, "Perhaps you shall have to punish me later!"

Georgiana groaned and Colonel Fitzwilliam kissed the top of his wife's head before they stepped forward and through the doorway. After a few paces though, she turned around as though she had suddenly remembered something she had left behind and walked back out of the house. She looked down at her brother who was still standing outside looking lost. Georgiana frowned. How odd. Why would Fitzwilliam look out of place in his own home? She wondered if she was perhaps misreading her brother's facial expressions.

"Fitzwilliam," she called out. "Are you coming in?"

The hard ride home had proven to be reassuring, but now, standing in front of Pemberley, the nervous butterflies that had invaded his stomach earlier that morning while he was still at the London townhouse had returned in full fluttering force. Darcy stood out in the gravel courtyard with his hands clasped behind his back and looked up at the imperious structure looming over him. The gray light of a mid-afternoon sun caused the stone walls of the house to gleam with the cold sheen of gray marble. The chilled look of the great house struck Darcy as being odd. Up until now, the house had always emanated with warmth. But now, the stone walls held up like ice.

Darcy loved his ancestral home very much and in spite of all that he had come to dread from it within the recent years, he had always looked forward to returning to it after extended periods of absence. This time, however, Darcy could not feel the peace of mind that Pemberley usually instilled in him. Instead, he wondered what this trip home would bring. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for all that he was about to endure before answering his sister.

"Of course, Georgie. I am right behind you."

* Many of the lines in this exchange were either direct excerpts or altered versions of the lines found in the song, "Wick," from the Broadway Musical, The Secret Garden.

Chapter 15

Martha rushed breathlessly into the children's playroom. "Come children. You must return to your rooms immediately and prepare yourselves to be presented."

The children looked up confusedly. Mary's hand held a pawn poised over a red-colored square and Dickon pursed his lips with displeasure at having their concentrations so rudely interrupted. "What?"

"Make haste, make haste," Martha urged, waving her hands toward the door.

"Whatever for?" Dickon demanded to know.

"You must dress to be presented."

"To whom are we being presented?" Mary wanted to know.

"Yes. To whom are we being presented?" Dickon echoed.

Martha looked at the children briefly before answering them. It really was uncanny the way Mary and Dickon had naturally become of one mind lately.

"Your father and your uncle have just returned and will no doubt want to see you immediately and if you do not hurry and get dressed, someone will surely have my head. Please, for my sake, make haste!"

Before Martha could even finish her sentence, Dickon had whooped with joy and run out of the room, leaving Mary behind. All of the sudden, Mary felt uncommonly nervous. Up until now, she had lived contentedly at Pemberley. What would it mean now that Mr. Darcy had returned? Would the Fitzwilliam's pack up and leave? The thought of being left alone with Colin left a bitter taste in her mouth. That, and she knew she would miss Dickon, whom she had come to admire as a true friend and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, whom she had come to adore as an aunt. Mary also wondered what to expect from the elusive Mr. Darcy. Oddly enough, Mary felt less daunted by the thought of meeting the man himself than she did about the upheavals that his return would bring.

Martha helped the girl dress, making sure that there was not a wrinkle in her dress or an errant curl from her coiffure. By the time Martha had finished with her, Mary was feeling a little bit calmer. She walked slowly down the stairs, one hand brushing the banister lightly, the other clenching the sides of her dress. Each step was painstakingly made, as she took care to not to trip on the hem of her dress. At the bottom of the stairs, she met Georgiana. Interestingly, Mary thought she detected a hint of sadness in her Aunt Georgiana's eyes when she looked up at her.

"Is everything all right, Aunt Georgiana?" Mary asked politely. Perhaps the family had received bad news from town.

"No, of course not," Georgiana forced herself to answer brightly.

"Where is Dickon?"

Georgiana smiled. "He came running down the stairs and launched himself into the arms of his uncle and Papa. His father has already taken him down to the river to do some fishing."

"Oh."

Georgiana ran a finger down the side of Mary's face, caressing the silky skin of the little girl's cheek. "It's time for you to meet your guardian, Mary," she said gently. Mary thought her aunt's actions rather strange, but lifted up her eyes to meet Georgiana's gaze unwaveringly.

"You should not fear him. He is the very best of men." Georgiana choked back the sob that threatened to escape. "Nonetheless, I shall be waiting here for you should you need me."

Mary raised her eyebrows. If Mr. Darcy really was as docile as a lamb, as everyone claimed him to be, then why did it feel like the entire household had been walking on eggshells only minutes after his arrival? Furthermore, why was her Aunt Georgiana looking at her nervously and with great concern, swallowing tears, and caressing her cheek?

"Where shall I find Mr. Darcy?"

Georgiana gently led her to the closed doors of the study. "Remember, I shall be right here waiting for you."

Mary nodded.

Mary wrapped her knuckle solidly on the door and stepped back to wait for the summons. After a moment's pause, she finally heard a deep rumble from behind the door. Stepping forward carefully, she twisted the knob open and walked silently into the room. The room was dark and she had to let her eyes adjust before she finally caught sight of a broad back standing by the window on the opposite end of the room. She stood indecisively by the door. Was she supposed to walk in or was she supposed to wait for further instruction?

The back finally answered her unspoken question. "Close the door child and come forward so that I may see you better."

Mary walked nimbly forward, each step calculatingly made with one heel touching her other foot's toes. She stopped when she stood in front of the massive, oak desk and waited patiently with her hands clasped behind her back and her chin held up high.

Darcy continued to look out the window as well as mentally chide himself for being so weak as to fear a child. It was only after Mary stood close enough that he could hear her shallow breathing that he dared begin. Looking down at his tight fists turning white as they rested on the windowsill, Darcy took a large breath.

"My apologies for being absent during your arrival. It was unpardonable, but it could not be helped." There, that is at least not entirely untrue, he thought.

Mary nodded her understanding even though Darcy could not see her. "That's all right, sir."

Darcy was relieved to hear the ease and friendliness in his young charge's voice. Perhaps he might be able to endure this interview after all. "You arrived safely and with little trouble then, I hope?"

"I did, sir."

"Well then. That is very good. I am glad for it."

Mary thought it awfully strange that her guardian should be talking to her with his back still turned to her and wondered if she would ever get to see the master's face. Strangely enough however, she no longer felt afraid of the man or what his presence at Pemberley meant. It was obvious that he was as discomfited as she was if not more. Nervousness gave way to ease as she continued to stare at her guardian's backside.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Are you well, child? Do they take good care of you?"

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

"I trust you are happy here?"

"Very, sir. I was lonely at first, perhaps. But then Mrs. Fitzwilliam and Dickon came and we have been very merry together."

"I am glad to hear it." The conversation thus far had proceeded with no difficulty and Darcy thought that perhaps he might be able to actually bear facing a child face-to-face after all. "Is there--"

Darcy stopped mid-sentence as he turned around and found himself unpredictably staring into her face. "Good God!" Stricken, Darcy felt his legs buckle underneath him as he leaned back and steadied his body against the window.

Shocked and alarmed, Mary quickly rushed forward. "Are you all right, sir? Shall I call for someone?"

Darcy shook his head as though to clear his thoughts. He did not think it possible, but somehow all his blood had apparently drained from his head. Perhaps the vision he had just beheld was some sort of a perverse joke -- his brain playing a sick and insensitive trick on his mind. But when Darcy looked up and gazed into those eyes, that face, he knew it was no false image. It was the truth. Elizabeth stared back at him from a child's face.

Suddenly, Darcy felt even more ill at ease although it was for very different reasons than before. Mary was no longer just a mere child to be feared. She was now a child that looked just like the woman that plagued Darcy's every dream and therefore ought to be even more feared. Even now, her image still loomed large and unbidden before Darcy's face. With one hand, he tried to wave it aside and put it behind him. With his other hand pressed hard against his chest, Darcy managed to somehow communicate that he was well and that assistance was quite unnecessary.

Like a man gone daft, the only thing Darcy could manage to say under the circumstances was, "You look neither like your mother nor your father."

Mary was, as usual, blissfully unaware that anything was amiss and so enthusiastically replied, "No sir. I favor my aunt in both looks and disposition!"

"In looks and disposition!" Lucky me, he tacked on in his thoughts. Darcy knew not what to think. He did not, however, need further elaboration to know which aunt it was exactly that his young charge referred to. Darcy could feel a frightful headache coming on.

Darcy thought perhaps it was time to bring this interview to a swift end. He needed time to compose himself. He needed to get Mary away from him before any other haunting images of her aunt happened to cross his path. Happening to glance to the sidebar at his decanter of brandy, he added that to his list of things to indulge in as well -- anything to help alleviate his present pain and deaden his senses.

"Is there anything you might need? Would you like some toys, or books, or dolls perhaps? You have only to ask and I shall try my best to acquire it for you. I want your stay at Pemberley to be a comfortable one."

"Might I--" Impulsively, Mary had immediately piped up to make a request. Before she had even gotten halfway through her sentence though, caution stepped in and she broke off. She did not know whether or not she should ask the question and she shifted back and forth, wracked with indecision.

Darcy, meanwhile, was impatient to have their conversation be over and done with and was not about to wait around all day for Mary to come to a decision. "Speak up, child," he commanded, some sense of authority returning to his voice after he had just lost all of his wits minutes before.

Mentally preparing herself, Mary decided to throw caution to the wind and take the plunge. "Might I have a bit of earth, sir?"

Darcy looked up sharply, obviously surprised by Mary's request. "A bit of earth?"

"To plant seeds in. Yes sir. A garden."

"You care about gardens so much, then?" Darcy asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I didn't know much about them in India. But my mother used to show me pictures about gardens in books and then she would tell me stories about how she and her sister used to spend hours in their garden at Longbourn. Listening to my mother's stories, I have always wanted a garden of my own for I have always loved nature. My mother says I am like my Aunt Lizzy like that."

"I can well imagine that," Darcy spoke absently to himself. That was not the only similarity aunt and niece shared, he thought. With some chagrin, Darcy wondered what other similarities the pair happened to share. Only time would tell, he supposed.

When an answer did not seem to be forthcoming, Mary impetuously asked again, "May I have a garden, sir? I promise to take good care of it. And I promise not bother the rest of your beautiful grounds here. I only want something-- something to call my own in a place where nothing is mine and everything is so strange."

Darcy looked up and held the child's unassuming gaze. Those eyes. Dark, yet sparkling and so full of vibrant life. They were so like another's. Would he ever be able deny those eyes the simplest of requests? Did he even dare try?

"Yes, of course, child," he exhaled, without even realizing that he had been holding his breath in the first place. "Of course you may have your garden."

"Oh, sir!" Mary clasped her hands together with relief and glee. "Thank you ever so much!" That said, she promptly forgot herself and flew into her guardian's startled arms and topped it all with a kiss to the cheek.

Overwhelmed and pleasantly surprised, Darcy did not trust himself enough to do anything except pat the girl on the back, clear his throat, and say, "Well then. You're quite welcome, child."

And then he sent her out as quickly as he could to hide himself in his study, couched amongst his ledger books, for the rest of the day.

The evening meal completed, the family had retired to the drawing room for the night. Mary and Dickon had been sent to bed a few hours earlier, Colin had been safely reported as sleeping, and now only the adults remained. In the center of the room, a husband and wife played at a game of cards.

Georgiana laid down a card and her husband sighed. "My dear, you are not paying attention again."

Georgiana looked sharply away from the corner of the room and turned her attention back to her husband. "I'm sorry dear, pray what was it that you said?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes upward. "If you didn't want to play cards tonight, you should've just said so, Georgiana. I'm sure I could've found an agreeable book from your brother's library with which to amuse myself instead."

"Don't be so snappish, Richard. Of course I want to play cards."

"Then pay attention."

As soon as Colonel Fitzwilliam finished admonishing his wife, Georgiana turned her attention back to the corner of the room where her brother sat with his back turned against the rest of the room, fully absorbed with the letter he was writing at his desk. Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed helplessly.

"What do you think he's doing over there?" Georgiana asked.

Colonel Fitzwilliam shrugged offhandedly and pursed his lips in thought as he regarded his hand of cards carefully. He looked over to the pile of cards lying in the middle of the green baize table and then looked back at his own hand and finally made a choice. Laying down his next card, he at last answered, "I don't know, looks like he's writing a letter."

"To whom do you think he is writing?"

"I don't know," Colonel Fitzwilliam answered dismissively.

"Yes, but if you had to make a guess. To whom would you think Fitzwilliam is writing?"

"Your brother writes a lot of letters," the Colonel answered without really answering his wife at all.

"Yes, but those are usually letters of business which he writes in his study," Georgiana expounded in exasperation. "My brother never writes letters after dinner unless they are to a specific person of his acquaintance and you know that is usually me, but he cannot possibly be writing to me tonight for I am sitting right here not more than twenty paces away!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam continued to ignore his wife's speculative comments and concentrated on the card game at hand instead. He was no fool and he was not about to get drawn into interfering with his brother-in-law's affairs, especially when he knew Darcy would not appreciate such meddling.

Georgiana tapped her cards thoughtfully on the table as she waited for Colonel Fitzwilliam to make the next play. "Don't you think he's been awfully quiet this evening?"

"Not anymore than usual, I'd say."

Georgiana shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I'd say he's much more withdrawn than usual. Haven't you noticed? First, he did not emerge from his study after he met with Mary this morning. Not even to take tea."

"He said he had a lot of business to catch up on and was not to be bothered."

"Then, he was late for dinner and you know he is never late for anything."

"Every man is entitled to be late at least once in his life," Colonel Fitzwilliam murmured, still refusing to give credence to his wife's words.

"Finally," Georgiana pressed on, "he did not say but two words at dinner and as soon as he came into the drawing room, he headed straight for the writing desk. I tell you, Richard, something is afoot."

"So Darcy is distracted. And what of it? Have you never been distracted before?"

"Of course I have. But don't you wish to know what has my brother so distracted today?"

"Not really."

"But of course you do!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked up and quirked an eyebrow before he said, "Oh for goodness sakes, Georgiana. If you're so concerned, why don't you just address your questions towards your brother? I am no mind reader."

Georgiana narrowed her eyes. "There's no need for such insolence, Richard," she snapped. "Can you blame me for being so worried about my brother?"

Her sudden anger was a cover up for the hurt she actually felt. Georgiana lowered her eyes to gaze at her cards and hid the tears that were already brimming there. Colonel Fitzwilliam shoved a hand through his hair and sighed in frustration and anger at himself. He did not know what had caused him to be so short-tempered with his wife. It was not like him to be insensitive and he knew he had genuinely hurt his wife's sensitive disposition.

"Georgiana," he pleaded in a low voice. "I am sorry. Forgive me."

Put out, Georgiana refused to answer her husband's plea of apology.

"Please, Georgie? Forgive me, I was a cad." Colonel Fitzwilliam was honestly sorry. This time, Georgiana looked up at her husband, but he could tell that she was still unsure. Though Colonel Fitzwilliam was loath to admit it, he too was concerned about his brother-in-law's welfare. Torn between wanting to inquire after Darcy's affairs and respecting the privacy of a man, he had barked at his wife instead.

Colonel Fitzwilliam held up a finger. "Wait, let me show you how sorry I am."

The Colonel knew he was risking the wrath of Darcy's temper in disturbing him with such impertinent questions and unlike Georgiana he was not protected by the status of being a beloved younger sister, but he also knew that he had to do something fast to win back his wife's favor. Twisting around in his chair, he turned towards his brother-in-law and called out, "Darce! May I ask what it is that you do so secretly over there? Your sister and I were wondering if you might be persuaded to join us in a game of cards."

Without looking up, Darcy answered in his usual and succinct manner. "Tis no secret. I am writing a letter. And you know I cannot possibly join in your card game without a fourth."

Colonel Fitzwilliam turned back to his wife and gave her look that seemed to ask, "There will that do?" But she merely looked down and away from his gaze, pretending to be preoccupied with her hand of cards. Exasperated, Colonel Fitzwilliam resigned himself to continuing with the inquisition. "And may one ask to whom you are writing a letter?"

Darcy put down his pen and turned around in his seat. "Really, Fitzwilliam. You're beginning to sound a lot like Miss Caroline Bingley."

Georgiana raised a handkerchief to her mouth and giggled prettily. Colonel Fitzwilliam glared at his wife for mocking him after she had basically prodded him into it. She looked back innocently.

"I was ah, merely curious," Colonel Fitzwilliam answered.

"I would advise you not to take a curious interest into the state of my affairs, Fitzwilliam" Darcy warned. "I am afraid you would find them lacking in any sort of entertainment."

Colonel Fitzwilliam took the gentle, but firm hint and desisted in his purpose. Georgiana was, on the other hand, not to be deterred and continued to try and draw her elder brother into a conversation.

"Brother," she called out lightly. "Richard and I were just chattering earlier about how our wedding anniversary is coming up soon. We were thinking about throwing a party and hoped that you would offer a few words on our behalf. After all, you do have such a way with words."

Colonel Fitzwilliam gave his wife a curious look. What on earth was the woman saying? Georgiana, however, refused to even look in her husband's direction.

"What would you have me say?" Darcy asked.

Georgiana shrugged her tiny shoulders. "Oh, I don't know. Something about us, I suppose. You could say something to the affect of how nicely we are paired and that is the reason why we get along so well-- most of the time." Georgiana looked pointedly at Colonel Fitzwilliam, letting him know that his earlier transgression had been recorded, duly noted and contrary to his fondest hopes, would not be forgotten.

Darcy scratched his forehead for a few seconds and then suggested, "You and the Colonel are so well harmonized that you are like a pair of well-matched grays. There, will that do?"

Georgiana opened her mouth and gasped with shock at her brother's crude remark while Colonel Fitzwilliam found the comment to have quite the adverse affect and started chuckling. He laughed even harder and practically fell out of his chair when he noticed Georgiana's horror.

"How can you compare our union to a pair of horses?" Georgiana demanded.

"Yes Darce. I should've at least liked to have been a chestnut mare. After all, I haven't a gray hair on me yet and neither does your sister!"

"A mare?" Darcy scratched his chin. "You would be a she horse?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes flew open fast. "I spoke too hastily."

"Indeed."

"Oh, you men are insufferable," Georgiana pouted. "I ask my brother for a few romantic words and he turns us into a couple of stable animals. The worst part about it is that my husband thinks it is an absolute joke!"

"Come dear. You must find it somewhat amusing, if not a novel experience. I've never been compared to a horse before. Have you?"

Georgiana glared. "If you would like to be a horse, Richard, be my guest. And you may sleep them tonight for all I care."

"Oh, ho, ho. Methinks the wife is a little cantankerous this evening!"

"Really, Richard."

"I am sorry, Georgiana," Darcy apologized. "I did not mean to cause trouble between you and your husband."

"You didn't," Georgiana muttered underneath her breath. "He causes trouble for himself."

"I fear I am lacking in spirit this evening and make for very poor company," Darcy continued. "I have other concerns on my mind and have business to attend to that cannot be delayed."

"What is it that is so pressing that you cannot even leave it aside for a few minutes to come and sit beside me and talk, Fitzwilliam? You have been hiding yourself away from the world and it has been too long since I last had a good look at you. I am worried," Georgiana admitted.

"I am sorry that I have been a cause of your worries, Georgie, but really, I'm quite fine. You need not bother your pretty little head over me."

Georgiana did not believe him and said so. "If you are so perfectly fine, then why are you refusing to look at me when you speak?"

Darcy turned back to his letter. He picked up his pen and leaned back over to resume his writing. Ignoring his sister's pointed looks and question, he answered instead, "I am going away in the morning. I thought you and the Colonel would like to know that."

"What? You can't be serious! Why, you only just arrived." Flabbergasted, Georgiana turned to her husband for help.

"I say, Darce. Isn't this a bit rash? What's the hurry?"

Evasive as always, Darcy chose to answer around the question rather than do so directly. "You are both welcome to stay here for as long as you would like, of course. After all, this is just as much Georgiana's home as it is mine. I have, however, just been informed that I am wanted immediately in France and will be leaving in the morning."

"France!" Georgiana exclaimed. "But that is so far away! Whatever for? Can you not send your steward in your stead?"

"I am afraid not, little sister. It concerns some business interests I have over there and they wish to speak with me directly. I shall return as soon as I possibly can, of course."

"Of course," Georgiana repeated bitterly.

"Of course," Colonel Fitzwilliam repeated knowingly.

"If you will excuse me, I shall retire for the evening. I have a long day's journey ahead of me tomorrow and should like to catch some sleep beforehand." Finished with his letter, Darcy folded it, sealed it and then took it with him as he left the room.

Georgiana sat at her vanity and contemplated the evening's turn of events as she watched her maid reach for the silver brush and commence their nightly ritual of brushing out her hair. Through her mirror, she watched her husband who was now less formally attired walk through the connecting door and into her bedchamber.

"Thank you, Nan. You may go now," she smiled at her maid as she dismissed her.

Still looking at the Colonel through her mirror, Georgiana drummed her fingernails impatiently on her vanity top. "I do not like this, Richard. Why must he go to France? It's not right," she shook her head hard. "You must not let him go."

Colonel Fitzwilliam walked up behind his wife, placed his hands on either side of her on the vanity top and leaned over, placing his chin atop of her head. "I wish I could do that, my love, and not just for your sake," he answered honestly. "But I can't."

Their eyes met in the mirror. "Why?" Georgiana asked childishly and stubbornly.

"Because you know as well as I do that your brother would not take too kindly to me interfering in his affairs -- as he so kindly pointed out earlier this evening," her husband reminded her.

"It is utter nonsense, this talk of him going to France. You know as well as I do that he is not going to France because of some business venture. He is running away, again."

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood up straight and walked over to his wife's bed where he settled himself comfortably amongst the pillows. "Of course I do. But what of it? There is still nothing I can do."

"Well, if there is nothing you can do, then perhaps there is something I can do. You may be afraid of Fitzwilliam, but I am not. He would never dare raise his ire against me."

"Georgie," Colonel Fitzwilliam warned. "You know it is not that I am afraid of your brother but that it is because I respect and honor him that I choose not to push the man to his limits. Every man has his limits and no man likes to be pushed beyond them."

"You can talk about honor, respect, and limits until you are blue in the face, Richard, but I shall not care a jot. I am determined." Georgiana stood up from her seat, grabbed her night robe and had already knotted it tightly around her waist and was out the door before Colonel Fitzwilliam could even try to call her back.

Georgiana paused briefly outside her brother's door. She raised her fist and rapped lightly against the wooden surface. There was no turning back now. From deep within, she heard a low but strong, "Come in."

Georgiana stepped into the dimly lit room, blinked several times, and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She saw her brother thrown against a chair seated by the fireplace. His jacket had long been disregarded, his cravat had been thrown to the floor, and his blouse once starched crisp now hung rumpled and loose around his body.

"I thought you'd might not be asleep," Georgiana tentatively ventured.

Darcy ran a hand across his eyes and face. "What is it, Georgiana?"

She walked over and stood behind her brother's chair, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I am worried about you, Fitzwilliam. Will you not let me help you?"

Darcy shook his head and sighed. "I told you. I am fine."

"Fine? Is this what you call fine?" Georgiana asked hotly, crossing over to stand in front of her brother and placing her hands on her hip. "Fitzwilliam, look at yourself! You are not fine. If you ask me, you look like more like a man troubled than a man who is fine."

The room stood still for a minute and even Georgiana dared not breathe. After a while, Darcy slouched even lower in his seat and complained, "It's not fair."

"What's not fair?" Georgiana asked gently.

Darcy's hands formed a tall steeple beneath his chin before he spoke again. "Why was I not warned? Have you any idea what it was like for me to walk into my library and be ambushed this morning?" A man once strong had now been reduced to the most pitiable of states. The despair and frustration was etched in every line of his face.

Georgiana tore her handkerchief to shreds in her hands. She had feared this. "I'm sorry, Fitzwilliam. I didn't know either, until I came to Pemberley and saw Mary for myself. There wasn't any time to send a letter to Richard in London. You came back before I could properly warn you. And truth be told, it's been so long now and I only knew Miss Bennet for such a short time that I almost wondered if it wasn't my mind playing tricks on me. I couldn't know for sure." She looked down at her folded hands. "Not until you showed up, that is."

Darcy was silent in his response. He would have known that face anywhere. It did not matter that it had been years since he had seen the original face for he saw it every night in his haunted sleep.

"Is it really so bad that you must run away?" Georgiana asked.

"I am not running away," Darcy answered stiffly.

"But you are. Except that you've been doing this for so long now that you now fail to see it for what it really is. Every time you run away to London of the Continent, you are running away from your responsibilities at Pemberley. This isn't the Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley that I grew up loving, adoring, and admiring. The Fitzwilliam Darcy that I grew up worshipping as an elder brother faced adversity with strength and conviction. He wouldn't have turned his back on anything. He would've carried on with his duties and responsibilities."

Darcy cocked his head to the side and looked up at his baby sister. The orange flames dancing in the background cast a ghoulish illumination against his face. Georgiana shuddered. "When did you grow up to be such a strong, little woman?" he asked.

"I always was strong. I just never needed to show it so long as you were always there to stand up for me and protect me," Georgiana shrugged.

Darcy frowned at the implication. "And I don't protect you now?"

Georgiana crouched down and held her brother's hands in her own. Looking deep into her brother's eyes she said, "I don't need you to protect me now. But I do need you to stand up for yourself now."

Shaking off his sister's hold, Darcy stood up and walked over to the fireplace. "You can't keep running away forever, Fitzwilliam. One day you will wake up and realize that you've run all that you can run and there's nowhere else to hide."

Leaning his forehead against the mantelpiece, Darcy answered, his voice in muffled tones. "You are right, Georgie. But it is easier said than done. I am not the man I once was. I am but a shell of what used to be. Do you not see? I no longer live for myself but merely to pass each day as best as I can. If I can get through just one day without being tortured by the past, I call it a success. I am no good to Pemberley or to anyone, least of all myself."

Georgiana walked over to her brother and placed a hand on his arm. "Stay," she pleaded. "Even if it's only for a little while. Stay and get to know your guest."

"I cannot," Darcy shook his head.

Georgiana cocked her head to one side and bit her lower lip. "Cannot or will not?"

Darcy whirled around in furor and thundered, "Does it matter?"

His sister stepped back, her eyes filled with terror. They pierced Darcy's conscience and he immediately exhaled. "Forgive me, sister. I-I-I did not mean to yell at you so."

"It's all right," Georgiana whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. I'm sorry to have disturbed you. Good-night, Fitzwilliam."

"Good-night, dearest sister."

Georgiana left and slipped quietly back into her own room, feeling no better than she had when she left it. Her husband was sitting up in bed, reading a book while waiting for her.

Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his head when he heard the door open. "Well? How did it go?"

Pulling the bedcovers back, Georgiana climbed into bed. Colonel Fitzwilliam shifted over to make room for his wife. "It's not use, Richard. He's leaving."

"Already?"

"I tried to talk him out of it," Georgiana shrugged. "He was unflappable."

Colonel Fitzwilliam could see the disappointment etched in his wife's face. Pulling her down and close, he shushed and kissed his wife on her forehead before wrapping his arms around her. "Don't worry, my love. I'll talk with him in the morning."

Georgiana nodded her head before yawning and snuggling in. Within minutes she had drifted off.

Sleep did not come easily to Fitzwilliam Darcy that night. Long after Georgiana had returned to her bedroom, Darcy continued to remain awake. At first, he stayed seated in front of his dying fire and watched the smoldering embers breathe the last of their light. When he could stand it no more, he leapt out of his seat and strode towards his son's room. Prowling about in the darkness proved to be nothing difficult for Darcy. Indeed, he had walked this way so many times in the darkness that he could have taken each step blindly and still made it safely to Colin's door.

As usual, confidence gave way to temerity at Colin's door and Darcy faltered, hesitated, waited, and hoped that his heart would stop its suddenly loud pounding. "Why am I such a coward, even towards my own son?" Darcy whispered against the wooden grain of the solid door. Moaning softly, he pressed his forehead to the door and held himself there in suspended silence. After a few more minutes of preparation, his hand finally slipped towards the doorknob and then he let himself in.

Careful as always, Darcy crept stealthily towards his son's bed and once again marveled at the way the moonbeam shone down on his son's fragile face. Darcy was not unaware of his son's many antics nor was he doubtful of their validity. He knew Mrs. Reynolds too well to think that she could be capable of making false accusations. Yet, at a time like this, when Colin was laying so peacefully asleep in his bed and looked so small and innocent against his expansive bed, Darcy had a hard time imagining his son with the ability to create the storm of which he was most famous for.

Darcy sat himself down into the chair next to Colin's bed. Leaning over, he brushed the curls from his son's smooth forehead and thought about all that his housekeeper had told him that morning upon his return.

"If I may speak plainly, sir. Something must be done about that son of yours."

Darcy turned around and searched his housekeeper's face. "What is it that Colin has done to offend the staff this time, Mrs. Reynolds?"

Unafraid, Mrs. Reynolds took a step forward and shook her head. "No. Not just the staff this time, Mr. Darcy." Spreading her arms out wide, she clarified her point. "Your son has effectively annihilated the entire household with his peevish and despotic manners."

Darcy looked up heavenward and groaned. Mrs. Reynolds nodded her head. "Just so."

"What am I to do?"

Mrs. Reynolds stared at her master blankly. There were a number of things her master could do to change his son's high-handed ways and mold him into a better person if he were to take himself to task, but she would never tell him so. First, as his housekeeper, it was not her place to do so. But more importantly, this was something he needed to figure out for himself. Mrs. Reynolds only hoped that it would be sooner rather than later or else she feared it might be too late.

"Your young ward," Mrs. Reynolds began slowly.

Darcy looked up sharply. "Yes? What about her?"

"A delightful girl, really," Mrs. Reynolds quickly assured him. "It's just that-- well, how to put it--she and the young master do not get along at all."

"Really?" Darcy's eyebrows quirked. "And why is that?"

"I fear the young miss might have overheard some insulting remarks Master Colin made about her and he has done nothing since to atone for it."

"Oh dear." The irony of the situation was not lost on Darcy. Indeed, the coincidence of events struck quite near to his heart. For, he remembered a time when he had once found himself in a similar position.

"Oddly enough, I think that Master Colin truly does regret his actions. Only, he does not know how to go about apologizing for he has never done so before. I think however that he is beginning to actually yearn for company and friendship now. There is a hunger in his eyes when he sees the camaraderie between Miss Mary and your nephew. Perhaps this may be the perfect remedy for him after all."

Darcy stroked Colin's cheek, up and down, caressing it with the back of his hand. Then, he kissed his son on the forehead and said softly, "I hope so. For your sake, I sincerely hope you will have the opportunity to make up for your transgressions and that it will not be too late when you finally do." After a moment's thought, he added, "Do not grow up to be like me, son. I do not wish it for you."

Heaving himself back into his deep-seated chair, Darcy shaded his eyes with his hand and expelled a quiet, tired sigh. "Why does everything have to always be so damned difficult?"

The day's events played over and over again in his head as he remembered each event and every emotion.

Darcy leaned over, crushing his head within his palms. He gave a silent scream -- frustration, anger, confusion, disappointment -- it was all there, waiting to be let loose. Why? He kept asking himself. The shock of seeing a miniature Elizabeth Bennet standing in front of him in the middle of his study that morning still had not subsided.

He remembered not just the astonishment and disbelief, but also the tingling sensation he had felt, running up and down his back, when he first laid eyes on her. How could someone so young and so small be so much like another who was much older and much taller? And more importantly, how was it that she had come to stand in the middle of his study?

Darcy had wished rather than hoped that when she opened her mouth, Mary would turn out to be nothing like her aunt in spite of their physical similarities. It was however, not to be. Darcy had felt the wind crushed from his lungs, constricting his voice as he struggled to respond.

Why, when I give her the world, did she ask instead for a garden? Darcy shook his head incredulously. Toys, dolls, books, these are all things I could provide. A horse, I would even purchase for her. But no, when I give her the world, she asks me for a bit of earth to plant some seeds instead. She wants to make them grow. She wants a garden of her own.

A garden, Darcy smirked. What good was a garden? In the spring, it would awaken the senses; blossom and give rise to hope. In the summer, it would provide a beautiful backdrop for the prettiest and sweetest of romances. But in the fall-- ah, the fall-- everything would crumble and fall to the ground. Everything would be over. No, Darcy shook his head, cloaked in cynicism; it was never good to place one's interest in a garden. It certainly was not safe.

Goodness, has she any idea how much she is like her aunt, Darcy wondered.

Darcy really should not have been so surprised. After all, no one could look that much like Elizabeth Bennet and not be like her in spirit too. Elizabeth Bennet had never been a mercenary woman -- whatever her mother and younger sisters might have been, she had always been so much more concerned with her own sense of self-worth and happiness that she had given little consequence to what others thought of her. And Darcy had, truth be told, found this refreshing and attractive. It was what had distinguished her from all the others that he had encountered in London, and Darcy had welcomed the change. A small voice nagged in the back of his mind, telling him that there was more, that he had, in truth, loved her for it.

Love? Of course he had loved her. How could he not have fallen in love with the spirited and lovely Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, a gentleman's daughter but with no family connections to recommend her? Darcy had resisted all he could, tried to find her unbefitting for a gentleman of his station, but only Satan himself could have contrived to remain unaffected by her feminine allurements. The worst part about it all was that Darcy knew that they were all genuine. She had been the only woman he had ever trusted. Trusted enough to give over his heart. And he had lost her, opening his heart to inconsolable wounds and heartache. Darcy was resolved to not suffer anymore. But how could he achieve that when the younger version of the woman he loved was living under his very own roof?

Darcy was not displeased that Mary had taken after her mother's sister. And given the possibilities, it was more than a good thing that she had. Darcy shuddered to think of a miniature Caroline Bingley stalking the halls of his house. But yet, it was still disconcerting to think of Mary Bingley as a young Elizabeth Bennet too. She served as a constant reminder of what Darcy had lost all those years ago. And he could no more bear the loss now than he had then. By the time the small fire in his son's room had died out, Darcy had decided that he would leave Pemberley at first light.

Georgiana was genuinely surprised to find the breakfast room empty the next morning. When she awakened at an early hour, she had found only rumpled sheets, the space next to her in bed empty. Dressing quickly, Georgiana had been looking forward to the prospect of sharing breakfast with her husband. Or at least her brother. Georgiana frowned for she knew her brother was an early riser and in her entire life, she had never beaten her brother to their morning meal. Had she already missed them both? It seemed hardly likely, as she had not even slept in that morning. She glanced over to a clock standing on the sidebar noting that it was not yet eight-thirty in the morning. Where was everyone? A servant walked in, carrying a tray of muffins with her.

Confused, Georgiana asked, "Is no one else awake yet?"

The young maid looked curiously at the young Mrs. Fitzwilliam. "Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam breakfasted over an hour ago."

"An hour ago?" Georgiana gasped.

"Aye, ma'am."

"And where did they go after breakfast?"

The young maid shrugged her shoulder noncommittally as she answered easily, "I dunno, ma'am. They left rather hurriedly."

"How odd," Georgiana murmured. She recollected herself before waving the girl off. Stumped, with no answer to her thousand questions, Georgiana slouched frowningly down into her seat, her good mood ruined by her morning revelations.

Before she could even pick up her fork, the breakfast room door swung open wide. Georgiana looked up and beheld her husband standing there in splendid form, dressed in his riding garb, the morning dew still clinging stubbornly to the top of his riding boots.

Georgiana cocked her head to one side and gathered her wits about her before she finally asked, "Where is my brother?"

The Colonel's silence was answer enough. Choking back her sobs, Georgiana looked down and grabbed the table linen in tight fists. "Why?" she finally whispered.

Her husband hurried to her side and sitting next to her, reached over, pulling her face towards him with a gentle tug at her chin. When he had made sure that Georgiana was looking straight into his eyes, he said, "He would go, Georgiana. He would go."

Then, he shoved a note into her hand. Looking down, Georgiana immediately recognized her brother's strong, elegant hand.

Forgive me, my dearest sister. Pemberley is not big enough for the two of us. She has no place to go, but I do. I am used to leaving, after all. Take care of her for me and Colin too. Do not worry about me. All will be well. Many thanks.
~ F.D.

* A very few lines from this chapter were adapted from, "A Bit of Earth," taken from the Broadway Musical, The Secret Garden.

Continued In Next Section