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Chapter 21

Georgiana threw open the French doors with great gusto and panache, and stepped invitingly out onto the tiny balcony attached to her bedchamber, letting the warm sun beckon to her. Feeling the warmth of the sun-baked floor under her bare feet, she tilted her face upwards to catch and feel the caressing rays of sunshine on her ivory, silken skin. Georgiana basked in its glow.

Spring had finally come to England and to Pemberley, thawing the gray paths of winter in its wake, and Georgiana reveled in it, breathing in deep all the wondrous smells that came with the balmy season. The light, breezy air, which tingled her nose and senses, was filled with promise, unspoken words yet to be heard, hidden delights, and above all new life. Here was spring, and it had come to stay. Georgiana could not have been anymore happier than she was that very morning.

The sunlight formed a halo around her golden hair and from where her husband stood unobserved in the doorway of the bedchamber she looked like the first breadth of spring after the chill of winter, totally unaffected and wholly at one with nature. It was a refreshing sight.

He coughed, and Georgiana swirled abruptly to the door. Her husband stood with one shoulder leaned against the doorframe, watching her excitement with a pleased grin.

"Oh my goodness. You startled me," she pressed a hand to her chest.

Colonel Fitzwilliam pushed off from the doorway and strolled closer. Midway, a disturbing thought occurred to him and he paused by the large bed. "You weren't expecting someone else were you?"

Georgiana gave him an odd look. "Of course not, silly," she tittered. "What kind of a question is that?"

"I don't know. You just seemed so... surprised."

"That's because I was surprised," Georgiana rolled her eyes. "I didn't expect to see you standing there, or anyone else for that matter. I thought you were out riding somewhere, enjoying the fresh air."

"I wish. I was downstairs stuck in the study. An unexpected message came for me this morning and I had to deal with it."

"Oh? Nothing serious, I hope."

"Not at all. It is already handled and dealt with, completely out of my hands now," he made a gesture of wiping his hands clean to emphasize the point.

"Good," Georgiana motioned for him to join her by her side. "That means you can take a moment to enjoy nature with me."

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled and took his place beside her. "Do you know, you look like a woodland elf right now," he waved his hand in the air, gesturing around her. "Without the forest of course."

Georgiana leaned over the balustrade and swung herself from one side to the other, all the while swinging in time with the gentle gales of the wind. The Colonel almost had an apoplexy from just watching her, afraid she might do something foolish like let go and fall overboard.

"I cannot help it. There is just something about the spring weather. It is so, so, so... refreshing!" Georgiana explained.

"You sound like Miss Bingley," the Colonel covered his mouth and laughed. "It's so... refreshing!" he mimicked, in a high-pitched voice.

Georgiana glared hard, "I will pretend I did not hear that. Otherwise I would have to punish you for such an impertinent remark."

Her husband raised an interested eyebrow. "Depending on the punishment, I might actually enjoy it."

"It would be nothing pleasurable, I assure you," Georgiana answered severely. The Colonel pouted.

"No frowns on a day like this, Richard. Look," she commanded. "Just look all around you, have you ever seen anything more beautiful? There is simply no room for frowns on a sunny, spring day like today. I won't allow it."

The Colonel did has he was bade to do. He observed the luscious green landscape of the countryside, the pink and white-frosted trees Mary had just the other day described to Colin, and the first of the flowers blooming under the tender watch of the luminescent sun. He had to agree, it truly was a stunning sight.

"I always did like Pemberley in the spring time."

"Me too," Georgiana agreed. "It has an invigorating feel to it doesn't it? Everything always seems to come alive!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled indulgently, "It certainly does." He reached out and fingered one of his wife's golden curls, enjoying her childish delight. Suddenly, the rest of the world disappeared and he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the day with her and her alone. "Come with me, my love," he pleaded.

"To where?" Georgiana was rather loath to part from the balcony. She was comfortable there.

"To a special place."

"Oh? And where might that be?"

"Come with me and you shall find out," he promised.

Georgiana bit her bottom lip in consideration. The Colonel gave her a mocking severe look. "Have you no faith in your husband?"

"Of course I trust you, silly. I'm just trying to think of where this special place might be. I thought I knew every nook and cranny of this house. Certainly I should know it better than you; I grew up here!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam threw his brawny head back and laughed out loud. As much as Georgiana liked to play the part of a coy, seasoned woman, she really was still the ingénue he had married all those years ago. The Colonel was glad of it. Grabbing her hand, and holding it tight within his own, he drew her close and rested his chin on the temple of her forehead. "After all these years, haven't you figured it out already? My special place is anywhere you are," he whispered, his lips just barely brushing her suddenly sensitive ear.

Before Georgiana could muster a response, the Colonel whisked her away from the balcony and out of the house. He led her into the maze, where they could conveniently lose themselves for several hours, and avoid the responsibilities that came with being the adults in charge. Away from the house, and away from prying eyes, husband and wife welcomed the first day of spring in their own special way.

Outside, another pair was having the time of their lives, enjoying nature as well as the bountiful fruits of their labor. Having been cooped up inside the house for the past several weeks, keeping Colin company, Mary and Dickon felt like caged cuckoo birds set free. Running and practically leaping their way towards the garden, Mary and Dickon were like Artemis and Apollo, completely at one with nature.

"Look at the world, Dickon," Mary shouted out. "It's wonderful!" She was bubbling with energy, and there was nothing in the world that could have stopped that endless flow of excitement.

"It's spring!" Dickon laughed with her.

"I wonder what the garden looks like."

"There's only one way to find out! Come on, stop dawdling!" They quickened their paces and reached the garden in record time.

Dickon fetched the hidden key from behind a loosened stone in the wall and unlocked the door. "Ladies first." He ushered Mary in before him with a flourishing bow and then followed hard on her heels.

Mary stopped in the doorway. "Oh my goodness," she whispered breathlessly. "Look, Dickon. Look at the garden."

She turned around and reached for his hand. He squeezed it hard, assuring himself and her that it was for real. Hand in hand, they crept around the garden slowly and disbelievingly, inspecting every inch of it.

"It's amazing," Dickon finally said. "The garden didn't look like this the last time we saw it."

"It's more than amazing," Mary avowed. "It's..." she searched for the appropriate adjective, but came up empty-handed. "There are simply no words to describe it," she finally said.

Their hard work had more than paid off, and the results brought tears to Mary's eyes. "To think, this is what the garden looks like all cleaned up and put into order. Mr. Darcy must have really loved her, whoever she was, to have let it fall under such disrepair."

Dickon agreed. "I have seen all the gardens at Pemberley, and this one is by far the prettiest. I can't believe it's been locked up for all these years. What a shame."

The trimmed and once bronzed grass had transformed itself into a lush, emerald carpet that would have made any leprechaun proud. The flowerbeds brimmed with the first flowers of spring. Paperwhites and narcissi intermingled, spreading their way from one corner of the garden to another. Lavender, white, and pink crocuses pushed their way up through the hard soil to pepper the edges of the flowerbeds. Yellow daffodils formed a striking ring around the center water fountain piece. Crimson red tulips imported from Holland formed an entire side of the garden. Spread out, it looked as if a red carpet had been laid down to welcome the most regal of guests. Overhead, budding trees framed the garden with its apple blossoms and other leafy greens. Every blossom in the garden held promises of more to come.

"Can you believe this, Dickon? Did you imagine this garden would ever be so beautiful?" Mary felt as though her eyes were going to pop out at any minute, she was so overwhelmed by the unexpected sight.

"I can," Dickon clutched Mary's hand. "I can because we did this."

Mary broke away from him and twirled herself around in the center of the garden, suffering from an excess of delight. "We did it, Dickon! We did it! I am so happy I could dance all day long. Come, Dickon! Dance with me!"

Caught up in the moment, Dickon joined in the laughter and the merry-making. Grabbing Mary by the hands, he soon had her swinging round and around in the air. "We did it!" the chanted together.

Only when their arms tired of dancing around in circles and their feet could no longer support them did they pause to catch their breaths.

"Oof! Now I'm tired." Still a little dizzy from all that swirling around, Mary sat down and immediately noticed an unsightly weed rearing its head beside her. "It would appear that our work is not done," she sighed, plucking the weed from the grass. "There are still weeds."

"A garden's work is never done," Dickon told her. "We have done a lot this season. We have cleared away the dead leaves and fallen branches, made room in the flowerbeds for new flowers, weeded in every corner of the garden, and planted new bulbs. But still, that is not enough. Now that we have brought the garden alive, we will have to make sure that it stays alive."

"How will we do that?" Mary asked.

"By doing what we have been doing."

Mary groaned. "You mean there will be more weeding?"

Dickon nodded. "And clearing away old piles of leaves and branches, and trimming the bushes, and clearing room in the flowerbeds, and planting new flowers."

"What have we gotten ourselves into?" Mary wondered aloud.

"But look around you," Dickon gestured round the garden. "It's worth all the trouble, isn't it? I used to wonder what this garden looked like. When I was little and we visited Pemberley, my mother and I would take long walks and pass by these garden walls. I would always ask her to tell me about the Secret Garden, and she would always describe it in exact detail. It sounded like paradise. Now I finally know what it looks like."

"Are you disappointed by the reality?" Mary asked.

"No, not at all," Dickon answered without hesitation. "It is everything I imagined it to be, and then some."

"I am glad."

By unstated mutual agreement, they lay back onto the soft, mossy green of the grass, and contemplated their thoughts in silence. Gradually, they began to converse again. They talked of idle thoughts, past histories, and when there was nothing else to discuss, they watched the clouds take on different shapes.

"Look! 'Tis a swan I see!"

"Where?" Dickon shaded his eyes to avoid the glaring sun while he perused the vast, pale blue sky. "I don't see a swan."

"It's right there," Mary said exasperatedly, pointing into the sky.

Dickon strained his eyes once more. "I still don't see it," he said after a moment. "Are you sure it is a swan?"

Mary rolled her eyes, "Men can never find anything without the help of women."

"You have been spending way too much time with my mother," Dickon noted under his breath.

Mary picked up the arm lying beside her. Holding his hand in hers, she pointed upwards and traced the outline of a swan in the clouds. "There, do you see it now?"

"Oh yeah... what do you know? It is a swan."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"Look, there's a roll."

"A roll? Of what? Bread?" Mary asked confusedly.

"Uh-huh."

"Where?" Mary looked in the direction in which Dickon was pointing and spluttered in amusement. "Why, Dickon, that's just a ball of white fluff! It could be practically anything you wanted it to be. A ball, a coin, a bowl, a moon, an orange, anything round in fact."

Dickon shrugged. "It's all a matter of the imagination and I see a roll of bread."

"Um. All right." Mary just nodded her head. Who was she to question the sanity of her friend?

Back and forth they went. Mary saw a leaf. Dickon saw a horse. Mary thought the horse looked like a turtle. Dickon saw a flower. Mary saw a rabbit. Dickon saw a book. Mary saw a banana. Dickon thought the banana looked like a sliver of the moon. Mary saw a heart. Dickon rolled his eyes. Hearts were much too girlish for him.

Some cloud shapes they agreed on immediately without argument. Others took more persuasion. Eventually they tired of their game.

"Do you think we should get back to the house," Mary asked.

"Probably. It must be near tea time," Dickon answered, just as his stomach growled loudly.

"You are always hungry," Mary grumbled.

"I can't help it. You threw my porridge out the window again this morning," Dickon complained.

"So? It's not as if you wanted to eat your porridge, and I did not see you complaining when I got rid of it for you."

"Well it's not fair seeing as how you at least get to share Colin's bacon."

Mary cast her friend a sidelong glance, "Would you like some of Colin's bacon in the morning too?"

Dickon looked away and flicked imaginary dirt off the side of his jacket, "Not at all. I was merely pointing out a fact. As if I would go around stealing half of my cousin's breakfast. Really, Mary. The suggestions you make," Dickon chided and teased.

"Are you suggesting that I go around stealing half of Colin's breakfast? I don't steal half of Colin's breakfast," Mary contested hotly. "He shares them with me. He offers and I accept. Is there any stealing in that?"

"No," Dickon conceded. "But I still would not want to deprive my stick-thin cousin of food that will fatten him up and give him the strength that he needs."

Mary glared at Dickon's implied remarks for a full minute before blowing up on him. "Oooh, Dickon Fitzwilliam, I cannot believe you would think such thoughts of me! There are times when you really do rankle me!"

Dickon sat back, crossed his arms, and took it all in. Then he chuckled to himself while he watched Mary storm off, leaving him behind. Dickon could not quite explain it, but he actually rather enjoyed giving Mary something to be rankled about.

Halfway to the house, Mary shivered. She wrapped her arms around her and quickened her steps. The sun had been bright and warm when she and Dickon left the house that morning so she had not thought to bring a jacket with her. Now with the dampness of the grass on her back and the sun starting to hide itself behind the clouds, the early spring air chilled her.

As she walked, Mary muttered thinly veiled curses at Dickon for making her cold. It did not matter that Dickon had absolutely nothing to do with the sudden change in the weather. It was enough that she was annoyed at him, and she was cold, and this was now something else she could blame on him. It was logical and made perfect sense... to her, at least.

A jacket, still warm from its wearer's body, was suddenly draped around her shoulders. A hand clapped her on the back in a friendly gesture, and Mary, in her surprise, turned to smile shyly at Dickon who had reappeared by her side out of nowhere. She clutched the unexpected jacket tightly around her neck.

"Thank you," she said simply.

Dickon merely flashed her one of his beautiful smiles before outstripping her. "Last one to the house is a loser," he called out.

Mary fixed her gaze on his back as she followed him back to the house, not even bothering to rise to the challenge. She sighed and had to be honest with herself, no mater how much he irritated her at times, there was something about him that prevented her from staying mad at him for very long.

Mary and Dickon stood side-by-side feeling guilty while they stared down at the marble floor, unable to meet Colin's pain-filled eyes. Colin rolled back and forth in front of them, clearly agitated. "I waited the entire morning for the two of you. I thought we were going to try our hand at painting this morning. Isn't that what we agreed on last night before we went to bed?"

"Yes," they humbly replied.

"I had Mrs. Reynolds find us some smocks, easels, paper, paint, brushes... Everything was prepared. Everything except the two of you, that is."

"We're sorry," Dickon finally dared to look up.

Colin swept by him in his wheelchair. "After I waited an hour for the two of you, I went looking for you. I thought perhaps you might have slept in or something, and that's why you had not yet come for me, but when I went looking, both your bedrooms were empty. I searched the entire second floor for you. Do you know how tiring it is to wheel oneself around the entire second floor of this house? And when I say entire second floor, I mean I searched both the East and the West wings of this house.

Mary grimaced. "We're sorry," she repeated.

"Once I determined that you were nowhere to be found on the second floor," Colin continued without pause, "I decided to search the first floor of the house. I figured that if you weren't on the second floor, you had to be on the first floor. Where else would you be? So, I had a footman carry my wheelchair down the stairs while another carried me. What a waste of energy. I looked into each and every one of the rooms on the first floor and still did not find you two. I even got lost while looking for you; it's been so long since I have been below stairs."

"That's wonderful!" Mary cried out.

Colin silenced her with a look. Apparently now was not the time to discuss how far he had come from that morning when he finally decided to venture forth from his bedroom. For the past few weeks Colin had been less and less recalcitrant about showing his face about the house, and more willing to try new things. Mary and Dickon had worked their hardest at drawing him out of their shell. Every day they tried to come up with some new activity that they thought would amuse Colin. They had planned on trying out painting this morning, but Mary and Dickon had spoiled those plans when they had forgotten about them.

Though Mary would never say it aloud, she noted with some satisfaction that at least her delinquency had enabled Colin to venture to the first floor without a second thought. It had taken her and Dickon so long to coax him out of his bedroom that they had been amazed at how easily he had adapted to the second floor of the house. He darted in and out of bedrooms and hallways with amazing speed, never fearing that something might go wrong. But, that ease had so far been limited to the second floor of the house. Colin had not been as willing to go anywhere else in the house. And yet, in spite of all the protestations and justifying arguments he had made just the day before about why he could not visit the first floor of the house, here he was now, rolling back in forth in front of the two of them.

"I don't understand," Colin shook his head, "if you wanted to go outside, why didn't you at least tell me where you were going? I wouldn't have minded. Truly."

"It just... slipped our minds, Colin. We're sorry."

The moment the words spilled out of her mouth, Mary knew she had said the wrong thing. Luckily, Dickon was there to pick up the pieces.

"It's not that we forgot about you, Cousin. It's just that in our haste and eagerness to be outside, we did not take the time to think about the consequences of our actions. We saw that the sun was shining, and immediately ran outside. We didn't tell anyone that we were leaving the house."

Colin began to soften. "I don't understand what's so exciting about the outdoors. All it does is make me sneeze and sometimes it even gives me headaches. There's nothing you can't do inside that you can do outside. And at least when I'm inside I do not have to deal with sneezes and headaches."

"Oh, Colin, how can you say such a thing?" Mary asked in lamentation. "There is so much to see outside that you cannot see inside a house."

"Really?"

"Oh, heavens yes! Come, Dickon and I will tell you about it over tea." Mary led the way, and Dickon pushed Colin's wheelchair from behind. Once the tea had been brought and their stomachs had been appeased, Mary began to tell Colin about all the marvels of nature.

"Have you ever opened the window and just felt the sun on your skin? It makes your skin all warm and tingly," she told him. "Imagine going outside and feeling like that all over your body. It's a marvelous feeling; it's as if you can feel the sun shining inside of your body."

"And the air is heavenly to breathe," Dickon picked up.

"What's so different about the air inside a house and the air outside?" Colin wanted to know.

"The air outside is so fresh and clean. You can smell how pure it is. It makes you want to just stand there, inhaling and exhaling all day long." Dickon explained.

"And there is a lot to see too," Mary added.

"Indeed. Why, just this morning we saw a squirrel steal another squirrel's pinecone. The second squirrel chased the first squirrel up a tree, and then they both came somersaulting down. It really was quite funny."

Mary laughed at the memory. "Oh, they were so cute, Colin! But I think the rabbits we sometimes see are cuter. They are so furry; you can almost imagine how soft they must feel. But we can never get close enough to one to find out. Rabbits are incredibly fast on their feet."

"And it's more than just the birds and the woodland creatures," Dickon told him, "there are the flowers and trees too."

Mary nodded her head vigorously, "Oh yes," she breathed, "especially now that it has turned spring. All the flowers are awakening and they're simply beautiful, Colin. I wish you could see them. Next time I go outside, I shall bring you back a bouquet," she promised.

"It does sound nice," Colin said slowly. "And this is what you do when you go outside all morning long? Watch the animals and admire the flowers?" Colin was still trying to understand the fascination of the outdoors. As cute as the animals seemed to be, and as pretty as the flowers were described to be, it seemed rather idle to just sit around all morning long, doing nothing.

Mary glanced quickly at Dickon, who gave her a surreptitious nod of the head. It was the go ahead sign she had been looking for. "Well, no. Not exactly."

"I don't understand. So, what is it then that you and Dickon do outside?"

"We work in a garden," Mary gushed. "You see, before your father left for France he asked me if there was anything I wanted. I told him I wanted a garden to make things grow, and he gave me his permission to grow a little garden."

Little garden? Now that is an understatement, Dickon thought.

"Is that where you went this morning?"

"Yes," Mary admitted. "We've been working so hard on it these past few months. We've had to clear away old brush and old leaves. Then we had to trim dead branches off of the plants. We planted some new flowers, made room for the old ones to come out, and then we had to make sure the garden stayed free of weeds. It's been a lot of work, but it was worth it. Today, when we went to check on the garden, it was blooming all over the place. It was beautiful."

Mary went on to describe the variety of flowers that had already bloomed. She then went further to include descriptions of flowers that would bloom in the future. Mary's illustration was so vivid that Colin could practically see it for himself in his head.

"That does sound very nice," he said wistfully.

Mary pounced on those words. "We would take you, if you wanted to."

Colin looked taken aback. "You mean, go outside?"

"Of course. Why shouldn't you? In the past week or so, you have already managed to emerge from your room, find your way around the second floor of the house, and even the first."

"So I have." Colin's lips curved upwards. He had not thought of his achievements in a list like that before. Put together, it did sound rather impressive.

"So, what's the big deal about going outside then? It will be like taking the next step in your progression."

"Perhaps I will... someday. I confess I am intrigued by your description. I think I should like to see it for myself. But I do not know if I am ready to try the next step and go outside," he added tentatively.

"You have only to say the word, Colin, and we will take you to it," Dickon told him. "But, you must promise us one thing. You must not tell anyone about the garden."

Colin looked confused. "I thought you had my father's permission."

"I do," Mary confirmed. "But no one else knows, and no one else can know or else they will start asking me where this garden is, and I simply cannot tell anyone the location of my garden."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Mary took a deep breath, "it's a Secret Garden."

"A Secret Garden?"

"Mm-hmm. You see, once upon a time, the garden..." before Mary could get any further than that introduction, Dickon cut her off. "Was locked up," he finished for her.

"Why was it locked up?"

Again, Mary tried to open her mouth only to have Dickon answer before her. "Your father did not really like the garden, so he closed it up and forbade anyone to go in it ever again. No one mentions it anymore. It's a forgotten garden. We discovered it and made it our own. We do not want to get into trouble, nor do we want to have to share it. That's why it must be kept a secret."

"I dare say that is all very odd-sounding."

"It is," Dickon agreed. "But who are we to question your father?"

"True," Colin answered, considering the new information he had just gleamed from his cousin and friend. "I suppose he can do whatever he wants to with his home."

"Precisely. So, can we have your word that you will not breathe a word of what we have just told you to any other soul?"

"You have my word on my honor," Colin solemnly promised. Colin smiled satisfactorily to himself. He liked the idea of being in on a secret. He also liked the feeling a person got when he was trusted enough to be told a secret. This was like the ultimate test, he thought.

Well, I will not be the one to disappoint them, Colin swore to himself. Now that they have entrusted me with their secret, I will keep it safe.

Meanwhile, Mary was still struggling to figure out why Dickon had been so rude and insistent about cutting her off at every possible moment. She did not understand why he had to be the one to Colin about the garden, and she also wondered why Dickon had chosen to tell only half the story. The bit about a romance having gone awry was, in Mary's opinion, the best part of the story. It was so romantic! Yet, Dickon had chosen to withhold that part of the story. Mary could not think of any rational explanations for Dickon's behavior.

Mary had to wait until they were about to go to bed before she could seek Dickon out and have him explain his actions to her. Having missed out on the morning, Colin was not about to let them out of his sight for another moment. He was intrigued by the garden and asked a lot of questions about it. His eager questions left Mary and Dickon satisfied that it would not be long before they enticed him outdoors. Dickon had been astute in his earlier prediction that once they told Colin about the garden it would be the key to get him out of the house. Now it was evening again and it was time for Mary to get those answers she was looking for.

"Dickon? I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to ask you a question. It's been bothering me all day long."

Dickon turned around at Mary's voice and said a word of thanks that he had not yet changed out of his clothes. "That's all right. What was it you wanted to ask me? Is everything all right?"

"This afternoon, when we were telling Colin about the garden, I was about to tell him the Secret Garden's story, but you stopped me. When I tried once more, you stopped me again. Well... I wanted to know... Why is that? Why did you do that?" Mary asked confusedly.

Dickon nodded his head thoughtfully. "I apologize. I did not mean to step on your toes, Mary, I just... well, I did not think it prudent of us to tell Colin that his father was once in love with another woman who was not his mother."

"Oh." Mary's eyes widened in understanding. "But, should it matter if the woman came before Colin's mother? Surely he could not hold that against his father. I mean, Mr. Darcy did marry Colin's mother in the end."

"Under any other circumstance, I suppose it would not. But I have it on fairly good authority that Colin's mother was not my uncle's true love, but that the other woman was. Colin does not need to know that, especially not right now when he is just coming out of his shell. I do not know what will or will not send him scurrying back into his shell, but I would rather not take any chances."

Mary considered that point for a moment. "I suppose that makes sense."

"There may come a point in time where Colin will need to know the truth," Dickon conceded. "But we should not be the ones that tell him about it. After all, what we know is only from hearsay. We would likely make things worse if we told him what we thought we knew. And who knows, there is always the possibility that Colin need not ever know about the other woman, who is supposedly my uncle's true love. And if there is no need for Colin to know about her, why should we bring it up with him?"

Mary had to admit that Dickon's rationale made a lot of sense. She was even impressed with the thoroughness of his thoughts. "I cannot think of any reason for why I should disagree. As usual, I shall defer to your better judgment then," she told him flippantly. "We shall go along with what you say."

"My dear madam, you are too kind," Dickon beamed and bowed.

Mary giggled. "Good-night, Dickon."

"Good-night, Mary." Dickon grinned back at her and watched her leave his room. He changed quickly and then did a running jump onto his bed. For a moment, Dickon thought with some satisfaction about how Mrs. Reynolds and his mother would be horrified if they knew about his abusive behavior towards the bed. Dickon knew they hated when he jumped on the bed and, thus, took even greater pleasure in doing it whenever he could.

As he snuffed out the last of his candles and snuggled down into bed, Dickon could not help but smile to himself. Another day over and another day closer to bringing Colin back to the land of the living. Once they managed to get him to go outside, he and Mary would have to see about getting Colin back on his feet and walking again. It would most likely be an arduous project, and they would have to do a lot of persuading to get Colin to even try, but it was a task he looked forward to. When all was said and done, Dickon liked being friends with his cousin.

Chapter 22

Georgiana waited until the children had settled down for the day and her husband had secreted himself in the library before summoning Mrs. Reynolds to take tea with her. She shoved the last of her letters into a neat pile on her desk just as Mrs. Reynolds came in with the teacart.

"You always did have impeccable timing, Mrs. Reynolds," she called out.

"I could not help but notice that you did not take much breakfast this morning," Mrs. Reynolds announced matter-of-factly, "so I took the liberty of having Cook make some sandwiches for you."

Georgiana peered over the tray with interest. "Watercress!" she exclaimed, "My favorite! Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds." She snatched one off the tray before the housekeeper could even set it down on a table. Eyeing the sandwich appreciatively, Georgiana then impulsively turned around to give Mrs. Reynolds a quick peck on the cheek. "You always know just what I need."

Georgiana plopped herself unceremoniously down on the nearest couch and started munching away happily. Just like a little girl, Mrs. Reynolds thought. For an infinitesimal moment the housekeeper just stood there and watched the golden-haired woman turn back into a little girl with two long, golden braids hanging down her back. Tears rose suddenly, out of nowhere, as her heart yearned for that little girl who had always had a smile to share and not a single care on her shoulders. A selfish part of her wished Georgiana had never had to grow up.

Georgiana glanced up mid-bite, arrested by the curious look in her housekeeper's eyes. Mrs. Reynolds turned hastily away and brushed quickly at the corner of her eyes. "Is everything all right, Mrs. Reynolds?"

Mrs. Reynolds sat primly next to Georgiana and fanned out her skirt and apron. "Everything is perfectly all right, Mrs. Fitzwilliam," she reassured before turning brisk and business-like. "Now, let us discuss tomorrow."

Georgiana, however, was not so easily put aside. She laid a gentle hand on the elder woman's arm, somehow knowing exactly what had been on Mrs. Reynolds's mind. "I wish you would call me Miss Georgie. Like you used to."

Mrs. Reynolds looked up, horrified. "Oh, I couldn't Miss..., I mean, Mrs. Fitzwilliam, I mean..." The sudden shock sent the poor woman into a torrent of confused and emotional tears. "Oh, now look what you have done to me, you dratted child."

As the import of her words hit home, Mrs. Reynolds's eyes did the impossible and grew even rounder. "Oh, Mrs. Fitzwilliam! I do beg your pardon, ma'am! I did not mean to call you 'dratted' just now!"

"Oh, yes you did." Georgiana's eyes twinkled as they misted over all at the same time. She patted Mrs. Reynolds hands affectionately. "It's quite all right, Mrs. Reynolds. I shall always be your 'dratted child, you know,'" she whispered conspiratorially, conceding to her old housekeeper's pet name for her. Fitzwilliam had been the "demon child," with his jet-black curls and impish antics. Georgiana had been the "dratted child," always trying to instigate trouble like her elder brother, but never quite succeeding. She was simply too angelic to stir up trouble, but the housekeeper had gone along with the game and called her "dratted" nonetheless.

Once Mrs. Reynolds had nodded her head in understanding and sufficiently wiped her eyes and nose clean to hide the tears behind her reddened eyes, she slipped back into her cool façade. Without betraying a single emotion or thought, she picked up right where they left off, as though neither one of them had ever lapsed to acknowledge the past.

"I know you usually like to go over the menu yourself, so I hope you do not mind that I took the liberty of discussing tomorrow's menu with Cook, remembering what Miss Bennet liked best the last time she was here."

It was Georgiana's turn to look up in undisguised shock and awe. "You can actually remember what Miss Bennet's favorite foods are?" she asked, completely impressed by the housekeeper's unflagging memory.

"Of course," Mrs. Reynolds answered self-assuredly, as if she made a habit of cataloging every Pemberley guests' favorite food and was insulted that anyone would ever question her capable abilities. She then began to rattle off a list of what Cook would be serving for the next few days until the day Georgiana would resume the duty of making up the menu.

"My apologies," Georgiana murmured. "I was not questioning your abilities. I was just surprised and impressed."

Once the menu had been agreed upon, Georgiana asked after the bedchamber she had specifically picked out for her guest. "You have prepared the blue room for Miss Bennet as we agreed upon?"

"I had the covers lifted, the furniture dusted, and the room aired out," Mrs. Reynolds nodded.

"And you made sure that the closet..."

Mrs. Reynolds cut her off, finishing the thought for her. "I had the shelves in the closet replaced and even made sure they were not out of place and did not wobble for myself." Then she leaned over to whisper in jest, "Her Ladyship, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, would have been vastly pleased and impressed had it been her closet I fixed."

Georgiana pressed her lips together to avoid laughing out loud. "And you made sure the linens on the bed were new?"

Mrs. Reynolds cried out in mock horror. "As if I would settle for anything less, Miss Georgie! I will have you know I washed, cleaned, dried and pressed them myself. I even added a little rose water to perfume the sheets too."

Georgiana smiled. She mentally checked off items as she went down a list in her head. "Oh! I knew I had forgotten something! I forgot to tell you. The pitcher and basin both had cracks in them when I last checked on them. Are there any spares in the house with which to replace them?"

"They have both been replaced," Mrs. Reynolds said gently. "I noticed them last week and sent for new ones from Lambton. The new ones are an eggshell color, with a tinge of pink. It matches the light blue décor of the room beautifully."

Georgiana nodded absently. "Good, good," she murmured.

Mrs. Reynolds hesitated a moment before finally asking, "Mrs. Fitzwilliam, I mean, Miss Georgie... have you arranged for someone to pick Miss Bennet up from the train station?"

Georgiana stared at her housekeeper for a minute. She was paralyzed and unable to recall whether she had or not. A sudden panic started to rise from the pit of her stomach. Had she actually forgotten something? No! Georgiana remembered that she had taken care of that detail. She relaxed and smiled and began to breathe again.

"Yes," she finally said, "Yes I have. Though I am very glad you reminded me. Richard volunteered to do the job a while back and I had all but forgotten the matter, assuming it was taken care of. I will have to remind Richard that he is to pick up Miss Bennet from the train station tomorrow. I doubt very much that he has remembered it himself. He cannot do anything by himself, you know."

The women shared a knowing smile before returning to business. Reassured that everything had been taken care of, Mrs. Reynolds sat back to relax and watch Georgiana resume her mental checklist. Georgiana went through it once and went over it again before turning a satisfied smile on her housekeeper. "Well, I think that's it!"

"Of course it is, my child. You have done a fine job in preparing for our guest. I cannot think that she will be displeased."

"You have been a big help, Mrs. Reynolds. Thank you."

Mrs. Reynolds laughed and hugged the woman who would always be a girl to her to her chest. "We have done it together."

"Aye," Georgiana agreed. "And together we shall welcome Miss Bennet when she returns to Pemberley on the morrow."

"I cannot wait," Mrs. Reynolds trilled. Georgiana watched her leave, and then rubbed her eyes. She could have sworn that was a little skip in the housekeeper's step.

Somewhere in India...

Jane walked somewhat tiredly into the breakfast room and in a most uncharacteristic manner, walked straight past the servant who had opened the door for her without sparing him a single glance. Jane was usually more attentive to her surroundings, taking extra care to make eye contact with the servants and reassuring them with kind words that she appreciated their work.

She slipped wearily into her chair and propped up her chin to stair into space. At his wife's entrance, Charles had put down his newspaper and laid it beside his plate. Now he stared concernedly at her from his seat across the table and took off his reading glasses while he leaned back into his chair. It was unusual to see Jane so despondent in the morning. She was usually bright and cheery first thing in the morning, more than ready to go about her day.

"Will you not have something to eat this morning?" he finally asked his wife.

"Hm?" Jane jerked back to attention just as her stomach grumbled. "Oh yes, breakfast. Of course, I suppose I will," she answered absently.

"Shall I fetch a plate for you then?"

Jane summoned a smile for her husband, "Yes, thank you, Charles. That would be lovely."

Charles motioned for one of the servants to bring his wife a cup of coffee while he walked over to the sideboard himself. He took his time going over the breakfast selections before bringing her a plate positively laden with golden, fluffy eggs, perfectly browned sausages, and toasted crumpets with melted butter on top.

"Would you like some jelly with your crumpets," Charles asked?

Jane could actually feel the table groaning under the plate's weight. "Good heavens, Charles. I cannot possibly eat all that! There is enough food on that plate to feed a small army!"

Charles raised his eyebrows. "I would have thought, madam, that after a night like last night you would be as ravenous as I was this morning."

Jane blushed a crimson red, which her husband thought quite charming. "Really Charles," she whispered tersely. "Remember where you are. Do you want the servants to hear and gossip?"

"Oh, my darling wife, these words are for you and you alone," coming over to stand behind his wife, Charles leaned over and placed both his hands on the table, on either side of her breakfast plate, effectively imprisoning his wife in her chair. Whispering wickedly into her ears, Jane blushed becomingly once more.

"Let them think whatever they want," Charles pompously announced as he stood up and walked back to his seat. "I am not afraid of them, and neither should you." That said, he gave his wife a piercing look and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Jane, unable to think of what else to do, rolled her eyebrows. She was at a total loss as to how she should deal with her errant husband. In her opinion, he took entirely too much pleasure out of embarrassing her at every turn. At least she was used to it by now, though she still blushed every time. Picking up her fork, Jane began to tuck into her breakfast meal.

Sitting back down, Charles made a grand show of replacing his white linen napkin back into his lap. He took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee and then said, "Knowing you as well as I do, I suppose that distracted look of yours just now had nothing to do with last night though."

Will I ever stop blushing? Jane wondered.

"You are consumed by something else, or should I say, someone else. Elizabeth and Mary, I think." Charles finished.

Not at all startled by her husband's accurate and frank assessment, Jane smiled and then immediately frowned. "I cannot get anything past you. I am worried," she confessed. "It is not like Elizabeth to be so remiss in her correspondence. She is usually so regular in her letters, yet I have not heard from her in almost a month now. And of course I long to hear from Mary. We haven't had a letter from her in ages either. I am still so worried about her. Do you think she is all right so far away by herself? Do you think she is dressed warmly enough? She is not accustomed to the cold, English weather having lived most of her life in India."

"You worry too much, my dear. Mary is perfectly well, as she assured us in her last letter," Charles reminded his wife. "She is hardly all alone with Georgiana, Colonel Fitzwilliam, their son, Colin, Mrs. Reynolds, and all the other servants at Pemberley to keep her company. I am also sure that between Georgiana and Mrs. Reynolds, she is being well taken care of. They would certainly never let her run around cold and improperly dressed."

"Oh, I know you are right, Charles. Still, I cannot help but worry."

"Of course not," Charles sympathized. "You are her mother. 'Twould be unnatural if you did not worry, I think."

"And then there is still the matter of Elizabeth. Do you think something might have happened to her?"

"I doubt the Moffet's would let anything happen to your sister. They not only depend upon her, they quite dote upon her. Besides if something unfortunate had happened to Elizabeth, surely we would have heard from them by now."

Jane cast her husband a wan smile. "You are right again; I know you are. But I fear that until I hear from them next, I shall remain uneasy."

Charles smiled understandingly. It warmed his heart to see his wife always caring and worrying about her loved ones. "Then you are fortunate indeed, madam. I doubt there is any need for you to worry any longer for the post was delivered just before you came down for breakfast."

"The post?" Jane's interest was instantly piqued. When her husband did not say anything more, she asked in that sweet, tentative voice of hers, "And was there an English batch in this morning's post?"

Charles flashed a triumphant smile. "Why yes there was, my love. There most certainly was. And it is my greatest pleasure to tell you that you have not only a letter from your dear sister, but your darling daughter as well."

Jane cried with glee and within seconds, she was by her husband's side. "That was very mean of you to make me wait for my letters."

She reached for the letters, but Charles was quicker and snatched them out from under her hand. Confused, Jane reached for them again, but Charles held them high and away from her grasp. She stomped her foot angrily, "Charles Andrew Bingley! This is not funny! Give me my letters!"

"My but you are pretty when you have a flash of anger coursing through your veins," her husband taunted.

Jane crossed her arms and tapped her feet impatiently. "I will have you know, I am not the least bit amused."

Not at all remorseful, Charles turned his cheek towards his wife and said, "A reward in exchange for the letters?"

"No."

"Oh, well, fine. In that case, I will just be on my way. I have much to take care of this morning." Charles made a great show of opening his jacket to put the letters into an inside pocket.

Jane glared at him before letting down her arms and huffing a sigh laden with resignation, "Oh, fine! Have your reward! But what you really deserve is a good slap and a punishment!"

Making a great show of puckering up her lips, Jane leaned in to kiss her husband's clean-shaven cheek. But right at that critical moment when she would have touched lip to skin, Charles turned his head and caught his wife's lip triumphantly with his own. Stunned, Jane played into the kiss. When they finally broke away, Charles was grinning like a happy, if not triumphant, fool. "Now, madam, you may have your letters."

Playing along with her husband's silly antics, Jane bowed deeply over their hands as she took the letters from him and said, "I thank you, sire." Then she sat down in the seat beside him and opened up her daughter's letter first.

Seeing as how his wife was occupied with one letter and had left the other unopened on the table, Charles slowly reached out and over, saying, "You don't mind if I see what your sister has to say, do you?"

Without having to even break her gaze away from Mary's opening lines, Jane slapped his knuckles soundly with the palm of her hand and said, "Don't even think about it, you naughty child."

"Fine!" Sniffing and acting as though he was sorely put out, Charles resumed his breakfast, which was now thoroughly cold.

At this, Jane did put down her letter, but only for a moment. Long enough to say, "Oh, tush! Now be a good boy and let me read my letters in peace."

Grinning, Charles behaved like the perfect angel that he usually was and left his wife to enjoy her letters. He turned his own attention to the other pieces of business mail that had come with that morning's post.

Dearest Mama and Papa,

Rest assure, I really am the happiest of girls in England. I still miss you both very much and think of you often, but my homesickness has begun to wear off. I truly am enjoying England now. Aunt Georgiana, that is what Mrs. Fitzwilliam has begged me to call her, has been all that is kindness and good to me. She has been most understanding of my feelings and has been helping me to feel more at home at Pemberley. Dickon went home with his father for several weeks, but now he is returned and I am very glad of it for I missed his company sorely while he was away. During his absence however, I made the most amazing discovery. Papa and Dickon were right; Colin really is not such a horrible child as I thought him to be. Though he still annoys me sometimes, I have learned that he really is a good person and we have even become fast friends. I suppose I have learned to be more tolerable as well. It is a lesson Papa would be proud of, I think.

I have one more note of excitement to tell you about, though. Guess who is coming to visit next month? You will never guess, so I shall tell you. Aunt Elizabeth! Are you not happy, Mama? When I left India, you did promise you would write Aunt Elizabeth and tell her about me. When I never heard from her about coming to see me, I was very sad. I talked about it with Aunt Georgiana though and she helped me to see that it was because Aunt Elizabeth was a governess and had responsibilities she could not avoid. She also explained that Aunt Elizabeth would not impose herself on us without a proper invitation, so she and I promptly wrote Aunt Elizabeth a letter each entreating her to come visit. I did not hear from Aunt Elizabeth for weeks and I half feared that she would not come at all, but in the end she did write and promised to come in several months time when her employer and their family were to travel to visit relatives Scotland in the spring.

Is this not simply wonderful news? I am so excited to finally be able to meet my Aunt Elizabeth that I can scarce contain myself. I do want her to like me, but I know I shall say something horribly dreadful in my nervousness and then she will not like me. Dickon says I am being perfectly ridiculous in my fears and promises to stand by me when the time comes to help prevent me from tripping over my skirt or worse. I think that is very kind of him, don't you? Colin of course wants to do everything we do and promises the same, but how can he when he cannot get up from his wheelchair? Do you think Aunt Elizabeth will disapprove of me, Mama? I wish you could be here with me to see her. I know how much you miss her, and she you. I suppose I will just have to tell Aunt Elizabeth all about you when I see her.

My love to you both.

Your loving daughter,

Mary

Tears rolled down Jane's cheeks as she read her daughter's letter. Her sentimental thoughts, however, did not outweigh the shock she felt upon reading her daughter's words. Elizabeth going to visit Mary at Pemberley? Impossible. Mary had to be mistaken. Jane had it on the best authority that Elizabeth would never ever step foot in Pemberley ever again. Indeed, she had heard it from Elizabeth herself. Mary had to be mistaken. Snatching Elizabeth's letter from the table, she ripped it open and hurriedly scanned its contents, seeking the answers she craved. When she found them, she gasped most audibly.

Her sounds and movements caught Charles's attention. Seeing his wife's pallor, he immediately assumed the worst and picked up Mary's letter. He too was surprised by its contents, though for his own, different reasons. By the time he had finished with his daughter's letter, Jane had finished with her sister's. Usually, he left Elizabeth's letters well alone, respecting the privacy of the sisters. In this instance however, he had to see what Elizabeth had to say. Without even asking permission, he picked up the letter and proceeded to read. Jane did not protest; she was in so much shock.

My dear sister Jane,

Forgive me, dearest. You must be frightfully worried by now, having not heard from me in quite some time now. Let me assure you now that I am quite well, if only a bit tired. Life, here at Moffet Manor, has been somewhat topsy-turvy these past few days. In truth, I have been so overwhelmed that I did not know what to write and say to you. I still do not know how to explain it in such a way so that you will understand, but I shall try nonetheless.

Let me first say how much I wish you could have been here with me these past few days. In all the years you have been separated from me and living in India, I have never needed you as I did this past week. I have needed your advice, your sweet assurances, and above all your loving support and care. I miss your hugs so much, sweet sister.

The strangest happened to me last week. I do not know whether I was having an unlucky day or simply a fateful day. Whatever it was, it certainly created an upheaval in my life for not one, but two things happened to me on that day. The first was I received a letter both from Mrs. Richard Fitzwilliam and your daughter, Mary. Both letters invited me to come visit them at Pemberley. Well, no, I correct myself. Mrs. Fitzwilliam invited me to come; Mary, on the other hand, begged me to come. I was given to understand that Mr. Darcy, to whom you have entrusted your daughter's care, is out of the country at the moment overseeing business matters. In his absence, the Fitzwilliam's have removed to Pemberley. Of course, when I first received their letters, my initial response was to refuse the invitation. You know why I cannot go back there, Jane. And though my heart wanted so desperately to see my niece, I could not go, not even for her. I thought perhaps to ask the Moffet's if I might invite Mary to come stay with me. She would have had friends among the Moffet girls.

Before I could even do any of this however, a second thing happened to me. I had just finished reading my letters and started thinking about my plans to bring Mary to me when I was summoned below. Apparently Mr. Simons, who you will remember to be the local vicar, had called for me. I was somewhat surprised. I could not imagine why he would want to see me, but I suspected that Mrs. Moffet, in all her kindness, was trying her hand at matchmaking. My suspicions were confirmed when not five minutes after I entered the drawing room, she found some reason to excuse herself, leaving us alone. If I was surprised that Mr. Simons should even call on me, imagine my surprise when I received a proposal from him!

I could not have been more surprised by Mr. Simons' proposal, Jane. I never sought his attentions and always considered him to be a friend. There were times when we would talk after Sunday services or fall into place beside one another during social functions, but I never thought anything of it. Exchanging views on the weather or latest local gossip never came close to courtship in my opinion. Apparently Mr. Simons was not of the same opinion. I suppose the local biddies might have had something to do with it. They are as bad as Mrs. Moffet, always giving winking hints and making sly, insinuating comments. I always paid little heed to them and supposed Mr. Simons did the same. Now I wish I had had more foresight; perhaps I could have prevented this embarrassing debacle. Why is it Jane that I always have to attract men of the cloth?

I let down Mr. Simons as gently as I could, and under the circumstances I thought he took the rejection rather stoically. He of course hoped that there might be some chance for him still, but I could not be so false to him. It would not seem fair to be with someone who loved you when you could not love him back. I know that means I shall forever be an old maid, but truly I am resigned. In any event, I am happy with my current situation. The Moffet's treat me well and I dare say with Erin being only four-years-old, I shall be with the family for many more years to come.

Ah, but I digress. As stoic as Mr. Simons was, I could tell that he was also deeply hurt. It saddened me to think that I should be the cause of his pain. I spent the rest of the day in agony and at night, Mrs. Moffet invited me to share my burdens with her. I was so distraught that to my mortification I immediately let the floodgates open and out poured my day's troubles. We agreed that perhaps some time spent away from Mr. Simons would be beneficial. The Moffet's are traveling to Scotland in a few weeks and I was amenable to the idea of traveling with them, but Mrs. Moffet was of a different opinion. She would have me go to Pemberley. She reminded me of how much I wanted to see Mary and pointed out that Mr. Darcy would not be there, and in the end I could not see anything but her point of view.

It will be nice to get away from here, I think. Unfortunately I cannot leave right away and must wait several weeks before I travel to Pemberley. In the meantime, I bear it is as best as I can. This past Sunday was the first time I saw Mr. Simons since the incident and it was a tad bit uncomfortable. He would not look our way and the biddies' tongues were most assuredly wagging. I know in their hearts they mean well, so I cannot really castigate them, but I do wish they would stop! It would probably lessen Mr. Simons' pain and lessen my guilt. I only hope that Mr. Simons can one day find a woman more deserving of his attentions than I. He truly is a fine gentleman, and I feel half-guilty passing up the opportunity. Imagine what mother would say if she but knew! Her last daughter, her old maid, married! It would be nothing short of a miracle, I am sure. But, alas, Mr. Simons is not the gentleman for me.

And so my dearest sister, I write today to tell you of my plans. Perhaps by the time you receive this letter I will already be on my way to Pemberley. I am excited at the prospect of seeing my niece. I still remember the look on her sweet face the day you held her in your arms and left for India. I wonder if I will still recognize that face when I see her again. It has been so many years, how grown she must be now. Yet, through our intimate letters over these many years, I feel as though I have always known her, as though I have watched her grow up with my very own eyes. While I am excited, I am also nervous to the greatest extent possible for my trip. My hands shake even now at the mere thought of it. If I am already shaking thus, I shudder to think what I will look like when I actually arrive at Pemberley. Oh, sweet Jane, how I wish I had your calm nature; perhaps I would be better able to take things in stride.

Think of me, and pray for me. I shall need all the help I can get. My love to you and to Charles. I pray that you are both well.

Your sister,

Elizabeth

When Charles finished reading the letter, he turned and looked at his wife. Their responses were automatic and identical, "She cannot go to Pemberley!"

Shocked by the fervency of each other's pronouncement, each sat back momentarily stunned in their chairs. Jane was the first to recover, and thought it odd that her husband should have the same reaction as her. He did not, after all, know of Elizabeth's feelings for his friend. "And why ever not?" she demanded to know.

Charles spluttered around for an answer to give his wife. He could not very well tell her that Darcy was in love with Elizabeth. "B-B-Because..."

Bidden to defend her sister's honor, Jane lashed out hotly. "Is my sister not good enough for his lordship's home?"

"Y- I mean, no!" Not knowing what he was saying at all, Charles knew he had only made a bigger mess of things by almost saying 'yes'. He had not meant to say the word, it was a natural reaction to automatically agree with whatever his wife said, but when he stopped to consider her preceding comment, he knew that in this case the answer was most definitely 'no.'

"Ha!" Jane sneered. "You do think Mr. Darcy and his precious Pemberley is too good for my sister, don't you?! I knew it! The Bennet's were never good enough for the Darcy's back then and I dare say they're still not good enough. What I want to know then is how Mr. Darcy bears having Mary in his home when she is half a Bennet!"

"No! That's not it! It has nothing to do with your family," he tried to reassure her. Lord, how was Charles to explain what he wanted to say but could not say? In all the years of his marriage with Jane, Charles had never kept a secret from his wife. That is, all but one, and that was how his friend felt for his wife's sister. Though Charles had always felt uncomfortable concealing the truth from his wife, to make himself feel better, he reconciled himself with the knowledge that the secret was really Darcy's and not his own to tell.

"Then why do you say that Elizabeth cannot go to Pemberley?"

"I just... I just... I just do not think it would be wise," Charles lamely finished. Think, man, think! Charles mentally bashed himself on the forehead. He knew he was coming up with harebrained excuses which were not pacifying his wife in the least nor making himself feel any better about the situation.

Crossing her arms in a protective stance, Jane raised her eyebrows in a seldom seen act of defiance against her husband. "Wise, you ask? And why pray tell would it be unwise for my sister to visit Pemberley? Will Elizabeth pollute the shades of Pemberley or something? I would hope that you yourself have not suddenly turned as priggish as the late Lady Catherine de Bourgh for as a former Bennet I would surely be polluting the shades of this house right now!"

Charles opened his mouth to object to his wife's hurled criticisms, but Jane paid him no heed and continued on. "Mary is a child living in a home devoid of any sort of family. If you had any sort of human compassion in you, you would be overjoyed to have aunt and niece reunited at long last. Besides, it has always been Mary's fondest wish that she might meet her Aunt Elizabeth. And might I remind you that not only has Mary invited Elizabeth to Pemberley, but Georgiana Fitzwilliam herself has also invited my sister to come visit with them? Now she is someone with more than an ounce of human compassion in her body. And I dare say as your darling Mr. Darcy's dearest sister she has just as much right to invite whomever she wants to Pemberley."

Jane was pretty much rambling by this point, and Charles was amazed, horrified, and annoyed all at the same time. Hurt by his wife's outright castigation, especially by the comment about him having no human compassion, and just as loyal to his friend as Jane was to her sister, it was Charles's turn to become the protector and rally his friend's interests against Jane's apparent disapproval.

"As I recall, I was not the only one who thought Elizabeth should not go to Pemberley. You also made a similar, if not identical, comment. Now why is it that you would question my assertion? Should you not be pleased instead that we are in agreement?"

"No," was Jane's quick and confident reply. "For we disagree in our reasoning."

"And might you explain your reasoning to me now?" It was Charles's turn to be in control of his emotions while Jane was left to flummox around for a reasonable answer that would not betray her sister's deepest emotions.

When Jane did not have a forthcoming answer, Charles used the same question she had asked him against her. "Is your sister too good for Pemberley?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact she is," Jane spat. Charles was astounded by Jane's answer. He had expected her to answer as he had. "Elizabeth should not have to suffer being in that man's home."

Charles was struck by the vehemence in his wife's tone. "I must confess, Jane. I do not understand you. You are the kindest, most loving and generous person I know. There is not a single evil-wishing bone in your body. I have even seen you keep faith in even the most blackguarded fellow of society, yet when it comes to my friend you have always carried some sort of unforgiving antagonism towards him. I now ask you, why is that?"

Jane bit her lip, indecisive. At this point however, she really had nothing to lose. She hoped that Elizabeth would forgive her, but Jane could no longer go on in silence. For years she had carried this flaming torch in her breast and now that her husband was giving her an opportunity to release it, she would seize it and provide an outlet to her feelings, sharing her opinion of Mr. Darcy with her husband.

"I have never been predisposed to disapprove of anyone, as you well know. When we were children, Elizabeth would always tease me and say that it was impossible for me to see the bad in a person for I would always see only the good, or at least try and turn the bad into good."

"Yes. Go on."

"For years I have honestly tried to see the good in Mr. Darcy, or at least try to see his bad for good, but it has proven impossible. My genuine attempts, however, have been thwarted at every turn by the haunting image of my sister's devastated and tear-stained face. I ask you, Charles, how can I possibly approve of Mr. Darcy after all that he has done to my sister?"

Charles listened to his wife's passionate plea in shock. "What he has done to your sister? What about all that she has done to my friend?"

It was Jane's turn to have her senses reeled backwards. "What on earth are you talking about? What has Elizabeth ever done to Mr. Darcy?" she asked. "It was he who wronged her!"

"Oh yes, I know that you think your precious Elizabeth is perfect," Charles's voice was dripping with bitter sarcasm, "but has it ever occurred to you that she might actually be flawed?" Where Jane would have interjected her objections, it was Charles's turn to cut her off so that he could qualify his statement. "Do not misunderstand me, my dear. I care deeply for Elizabeth too. You know I think of Elizabeth as my own natural sister and, like you, I would, under any other circumstance, protect her from the rest of the world with my life. But in this instance, I cannot for she has done my friend a most grievous injury."

"Of what are you talking about, Charles? I do declare I am so confused that I feel as though we must be talking of two different sets of people, yet we are not."

"Of course you would not know what I am talking about, Jane dearest. You were not there, but I was. I saw the way your sister flirted shamelessly with my friend, spent every waking moment in his company, and gave him hope, which in the end turned out to be false. When she left him without so much as an explanation, he always expected that he would hear from her. But days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and then he knew that he would never hear from her again. He had been played like a fool; his pride crushed. The day he had his rude awakening, Darcy's heart broke into two, and he has never been the same ever since."

Jane stifled a gasp with the back of her hand. She shook her head in disbelief. She could taste the bile in her throat. "No, you must be wrong. You have to be wrong," she kept on insisting.

Charles wiped the brow of his forehead with his napkin. He had just unwittingly unfolded his best friend's darkest secret. He prayed that Darcy would not kill him if he ever found out. "I assure you, Jane. In this matter, I am most certainly not wrong. I was at Pemberley with Darcy when Elizabeth visited Lambton with your aunt and uncle. I was also with Darcy the day he had his realization. Remember how I had to leave you just a few weeks after our wedding?"

Jane thought back to all those years ago and nodded her head.

"It was because Georgiana had written a frantic letter to me, pleading for me to come and save her brother. I have never seen a man more torn or brokenhearted. Darcy went crazy; he completely lost his sanity. He collapsed completely and spent his entire days locked up in his room drinking. When he was not drinking, he was passed out. When he was not drinking or passed out, he was throwing things around his room, breaking whatever he could get his hands on. His sister and housekeeper were afraid for his life. We pleaded with him, begged him to open the door. All he would do was shout back at us; he told us to leave him alone and go away."

"On the fourth day, he did not answer back to our entreaties. We were so worried. We thought he had finally made himself ill, or worse. His cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I finally did what we should have done on the first day. We broke down the door. I cannot even tell you how shocked we were by the sight of him and his bedchambers. Georgiana swooned and for a moment I thought we would have two sick Darcy's on our hands. Luckily, she fared better than her brother and we were left with only one to deal with. It took us a while, but we finally managed to shake Darcy out his doldrums. After that, he became the reserved and ever-guarded man that he is today. His entire view of the world had changed. He was resolved to live life and carry on with his duties as was expected of him as a Darcy, but he never loved with as much passion and care as he did your sister. His heart had simply died."

Tears were streaming down Jane's face by now, and Charles's own façade was not without emotion either. Indeed, his voice was quite choked and wobbly as he struggled to tell his friend's story for the first time.

"No! Impossible!" Jane shook her head furiously, refusing to believe the truth of her husband's words. "It couldn't be."

Angered by his wife's denial, Charles leapt forward and shook his wife by her shoulders. "What do I have to say or do to make you believe me? It is true, every word of it, I tell you! I was there, Jane! I saw it with my very own eyes! I would not make up such a story. Do you think I do this for enjoyment?" Charles's eyes were filled with anguish, for his friend and for his wife, knowing how much the truth must be hurting her.

"But... oh!" Jane looked up at her husband, her eyes wide and streaked with tears. "I cannot... It does not make sense. How could he have loved my sister when not long after her visit to Pemberley, he married his cousin, Anne de Bourgh? You are wrong," Jane was adamant.

"It is not Elizabeth who flirted and led him on, it is he who flirted with my sister and led her on. She had refused him once before, his pride had taken a fall, and Mr. Darcy could not handle that. So he plotted to extract revenge against her. He played the part of the charmer and wooed her, most successfully too, I might add. It was a mean and childish trick he played on my sister. Once he made sure that Elizabeth had fallen in love with him, he cast her off and married his cousin, just as he had always intended so that he could hurt her and ruin her life. But when Anne died, that was God's revenge," she solemnly averred.

It was Charles's turn to be baffled. "Of what are you talking about, Jane? Do you even know what you are saying? Darcy never intended to marry Anne. That just... sort of happened."

"That is not what his aunt told Lizzy!"

Charles's head snapped to immediate attention. "His aunt?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, his aunt. Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She came to Longbourn one afternoon, surprised us all, she did. We had no idea why she should travel all the way from Kent to see us, but she said she wanted to talk to Elizabeth. Said they had a small matter of business to discuss. They went out into the copse and stood out there for quite some time, too. We all wondered what Lady Catherine had to say to Elizabeth, but she never told us. All we knew was that after Lady Catherine left, Elizabeth ran crying to her room. We were all so surprised and so incredibly shocked because Elizabeth rarely ever cries. Something had to be terribly wrong, but Elizabeth would not confide in us. Later that night, she confided in me. Elizabeth had been told that Mr. Darcy and Anne de Bourgh were intended for one another, that their mothers had planned their matrimony when they were but babies still in their cribs, and that Mr. Darcy had always intended to honor that promise."

"And your sister actually believed all of this?" was Charles's incredulous reaction.

"Well of course she believed her," Jane cried out in exasperation. "The woman was Mr. Darcy's aunt after all! She was Lady Catherine de Bourgh! What else was she to believe? She had no reason to think that his aunt would be deceitful! OH!" Jane gasped. "Are you... No. You couldn't be. Yet... Charles," Jane whispered, "Are you... are you saying that Lady Catherine lied to Elizabeth?"

"Of all the meddlesome people in England, yes! Yes, Jane, I am saying exactly that! Why, Darcy himself told me how Lady Catherine was the only person who ever harbored such an illusion and that his mother had never wanted such a thing for her son. His mother never wanted an arranged marriage for Darcy. She wanted him to marry for love, like she had, and Darcy thought he had found that in Elizabeth."

Jane gulped. "Then... what you are saying is that... Mr. Darcy truly was in love with my sister?"

Charles nodded his head. "Utterly and completely."

There was a large moment of pause. And then reality set in.

"Oh good Lord, what have we done?" Jane moaned pitifully. "Charles, we have made the biggest mistake of our lives."

Not understanding, Charles shook his head. "What do you mean, Jane?"

Jane could have slapped her husband. He could be a real dolt sometimes. "Don't you see, Charles? All these years, we have held the key to my sister and your friend's happiness and we never knew it. You have been keeping your friend's secret. And I have been keeping Elizabeth's."

"You mean..."

"Elizabeth has been in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy all these years, yes."

There was a moment of weighted silence where an idea popped to the fore before Charles immediately quashed it. It could not be. It could not be. He finally exhaled a whispered, "I do not understand."

Jane sighed. There was nothing she could do but start from the beginning. "Your friend. He fell in love with my sister, but Elizabeth did not return the feelings. He proposed to her once, and she rejected him."

Charles nodded his head. He remembered that.

"What Elizabeth found out afterwards is that she had greatly misunderstood Mr. Darcy. She felt terrible. She even began to think well of him. Elizabeth met him by chance in Derbyshire, when she was visiting the county with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. What you say is true. Elizabeth did spend a lot of time in your friend's company during those weeks. She was very happy, and I suppose to an onlooker such as yourself, it would seem that she was a shameless flirt. But my sister never led Mr. Darcy on. Elizabeth would never do something like that. She is too innocent and good for that sort of behavior. So, if she did give Mr. Darcy the impression that she loved him... well, it was because she had fallen in love with him."

"I do not understand. If Elizabeth loved Darcy, as you claim, why was nothing ever said or done?" Charles's mind was screaming with frustration.

"It is a very sad tale, is it not?" Jane laughed bitterly. "My poor sister, you see, was confused by her emotions. Try and put yourself in her place. For a long time, she had harbored misgivings and resentment against a man, only to learn that she had been horribly wrong and misjudged him. And then all of the sudden, she realized that she did not hate this man, but in fact loved him. She was still trying to sort everything out, and was wondering if Mr. Darcy still cared for her, or could care for her, when news of Lydia's infamous elopement with Mr. Wickham arrived."

"Yes, Lydia and George Wickham," Charles ground out.

"Elizabeth came home immediately. For weeks my family was in a tizzy. We were all so worried; there was no news of Lydia and we did not know what had become of her fate. My father came home from London empty-handed and my mother went off on another fit of spasms and headaches. My father kept to his study, and my mother to her bedchambers. We were left to fend for ourselves. The house continued to be all in uproar until one day news came that Lydia and Mr. Wickham had been found and were to be married. We were so relieved, but the damage had been done. Lizzy and I knew that the chances of us making a good match had been further reduced. I was lucky though, for I had you. You, who had always so constant."

"Darcy was constant too," Charles defended.

"Lizzy, however, did not see things so clearly. She knew how much family and honor were important to Mr. Darcy. She also knew what the Darcy family thought of Mr. Wickham. To Lizzy, once Lydia ran away with Mr. Wickham, it was all over. There was no way Mr. Darcy would ever want her, would want to align his family with ours, and she could not blame him. Her fears were confirmed by Lady Catherine de Bourgh's visit. And Mr. Darcy himself further confirmed them when he came back to Hertfordshire for our wedding. When he did not speak a word to Lizzy at the wedding, she knew that it was all over; that there was no more hope for a future with the man she loved."

"She then waited for that fateful day, it was almost as if she lived for it, and then it finally came. Mr. Darcy's engagement to Anne de Bourgh was announced, and Lizzy fell apart. I was the one who broke the news to her, and I was the one that held my sister in my arms until she cried herself into and exhausted sleep. When she woke up, she never spoke of him again. It was rather eerie, but Lizzy was adamant. After a good amount of time had passed and Lizzy still did not say another word on the matter, I began to almost hope that she had learned to move on. But the day we left for India, Elizabeth confided in me again. On that day, she wept not just for our departure. She wept for her lost love too. Elizabeth has never blamed or hated Mr. Darcy. Her heart is too full of love for anything else, but mine is not. I have blamed and hated for her, and now I find that we have all been wrong. What a wretched business of misunderstanding this all seems to be."

"Indeed." Charles wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and handed his damp handkerchief to his wife. There were no dry eyes in the dining room that morning.

"Darcy would be furious if he ever learned of his aunt's part in all of this. Darcy never cared a whit for the role George Wickham played in your family. He certainly loathed the man, but he never held it against Elizabeth or you. Lydia's youthful indiscretions were hers alone. You and Elizabeth were both above reproach in his eyes."

"Really?"

"Really. When Elizabeth left Pemberley, Darcy was miserable. He had seen the tears in her eyes, and he felt responsible. He knew what kind of a character George Wickham was, but he had hidden it from the rest of the world. He felt that had he exposed it for the entire world to see, perhaps Lydia might have been saved. Because of his guilt, he was determined to do something about it. It was he who traveled to London, found out where Lydia and Wickham were hiding and made them marry."

"Mr. Darcy found Lydia and Mr. Wickham?" Jane gasped surprisingly. "But why have you never told this to me before?"

Charles shrugged. "You never asked. Besides, Darcy always preferred to keep his role in the matter as hushed as possible."

"I do not understand. Why did he do this for us?"

"I just told you. Because he felt responsible. And well... because of your sister. He did not like to see your sister hurting so. He thought that if Lydia and Wickham married, at least that would be one nightmare mitigated."

"He must have doled out an awful lot of money," was Jane's practical reaction.

"I believe he did."

"He must have loved my sister an awful lot," Jane said slowly.

"I know he did."

"Then why did he never say anything to Lizzy at our wedding?"

"Because she gave him no encouragement. When he found her all silent, diffident, and cold, he thought he had imagined everything at Pemberley. Georgiana and I tried to convince him differently, we did not think your sister so indifferent, but Darcy was so much without hope that he would not be swayed. He gave up and would not try anymore. He went home to Pemberley and almost drank himself to death, as I told you before. And when he came out of his stupor, he did the only thing he felt he could do. He caved into his aunt's demands and married his cousin. Heavens knows Georgiana, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and I tried to persuade him to wait and take more time to consider, but he would not. He was determined to move on with the rest of his life and resigned himself to the inevitable. His aunt was, suffice to say, a very happy woman the day Darcy finally came around to ask for her daughter's hand in marriage."

"Hateful woman," Jane sniffed.

Charles did not like to speak ill of the dead, but he had to concur with his wife.

"What a muddle my sister and your friend have made of things."

"Too much speculation and not enough communication," Charles agreed. "I am so glad we were never like that."

"We almost were," Jane looked up at her husband and drowned herself in his eyes.

"Almost, but we were luckier."

"We owe a great deal of thanks to Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, I think, for our reunion. I feel as though we now have the perfect opportunity to repay them, but what can we do? We know the truth now, but we are in India and they are in England. What are we to do, Charles?"

Charles racked his brain for an answer. "We must keep Elizabeth away from Pemberley until we can come up with a way to relay our knowledge to her and Darcy."

Jane picked up her sister's letter and looked at the date. Her heart dropped. "Too late. Elizabeth must be on her way to Pemberley by now, if she is not already there."

Charles helped his wife out of her chair and led her towards his office. "I shall try my best to see if I might be relieved of my duties for a while. I think it would be best if we took a little trip to England ourselves."

"Oh, Charles!"

"I make no promises, Jane," Charles warned, before his wife could get her hopes up.

"I know, but I trust you to try your hardest." And as if to prove her words, she leaned up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.

Charles smiled. "Imp."

"Your darling imp," Jane modified, teasing him back. Immediately thereafter she tensed up again and leaned over to put her head on her husband's shoulders. "I am scared, Charles."

"Don't be, dearest. This is a wretched mess, but it will sort itself out. And when it does, I am sure that there will be a most beautiful ending. You'll see."

"I hope you are right."

I hope so too, Charles thought privately.

"Charles?"

"Yes, love?"

"We never should have kept secrets from one another."

"No, love. We shouldn't have," Charles agreed, running a hand down through his wife's glorious hair.

"We will know better from now on."

"Yes, love." Charles kissed the top of his wife's head.

After a moment of silence, he spoke again. "Speaking of not keeping secrets from one another anymore... Do you remember that vase that was broken last week...? The one that you like so much... The one that I said the wind knocked over...?"

"Charles..."

Jane's groan was the last word ever spoken about the vase matter as Charles began to purposefully distract his wife.

Continued In Next Section