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Chapter 23

Elizabeth paced back and forth in the foyer, stepping around her packed trunks and bags, all the while slapping her leather gloves against the palm of her hand. She halted when out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Erin, the youngest Moffet girl, just about to mount the banister to slide down. Before Elizabeth could even try and stop the girl or even catch her, Erin had gone gliding off the end of the banister and was flying gracefully through the air.

"Whee!" Erin gleefully cried out.

Erin's landing was not as elegant as her flight and she ended up in a heap at the feet of her governess. Elizabeth involuntarily winced. Thinking that her youngest charge might have hurt herself, Elizabeth went to help her up so that she could examine the girl for any injuries she might have sustained. Elizabeth should have known better. Erin was made of rock.

A spunky girl, Erin immediately drew herself up and flashed her governess a brilliant smile. "Never fear, Miss Bennet," she said, "I am perfectly fine. I just have to learn how to land better." Erin would have flown back up the stairs to repeat the flight, but Elizabeth caught her deftly by the collar of her dress and did not let go.

Dragging the little misfit back in front of her, Elizabeth gave her charge one of her sternest looks. Elizabeth recognized a bit of herself in the girl and secretly lauded the girl's spirit and vivacity, but in her role as a governess she knew it was her place to teach the girl that there were appropriate times for some things and inappropriate times for other things. In the case of sliding down a banister, however, there was never an appropriate time for that sort of an activity.

"Ahem."

Erin looked up at her governess, not at all abashed. Elizabeth realized the futility of her warnings. Erin was always wont to do whatever she wanted to do. But, Elizabeth proceeded to give them anyways.

She leaned down close to the girl's face and once she made sure she had her eye contact, she began her speech. "Miss Erin, have I not previously instructed you that sliding down a banister is not something little girls do?"

"Is it something big girls can do?"

Elizabeth sighed. That was not the answer she had been looking for. "No. It is not something big girls can do. And it is not something boys - little or big - can do, either," Elizabeth said, anticipating Erin's next question.

"Why can I not slide down the banister?"

"Because a little girl, such as yourself, should behave with decorum and dignity at all times, and sliding down a banister is neither. Just as you should run outdoors, but not indoors, you should not slide down a banister," Elizabeth explained.

"But there are no banisters to slide down outside," Erin protested.

"No," Elizabeth sighed. This was going nowhere. "But you should not do it inside the house just because you cannot do it outside the house. You could hurt yourself and you could hurt the banister. You would not want that, would you?"

"Indeed we would not!" Mr. Moffet announced, having clearly overheard at least the latter part of their conversation as he walked down the stairs.

"I am not afraid of being hurt," Erin staunchly claimed. Elizabeth groaned. It was hard having to constantly watch over someone as fearless as Erin.

"But your Mama is. She would be heartbroken were you to hurt yourself by doing something as foolhardy as slide down the banister and I would be heartbroken if you were to hurt this banister. It is practically a piece of art and would cost me a pretty penny to have it fixed, don't you know?" Mr. Moffet tapped the tip of his daughter's nose, and she wrinkled it in response.

"Run along now, poppet. Your mother has been looking for you. She wants to know which doll of yours she should pack for Scotland."

Erin gave her father a scandalized glance and immediately headed for the nursery. "She should pack all of them! I cannot leave any of my babies behind; they will get sick if I do not take care of them. Mama knows that!"

"We do not have room for all your dolls, Erin! You can only take one!" her father bellowed after her. Erin, however, had already whipped around the corner and was out of sight. Elizabeth giggled as she thought of the twenty dolls that took refuge on Erin's bed every day.

Mr. Moffet threw his hands up in the air. "Drat it all! I just know that girl is going to somehow convince her Mama that she needs to take all her babies with us to Scotland. Heaven preserve us all! Oh, Miss Bennet, how I wish it were I who was going to Derbyshire!"

"Would you like to trade places, sir?" Elizabeth smiled back at him.

He took one glance at her traveling costume and packed luggage and said, "No. Besides, I think Michele would kill me if I dared to try."

"Well, at least you would then be able to bring her up on attempted murder charges and run off to Derbyshire."

"Why Miss Bennet! Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting," Mr. Moffet waggled his eyebrows as he teased her back.

Elizabeth drew herself up. "Certainly not, sir! I haven't the faintest idea of what you are talking about."

Mr. Moffet sighed. "We were talking about the fact that I am to travel to Scotland all by myself."

"Surely you will not be all by yourself, sir. You shall have the delightful company of your wife and three darling children."

"Three darling girls, you mean. Emmaline is not so bad and I shall not mind her company so much. But Alexandra will either be sniveling and crying her eyes out every minute of the trip or stuffing her nose in a book."

"Well at least if Alexandra is reading she will not be disturbing you."

Mr. Moffet continued without stopping, "And Erin! I shudder to think what mischief that girl will get into. She is only four but she is a very destructive four-year-old. She will no doubt be trying to climb out the window at every turn and my hair will turn completely gray by the time we reach Scotland."

Elizabeth laughed heartily. She knew that for all his complaints Mr. Moffet quite doted upon his daughters. He was the most indulgent of fathers and Elizabeth admired him for it. " Then I shall have to think of you often and give prayers of thanks when I am traveling by myself and you are traveling all the way to Scotland with your wife, three rambunctious little girls, and multitude of servants." Elizabeth was heartless in her teasing, and they both knew it.

"How cruel of you to remind me of such a fate!" Mr. Moffet moaned theatrically as he put one hand to his heart and the back of his other hand on his forehead. "You should be more kind and take pity on me, Miss Bennet," he told her in a mocking stern tone. "I do, after all, pay your wages."

Elizabeth stifled a giggle as she coughed politely.

"Oh! Elizabeth! Thank heavens you have not yet left! I was so afraid that you might have already left." Both Elizabeth and Mr. Moffet turned at the sound of Mrs. Moffet's voice calling out from the top of the stairs.

Elizabeth held out her hands and Mrs. Moffet came flying down the stairs. Mr. Moffet caught her on the bottom step and swung her down to stand in front of their governess. "Easy, love. I would not want you to trip and hurt yourself. What would I do then with Miss Bennet leaving us today?"

"Why you would be a trooper of course and take care of all of us as we traveled to Scotland," his wife cheerfully told him.

Mr. Moffet looked heavenward and thanked his lucky stars that his wife was in perfect health. "Are you sure you will not reconsider," he asked Elizabeth.

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm afraid not, sir."

"Hm. Pity."

Mrs. Moffet turned her back on her husband, ignoring his silly larks as she gave the entirety of her attention to their governess. "I am so sorry, Elizabeth. I meant to be down here waiting with you, but you would not believe all the trials I have had trying to get the children packed. We are leaving tomorrow and there is still so much to be done. Mr. Moffet, here, absolutely refuses to lend a hand. So like a man!"

"Eh? What's that?" Mr. Moffet overheard his name and knew he was being spoken about.

"Nothing. Go back to your books and ledgers, Mr. Moffet."

Mr. Moffet gave his wife an assessing look, positively certain that it had not been nothing. Women were always more than they seemed. Ah well, at least his wife was harmless enough. "Well all right then, if you insist." Walking over to his governess, he took both her hands and squeezed them warmly. For once, he was serious. "Do remember to take care of yourself, Miss Bennet. I hope you have a lovely visit with your niece and friend. And do not forget, if you need us, you have only to write and Mrs. Moffet and I will return for you."

The kindness and sincerity of her employer's farewell was truly touching and Elizabeth felt the tears spring to her eyes. "Stuff and nonsense," she said hoarsely. "Tis you who should take care. Should you and Mrs. Moffet need me, you have only to write and I shall come to you in Scotland. Oh, and if the children are too much for you..."

"I know, I know. I shall hide from them. In the library. " Mr. Moffet and Elizabeth shared a smile before he turned away to return to the warmth and familiarity of his study.

Mrs. Moffet recaptured her friend's attention. "Should not the carriage have already come by now?"

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. "I still have plenty of time to catch the train. I'm not worried. Yet."

Mrs. Moffet laughed. "Always so practical."

"Practicality has always served me well, hasn't it?"

Mrs. Moffet pulled the lapels of Elizabeth's coat closer together, much as a mother would do to her child and said, "Elizabeth. Should the opportunity arise while you are at Pemberley to not be practical..." She left off when she could feel the heat of Elizabeth's gaze on her face.

"Your imagination is running away with you, Michele," Elizabeth answered stiffly. "It does not become you."

Mrs. Moffet appraised her friend, taking in her straightened posture and impassive expression. "You are nervous, aren't you?"

"Scared as a cat," Elizabeth admitted in one long drawn out breath.

Mrs. Moffet took her friend's hands. "Goodness, your hands are cold!"

"I told you I was scared."

"You shouldn't be, you know." Mrs. Moffet chafed Elizabeth's hands in between her own to give her warmth and strength.

"What if..."

Mrs. Moffet clamped Elizabeth's mouth shut. "Don't. You are always admonishing me for my imagination, Elizabeth. Do not give way to yours now. Take it one day at a time. Enjoy the opportunity you are being given to get to know your niece. Think of her, and no one else. Do you understand me?"

Elizabeth nodded her head.

"There are always going to be a lot of 'what ifs' in life, but it does not behoove us to give credence to them until they become reality. Living in fear of the unknown is no way to live one's life."

Elizabeth shook her head.

And once Mrs. Moffet had made sure that her friend was in complete agreement with her, she took her hand away.

"But!" The hand went back down.

"No buts, Elizabeth. No buts."

Elizabeth nodded her head and the hand came away a second time.

"All right. I will try to enjoy myself. For you."

"No, Elizabeth. For you."

"For me."

"Good." Just then, they heard a carriage circling around the drive. "Ah, perfect timing. I am glad we got to finish this chat."

"So am I."

The girls came flying down the stairs, "Wait! Miss Bennet!" they called out. "Don't go! Not yet! We want to say good-bye!" The carriage had to wait for Elizabeth to hug each one of them while she gave them some parting words of advice.

She patted Emmaline gently on her spine and the girl immediately straightened her back and stood taller. "Try and remember not to slouch so much, dear. You want to always stand tall and proud," she lowered her voice so that only Emmaline could hear the mild reproof. In a louder voice, Elizabeth instructed the eldest of the Moffet girls to, "Take care of your mother and sisters. Your mother will need all the help she can get as I will not be there to help her." Emmaline, as the eldest of the Moffet brood, possessed a natural maternal instinct and faithfully promised she would while bravely holding back her tears.

Elizabeth handed her handkerchief to Alexandra who was already blubbering and full of tears. Alexandra had been crying on and off all morning long, trying to persuade her governess to not leave them. "No tears, Alexa love. We will see each other soon enough. Besides, you will most likely go to Scotland, have the time of your life, and forget all about your poor governess."

"No I will not. Never," Alexandra emphatically whimpered. "I do not want to go to Scotland! I hate Scotland!"

"You have not even been to Scotland before, Alexa dear. How do you know if you will hate Scotland when you have not even given it a try?"

"I want to stay here, with you, where I know everyone and everything. Please do not go, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth sighed. Alexandra was a shy, bookish sort of girl and hated change of any sort. Elizabeth tried to be accommodating. "Try to enjoy yourself in Scotland, my dear child. I am sure you will love it. Remember all the books we read together about Scotland?" Alexandra nodded her head while noisily blowing her nose into Elizabeth's handkerchief. "You will like Scotland," Elizabeth promised. "You will also have many cousins to play with in addition to your sisters, will that not be fun?"

"I suppose so... will there be a library in Scotland do you think? With books for little girls like me to read?"

Elizabeth cocked her head concerned. "Probably, but try not to forget to go outside once in a while and leave the books behind, hm?" Elizabeth was all for reading and learning, but Alexandra had a tendency to take it too far sometimes. Alexandra nodded her head again and tried to hand the handkerchief back to her governess. Elizabeth looked at the handkerchief damp and limp from all of Alexandra's tears. She wrinkled her nose. "That's all right, child. You keep it." Alexandra thanked her for it as Elizabeth moved onto the youngest.

Elizabeth bent down for Erin and straightened the bow on her dress. For a moment, Elizabeth was silent. Erin stared back at her governess. Elizabeth was not sure what she should say to the youngest Moffet girl. There was a long list of don'ts Elizabeth could remind her of, but she knew Erin would never remember it, if she even paid attention to her governess's words. Elizabeth decided to keep it simple in the hopes that Erin might remember at least one of her warnings.

"No sliding down banisters anymore. Promise?" Erin nodded and Elizabeth doubted. "Try to be a good girl and do not torture your cousins and sisters too much, all right?" As the youngest, Erin had a certain knack for wrapping others around her tiny fingers and getting what she wanted. Luckily, Erin had a governess that was impervious to such charms. Elizabeth knew better.

"Miss Bennet," Erin tugged on her governess's sleeve.

"Yes dear?"

"Will you miss us?"

A rock formed in Elizabeth's throat. "Of course I will," she managed to say.

Erin broke down and flew into her governess's arms. Elizabeth wrapped her arms tightly around the little girl. The two other girls flocked to Elizabeth's side and put their arms around her too. Elizabeth hugged them to her as she sobbed with them. Mrs. Moffet watched the huddle from the side, visibly moved as well, shared tears rolling down her face.

It was a good thing Mr. Moffet had already returned to his study. Most likely he would have made some sort of male, insensitive remark about the women being maudlin and ridiculous. Ever since Elizabeth had told the girls she would be traveling to visit family and friends while they went to Scotland, the girls had been inconsolable. And each time the girls had grown sad, their father had dismissed their grief by reminding them that the separation would not be forever.

Just when it seemed like they would be crying all morning long, the carriage driver came to the doorway and with a gentle cough said, "Beggin' ye pardon, miss, but ye bags are all loaded and ye best be on ye way if ye wants to catch yer train."

"Certainly, sir," Mrs. Moffet plucked her children off of Elizabeth and bade them to wait inside. Then she helped Elizabeth down the stairs to the carriage. Pressing her handkerchief into Elizabeth's hands, she leaned into the carriage and said, "Remember. Take every opportunity to enjoy yourself!"

"I will, Michele. I promise."

"You have our address in Scotland?"

"It is tucked in my reticule," Elizabeth nodded. "I will write to you in Scotland and let you know how things are."

Elizabeth stepped into the carriage. The door was immediately shut and as the carriage pulled away, Elizabeth quickly turned around. Sticking her head out the window, she yelled her thanks back to her friend. Elizabeth's last sight of the Moffet Estate was of Michele waving good-bye to her from the driveway and three girls rushing to the doorway, tripping over themselves, to wave good-bye from there. Elizabeth waved back until the carriage rounded the bend and she was out of sight.

Mary skipped up and down the front steps of the house, lost in her own thoughts. Up one step. Down one step. Up one step. Up one more step. Down one step. Up one step. Down one step. Down one more step. Up one step.

"What are you doing?" Dickon was watching Mary thoughtfully from the top of the stairs. She was so consumed by her thoughts she had not even noticed him.

Mary looked up, teetering on one leg. "What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're hopping up and down the steps."

"Well, there you have it then." Mary went back to skipping up and down the steps. Down one step. Down one more step. Up one step. Down one step. Up one step. Down one step.

"Any particular reason why you're doing that?"

Mary shrugged. "Not really." Up one step. Up one more step. Down one step. Down one more step.

Dickon raised his eyebrows. "Having fun?"

"No. Not really." Up one step. Down one step. Up one step.

"Want some company?"

Mary looked up at him. Down one step. Down one more step. Up one step. "No. Not really," she finally said.

Dickon exhaled his frustrations. He was strangely perturbed by Mary's odd behavior and her refusal to give him a straight answer. "Is something wrong, Mary?"

"No. Not really." Down one step. Up one step.

"Somehow you're not really persuading me of that," Dickon answered dryly.

Mary stopped her hopping. "If you must know, I am waiting for my aunt."

Dickon stared at her. "You do know that my father just left, don't you?"

"Yes. I know."

"You do also know that it is not likely that they will return for several hours."

"Yes. I know." Down one step. Up one step. Up one more step. Down one step. Up one step.

"So... you are just going to stay outside, skipping up and down the stairs, until they arrive?"

Mary flicked a braid out of her way and shrugged. "I guess so."

"But that is ridiculous!"

Mary shrugged again and kept on skipping, not even deigning to give him an answer. Down one step. Up one step. Up one more step. Down one step.

Dickon looked at her oddly before saying, "Well, all right then. I will leave you to your... hopping."

Dickon walked back into the house and went up the stairs, where he was immediately beset by Colin. "So what's going on?"

"Nothing," Dickon told him without even stopping. "Want to play a game of billiards?"

"Sure." Colin looked around for a moment. "But what about Mary? Isn't she coming too?"

Dickon continued walking away from him, "She's not coming. She's... otherwise occupied at the moment."

Colin turned his wheelchair around and struggled to keep up, following Dickon from behind. "What does that mean?"

"She is hopping around," Dickon yelled back.

"What? Why on earth would she just hop around?"

"I don't know," Dickon answered tersely. "She's skipping around on the front steps, looking like a frog. She says she's waiting for her aunt. It is all very weird, whatever it is she is doing."

Colin looked confused. "But Uncle Richard just went to get her aunt."

"I know."

"They are not going to be back for hours!"

"I know."

"Does Mary know this?" Colin asked.

"Yes."

"Oh." Pause. "So we are just going to let her continue hopping around outside?"

"So it would seem. It's what she wants to do."

"Oh."

"Come on," Dickon called out impatiently. "Are we going to play a game of billiards or not?"

"All right, all right, I'm coming," Colin huffed after Dickon, who had by that point already entered the billiard room. "There is no need to get all bent out of shape," Colin muttered under his breath, "It's not easy wheeling one's self around the house."

Georgiana suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "And where are we off to this afternoon?" she asked her nephew.

"We're off to play billiards," Colin told her. He might as well have been telling her he was attending his own funeral he sounded so unexcited.

"Is everything all right, Colin?"

"Fine, Aunt Georgiana... I think."

"What do you mean, you think?"

"Well, it is a bit odd. Dickon seems to be out of sorts when he was just fine minutes ago. And apparently, Mary is doing funny, weird things."

"Like what?"

"Well, I don't know. I asked Dickon what Mary was up to and he got all annoyed with me. When I pressed him, he said she was hopping up and down the front stairs."

"Outside?"

"Uh-huh."

Georgiana smiled knowingly. "I wouldn't worry too much about it, Colin. Enjoy your game of billiards."

Colin stared at his aunt's back. This family is so weird, he thought.

Georgiana left Colin and immediately headed for the front door. She pursed her lips in amusement as she watched Mary skip up and down the steps, oblivious to the rest of the world. "Nervous, Mary?"

Mary glanced sharply upwards, and almost lost her balance. "Aunt Georgiana."

"Colin told me you were out here. I thought you might be waiting for your aunt, and feeling a little bit of trepidation perhaps."

"A little," Mary nodded shyly.

"There's no reason for you to be nervous," Georgiana told her.

"I know. But I just want so much for her to like me."

"And I am sure she will," Georgiana said reassuringly. "Your aunt loves you very much already, Mary. I cannot imagine that she would find you displeasing."

"Do you really think so?" Mary asked.

"I know so," Georgiana answered confidently. "Come. We have hours yet before Uncle Richard will return with your Aunt Elizabeth. In the meantime, I will help you get dressed."

Mary looked down at her simple, yellow frock. "I already am dressed."

Georgiana smiled kindly. "Of course you are, dear, but you will want to wear something nicer for your aunt, I am sure."

"I guess so?" Mary was a bit uncertain. Preferring a more active lifestyle, Mary was not used to dressing up and acting the part of a young lady.

"By the time I am done with you, I will have you looking like the finest young lady in all the land of England," Georgiana promised. "And your aunt will lay one eye on you and never want to give you up. I guarantee it."

Mary laughed at Georgiana's teasing tones. "All right. I have nothing else to do anyways."

"It will certainly be better than skipping up and down the front steps and driving half the house mad," Georgiana agreed.

The train jolted back and forth along the train tracks and lulled Elizabeth into an exhausted sleep. The past few months had been a difficult one, and it had been emotionally draining, leaving Elizabeth little room for time or rest. On the one hand, Elizabeth had spent the better half of her month worrying about Mr. Simons, and feeling guilty about rejecting him. The vicar had been all that was polite and acquiescent in public, but Elizabeth could still see the pain around the edges of his eyes whenever she chanced to see him looking at her. His pain was her pain, and she felt it most acutely. On the other hand, Elizabeth had also been consumed by nervous panic attacks regarding her upcoming trip to Derbyshire. She was more than eager to see Mary, and even a little excited at the prospect of renewing her friendship with Georgiana Fitzwilliam. She was, however, not prepared to see Pemberley again. Elizabeth did not think that any amount of time would ever prepare her for that.

Pemberley represented everything that was Fitzwilliam Darcy. It had been his kingdom and his domain. He had loved it, and in turn Elizabeth had loved it as well. Not that it was a difficult task, loving Pemberley. Pemberley was a house that fairly begged to be loved. Large and grand, it was at the same time comfortable and relaxed. It boasted a simple elegance, which Elizabeth found much more attractive and appealing than the lavish and ornate decorations that so many other English country homes were accustomed to displaying. The house rather reminded Elizabeth of its owner. Understated handsomeness. The house knew its consequence and did not feel the need to flaunt it.

The train rumbled on and still Elizabeth slept. Already it had been a long and tiring day. There was first the emotional departure from Moffet Estate and then the rush to the train station. Elizabeth had narrowly missed her train. Rushing to the ticket counter to pick up her ticket, Elizabeth had sent her cabbie to flag down a porter to load her luggage onto the train for her, thus saving her some time. Elizabeth only had to spare a moment to make sure that her luggage had been secured on the train before boarding the train. The minute Elizabeth had found her seat and showed her ticket to the train conductor, she had closed her tired eyes and fallen asleep.

Elizabeth woke up just as the train rolled into Derbyshire. She pushed aside the curtains to look out the window and smiled when she saw a few sheep grazing on the moor. The black-faced, woolly white fellows were much too busy chomping away on the crisp, green blades of grass to be bothered by the hulking, black train that thundered past their fields. In the distance, Elizabeth could just barely make out the outline of a few farmhouses. Not once, however, did she see a person. Not even a sheepherder.

The sparsely populated countryside of emerald grass and scraggly rocks gave way to more activity as the train drew closer to Lambton, Elizabeth's final resting stop. More and more houses began to appear alongside the train tracks until they reached the town itself. There, the town was teeming with activity.

It was not long before the largish train conductor came ambling through the train car, calling out her stop. "La-mbton!" he hollered. "Passengers for La-mbton! Last call for La-mbton!"

Elizabeth scurried to gather her belongings. Her small portmanteau was hanging awkwardly from the top rack and Elizabeth had a difficult time, struggling to get it down without it toppling over her. A kind stranger helped her get it down. She thanked him and then hurried out of the train; afraid that if she waited any longer the train would leave with her still on it.

"Watch your step, miss," a train porter warned. With one hand he took her portmanteau from her. With his other hand, he helped her down. "Pick up area for trunks and baggage are to your right, miss. Be sure to have your ticket handy."

"Thank you, sir." She took her portmanteau back from the porter and went to collect the rest of her belongings.

Elizabeth dug into her reticule and finding her ticket, handed it over to the porter in charge of overseeing all of the passengers' trunks and baggage. He led Elizabeth over to where her trunk and bag had been stacked on top of one another. He pointed them out to her before walking away without saying a word. Elizabeth stared at his retreating figure with dismay. "How rude!"

Since he was obviously not going to help her and there did not seem to be any other porter within sight to help her, Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders. At least she was a woman who believed in self-sufficiency. She hiked up her skirt and tiptoed her way around the other trunks standing in her way. When she finally reached her trunk and bag, she put her portmanteau on top of the trunk, her bag on top of the portmanteau, and then bent over to grab an edge of the drunk. She tugged hard and the trunk moved exactly half a centimeter. Elizabeth turned back around and thumped her luggage in frustration. Now what am I supposed to do?

"Please. Allow me."

A hand appeared out of nowhere and Elizabeth glanced up in surprise. The voice was vaguely familiar as was the face. It took her a minute before she exploded, "Why, Colonel Fitzwilliam! Is that really you?"

"It is good to see that I have not changed so much that you no longer recognized me," the Colonel chuckled.

"It is so good to see you again, Colonel!" Elizabeth smiled warmly.

"Please, Miss Bennet, no formalities while you are staying with us. You will call me Richard and it is all right if I call you Elizabeth, isn't it?"

"Of course," Elizabeth laughed. "In fact, right at this moment, I'll let you call me anything you want if you will only help me with my luggage," she groaned. "The porters seem to think me capable of handling a trunk, a bag, and a portmanteau all by myself. Last time I looked in the mirror I did not think I had grown to be such a hulking figure, but perhaps I should look into purchasing into new mirror?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked Elizabeth up and down appreciatively, and said, "I think not, Elizabeth. You are still as delightful-looking as you were when I first met you in Kent."

Elizabeth blushed and mentally cursed her free-speaking tongue. The Colonel laughed. "Have no fear, Elizabeth. You are quite safe from me. I am a totally, utterly, completely, disgustingly devoted husband as Georgiana will tell you herself when you see her." Elizabeth blushed an even brighter red.

The Colonel stared at her still-silent figure. "If you are going to be tongue-tied for the rest of your stay with us, I will put you back on that train and send you back to wherever you came from," he warned. "We like free-thinking persons at Pemberley."

"Oh?"

"Oh yes, and we encourage free-speaking as well. Even if it does lead to blushes," Colonel Fitzwilliam teased.

Elizabeth smiled. Perhaps her stay at Pemberley would not be so bad. The Colonel reminded her very much of Mr. Moffet; she could be comfortable with that. "In that case," Elizabeth came to attention, "Snap to, my luggage."

The Colonel laughed. "Much better. And how horribly remiss of me in my duties as a host." He beckoned with his hand and two men came forward. One took her trunk. The other took her bag and portmanteau. Colonel Fitzwilliam held out his arm and led Elizabeth to where their carriage was waiting.

When they were finally settled in the carriage, with the Colonel sitting opposite her, and on their way to Pemberley, Elizabeth allowed herself to relax a little bit.

"The journey back to Pemberley will take a while," Colonel Fitzwilliam told her. "Would you care to rest or would you rather chat?"

"I feel like I have been resting all day long on the train. I would not mind some company now."

"I was hoping you would say that," the Colonel smiled. "Otherwise I would be very bored indeed, and forced to look out the window only to see a landscape that I have probably seen a million times by now."

"Oh, but every time you look out there, surely you must see something different! A landscape is forever changing, depending on the season, the way the wind blows, what flowers are blooming, and what woodland creatures are out playing. That is what makes it so exciting," Elizabeth told him in her exuberant manner.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stared softly at her for a moment and then said, "You haven't changed one bit, Elizabeth."

Much to her chagrin, Elizabeth blushed. "Neither have you, Richard. You are as boyishly charming and flippant as you ever were. Whoever said that maturity comes with age obviously never meant you."

"Such impertinence!" Richard cried out in mock horror. "Well, I shall have you know that I take your comments as the highest compliment a lady could offer a gentleman. Indeed my boyish charms and flippant manners are exactly what my wife finds so charming about me." He then waggled his eyebrows most becomingly.

Elizabeth allowed herself a smirk before asking with all sincerity, "How is your wife?"

"Ah, my dear Georgiana. My lovely wife. She is as sweet as ever, I do assure you." Colonel Fitzwilliam went on to provide Elizabeth with a long list of all his wife's goodly qualities. Elizabeth smiled. It was quite obvious that the Colonel was enamored of his wife. She also suspected that given a chance, Georgiana would say the same about her husband. Elizabeth was happy for them. It was always a refreshing sight to see a couple so much in love.

"And you have a son, I believe?"

"Ah yes, Dickon. My pride and joy. And my heir. You will meet him at Pemberley. Dickon is one and three this year."

"He is not in school?" Elizabeth asked.

"He should be at Eton, but we took him out earlier this term when his grandfather fell ill. We all thought it would be the end for the poor old man and thought it prudent for Dickon to spend as much time as he possibly could with his grandfather. They are very close. Thankfully though, my father rallied through his illness and he made a miraculous recovery. We were all very happy about that. As for Dickon and school, however, much of the term had passed by that time and we did not think there was any point in making him go back. He will go back next term, in the autumn. In the meantime, Dickon has been staying at Pemberley with Georgiana and me. Dickon and your niece, Mary, have become great friends and together they have been working wonders with my nephew, Colin."

"Colin?"

"Erm, my cousin's son," Colonel Fitzwilliam shifted noticeably in his seat, "Darcy's son, that is."

If that piece of information affected Elizabeth, she did not let it show. "I had heard from my sister Jane and her husband Charles Bingley many years ago that Mr. Darcy and his wife had a child before his wife's untimely death. There were no other children, I understood." Elizabeth was determined to show the world that she did not care one jot for Mr. Darcy, and that it was no great effort to talk about him.

"Erm, no. Just Colin. My cousin, Anne, she was... well, she was never strong, you know. It was hard on her, having Colin, but she loved him very much. They both did," he kind of tacked on.

Elizabeth was determined to make casual conversation. After all, if she was going to spend weeks in his home, she was going to have to accept that he would be a part of daily conversation. She might as well start now. "You mentioned that your son, Dickon, and Mary have been working wonders on Colin. Is there something wrong with Mr. Darcy's son?"

"Colin? Oh, no. There is nothing really wrong with him. Well, physically, at least."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the implications. Colonel Fitzwilliam flustered. "What I mean to say is that Colin inherited some of his mother ill-health. He was always a weak child and it seems that as he grow older, he grew accustomed to thinking that he would always be ill and weak."

"But that is not so?" Elizabeth asked, trying to understand.

"Oh goodness no. But Colin likes to think so. I think he uses it as a form of leverage over others, to get what he wants."

"And he gets away with this?" It was an impertinent question, but Elizabeth was a smidgen horrified. She knew that no child under her care would have gotten away with such ill-mannered behavior.

"Colin... is an interesting case..." Colonel Fitzwilliam said diplomatically. "You have to know him to understand him." It was an evasive answer, but the Colonel was not sure how much he should tell Elizabeth. He did not want to make her uncomfortable. He wished his wife were with him; Georgiana always knew how to handle these sorts of situations.

Elizabeth, however, was curious about Colin. She wanted to know what kind of a child Darcy's son would be. When the Colonel looked up and saw Elizabeth staring at him expectantly, he knew he was going to have to give Elizabeth more than a mere half of an answer. Swallowing a gulp of air, he pressed on.

"It is an awkward situation, you see. As I said and as you know, Colin's mother, my cousin Anne, was never in particularly good health. After she married Darcy, she seemed to grow healthier. She was certainly much happier than she had ever been living under her mother's control."

Elizabeth had little difficulty believing that.

"We were all very happy to see Anne doing so well. Darcy most of all. It gave him some purpose, I think, making sure that his wife was happy and well cared for. When Anne finally had Colin, it was as if all the pieces fell into place and they truly became a happy family. There was no person happier on the day Colin was bored than Anne. Well, maybe Darcy. He was pretty elated too," Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed softly at the memory.

"Anne was a good mother. She loved her son so much. And Darcy... ah, Darcy. He had practice acting as a father figure, raising Georgiana as he did, you know, but Colin was not the same as Georgiana. Colin was his first child, his son and his heir, and not some younger brother left in his care. Darcy looked upon his son with all the pride in the world and we all knew that he would never be able to deny that child anything. He treated Colin like fine porcelain, always afraid that if the child were handled improperly, he would be dropped and shattered into a million pieces."

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. "If only any of us had had the foresight," he shook his head sadly. "Colin was not the one that needed to be treated with care. It was Anne. She had been growing consistently stronger and healthier, and we did not question it. We should have, we should have been more cautious. I know Darcy thinks so, and even still blames himself for her death. Anne suffered a relapse, you see. So unfortunate. Colin was still just a babe when his mother died. Darcy was devastated by the loss. It was a tragedy; it truly was. As swiftly as joy had come into his life, so too did sorrow. Unfortunately, matters only grew worse. Not long after Anne died, Colin took ill as well. Darcy went mad with franticness. One cannot blame him. Darcy had just lost his wife; he could not lose his son too. Fortunately, Colin pulled through, but just barely. For many years he remained a sickly child. And that is how Colin grew up knowing himself, always as a sickly child."

Elizabeth bit her lip and suppressed the tears. What a sad tale this was. All these years, she had thought herself lonely, but now she knew that she had a suffered a better, much kinder fate. Fate might have prevented her from being with her true love, but fate had been good to her. Fate had delivered her to the Moffet's door, where for many years she had served not just as a governess but also as a friend. She had not been alone; she had had the Moffet's. They had been her family. Darcy on the other hand had suffered one tragedy after another. She had never known, but now that she knew, Elizabeth did not know if she wanted to hear any more.

Luckily for her, their journey to Pemberley had come to an end. Colonel Fitzwilliam felt the carriage turn off the main road into a side one and breathed a sigh of relief. They were almost there. He had been saved from having to say anything more and Elizabeth had been saved from having to hear anymore.

"This will take us to Pemberley," he told her.

Elizabeth nodded her head. She remembered it well, too well, in fact.

Elizabeth remembered riding down the long and seemingly endless lane in an open carriage with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. "Will we reach there before dark, do you think?" she had asked them in her familiar, teasing way. Elizabeth had been flippant at the time, fully unprepared for the majestic sight she would soon see. Seeing the house had been a humbling experience though, and for a moment, standing in front of one of Pemberley's windows and looking out onto fields, Elizabeth had wondered what it would have been like to have been mistress of such a grand house.

She shrugged away those memories along with the tears that had come unbidden to her eyes. It would not do her any good to ponder similar questions now. Instead, Elizabeth looked out the window and tried to fixate her attentions on the scenery and nothing else.

The carriage ambled down the long lane flanked by stately old elms and pollard trees. She watched silently as they passed massive tree after massive tree. The trees had not changed much, she could not help but think; they were still gnarled and as imposing as ever. And despite her recent attempt to think of nothing else, Elizabeth found herself wondering what else had not changed at Pemberley.

The carriage reached that pinnacle point in the carriage drive. Passing by the break in the copse, Elizabeth could see clear through the bough and leaves, which framed the house. "Stop! Oh, do stop the carriage please!"

Colonel Fitzwilliam obliged her and tapped his cane on the roof. The carriage stopped and Elizabeth continued to stare out the window. This had been her first view of the prominent house. And it certainly had not changed. Standing back, on a hill, the house presided over vast lands of greenery, which led to a pond lying in a puddle at its feet. The house itself was impressive with columns on the front façade, starting at the bottom floor and leading all the way to the top of the tall building. The first time Elizabeth had seen the house, she had seen nothing like it before; and, now, she still had not seen anything equal to its beauty.

When an interminable time had passed, Colonel Fitzwilliam asked, much as her uncle had once asked, "Shall we continue onto the house then?"

Elizabeth nodded her head, not willing to break her gaze from the house. "Drive on!" the Colonel called out.

A minute later, the carriage was back in motion, rocking back and forth along the rest of the lane. It passed through some iron gates and circled around to the front of the house. Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped out first to hand Elizabeth out. As she stepped out of the carriage, Elizabeth glanced up and saw that the entire house and staff had assembled by the door to welcome her to Pemberley. There was an older version of Georgiana Darcy, an unchanged version of Mrs. Reynolds, a smiling girl who had to be Mary, an older boy who had to be Dickon, and a dark-haired boy in a wheelchair who could only have been Colin. The rest of the servants stood behind them, all lined up, wearing their immaculate uniforms.

Watching them watch her, a most curious feeling stole over Elizabeth. Pemberley was not her home and she had no claims over it. She should have felt intimidated by all the splendor and the formalities; yet, the only thing she felt was a great wave of calm and peace. Elizabeth relaxed in her stance, soaking up the experience. She and the Colonel even exchanged friendly smiled. Little did Elizabeth know, this was just the calm before the storm.

Chapter 24

It was not until a week after Elizabeth arrived at Pemberley that the implications of being in such a place struck her fully in the face. Before Elizabeth came to Derbyshire, she had been concerned about having to deal with the confrontation of Fitzwilliam Darcy's ghost at every turn of the corner. Surprisingly, she found that not to be the case. Elizabeth was far too preoccupied with reviving her friendships with the Colonel and Georgiana and getting to know her niece and the children to pay much attention to anything else. With someone always in her company, Elizabeth was hard pressed to find time to think of her former love.

As everyone grew more comfortable with one another's company, however, and Elizabeth found her own place amongst everyone else's busy schedule, becoming part of the family, she began to find time to think about other matters... such as her surroundings.

Elizabeth was walking down to breakfast by herself. It was the first time she had ever done so. Usually, Mary was already up and knocking down her door at an early hour. Elizabeth would never forget the first morning she woke up at Pemberley.

She had woken to the sound of loud hammerings, which had invaded her dreams. At first, she thought that if she pulled the covers over her head, it would block out the sound, but it did not. Tired and frustrated, she shoved her head underneath the plump, feather pillows. The hammering did not abate. Finally, Elizabeth threw aside the pillow as well as her bedcover and sat straight up in bed.

For a moment, Elizabeth had no idea where she was. The richly furnished bedroom was nothing like the sparse but comfortable bedroom she had lived in for the past decade or so. Then, as Elizabeth woke herself up and regained her bearings, it all began to slowly come back to her and the puzzle pieces fell into place. The reason why her walls were covered in powder blue, rather than peach to which she was accustomed, was because she was staying at Pemberley as a guest.

Lunging for her thin wrap, Elizabeth secured it around her waist before opening the door. In that moment when Elizabeth realized she was at Pemberley and not with the Moffet's, she had also realized that the loud and obnoxious hammering was someone at the door. Apparently someone was most eager to see her that morning. Having a fair inkling as to who that someone probably was, Elizabeth was not the least bit surprised to find Mary gazing guilelessly up at her when she opened up the door.

"Good-morning, Aunt Elizabeth," Mary smiled broadly.

"Good-morning, Mary," Elizabeth returned the greeting.

"I did not think you would ever wake up," Mary said.

"I cannot imagine why you would think such a thing," Elizabeth answered dryly, "Surely no sane person would ever have been able to sleep through all that racket you just created. Tell me, Mary, are you always in such a habit of waking people up in the morning?"

"Oh, no!" Mary looked at her aunt in horror.

"Well that is a relief to know."

"I usually just barge in on them," Mary continued, "Well, that is until I grew older and Mama and Papa got fed up with me and started locking their bedroom door so that I would not constantly disturb them."

Elizabeth stared at her niece for a moment, and then burst out into laughter. Her niece would do something like that. Elizabeth appreciated her pluck. "Well, my dear, now that you have gotten me out of bed, what is it that you want from me?" Elizabeth asked Mary.

Mary ran to the window and pointed outside, "You're sleeping the day away! I wanted you to come play and spend time with me this morning."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. She had never been accused of being a late-riser before. This was certainly a first. "Why don't you give me a moment to get dressed? When I am done, I will come find you in your room."

Mary nodded, appeased by her aunt's promise. There was no doubt that if Elizabeth failed to follow through with her promise, Mary would make sure that she did. "All right. My room is the one that is seven doors down, on the left."

"Seven doors down, on the left," Elizabeth repeated. "I think I can remember that. Now, shoo!"

It had been like that every morning for the past week, until today. This morning, Elizabeth had woken up and gotten dressed on her own volition. Vaguely, she wondered where her young niece was. It was not like her to miss a morning. She had likely gotten tired of beating her aunt every morning, Elizabeth thought unconcernedly. Elizabeth remembered that when she was a little girl, she liked to sleep for as long as she possibly could before her mother woke the entire house with her shrieking demands.

Elizabeth walked down the long hallway and once more was struck by the splendor and elegance surrounding her. She skimmed her hand lightly across the inlaid top of a hallway table and then turned towards the family gallery before making her way down to the breakfast room.

The day after her arrival at Pemberley, Georgiana had taken her on a truncated tour of the house. She had shown her the essentials, making sure that she knew where her bedroom was in relation to the dining parlors, the sitting and living rooms, as well as the rest of the family's bedrooms, save her brother's of course. Being pressed at the time, Georgiana had saved the rest of the household for another time, but invited Elizabeth to explore the rest of the house whenever she found the time and inclination.

Elizabeth could not say what it was that drew her to the gallery at such an early hour that morning. She remembered it as being an impressive hallway, slightly overwhelming with all the family portraits of the Darcy ancestors staring back at the onlookers. Yet, she also remembered it as slightly comforting and familiar as well. And somewhere inside of her, curiosity flickered and Elizabeth wondered if Darcy had hung a new portrait of himself since the last time she had walked through this magnificent passageway.

He had. Elizabeth was not sure how long she stood in front of his portrait, but it was quite some time before Mrs. Reynolds found her standing idly front of his portrait in a near trance.

"He has not changed much since you last saw him. He is a dashing fellow, is he not?"

Elizabeth turned and having missed Mrs. Reynold's comments, stared blankly at the housekeeper. Mrs. Reynolds nodded her head back up towards the painting. "Mr. Darcy," she said by way of introduction. "He is still just as handsome as he was in that portrait, though perhaps a bit more melancholy these days."

Elizabeth was at a loss as to how to answer, so she nodded her head ever so slightly in acknowledgment that she had heard the housekeeper's comments. Mrs. Reynolds watched Elizabeth stare at her employer's portrait for a little bit longer before asking, "It is a handsome portrait, is it not?"

"It is beautiful," Elizabeth breathed. It was an unusual piece. The pose was not one normally depicted; yet, Elizabeth found it endearing. In truth, the sight of Darcy cradling a tiny baby in his arms evoked an unfamiliar yearning in the depths of her soul. "That must be Colin, Mr. Darcy is holding," she guessed.

"Aye. Master Colin was not more than six months old when that painting was made. It was painted as part of a pair," she told Elizabeth. "When Mr. Darcy had this one painted, he also commissioned a matching portrait to be made of the late Mrs. Darcy holding Master Colin; it used to hang beside this one."

For the first time, Elizabeth noticed that there was indeed a gaping empty space of wall next to the portrait of which she had been staring so intently. Odd how she had not noticed it before. "What happened to that painting?"

"When the late Mrs. Darcy passed away, Mr. Darcy had the painting removed. He could not bear to see it or any other likeness of her in plain sight. All paintings or miniatures depicting the late Mrs. Darcy were taken down and put away."

The good housekeeper did not mention to where the paintings had been relegated, nor did Elizabeth want to inquire. It was difficult to think of Darcy still pining away for his long, lost wife. So, she returned her attention back to the former painting. The artist, she could not help but notice, had done an excellent job of catching the father's fond and adoring gaze looking down upon his son. The look he gave his son, could not be mistaken for anything but the truth.

"He loves his son," Elizabeth said simply. She could see it in the way Darcy hugged his infant son protectively towards his chest, and looked upon him with a softened gaze to the exclusion of the rest of the world.

"Yes he does," Mrs. Reynolds confirmed.

Elizabeth conjured up an image of Colin in her mind. Over the course of the past week, she had come to care about this deeply troubled boy, who bore an uncanny resemblance to his father. She could see his pain and wished she could do something about it. How could she not? Every time she saw his warm, chocolate eyes and his dark, unruly hair, she felt an unexplainable twinge of something in her heart. Elizabeth would never admit it, but there were times when she looked at Colin and could not help but think that if it had not been for certain circumstances, Colin might have been her son, hers and Darcy's.

"I am glad to hear it," she finally said.

That night, Elizabeth tossed and turned in her sleep, still finding it somewhat strange to be in this bed and in this house. After she had completed her fiftieth rotation, she threw back the bedcovers angrily. "This is utterly ridiculous," she muttered to herself. Sitting up abruptly, she brushed away the curls around her face that had loosened from its braid. "It should not be so hard to fall asleep."

She crossed her arms across her chest and flicking a piece of hair that had fallen back down onto her face, she huffed, "Now what?"

She thought for a minute and then grabbed her robe from the back of a chair and tied it securely around her waist. "There must be a book boring enough to put me asleep somewhere in that huge library."

Emboldened by the idea, Elizabeth slipped from her room not the least afraid that she might run into someone in the hallway and scandalize them with her near state of undress. She paused for a moment outside her door, still unaccustomed by the size of the house, and tried to remember which way she should go to reach the library. She tickled her lips with the tip of her fingers for a moment before shrugging her shoulders with indecision. Might as well try the right.

Turning in that direction with some amount of confidence she began to walk, and walk, and walk. It was only after the had walked past several doors without reaching the stairway that she began to think perhaps she should have turned left at her door. Grimacing, Elizabeth turned back around to retrace her steps. It was then that she heard a muffled sound.

Elizabeth's trained ears were prickled by the sound. A governess knew best when a child was crying in the night. Without even thinking, she pressed open the nearest door and found Colin huddled in his bed, a white mass of twisted sheets. Elizabeth did not even hesitate to offer him whatever comfort she could give him.

The bed dipped where she placed her weight, alerting Colin to her presence. Startled, he scurried to the side and hiccupped his would have been tears. "Wh-wh-what are you doing here, Miss Bennet?"

"I heard you crying," Elizabeth moved into a more comfortable position and placed a warm and soothing arm around Colin's shoulders. "I thought you might like some company. Would you prefer to be alone?" she asked, giving him an option.

Colin shook his head without thought. "Are you feeling sad? Is that why you are crying tonight?" she coaxed.

Colin nodded his head. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Her offer was met with silence. "I promise I am a very good listener."

Colin burrowed his head in her arms, shaking his head, and Elizabeth let him sit in peace, holding him in her arms as she rocked him back and forth. She waited with infinite amounts of patience, letting him shed his tears until the well was dry. And then she held him with great amounts of tenderness until his body finished retching dry heaves. By the time Colin finally quieted, Elizabeth's gown had been irreparably ruined by Colin's sobs. Not a dry stitch remained, but still Elizabeth held him close never once loosening her hold.

It was only until she felt him shyly pull away that she eased her hold and let him sit up straight again. He rubbed his puffy, red, swollen eyes, and Elizabeth watched in silence. Holding onto one of her hands still, he looked up her with his tentative, brown eyes and asked, "May I show you something, Miss Bennet?"

"Of course you may," Elizabeth answered gently.

Colin showed her how to pull a chord, and when the drapes pulled back a portrait of Anne Darcy stared back at her, and in her arms was a bundle of baby Colin.

"My father had it removed from the portrait gallery after my mother died; he did not want to see it anymore. He tried to erase all of her memories from the home, but I don't want to forget my mother so I had the painting brought to my room. I wanted to be able to look at my mother whenever I wanted to. I had a curtain made to cover it though. Sometimes it gets to be too much to look at it, and that's when I leave it covered. But whenever I need to think of someone watching over me and loving me, I have someone open it so that I can look at her, holding me and loving me."

Elizabeth's heart ached to think of both father and son's pain following the death of a wife and a mother. It was a tragedy to lose someone who was still so young, and it was obvious that each had dealt with it on their own, rather than together, and were still dealing with the effects and pain of death even today.

Elizabeth stared up at the portrait and looked into the face of the woman who had inspired such devotion and such pain. It had been a long time since she had seen the former Miss Anne de Bourgh. When Elizabeth had known her, Anne had been pale and sickly, always coughing under the ever-watchful eyes of her domineering mother. The portrait over Colin's bed, however, showed an entirely different-looking woman. Warmer, richer eyes had replaced her haunted and hollow eyes. Pale skin tinged with pink and liveliness had replaced her once pasty, ashen coloring. Meekness had been overthrown for self-assurance. There was no question that Anne Darcy had blossomed into an attractive woman following her marriage, indubitably the result of having finally been removed from her mother's imperious care.

A surge of something foreign, something akin to envy, bubbled within Elizabeth, and she struggled to force it back down. It was especially ungracious of her, she knew, to be jealous of someone who had long since passed away. Yet the feeling persisted that somehow this woman had stolen Darcy's heart and her rightful place, or was it she who had tried to steal Darcy's heart and this woman's place? A distant memory of Lady Catherine de Bourgh calling on her at Longbourn, and the advice and warnings she had imparted to Elizabeth, caused Elizabeth to think twice.

Stricken by her improper thoughts, and confused by the emotions they wrought on her, Elizabeth pushed them all aside and focused instead on the little, forlorn boy in front of her.

"Why did my mother have to die?" Colin had asked during her silent reveries.

Elizabeth had to ask him to repeat the question before she could answer him. "I don't know," she answered truthfully. "Sometimes there aren't any answers for why things happen. We simply must accept them as they come to us."

"That does not seem very fair."

"Ah..." Elizabeth trilled. "You have hit upon the very question of life, Colin, and no person or philosopher has ever been able to answer the questions of what is fair and what is not fair."

"I don't understand. What does that mean?"

"It means that we must take life as it comes to us and accept it for all its happiness and disappointments. You might not be able to imagine it, but life would surely be boring and meaningless were everything to happen as we wished it."

"Do you really think that, Miss Bennet?"

"I do," Elizabeth answered, but even she had to wonder at the wisdom of her own words, considering her present state of mind.

Colin considered Elizabeth's pearls of wisdom for a moment before asking an entirely different vein of questions, "Do you think my father would love me more if my mother were still alive today?"

Elizabeth looked aghast at Colin. "Oh, my child! Why should you ask such a question? Your father loves you still even now, I am sure," she replied in earnest.

Colin looked at Elizabeth with such skepticism that she could not help but answer more fervently, "He does love you! I know it."

"How can you be so sure that he loves me still?" Colin cocked an eyebrow. "You do not even know my father."

"No, that is true," Elizabeth, faltered. "I do not know your father as he is now, but I knew him once before," she finally revealed.

"You did?" Colin asked, surprised.

"Yes," Elizabeth answered, wondering how much more she should tell him.

"When?"

"A long time ago."

Colin eyed her warily. "How long ago?"

"Before he married your mother," Elizabeth sighed. It seemed that Colin was deciding the limits for her.

"Really?" Colin asked with interest.

"Mm-hmm."

"And my mother? Did you know her too?"

"Vaguely," Elizabeth answered evasively. "I only met her a few times, and we never exchanged many words. I knew your grandmother better. She was my cousin's patroness."

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh?"

"Mm-hmm."

"I do not have very many memories of her. She died when I was only a baby."

A blessing in disguise, Elizabeth thought discourteously. She shuddered to think how Lady Catherine would have fawned over the boy, and then tried to raise him as she saw fit, without any regard to his parents' feelings.

"Your grandmother was a... most interesting woman," Elizabeth told him diplomatically.

"I did not know you knew my family so well," Colin told her in awe.

"Well, I don't think you could say that I knew your family well," Elizabeth replied. "Certainly, I was introduced to members of your family many years ago, but I only really knew your father. He and my sister's husband were good friends, and we were often thrown into the same company whenever he came to call on my family with his friend." Elizabeth satisfied herself with the knowledge that she was not exactly telling Colin a falsehood; they were more like half-truths.

"Is that Mary's father?" Colin asked.

"That's right."

"I do not remember Mr. Bingley."

"My sister and brother-in-law did not visit Pemberley much after your father married. And then they went to India, and nobody ever saw my sister and brother-in-law ever again. They have been away for many years now."

"I see." Silence stretched between them like a taut rope until Colin asked another question. "What was my father like when you knew him?"

If Elizabeth was startled or made uncomfortable by Colin's question, she did not let on. "He was..." Elizabeth broke her gaze, and dropped her voice, unsure about how she should answer. She struggled to find an acceptable answer that would make Colin understand without betraying her own feelings at the same time. "He was like no one I had ever met before," she finally said in a very soft tone.

"What does that mean?" Colin asked innocently.

"It means that..." Elizabeth sighed, "I did not understand him as well as I would have liked to. The truth is, Colin, I did not try to understand your father, and that was my mistake and my loss."

"What did you lose?" Colin asked innocently.

Elizabeth smiled sadly at the little boy. "I missed out on the privilege of being able to call your father my friend."

"Your father is a good man, but he is different from most other men," Elizabeth explained. "It is not easy for him to share his feelings with others. His parents died when he was young too, you know, and it had a profound effect on him."

"That is what Aunt Georgiana has told me."

"Your father was older than you when his parents died, much older in fact, but still he lost both a mother and a father when they died. You at least have a father yet."

"One that never lays eyes on me," Colin pouted.

Elizabeth ignored him. Now was not a time for sympathy, now was a time to help Colin understand his father, and there was no one better suited for the job than Elizabeth, she who had misunderstood him for so long and only come to understand him when it was too late.

"When his parents died, your father had to shoulder a lot of responsibilities. Most importantly your Aunt Georgiana. She was very young when they died, she must have been a few years younger than you now. At once your father had to be both brother and father to your aunt. It was not easy, especially when he had to care for the house, the estate, and all its tenants as well. Can you imagine having to deal with all of that with no one to help you?"

Colin thought about it as best as his young, abstract mind would let him and shook his head no. It was one thing to play the part of a young master, and quite another to actually be a young master.

"Your father's youth was cut short by all his responsibilities. He did not have the carefree youth that so many other young men have at that age. Instead of roaming the social scene of London and other public places, he had to cut himself off and retreat to the countryside to take care of his little sister and estate. Not only did your father have little time for frivolities of a public life, but he also had to escape from all the matchmaking mamas who wanted only to see their daughters married to a young, handsome and wealthy person such as your father. Your father was caught in that difficult position where people wanted what they perceived him to be, and your father wanted someone who would want him for who he really was."

Colin struggled to imagine his father in the role of a prize catch.

"Your father retreated into a shell after that, erecting insurmountable walls over his innermost feelings. He let no one in, except for those who dared to stand up to him and demand to be let in." Elizabeth sighed heavily, wishing she had had the foresight to demand to be let in earlier rather than turning up her nose at him. It was too late for regrets though.

"Your father's impenetrable walls gave your father a haughty demeanor, and as a result, many people thought he was a proud and disagreeable man. But your father was nothing like that. He was just insecure, and when you got past his inner walls and got to know him, you understood that he was only a shy man who could be rather friendly and charming when he wanted to be."

"Are my Aunt Georgiana and Uncle Fitzwilliam among those that dared to demand to be let in?"

"Of course," Elizabeth traced the outline of Colin's jaw with a finger all the while smiling. "Your mother is his beloved sister. Your father his cousin and best friend, and now brother-in-law too."

"And you?"

Elizabeth's finger paused in its path and she looked questioningly at Colin. He rephrased his question. "Are you also one of those who broke down my father's walls?"

A breath of air caught in Elizabeth's throat, and she dropped her hand to her side, clutching the sheets in a tight fist. "No," she managed tightly.

"But you spoke of him so familiarly just now, as if you know him well."

"I knew him well... somewhat... once before. It was a long time ago, Colin, and much has changed since then, but I doubt that your father's love and respect for family and honor has not. Your father's family pride was something I grew to respect and admire as I learned more about him. The Fitzwilliam Darcy I knew would never turn his back on a relative, so I doubt very much that he would ever turn his back on you, his own flesh and blood, and his heir."

"Then why does my father always stay away from Pemberley? And why does he never come to see me on his brief visits home? Why is he so ashamed of me?"

"Ashamed of you?" Elizabeth asked incredulously. "Colin, would you mind terribly much if I carried you out of bed? I want to show you something." Pulling his arms around her nimble shoulders, she bent down to heft him up into his arms. Elizabeth was grateful that his wheeled chair was nearby, Elizabeth didn't think she would have been able to carry him all the way to the portrait gallery.

Elizabeth cast the glow of her candle towards the painting she wanted to show Colin, careful not to get too close lest the flame catch hold of the painting itself.

"Do you see this painting, Colin?" When Colin nodded, Elizabeth continued. "This is why I am so sure that your father is not ashamed of you. No one could look at their son like this and be ashamed of him at the same time. There is such love and tenderness in his gaze. I know your father loves you, he just does not know how to express it."

"I was only a baby in that painting," Colin pointed out. "Maybe I grew up to be a disappointment, and that is why my father does not make time to see me on his rare visits home."

"I cannot tell you why your father never visits you," Elizabeth sighed. "Those are questions you are going to have to one day ask him yourself. Only your father has the answers that you seek. I am sure, however, that you could never disappoint your father. If he could but see you now, healthy and out of bed, he would be so very proud, Colin; I know it."

Elizabeth looked at Colin's still thoughtful face and her heart lurched. It was so much for a little boy to absorb and understand. How could she help him understand?

"Colin, you know how I just told you that your father used to look haughty and people supposed him to be haughty, even though in reality he was not?" she asked, trying to put her explanation into simpler terms.

"Yes."

"That same concept applies to your situation. Don't you see? You think your father does not love you because he never comes to see you. Appearances, however, can be deceiving. Your father may never come to see you for an entirely different reason, and even though we do not know what that reason is, it still behooves us to maintain an open mind and not be predisposed to think ill of your father."

Colin nodded his head slowly, "I think I am beginning to see what you are saying."

"Do you? Do you really?" Elizabeth asked in earnest. For some reason it was very important to her that Colin should think well of his father.

"You are telling me that I should keep an open mind about my father and wait to hear the truth him before I begin to make my judgments, rather than being prejudiced against him from the beginning only because of what I think of him."

"Exactly! You are so smart for a boy your age, Colin." Smarter than I ever was, Elizabeth thought sadly. "Always remember, it is better to know for sure than to merely think something is certain."

Colin took her lesson to heart, "I will. I promise, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth blessed him with a rewarding and affectionate hug. "I am glad to hear you say it. You make for an apt pupil, Colin, do you know that?"

Once Elizabeth returned Colin to his bedroom, he would not let her leave. "Stay with me, Miss Bennet? Please? Until I fall asleep?"

Once Elizabeth climbed back onto Colin's bed, he closed his eyes and snuggled in her warm embrace reveling in the comfort he felt being there in her loving arms. Colin felt safe and he felt secure. There was something about Elizabeth and the way she listened to him that made him feel like he could really be himself with her. He could share his insecurities with her and he knew she would not laugh at him or use them against him; she truly cared.

"I wish..." Colin trailed off.

"What do you wish for, Colin?"

Looking up at his mother's portrait, he hugged Elizabeth tighter and thought, I wish that you could be my mother, Miss Bennet. You seem to understand me perfectly. He could not say that though, so he said aloud, "Nothing."

Elizabeth looked down at Colin bundled within her arms. Sometimes, my child, the things we with for most in life are the things we simply cannot have.

Muffling the sounds of her sobs in the crown of Colin's head, she whispered, "Go to sleep, Colin." Lying entwined in a comforting embrace, the pair stared back at Anne's sweet face until they both fell asleep.

Somewhere in France...

Muttering swearing oaths, Darcy threw off his heavy covers and stalked over to the highboy where he grabbed a fresh pair of trousers to put on before pulling on his navy-colored, silk robe. Alone in his room, Darcy did not bother tying the ends together. Instead, he let his robe hang open so that the cool night air could dry his sweat-dampened skin. His valet had left out a decanter filled with amber liquid, and Darcy took advantage of it now, pouring himself a generous glass. Taking small, languid sips, Darcy settled into the chair closest to the hearth.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed, and the hands showed that the hour was late. Even the streets, which had still been busy and bustling with life when Darcy had gone to bed, were now quiet and tame under the stars' ever-watchful eyes. Everywhere around him the entire city slept. Everyone was sleeping, Darcy thought sadly, everyone except for him.

Once more sleep eluded him, his tousled sheets a testament to another night filled with hapless dreams. Having had the good fortune to emerge from his now familiar but still unsettling dream, Darcy was not the least bit eager to return to it. He chose the company of his brandy, preferring it to his disconcerting dreams. Frustration mounted as for the fifth night in a row, Darcy was tormented by what he saw and could not see in his nightly visions.

He picked up an iron poker and gave jabbing pokes to the crackling, wooden logs, stoking the meager fire. When that alone did nothing to relieve the tightness in his muscles, he threw aside the iron poker and raked a hand through his disheveled mass of hair. Darcy then downed the rest of his fiery liquid to hurl his crystal glass into the lapping flames of the growing fire. Sparks of crystal flames flew out at him, their ire matching his frustration and his blackened mood. Darcy did not care, he taunted and teased them, dared them to come and make him a slave to their demands. He invited the flames to lap dangerously close to the silken folds of his nightgown. What was one more blazing flame of fire when he was already in his own personal inferno anyways, he reasoned?

This was the fifth consecutive night Darcy had dreamed of Anne. As usual, the dream was hazy and unclear. Darcy could not make out for the life of him what was happening in his dream, and this irked him. For the first few months after her death, Anne had returned to him night after night to hold his hands, to apologize, and to offer clucking words of sympathy. Once the pain of loss had subsided, so too had his dreams subsided. He had lost his need for her, his need for her company. Now, years later, Anne had for whatever reason returned to him in his dreams. Darcy wondered if this meant that subconsciously he needed her still.

In the dream, Anne was always dressed in a long, white nightgown. Simple and unadorned, the folds of her gown were draped enticingly around her. Her chestnut tresses, equally long, billowed around her in the wind and beckoned to him with each wisp and curl; they hypnotized him. Anne always held out her pearly white arms to in invitation, but Darcy, who was always cautious and wary, would hang back, reluctant to go forward. It was only after he saw her lips move that he would try and edge closer. Her lips were mute, so he could not hear. He could only read, but because they stood too far apart for Darcy to see clearly, he could not read Anne's lips. She was trying to tell him something, but he did not know what.

It was a message, Darcy was sure of it. Every time Anne returned from the land of the departed, it was to tell him something. But this time, Anne's mission was incomplete. Before she could carry it out successfully, she always aborted, and Darcy was at a loss as to figure out why. For five nights now, Darcy had tried to figure out the elusive mystery. And for five nights straight, he had come up empty. Darcy was, not surprisingly, frustrated.

Tonight's dream had been slightly different from the previous four dreams, and it was on these details that Darcy now mulled over. Every night before tonight, Anne had stood before him with her lips moving but no sound coming out of them. And every night before tonight, Darcy had tried to step forward and get closer. But every night before tonight, he had been unsuccessful.

Tonight, Darcy had been more desperate. Instead of walking, he had lunged. And to his surprise, he actually moved forward. But once again, his dream bested him. Just as he had been about to close in and around Anne's shoulders, the mood of the dream shifted. The air had grown colder and a fog had settled in, impairing his vision and tearing him apart from Anne's connection. Grasping and seeking, Darcy's hands always came up empty. "No!" he had bellowed, but there had been no one present to hear it. Anne had disappeared; she always left as quickly as she came.

It was at this critical juncture that Darcy had woken up. Tonight's reaction was no different from any other night's. Sitting straight up in his bed, the hair on the back of his neck had prickled with prescience, and cold sweat had molded the sheets to his naked and tense body. Disgusted, Darcy felt no better than a mere schoolboy frightened by the unknown.

"Tomorrow," Darcy decreed. "Tomorrow she will tell me what she wants."

She had to. Any more of these sleepless nights and Darcy was likely to go insane.

Continued In Next Section