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Part XII.

Darcy approached breakfast the next morning with a grim countenance. For him, this late dawn repast was nothing more than an ordeal to endure in order to obtain the marrow upon which he needed to live. His thoughts and spirit were waylaid elsewhere; his wife's apartments- from which she had not emerged since her early exit from the ball last night -and a certain young lady that occupied the building that was barely three miles away from his present location. Both troubled him greatly, so much so that not even his sister dared to disturb his disquiet. With the former it was an old worry, one that he had long been used to, no matter how fresh the torment appeared in his mind each day. These were the worse times; when he knew full well that there was nothing he could do, when his uselessness in this matter weighed upon him heavily. Anne, he knew, disliked letting him know how badly things lay with her and last night had been no exception. She knew his tendency to jump to the worse possible conclusion, she had known of it from their first meeting many years ago. Therefore she had entrusted to his valet a note which he had received this morning saying that she was perfectly well, but would remain in her chambers for the day just as a precaution. Darcy had taken this with an outward appearance of calmness, but with an inward feeling of remorse, guilt and concern. The first, because he wished he could do more, the second, for he felt that he was the fault for her illness and the third because for her to retreat to her room meant her condition was worsening without a hope of recovery. Now as he consumed his meal without care for taste or fulfillment, he tried to resign his mind to the prospect of the day, knowing that he could not visit her, for his fear would undoubtedly make her worse.

As for the latter, the one that lay a mere three miles from his form, Darcy was also concerned about. Her features upon the conclusion of his tale had occupied his mind from the moment he had first laid eyes upon them. He wondered how she had borne it, in what light she looked upon them now. How she would regard them when they next met. His desire to close a door on those feelings for her had not succeeded; in truth his mind had barely attempted the motion. Last night the depth of them had shown him for the first time that any escape was impossible, and had been from the first moment he had laid eyes on her. The devotion he felt for her was such as he had never experienced before and doubtless that he never would again. Love like this he had never known and never expected or hoped to know. His life so far had convinced him that such feelings only existed in the imagination, that reality could not fulfil them. His only desire now- and a selfish one at that -was to learn if she felt them same, a development that he had no right to even wish for. He was married and both of them knew that! The circumstances of it mattered not; nor did the inevitable future of it. He was a gentleman, she was a gentleman's daughter, to express such desires and expect her to return them would not only go against propriety, but it would also go wholly against his character. Every experience life had thrown upon him had convinced him that nothing but faithfulness in marriage was acceptable. The very notion of anything else as well as the display of such disgusted him. Although every disguise of sort was his abhorrence, he could do naught but strive to conceal these feelings for the rest of their acquaintance.

While her husband strove to rise out of his conflicted feelings, Anne, from her position of recluse in her bed in the guest apartments on the first floor, struggled in vain to concentrate upon the volume of literature that lay in her hands. She had no energy; only desire for other occupations and the effect of this upon her concentration was proving to be long lasting. She longed for company, but had no wish to inflict the now obvious appearance of the severity of her condition upon the few personages that knew of it. These were the worse times; when she could not escape the true nature of her illness and when the inevitable end seemed nearer than it had been before. Last night had by no means been unexpected, only the lengthy awaited release of symptoms that were soon to prevent her from concealing this illness any further. The end was definitely nigh, had been so for quite some time. She could not hide it from herself.

A ray of light landed upon the bedspread; causing Anne to gaze at the prospect from where she lay. The sunshine weather which christened everything with bright, miraculous colours, lay waiting, calling to her to take such joy in it as many would this fine day and was a complete contrast to her presently gloomy state of mind. It was time, she realised, to focus upon what life she had left and to strive as much delight as she could out of it.

Three miles away, Longbourn awoke to a tremendous state of activity. Mrs. Bennet and her nerves could not be contained nor escaped- except perhaps for those that followed Mr. Bennet's example and retreated to the library for the day, coming out only for meals. Her long desired wish of having one of her daughters settled was about to be fulfilled. Its source lay in the surprising form of Mr. Collins, and the daughter in question, equally surprisingly, was Mary.

The former had sought her approval for such an endeavour by addressing her that very morning soon after breakfast with the request that he might humbly hope for her interest when he solicited the honour of a private audience with her fair daughter Mary in the course of said morning. If Mr. Collins had wished to take Mrs. Bennet by surprise, he had certainly achieved thus, for the good lady had assumed that her second daughter Elizabeth was to be the receiver of his hand. However, whatever little regret she might have contained within her concerning, was soon done away by the prospect of his actual choice. In retrospect, Mrs. Bennet now perceived that Mary would do extremely well for Mr. Collins, in fact few could do better. Her preference for the Christian works and her concern for the moral behaviour of others and herself would compliment his profession and serve to be the foundations of what she was sure would be a happy future together.

Thus she dawdled about in the vestibule to watch for the end of the conference, and no sooner than she saw Mary open the door and with quick step pass her towards the library, did Mrs. Bennet enter the breakfast-room. She congratulated both Mr. Collins and her in warm terms on the happy prospect of their nearer connection. Mr. Collins received and returned these felicitations with equal pleasure, and then proceeded to relate the particulars of their interview, with the result of which he trusted he had every reason to be satisfied, since the quiet acceptance which his cousin had steadfastly given him would naturally flow from her bashful modesty and the genuine delicacy of her character. Her consent and blessing she now happily bestowed upon him and desired that he informed Mr. Bennet of it at once.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Collins exited the library in the search of his intended, the reaction of his host clearly displayed upon his inanely smiling features. Mrs. Bennet spared him a joyful glance of her own and then entered the library herself. Barely however did she have time to express her joy when Mr. Bennet began thus; "my dear, I have two small favours to request. First, that you will allow me to express merely that I am satisfied at the outcome of Mr. Collins endeavours, and secondly, the free use of my room. I shall be glad to have the library to myself as soon as may be."

Mr. Bennet's words did nothing to disrupt Mrs. Bennet's joy; indeed she remained distracted for most of the day, rousing her voice to congratulate her daughter and future son in law once more, before sending for the carriage to travel to town in order to inform her dear sister Phillips, Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long and triumph over the prospect of having a daughter married before either of the latter.

While the family attempted to rise out of this state of affairs Charlotte Lucas came to spend the day with them. She was met in the vestibule by Lydia, who after flying to her delivered the news of the morning events with laughter. Charlotte hardly had time to answer before they were joined by Kitty who came to tell the same news and then left to find Elizabeth and Jane by herself as the two young Bennets rushed outdoors towards Meryton in quest of the officers.

Miss Lucas soon found her friends in the grounds, and once there gratefully entered into conversation with them. Jane's mood was almost as joyous as her cousin's for her recollections of the ball served only the time she had spent with Mr. Bingley, a passage that had passed so agreeable as to leave her in all hope of a happy future. Elizabeth however dealt few remarks to the discourse, being much preoccupied.

Unlike her sister, Elizabeth had seen all the idiocy that her family had fallen into the rest of the evening after she had exited the library with Mr. Darcy. Their temporary absence had been noticed not, nor had their studied avoidance of each other for the rest of the evening. Such an avoidance had been a necessity; for he needed to keep up his mask and she needed time to reflect upon all that she had just learned. Such reflection had quickly become impossible however, for upon their move into the supper-room, the actions of her family had served to occupy most of her attention. To her they had seemed to have developed a mutual agreement to embarrass all and sundry by making complete fools of themselves. First there had been Mary and her performance on the pianoforte, a display which had been stopped not before time by her father, but in such a way as to make Elizabeth wish he had not interfered in the first place. Then Mr. Collins spoke the praises of such talent and his long held desire to possess such a gift himself before the whole room, finishing with a bow to Mr. Darcy, upon whom Elizabeth had been unable to prevent him making his introduction in the course of the evening. According to Mr. Collins it had gone well, but Elizabeth had seen the truth by the reaction of the other gentleman, as she watched him exit the conversation as quickly as he could, returning to his table, his outward expression speaking quite clearly of the disgust that he obviously felt at having such an acquaintance.

Then it had been the turn of her mother who had remarked loudly and constantly to Lady Lucas about the future prospects of two of her daughters and their intended. All attempts to quiet her had been made by Elizabeth in vain; she could only listen in silence and pray that no one gave concern to them. Lastly Lydia had then made the La Morte d-Bennet complete by rushing into the supper-room carrying a sabre of an officer who was chasing her. Collapsing into a chair before finally giving it up, she exclaimed to the entire room that she was 'so fagged' before downing a glass of wine.

Elizabeth had therefore greeted this morning with relief. She now retreated fully into her thoughts as Jane occupied the whole attention of Charlotte. For the first time since she had heard the story did she now focus fully upon it. With great concern and distress did she recall the torment of emotions displayed upon Mr. Darcy's face as he relayed the true tale of the history of Mr. Wickham. With further worry did she recollect her friend suddenly coming to halt and experiencing a coughing fit, along with the horrible realisation that she made when seeing the bloodstain upon Mr. Darcy's monogrammed handkerchief. To have it confirmed was even more horrible. She had only known Anne for a short time, but already she was an excellent and close friend. To learn that she was soon to leave this world had been and still remained a terrible blow. Elizabeth could not bare to think how Anne herself bore it. Mr. Darcy's torment seemed considerable and she could not help but feel greatly for such a kind man whose lot in life had been so hard. She felt that he had had too many troubles in such short a time. Most of all she admired how bravely he had borne each one of them. From this moment on she vowed to help him in his quest for control. Such a desire was the mark of the depth of her friendship with Anne, and she felt he deserved nothing less. Once she had established this vow firmly upon her mind, Elizabeth returned to the conversation of Jane and Charlotte, focusing upon them for the rest of the day.

Part XIII.

I do not pretend to regret anything I shall leave in Hertfordshire, except your society, my dearest friend; but we will hope at some future period, to enjoy many returns of the delightful intercourse we have known, and in the mean while may lessen the pain of separation by a very frequent and most unreserved correspondence. I depend upon you for that.

Yours
Caroline Bingley.

With a sigh of dramatic proportions, the author of this note surveyed once more all the words she had written. She came to the end with a feeling of great satisfaction, having decided that it was sufficient enough for her plan.

Yes, Caroline Bingley had a cunning plan. She had formed its foundations yesterday, having been forced do so by the most disagreeable of events. Upon arriving at Netherfield from an afternoon walk- spent following Mr. Darcy's horse and the rider upon it, in the vain hope that he would halt and accompany her back; when this figure did finally stop this chance turned out to be very definitely a slim one, for it was not Mr. Darcy at all, but his stable hand, who had been ordered by the gentleman to exercise his steed upon a regular basis when he himself could not see to it,- but the author now realises she has digressed from her point and so shall immediately return to it forthwith -she found her brother gone, with only a note- if you can call a piece of blotting paper such -as explanation to his present whereabouts. Fortunately for Caroline,- though perhaps unfortunately in Mr. Bingley's case -the letter, despite resembling something which a spider had crawled across, still contained enough that was legible as to ascertain his reasons for so hasty a departure. In short, it was to obtain a suitable ring with which to grace Miss Bennet's hand in marriage. Naturally, this left Caroline in shock. After standing about in the staircase hall looking stupid- though she believed intelligent and sophisticated -for ten minutes, she escaped to her sanctuary- otherwise known as the East Drawing Room -to think. By morning, her mind had formed a solution, to which this letter above was the starting point.

With a graceful flourish- her words, not mine -she finished the direction and sealed the note. After ringing the bell for a footman, Caroline sat back in her chair, her mind picturing the scene that this note would induce. She hoped that her point had been understood. Charming as Miss Bennet had been, she was not at all the woman that Caroline had had in mind for her brother's wife. Looks and charm she may have had, but no money or class for Caroline to attach herself to.

The footman entered the room, bowed, took the proffered note, bowed once more, and left the room. Caroline rose from her chair to stare out the window, awaiting his return. When he had, she turned to face him, addressing him with the following: "Inform my dear sister and her husband that we shall be departing Netherfield this very day for London, then return to me."

When the click of door that served as the signal for this servant's exit, Caroline resumed a seat at her desk once more. Retrieving several sheets of paper from it, she picked up her pen and began another letter.

When the Darcys returned to the East Drawing Room- having been for a drive about the country in a low phaeton -they found the house in the same state that its previous occupant had, with only a small sealed letter for explanation. Anne was first to descry its presence, and after picking it up and surveying its contents produced a cry of disgust and anger that served to echo around the room. "Darce," she exclaimed immediately afterwards, "we must leave for London at once!"

Naturally her cousins stared back at her in astonishment and incomprehension. In reply Anne merely handed the letter to her husband. Determining at once that it was Caroline's handwriting, Darcy chose to refrain from reading it and waited instead for Anne to calm down sufficiently enough to tell him why.

"Caroline and the Hursts have departed for London in order to dissuade Charles from marrying Jane Bennet."

To her surprise, Darcy exhibited none of the same emotion. "I suspected as much. However, we do not need to follow. Bingley will not be dissuaded from his course by them."

"Darce, you are forgetting just how malicious and devious Caroline can be. She will not stop until Charles is convinced that Jane cares nothing for him. You and I both know that the opposite is the case. We must open up your townhouse as a sanctuary for him. For neither of his sisters will allow him to return to Netherfield."

Had Anne done naught but finish this speech with a coughing fit, Darcy would have continued to debate. As it was, he helped her to a chair and supplied her with a glass of wine before any words came forth from his lips. "Very well," he began solemnly, "to London we will go. Before we make arrangements to do so, however, do you not think that a note should be sent to Longbourn in order reassure Miss Bennet that whatever Caroline may have said to her is not the case?"

"You think Miss Bingley would stoop that low?" Georgiana asked her brother, who nodded in the affirmative.

Anne sighed, her fit having taken much of her past energy. "I do not see how we could phrase it without revealing Charles' intentions. We shall just have to depart, and hope that Elizabeth will see to restoring Jane's faith in her suitor."

While the Bennet said farewell to Mr. Collins as he left for Hunsford to inform his Ladyship of his success, Mr. Bingley came home to his townhouse from the jewelers to face the English equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition. After seeing to it that he had a chair, Caroline and Louisa towered over him, torturing him with words for as long as they had breath. They did not desist until it was time for them to retire, by which time Bingley was exhausted and disgusted. He slept not at well and awoke to the dawn, a changed man. But not however in the manner that his sisters had hoped for.

Unusually for him, he rose and sent for his valet. An hour later he was out the door and down the street without so much as a word to anyone. Moments later did he arrive at what had sought, and to his immense relief, the owners were at home.

Darcy and Anne welcomed him with open arms, supplying him instantly with drink, nourishment and listening ears. After he had communicated all his woes, they made him avail himself of the guest apartments, seeing that he rested while they sent a note to his house for his valet and belongings to be transferred to their establishment.

Bingley did not emerge from his rooms till dinner. His usual good humour however, did not return with him, an sign that was evidently discernible from his gloomy features. The ladies of the house immediately left the gentlemen to themselves, whereupon Darcy set about restoring his friend's faith in his plans for the future.

One evening though, soon proved to be insufficient for this venture. For while Bingley was still certain about Miss Bennet and all that was connected with her, he was uncertain that he should proceed while his immediate family objected to the match. To make matters even worse, Anne did not come down for breakfast, her condition being so particularly severe that next morning as to precipitate sending for the doctor.

While they waited for him to finish examining Anne, Darcy launched into the next stage of arguments as to Bingley still offering his hand to Miss Bennet, that of family objections meaning nothing where love was concerned, even though he felt his words and experiences inadequate to the task, given the present situation. As he had long suspected, only his assurance that he would accompany his friend, gave Bingley the confidence to proceed with his desires.

It was then that the physician returned. Having known the family for as long as he could remember- his father having served the later Mr. Darcy and his wife -Dawson hated the news that he had to bring to the present Mr. Darcy at this moment. Indeed if he knew of any cure he would traverse the ends of the earth to find it. "I am so deeply sorry, sir, but there is very little I can do for your wife. The illness is in its last stages. I can only ease her suffering, not make it disappear."

Darcy rose up from his chair and escaped to his sanctuary; a window. Only there did he discard his mask and let the grief that this news brought show. "How long?" He asked, in a voice of heavy emotion.

"I am not certain. Perhaps four, maybe five months. This much is sure. She will not see out the summer."

Darcy inclined his head in acknowledgment of this, remaining at the window while Dawson departed from the house. His friend, seeing the distress that was plain from his reflection, silently left him alone. Only then did Fitzwilliam relax, his entire form beginning to shake as the tears fell from his eyes.

Part XIV.

Upon the second day of the first month in the year eighteen hundred and twelve, the carriage of Mr. Edward Gardiner and family came to a halt in the driveway of their London home, situated in Gracechurch Street. The owner stepped out, gave a hand in assistance to his wife, then to his children, and finally to the young woman that would be their guest for the next few weeks; their eldest niece, Jane. Both adult Gardiners were very concerned about her, and hoped that this stay in town had not been accepted by all parties just in the vain hope of a chance encounter with a certain gentleman during it. Indeed, their primary motive for Jane staying with them was that she might find the peace and reflection needed to recover from this recent disappointment. The Gardiners had never met the gentleman himself, but they knew their eldest niece's disposition well enough to believe him to be a very good sort of man, else she would never have attached herself to him. Thus like her, they were mystified at his continued absence from Netherfield and the report of his changed affections by his sister. Unlike Jane however, they held that Elizabeth's view of Miss Bingley deceiving her beloved sister had some measure of truth in it.

Jane herself knew nothing of the Gardiners opinions. She was grateful for their offer of spending a few weeks with them in town, and held no other expectations. Longbourn, despite the presence of her sister, had driven her almost to breaking point since the departure of the Netherfield tenants. Miss Bingley's explanation and her further letter in the weeks that followed had done nothing to lessen this. Her mother continued to lament his absence, all the while offering advice to her daughter, having no idea of the effect it had had upon Jane herself. Her father had done nothing but keep to his library, engaged in the matter of preparations for Mary's wedding. Even Elizabeth's advice had done nothing to reassure her. Unlike her sister, Jane could not believe that Caroline was capable of deceit, and could only be persuaded that she was deceived herself. He- she had not quite reached the stage where she could pronounce his name without a loss of composure -would remain in her memory as the most amiable man of her acquaintance, but that would be all. He would be forgot, and she was determined that they would all be as they were before. Thus she looked upon this stay with her Aunt and Uncle as the perfect thing to distract her and make the task of forgetting all the more easier. She would involve herself with satisfying the whims of her cousins, walk about in the parks, write to her sister and attend the theatre with the Gardiners. She would from this moment on, not think about that gentleman at all.

Several miles away, in what was considered among those of consequence and influence to be the fashionable part of London, that gentleman whose name she could not speak was at present taking stock of the past few weeks.

After Dr. Dawson had departed the Darcy townhouse, Bingley had tried to comfort his friend as best he knew how. Scarcely however had he begun to speak, when the butler entered the room, with the news that a Miss Caroline Bingley was outside the front door and wanted to see her brother. This news had caused said brother to lapse back into silence, leaving his friend to follow the butler back out into the hall, confront Miss Bingley with the report that firstly, her brother had no desire to see her, secondly, that he would not be returning to either his house in town or the Hursts within the near future, and thirdly that if Miss Bingley came to visit the Darcys again, she would not be admitted inside the hall, let alone the house. All this was accomplished in the space of ten minutes and his host, after telling his friend of the event in clear brownstudy1, shut himself in his business study,- known to his friends and family as the room that you never disturbed him from unless on pain of death -and did not re-emerge from it until later that day. Thus Charles Bingley was left to sit about in the drawing room feeling very much the inadequate friend and totally at loss as to what to do about it.

The next day events returned to normal in the Darcy townhouse. Bingley found his friend and host, although quieter than usual, more like himself, and thus spent most of the remainder of the week and the days that followed placating to his every whim while Anne recovered from her attack. The four celebrated a subdued but welcome Christmas, and an equally peaceful new year. Now, for the first time since their return to London, they were to venture out into society.

Anne, now almost returned to health- or rather good spirits, as that word was a relative term -had a great desire to see the new production of Shakespeare's A Winter's Tale, which was to perform its last night that very evening. Darcy had secured tickets and his family's usual box so they could all attend, Bingley included. It was be the first test for Anne since the onset of her illness, to judge if she could cope with a social evening once more, before returning to Netherfield. Charles felt extremely guilty about wishing them to accompany him back to the neighbourhood, but in this motion his friend was firmly obstinate; securing the hand of Miss Bennet must be done before any more time passed; else risk loosing her altogether.

Charles himself was doubtful that he would succeed in this task. Not only did his prolonged absence stand against his favour, but also, knowing his sister, this absence would have only confirmed her ascertains- that she had no doubt written to Miss Bennet about -that he was paying court to Miss Georgiana Darcy. This match, Mr. Bingley begs the author reassure her readers, is entirely of Caroline's making. Nothing has been further from Charles' mind than a match with a young woman, that he looks upon solely as a sister. Also, since her inquisition upon him, Charles was determined to never speak to his sister ever again, let alone be in her company. He was sick of her constantly ordering him to fulfill her dreams about ranking in the highest society. From this moment on, she would have to rely on the goodwill of her sister and Mr. Hurst.

1: Brownstudy- Gloomy meditation. From Thomas Brown's Union Dictionary, circa 1810.

Darcy noticed first. He happened to have raised his eyes from the stage just before the end of the first act, only to blink in surprise. A second glance confirmed his first and instantly he tapped his friend on the shoulder. Bingley turned his gaze from the play to his friend and then in the same direction. Within seconds, a wide smile spread across his face. For sitting in the box opposite them, was none other than Jane Bennet. From that moment on, Bingley remained oblivious to the rest of the play. It was not until intermission, when Darcy shook his shoulder vigorously in order to get his attention, that he became sensible of anything but the vision that lay in front of him.

"Darce!" He cried upon their exit to the social rooms, "is it not....."

"Yes," he replied with an bemused look upon his face.

"She is......"

"Yes."

"Can we....."

"No.... at least not yet." Darcy scanned the crowd, locating the group that had accompanied Miss Bennet in the box. For some moments his eyes remained fixed upon the gentleman, as he tried to recall where he had seen him before. Suddenly the memory came over him and he pulled his besotted friend over towards the trio. "Mr. Edward Gardiner, I presume?"

"Yes, I am he, but forgive me, sir, I do not recollect....."

"There is no need to apologise, sir, except on my part for bringing business into a social evening. I only know your name by sight. My solicitor recommended you some weeks ago when I was looking for a reputable contact for the East India Company. I was to have visited your offices next week....."

"Only to see me here, correct?" Mr. Gardiner finished, pleased already by his new acquaintance. "And your name, sir?"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy at your service, sir," Darcy replied, shaking the proffered hand, his gaze drifting to the two ladies, noticing Miss Bennet's surprise and blush as she encountered the eyes of his inanely grinning and nervous friend. He now offered his hand to her. "Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you again. I had no idea you were in town."

It was the most words Darcy had ever said to her, yet Jane could summon only enough courage to take his hand in greeting, while he explained their prior acquaintance, greeted Mrs. Gardiner and then introduced his friend. It was at this moment that his presence, and indeed her that of her Aunt and Uncle's was forgot, as Mr. Bingley took her hand and raised it to his lips for the sweetest of salutations.

Part XV.

Days passed, scarcely noticed by either. Each lived, breathed and supped upon the other's company. Neither felt that they had experienced happier days in their life.

Immediately after the play, the Gardiners and their niece attended dinner at the Darcy townhouse. Both spent most of it in the same fashion as they had done the rest of the play, gazing at each, oblivious to anyone or anything else. The Darcys and their guest returned the dinner with a call at Gracechurch Street the next morning, followed by dinner there and on the third day, Mr. Bingley called alone.

While Mrs. Gardiner provided a discreet but present chaperone, he began the task of restoring their acquaintance to the state that it had been on the night of the Netherfield Ball. Firstly, he apologised for his unexplained departure from Netherfield the day after said ball, relating the events that delayed his planned return- save for the onset of Mrs. Darcy's illness, for it was still to be kept secret for as long as possible -and then his activities until their meeting at the theatre.

"Believe me, Miss Bennet, I would have returned as soon as was possible. I do not wish to lay blame on my friend for keeping me here, indeed the delay is solely my own. I felt that to abandon him in his time of need would be remiss of me and our long standing friendship. I also feared that my sister had done too much to ruin any hope that you- forgive my presumptiveness -may have harboured of me."

Jane herself knew not what to say. The surprise of meeting him at the theatre and the events of the day before were still too fresh in her mind, preventing her from completely absorbing anything else. Just as she had resigned herself to never seeing him again, he had met with her once more. Now, only two days later, she was sitting beside him, listening to his confirmation of her sister's judgement of the situation, her hand still tingling from the tender kiss that he had laid upon it that evening. As it had been for him, it was for her, the rest of the play but a blur; along with Mr. Darcy's townhouse and the meal she ate inside it. All she could remember was Mr. Bingley; his words, his gestures and his looks. Each had been solely directed at her. Not once had there been any sign of truth in his sister's assertion. That Caroline had indeed lied to her, hurt Jane deeply. She had thought her to be a good friend, to approve of her and Mr. Bingley. Now to hear the contrary..... it was distressing.

Just as these words were laid aside in her mind, she gathered the next, and her astonishment increased. Had she heard him correctly? Did he truly meant what he was hinting at? "Mr. Bingley," she began to reply, the words coming slowly, "I must confess I was hur....... disappointed when you did not return for the winter. But I do not wish any continued acquaintance of ours to come between you and your family."

"You may not wish it, and indeed I would do anything for your comfort," Bingley responded, "but it is inevitable. I have long grown tired of my sister's desires for me to advance myself through........ in a certain manner. I am determined to be master of my own actions. Miss Bennet, tell me to go and never come back, and I will, but only if it is just your will, and not the claims of anyone upon you. I only wish to seek your happiness."

Jane blushed, but managed to accept. "Mr. Bingley, I do not wish for you to go away."

"Thank you," he replied.

Days passed, each one of them turning to be more idyllic than the rest. Jane and Bingley spent every one of them in the company of each other. They walked and talked, seated and talked, walked and were silent, seated and were silent. Every moment that was spent apart, they immersed themselves in thoughts of each other. And every second assured them both that they had never been more happier.

Soon the date came for Jane's departure from Gracechurch Street to attend her sister's wedding to Mr. Collins. With great reluctance did she bid farewell and with the same emotion did Mr. Bingley return it. He handed her into the carriage himself, and only left the house when it was gone from his sight.

When he arrived back at Darcy's house, Charles witnessed a most pleasant sight. Mr. Darcy's carriage, complete with baggage- a few pieces of which he identified as his own -stood in front of the house, with four fine horses, impatient to be off. Barely had he arrived at the open door, when his friend emerged from it. "Well, did you expect anything less?" Darcy replied when Charles had asked about the sight before him. "You have been a most excellent friend to me Bingley, during these weeks, and I would not be the same if we did not depart for Netherfield at this moment."

"But how did you know Jane..... I mean Miss Bennet was to depart today?"

"I thought you had noted not. While you spent most of your time with her, I have spent it her Uncle's company. Mr. Gardiner is really a most valuable contact for what interests I have in India...... and during our business talks, I managed to ascertain from him when Miss Mary Bennet's wedding was."

"But what about Anne's health?"

"Do not worry, she is well enough," Darcy assured his friend, trying not to look in the least concerned. Anne herself was the only one that knew the truth of her predicament and feared telling him, his present torment was enough. Nevertheless, Darcy still worried. But right now that was not important. He had promised Bingley that he would accompany him back to Netherfield and accompany him he would. One lifetime of happiness had to be enough for both of them.

Part XVI.

When Jane arrived at Longbourn and greeted her family with quiet solitude, Elizabeth was all prepared to give up any former feelings of admiration and like for the Darcys and the Bingleys. She perceived her sister to be the worser for her trip to London, a circumstance confirmed by the lack of letters that she had received from that quarter. Therefore having only Miss Bingley's last letter to go on, she was fully persuaded that she along with the Darcys had forced the brother to court Miss Darcy. Despite the telling points which stood against this match- the fact that Miss Darcy was not yet out and Anne had assured her that she and Mr. Darcy were all for their friend offering his hand to her sister -Elizabeth's view of her sister and the lack of information from town convinced her that Miss Bingley's hopes were the case, and thus was ready to deliver all feelings of dislike against them. She was fully justified in doing this, or so she believed, by her sister's quiet and pensive manner. Affection for Jane she placed paramount to all else and, any that caused her unhappiness, no matter what their connection to her, must feel the dissatisfaction of loosing her favour as well.

Scarcely had she begun to feel this dislike, when all of Meryton came alive with the news that Netherfield was open once more. Barely had she time to wonder at this when a carriage drew up at Longbourn, and Mrs. Hill announced into the presence of herself and the rest of her family Mr. Bingley, Mr., Mrs. and Miss Darcy. It being but a day before the marriage of Mary to Mr. Collins, this new event put Mrs. Bennet into even more of flutter than she had displayed already, which was only increased when Mr. Bingley sat immediately by Jane, and revealed his joy at seeing her so soon after their acquaintance in London.

Only after the visit was Elizabeth able to converse with her sister. "Jane," she began the moment they were left alone by all, "you have been very sly. Not once did you reveal that you had met Mr. Bingley in London. How on earth did it come about?"

Jane immediately related all that had passed during her short stay in town, and Elizabeth was able to attribute Mr. Bingley's delay and continued stay at Mr. Darcy's house to what her sister could not; the health of Mrs. Darcy. All the while that Mr. Bingley conversed with Jane, Anne, Georgiana and Darcy had entered into conversation with her and the rest of her family, leaving Elizabeth only able to observe rather than ask after her friend's health. Anne had appeared to her to be very well, but hearing now Jane repeat the words of Mr. Bingley's excuse, Elizabeth realised this was not the case. The phrase 'abandon him in his time of need' could not point to anything else. Instantly now did she regret ever determining to dislike them all for Mr. Bingley's absence. Most guiltily did she feel that her hate had been quickly applied, all because she misunderstood her sister's quietude upon her return.

So heavily did this guilt prey on her mind that Elizabeth thought nothing of refusing her mother's request that she visit Mary in March, after she and Mr. Collins had settled themselves at Hunsford. When she had enough presence of mind to realise what she had done and think of way to withdraw herself from such an obligation without upsetting anyone, she was tied to a continued acceptance of it by her friend. Anne, upon hearing Elizabeth mention the visit in passing, requested that she honour the agreement, as she herself was to be in Kent that month with Darcy and Georgiana, in an attempt to tell her mother of her inevitable fate.

It was with all this upon the air that the day of Mary's marriage to Mr. Collins finally arrived. The ceremony took place; the bride and bridegroom set off for Kent from the church door, and everybody had as much to say or hear on the subject as usual. Then, but two days after this happy event,- in Mrs. Bennet's judgement it was, the rest of Meryton viewed it with varying opinions -this good lady found another reason to laud it over the neighbourhood.

Jane had been seated in the drawing room since morning upon the second day after Mary's wedding, occupied in a volume from her father's library, when she had call to lay it aside and welcome Mr. Bingley into the room. A blush and a smile followed his arrival and kind inquiry after her health before she resumed her seat, with an offer that he took one also. Mr. Bingley however, had no desire to do this. Instead, he placed himself at her feet and immediately began to speak to her in terms of the deepest emotion. All Jane could do was wonder at the circumstance, and listen with ever rising happiness in her heart as he related to her feelings which heretofore he had only hinted at. With bliss in her breast did she witness him place his hands over hers, asking to make him the happiest man in the world by accepting his proposal. Unable to gaze anywhere but into his dear face and eyes, Jane felt that entire worlds had ended and begun anew before she could shyly assent that his affections and wishes were returned. He took her hands in his trembling own, and lifted her up. In union did they stand by the fireplace, expressions of the profoundest joy displayed by both their features. Only then did he lean forward to catch her lips in his own.

Evening had long given way to night when Mr. Bingley returned to Netherfield, his joy evident by every facet of his usual happy nature. With laughter in his voice and heart did he proclaim to his friends the news and receive their congratulations in return. Merrily did he describe the event to all, praising his 'beloved angel' at every turn. In only one matter did his disposition lean to seriousness, when he thanked his friend for accompanying him to Netherfield and convincing him to remain steadfast in his plans to marry.

Darcy himself could not be more happier for his friend's success, an emotion that he assured Miss Elizabeth Bennet of when her and her family stayed to dinner the next evening. "I am just sorry that it did not happen sooner," he finished.

"You must learn some of my philosophy; think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure," was her reply. "Although I believe neither of us can heed that of late. Tell me true, it was for Anne was it not that your return was delayed?"

"Indeed it was," Darcy replied, as a particle of the grief that he felt concerning this washed over his features for the briefest of moments. "It is for that why we are going to Kent. Lady Catherine can remain in the dark no longer." He paused to glance at Anne, who was helping his sister overcome her shyness to talk to Miss Kitty. "I wish I had her strength in coping with this."

"You are doing better than I know that I would in your position," Elizabeth assured him vehemently. "Yea, I am sure," she added when he uttered a protest, "and it is much to your credit. Indeed it is. There is not more you could have done."

"I wish I had your faith on that. Recently I have begun to regret my actions, concerning all that I have done for Anne. What was previously put to generosity I now regard as selfishness."

"Such as?"

"Our marriage. I have prevented her from the probability of finding anyone to love in what little life she has. At the time it never occurred to me, but now I realise just how important love can be to live. Especially if one has the freedom to express and receive it."

"I see your point," Elizabeth acknowledged, "but let me remind you that frequently, happiness is entirely a matter of chance."

Too true, Darcy thought as he gazed upon her, too true.

Part XVII.

Happy for all her maternal feelings was Mrs. Bennet on the day she got rid of the daughter that was in her opinion, most deserving. With delight did she refer to 'dear Mrs. Bingley,' declaring that she would visit them the very day after their wedding, causing Mr. Bennet to reply most forcibly that she would not and that, if she left them alone for at least a month, she would be doing a great favour for the peace of all concerned. Mrs. Bennet however refused to listen, vehemently insisting that visit she would and with frequency.

As this argument and the repercussions of it- such as Mrs. Bennet retiring to her room with an attack of nerves -took most of the day after said marriage, Mr. Bennet felt his mission had been accomplished and promptly retired to his library. His good lady however, he had underestimated, for upon the morning of the second day was Elizabeth to be seen pleading with her mother, who paid her no mind and went.

No more than a fortnight had passed in this manner, when Jane announced to Lizzy, during her first dinner as Mrs. Bingley at Longbourn, that Charles was considering giving up Netherfield as soon as may be. Despite the prospect of loosing her sister, Elizabeth completely agreed.

It has often been said by many, how little a couple, if quite properly enamoured with each other, recollect the events of their marriage ceremony. This was certainly true in the Bingley's case, indeed considering the state of affections between them and their mutual dispositions, how could it be otherwise? Frequently did they find themselves seeking friends and relations views upon the details of how the ceremony went. Indeed, as far as they were concerned, a carriage might have run into the church and they would not have noticed. It was perhaps with luck therefore, that they managed to note the timing to kiss at the end.

Elizabeth often found herself an observer of events and people during the ceremony and the wedding breakfast, despite her recent reunion with the Darcys, who could have involved her in conversation, if she had displayed any enthusiasm for the occupation. More oft to be the occasion that she would be watching her friend's husband rather than her friend, whose lack of well-being was more known to her. His appearance was a shock to Elizabeth, as indeed it had been since his return to Netherfield. Until now, however, she had been too concerned about Jane's wedding to dwell properly upon it.

In short, Mr. Darcy looked quite ill. His usually exquisitely tailored clothes, which had set the gossips of Meryton chattering about his wealth, seemed to emphasise a thinness quite unhealthy, and when one glanced at his face, the evidence to support this conclusion was only intensified, as he gazed back at the speaker with haggard eyes. A great sadness seemed to hung about his form. He seemed to be almost on the verge of crying aloud the grief that lay inside him. Elizabeth noted all with increasing concern and a sense of helplessness as to what she, or anyone, could do about it.

As for the man himself, Darcy remained insensible to the idea that his state of health was visible to those who knew him behind the mask of reserve. He knew he was doing himself a ruin, but felt little desire to alter it. He was doing the only thing he knew would keep his mind from worrying incessantly, throwing himself into estate work without thought or care for an substance or rest, choosing to ride and walk himself into exhausted oblivion over nocturnal nightmares. It was a state of affairs his body was well used to; having delved into this during the illness and death of his father five years ago. He knew nothing of Elizabeth's concern over him, indeed even if he did, such knowledge would only increase his desire for oblivion. It was all right for him to care for her, to love her, he at least knew what he was getting himself into, but for her to love him in return, much less care about him, was unthinkable. He would not wish that upon her, could not bare the realty or even the idea that she cared about him as deeply as he had begun to care about her. It was bad enough that he had allowed himself to fall in love with her, he would not let her torture herself over feelings for him.

After this it was somewhat with relief that the rest of February passed with nothing more remarkable than walks to Meryton that were sometimes dirty and sometimes cold. Elizabeth spent most of it writing to Anne and Georgiana, both of whom had asked her for correspondence before they met again in March, at Hunsford. Lizzy worried for the welfare of her friends, especially when 'Georgie' would write of her cousin not coming down from her room, or experiencing a coughing fit. Anne, as were her wont, left this out in her letters, describing instead the brief time in London after the wedding of Jane and Bingley, the journey they took to Derbyshire, where they were to spend some time at Pemberley before travelling to Matlock to inform their cousins of her illness.

Nine days of March passed, and Elizabeth arrived at Hunsford. She found herself no longer disgusted at the prospect, for absence of Mr. Collins had decreased her dislike of him, and awakened her more to the novelty of the trip, and the wealth of character follies she could study. The only pains were of course Jane, and her father, who when it came to the point, so little liked her going, that he told her to write to him and almost promised to answer her letter.

Certainly when she arrived at the Parsonage Elizabeth found much to marvel over. She witnessed her previously piously bookish sister in full charge of a moderate household with a confidence and ease that she had never see before, and not only that, manage Mr. Collins, who seemed to regard his wife with an almost reverent devotion, so expertly that both of them saw very little of him except for meals and Sermons. Mary seemed truly happy, not only with her married life, but also to have her to stay, and the weeks that Elizabeth had expected to spend alone exploring the woods and hills of Rosings Park, she instead passed bonding with her sister.

By the time of her second week at Hunsford Elizabeth received a letter from Jane, announcing that they had found a house and were to take possession of it in July. Time and her absence had done nothing to alter their mother's daily visits, causing Mr. Bingley to nearly loose his usually unflappable good humour. Their new estate had been found by Mr. Darcy, whom Bingley had instantly applied to. It was in a neighbouring county to Derbyshire, and only thirty miles from Pemberley itself. Jane took pleasure in describing all the beauties of Pearlcoombe Abbey as it was called, enchanting Elizabeth with the place so much, that she found the future prospect of her sister's distance not so much a sadness than she would have expected. Indeed, as long as her sister was happy, Elizabeth vowed that she would bare the miles between them very well.

The third week, as had been expected by Elizabeth, was to bring four additions to Rosings Park, that of Mr., Mrs. and Miss Darcy, and their cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Lady Catherine, whom Elizabeth had had the pleasure of dining with at least twice a week, was most displeased to learn of their previous knowledge and acquaintance of her dear daughter and nephew. Her displeasure increased when she discovered that Elizabeth was the same Miss Bennet Anne had written of in her letters, for Lady Catherine saw Elizabeth as too impertinent in her opinions and manner to be a suitable friend for either her daughter or her niece. Elizabeth took little notice of this judgement, having found her hostess to be all that her friends described her to be.

Part XVIII.

"And how fare you, Darce?"

Darcy looked up from his stallion to face his cousin and actually appeared to consider the question. "I am well, Rich."

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam highly doubted that reply to be truthful, but refrained from commenting upon it. He had known his two year younger cousin for nearly thirty years, and this experience had taught him exactly which questions not to ask. Darcy would chose to tell him when and if he wanted advice, and since Darcy chose not to admit he was far from well, Colonel Fitzwilliam could not press him further, even though the reality was a clear contradiction to his cousin's reply. Darcy looked far from well. He had looked far from well since his arrival at Matlock, and in the Colonel's opinion, his condition had only worsened. Richard had witnessed his cousin in this state before, five years ago. Somehow, between himself and Charles Bingley, they had managed to pull him out of it. Both had hoped their friend would never experience sadness again and when Richard had learned of Anne's fate, he feared the worse. He had not expected however, that Darcy's slide would begin before Anne's demise.

His cousin brought his horse to an abrupt halt, making Colonel Fitzwilliam sharply pull up. Startled, Richard watched him dismount and greet the woman who had crossed their path. Even from this distance he noted her singularity, her remarkable beauty. Preferring to stay mounted for what was no more than a brief salutation, he observed his cousin smile for the first time in weeks. When he rejoined Richard five minutes later, the Colonel instantly inquired as to her identity.

"She is Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Darcy replied as they resumed their ride around their Aunt's estate, "of Longbourn, Hertfordshire. Anne and her have become great friends since Bingley let the estate of Netherfield last Michaelmas. Bingley has just married her elder sister."

"This is all very interesting, Darce," his cousin replied at the end of the narrative, "but what is she doing here?"

"Oh, her younger sister has lately married their cousin and heir to Longbourn Mr. Collins, who as you will remember, is Aunt Catherine's new Parson. Miss Elizabeth was obliged by her mother I believe to stay with them awhile, and Anne when she heard the news requested her to come as well."

"So this is the same Miss Elizabeth I have heard of from Anne and Georgie for weeks?" Colonel Fitzwilliam confirmed. "She must be an extraordinary woman to have such an effect on you all."

"She is not wealthy, Rich."

"Meaning?"

"I will not have Anne's best friend fall in love with the second son of an Earl who has only the half pay of a Cavalry Colonel to live on, and has frequently reminded me of that fact, as well as his wish to be rich."

"I was not even thinking of that, Darce!" Richard quickly assured him, the state of affairs having become clear to him now. The only reason he wished to meet Miss Bennet, was because of the effect she had on his cousin, who was still smiling.

By the evening, when Lady Catherine had invited over the Hunsford party for dinner, conversation, supper and cards, Colonel Fitzwilliam had discovered the reason for his cousin's first display of emotion in weeks. Observing the interaction between Miss Bennet, Anne, Georgiana and Darcy, he concluded what his cousin had only admitted to himself. Instantly, Richard's concern for everyone grew. His cousin had been raised to regard loss of honour and propriety as sins, therefore would treat his marriage of convenience with Anne as a marriage of affection, and stay faithful to it, no matter if he fell in love with some else along the way. And fallen in love he had, Richard could determine that from a single glance. The lady herself cared for his well-being, and had no idea of that she was loved. Richard doubted that she ever would, especially if Darcy's slide continued after Anne's eventual death. In their society where mourning was rarely concentrated on, Darcy would chose the opposite of the norm. He would feel guilty for falling in love while married, even though Anne knew perfectly well, and blessed it.

In short, Richard foresaw nothing but doom of this visit to Rosings Park and feared that there was little he could do to prevent it.

Part XIX.

The evenings spent at Rosings by the occupants of Hunsford now passed more agreeably with the addition of the Darcys and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Anxious to please her daughter, Lady Catherine submitted to having her parson and his guests for dinner almost every evening, commencing but a day after her arrival. With astonishment did she witness the degree that her share of converse was not sought as often as the guests, and instead she had to resort to disapproving glares and snorts in order to express her views.

Elizabeth found herself spending most of her days at Rosings, in the company of Anne and Miss Darcy, with the frequent additions of Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. His affability in comparison to his cousin differed greatly. He enjoyed lively conversation, professed an appreciation of music and debate, and displayed a wide knowledge of books and travelling, the latter of which attested to his position in military circles.

As for her friend, Anne seemed well enough, at least to all outwardly appearances. By the time of their first week at Rosings, however, Elizabeth descried sufficient to conclude that Lady Catherine had yet to be told of the fate which would soon befall her daughter, for in her absence Anne would cough with greater frequency and her features reverted to paleness. From that moment Elizabeth took part in the act, helping her friend to conceal whenever she needed the assistance. Whenever she acted so, it was with sadness, knowing by the oft repetition, that her friend had not long until concealment was no longer an option.

In any case, whatever the occasion, barring the evening engagements, she always had Mr. Darcy as escort on her return to the parsonage. The distance between his Aunt's estate and the parsonage was many a afternoon taken up by conversation, as Elizabeth's impression of her friend's husband grew better and better. She felt much distress upon first encountering him and discerning by his form that he had neglected himself dreadfully in his concern for Anne, but as the weeks of their stay progressed, she witnessed to her relief some improvement if perhaps only slight. Despite this, he was well in all other respects, and his usual habitual reserve gradually slipped away, as Elizabeth built a greater intimacy than she had ever known with a gentleman not related to her.

For the gentleman in question, the effect of her increased acquaintance produced within him quite the contrary. As another day passed in her company, Darcy's torture grew. His absence from her had done nothing to alter his feelings, and upon his encountering her in the woods at Rosings, he had realised that his attempts to forget her were in vain. With every passing moment his love for her grew to unbearable limits, and his guilt at having such feelings doubled. At Rosings there was very little to do besides ride, billiards, or read, his estate was in good order thanks to the weeks spent on it in town via correspondence, and since his avoidance had only strengthened his inability to do without her, Darcy could do naught but spend his time with her. When they were in company with his wife and sister, the feelings were less overwhelming, but when the time came to escort her home as Anne dictated, every sense in his body and soul called out to him to declare to her the truth he had so long concealed. And he knew full well he could not.

To make matters worse, while this internal battle was raging, another more urgent concern came to the floor. On the first day of April, Anne passed out at the breakfast table. Somehow, between Lady Catherine's frantic lecturing and the frightened servants, Darcy swept her up into his arms and to her apartments upstairs. The physician was sent for at once. While he examined the patient, Darcy quietly gave the fatal news to his Aunt. Lady Catherine's reaction was extreme, and by the time the physician was down, she was preaching to her nephew on priorities and would not allow for any interruption.

When the Hunsford party, having not been informed, came for afternoon tea, the house was still in uproar. The Colonel and Georgiana were there to receive them, and Elizabeth, upon seeing the despair written on their features, requested to see Anne immediately. Georgiana, who was unaccustomed to the task of delivering bad news, took her up, leaving the Colonel to inform Mr. and Mrs. Collins.

Darcy looked up the moment she had entered the room, barely noticing her escort, who, with memories of her father's illness rendering her incapable of attending, left to rejoin her cousin. His intense gaze at her would, at any other time, caused Elizabeth to wonder, but she could not focus on him, only Anne. She rushed to her friend's side, gratefully accepting the chair he quitted, and took her hand. In reply she received just a listless glance. Noticing her other hand was also held, Elizabeth glanced up to offer compassion at the mother.

Lady Catherine stared at her, then at her nephew. In her grief she saw her worse fears, and exploded angrily at the two. "Get out!"

"Aunt..."

"Do you think I am so unseeing? I know what is in your minds. This is how you repay all my attentions to you, Miss Bennet, with arts and allurements? Well, you shall never succeed. The position which you have the presumption to aspire for is already filled. My daughter's condition is to be expected, and I expect you, nephew, to do your duty, and cast whatever pleasures you find in this upstart aside for the good of your heritage, your heir and your wife! Now, I will not be swayed any longer. Get out!"

They had no choice. Elizabeth, with a last look at Anne, quitted the chamber, not caring to see if anyone followed. As she rushed angrily downstairs, a voice called out to halt her. "Miss Bennet!"

It was Darcy. "I apologise for my Aunt. She has difficulty believing the news we told her of this morning." He joined her a few steps above. "When Anne passed out at breakfast, she became convinced and would not be persuaded otherwise. I am sorry if she has hurt you."

"She has not hurt me, only angered me," Elizabeth replied, the emotion showing in her eyes. "How could she think things like that of you?"

"I do not know," Darcy answered, hoping his feelings remained concealed. Sighing he turned to lean on the banister. "I suppose though, that she is remembering my previous reluctance. Before.. Ramsgate... I fought every attempt to marry Anne." He closed his eyes, forcing back the sudden tears. "Perhaps I should have given a show of courting my cousin, instead of just relying that her long held wish would convince away any doubts."

"You did what you thought was best," Elizabeth reminded him. "No amount of foresight could have predicted this." She paused. "Do you want us to leave?"

"Never." The word was uttered before he could prevent it. Gathering himself he tried again. "I mean, please stay, if you could. Georgiana will need the distraction." He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. "Come, let us go down. I'll speak to the household, make sure everything is arranged."

Elizabeth arrived at Rosings the next morning for breakfast, at the request of Miss Darcy, to find the that the insanity which had reigned the house the day before, to be of a temporary nature. To the relief of all assembled, Lady Catherine was in her chamber, the physician having persuaded her to partake of some laudanum. To the even greater comfort, Anne was down from her bed, and eating, as if yesterday had never occurred.

After the meal the gentlemen departed for a ride and the ladies passed the day much as they had passed many before in each other's company, until Lady Catherine awoke in the late afternoon, whereupon Elizabeth thought it best to leave.

The days reverted to their previous fashion.

The door to the Parlour closed, and Elizabeth sank into a chair, her excuse of a headache now very much a reality. Determined to distract herself from what was at present only a slight discomfort, she chose for her employ the examination of all the letters she had received since her arrival at Hunsford.

Five minutes later, however, she had to abandon the attempt, for any distraction was impossible. The Colonel's words would not stop repeating themselves in her head. Leaning back in the chair, she forced herself to recollect all the events which had lead this.

Eight days after her friend's collapse at breakfast had passed, and Elizabeth had spent the majority of each one at Rosings. There was difference however, in the manner of their passing; as she did not see the gentlemen except for meals and returned to the parsonage only after supper each evening with her cousin and sister. At first she had thought nothing of it, knowing that the nephew would wish his Aunt and mother in law to see that there was no truth in her delusion. As the days wore on, certain conversations from the past began to play in her mind though, causing her to question the once firm belief of his character.

Matters had risen to a head when, only hours ago, she had encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam in the park. After exchanging the usual salutations, conversation had drifted on his cousins and their marriage, whereupon all the implications had suddenly made sense. At first, the clarity seemed preposterous; she had heard from the gentleman's own lips his intent to give Anne as much happiness as he could, therefore any illicit dealings would be impossible. Yet the idea would persist to remain in her thoughts, even going so far as to bring certain comments of his as further testament to it truth, until Elizabeth had lost all courage to face him that evening.

Her cousin had done nothing to help the conflict in her mind by lecturing her on the insult her absence would be to Lady Catherine and her daughter, insisting that she bravely attend, however ill she felt. Mary then interceded, much to Elizabeth's relief, reminding her husband that they would be late if they did not leave soon and so concerned did Mr. Collins become on that point, that they departed the parsonage that very second.

Thus you have all the particulars as to why our heroine is in the state you read her to be in now. Be assured, dear readers, that Colonel Fitzwilliam's words did not betray his suspicions about the affection his cousin held for Miss Bennet. Indeed his words were only intended to be a general and philosophical rumination upon the nature of such things, and any reference that Miss Bennet might have gathered from the conversation was accidental. Indeed, it is only a few minutes ago that the Colonel realised these same thoughts she is now experiencing, and is at present regretting that he ever discussed the matter in the first place. It should also be known that he has confessed the conversation to his cousin, who is making his way to the parsonage right now.

Elizabeth was surprised when Mr. Darcy entered just as the ache had begun to lessen. In a hurried manner he inquired after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She, in no mood to be in company, answered with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes he resumed his seat, casting an agitated look at the mantle-piece.

Another silence ensued, with she glancing at him and he at her, each hoping the other would be the first to break it, for neither felt up to speaking. Finally, Elizabeth could stand it no longer, and inquired after Anne.

Her name seemed to at last acquaint him with his situation. Glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time, his expression of agitation faded, though not without considerable struggle. Steeling himself, he rose from the chair and announced his intention to leave.

Elizabeth rose to say farewell, but this came to be her undoing. For quite suddenly and without forewarning, a sharp pain shot through her head and she collapsed on the floor. At least she would have, had not he, seeing the torment in her fine eyes, acted so quickly, coming behind her so she fell into his arms.

As unconsciousness stole upon her, Darcy gently lifted her to the chaise-long. Softly he raised his hand to her head and felt for fever. Caressing her smooth skin, he kneeled by her side and laid the most tender of kisses upon her face. Hovering over her, he uttered huskily, "you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Brushing a curl aside, he watched her slip into the realm of sleep, before and with a great sigh, he rose from her to ring the bell.

He awaited for the maid to enter, and then quietly departed.

"Darcy, we quite despaired of you," Colonel Fitzwilliam commented. His cousin merely offered him a tired Friday-face1 in reply. After quitting Hunsford, he had walked the long way back to Rosings in order to talk some sense into himself and make him realise just how close he had come to letting Elizabeth know his feelings. And that's another thing, no more Elizabeth. She is and always shall be Miss Bennet to you, for you will never have that privilege.

"Is that my nephew?" Lady Catherine shouted from the Drawing Room. "Where have you been? Let him come in and explain himself, Fitzwilliam."

"No," Darcy uttered involuntarily. "Forgive me. But I have a pressing matter of business." He started up the stairs, but was prevented by a restraining arm.

"You had better come to the Drawing Room, Darce," the Colonel began in a solemn voice, leading him through the hall.

The gentlemen entered to find their Aunt standing imposingly at the door, her features stern and unyielding. Behind, Mr. Collins held his hands in prayer, his face grim and suitably devout, his wife nowhere to be seen. "Nephew," his Aunt began when Darcy had closed the door, "if you had graced us with your presence a little longer this would not be necessary. Nonetheless, I know however much you ignore your priorities, you cannot avoid this one. My daughter is upstairs. The physician is with her." She raised her voice. "I did not command you to go." Darcy retreated back to his previous position. "The physician's judgment is that she does not have long. Though that is not my opinion, I shall expect you, nephew, to obey my wishes and attend to her side, as a husband should. You have responsibilities that can not be treated with the contempt you have so far shown them. From this time you are to spend your every waking moment in her company. I shall prefer it if you did not sleep. Now you may go."

Darcy bowed, and left the room. Outside, his features relaxed, and he just stopped himself from collapsing to the floor. If it were possible, he felt more grief and guilt than before. He had deserted her when she needed him the most. He had neglected both of them. As he marched up the stairs, he felt heart split, one half drifting from the house to the parsonage and the other to the woman he had left sleeping upon the Parlour sofa.

1) Friday-face: Basically the same meaning as brownstudy, gloomy, grave and mournful. From Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1901. I'm taking a chance that the phrase extends this far back and it is somewhat ironical, as the day in question is meant to be a Thursday, for which authority I rely on Ellen Moody's calendar for P&P, which can be accessed via the links page at Pemberley.com.

Part XX.

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, it was without any idea of how she had come to be in her bedchamber. The events of last night she could not bring to her mind, other than saying farewell to her sister and cousin as they departed for Rosings. Everything that had occurred afterwards was a complete blank. Her room appeared normal, nothing was disturbed or out of place that could reveal a clue as to how she had passed her time, and why she had escaped an evening under the accusing eye of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Matters were not improved by the time she had come down for breakfast, to find that the Parlour was devoid of all but the food that Mr. Collins' had not managed to scoff down before his usual pre-midday exertions. A note addressed to her from his wife sat quietly on her plate and, upon the closing of the door, a solemn faced Colonel Fitzwilliam was revealed. Barely had she time to take in all that she saw and add it to the other puzzling sights, before she was asked to sit down and given the terrible news of Anne's latest collapse. Her heart awoke the quiet dread that was once more alive in her head. Her friend had not long.

The Colonel persuaded her to eat, and then escorted her outside, to the rich blue damask upholstery of the Darcy coach. During the short journey, oblivious to the passing countryside, Elizabeth read her sister's note, learning that her cousin was at his church, where a service had been call to pray for Mrs. Darcy, and that Mary had spent the night by her bedside. Leaning against the back of her seat, her distraught mind seemed not to notice the comfort or her facing passenger, as her eyes gazed beyond the passing greenery, willing the journey to be over.

Rosings Park seemed already to be in mourning as the carriage came to a halt in front of the imposing north face. As she descended from the carriage, Elizabeth noticed the unopened blinds, darkened rooms and empty gardens, palpably casting a shadow over the sunny April day. As she entered the house, it appeared even more shrouded in sadness, the entrance hall giving way to countless fanned out doors, revealing empty rooms. The building, so usual alive with activity and baronial importance, now looked barren and devoid of occupation. The house had said its good-byes.

Elizabeth parted from Colonel Fitzwilliam to the upper floors. She found her sister nearly asleep from exhaustion in a chair by the large ornate four poster that practically conquered the bedchamber. In the rich sheets, Anne lay. Her friend was shocked at her appearance. Too early did she have the quietus pallor upon her. Shrunken, pale cheeks accompanied limp arms. A cold but ineffectual compress covered her forehead. Her eyes were closed.

Nothing seemed real. Elizabeth woke Mrs. Collins and shepherded her out of the room in a trance-like state. As if in a dream she took the chair, reached out, and placed her hand over the thin ailing, one of her friend that lay limp upon the sheets. Unable to look at Anne's stricken face, she glanced at the room. No candles had been lit, applying an even more grave sense to the dark mahogany furniture. Mural walls stared at the scene before them, their own depiction's acquiring a new tragedy. In short, nothing offered hope. She clutched the hand, trying to ignore the troubled pulse and cried for a miracle which she knew would never arrive.

With much gloomy deliberation Colonel Fitzwilliam made his way through the empty and silent rooms to the library. Foregoing a knock that would be refused admittance, he entered the dark room and found the object of his quest; encased in one of the dark green leather armchairs, staring morosely at a half-empty decanter of whiskey. Richard took a long, hard look at the hunched figure, and silently sat opposite him.

"What am I to do Rich?" His cousin asked, surprising him, for the Colonel had not thought that Darcy had noticed his presence. "I do not know what to do." He raised his head and fixed his eyes imploringly on his cousin. "Give me an occupation or I shall run mad."

Richard looked into Darcy's eyes and saw the torment, the guilt, apparent for the first time in months. He wondered how long his friend had been carrying the burdens. The control, the carefully rationalised walls that usually formed whenever his emotions, his equilibrium were attacked, enabling him to appear still detached and calm that Richard had always admired in his cousin, were gone, no trace of them remained. His entire form appeared older than his years. Obscurely his mind recalled the night before, wracked with the outraged voice of Lady Catherine. She had yelled continuously at her son in law, Darcy all the while sitting silently before her, offering no defence. It was only now that Richard knew why. "Georgiana is in the music room," he replied softly, remembering, as he had passed the room, the sounds of the most mournful tunes emanating from the gap underneath the door. "All she has is child memories of illness and what it can do. Miss Bennet is with Anne. If you cannot be strong for your wife, be strong for your sister."

Darcy nodded, and left the room. As the door closed with click, Richard took the decanter from the table and poured himself a glass. The liquid brought little comfort. He dreaded to think what else the coming days would bring. A part of him wanted his leave over, to be back in Spain, fighting battles made of gun, sword, canister, shot and shell. Not the emotions of illness and death. He felt guilty for wishing himself away, but also felt unable to help anyone. His Aunt was upstairs, sleeping off another of the physician's laudanum doses. Miss Bennet was with Anne. Mr. Collins in his Parish. Mrs. Collins most likely abed, and he had sent Darce to his sister. His parents and brother had been informed by express the night before. The estate had been comfortably and effortlessly run by Lady Catherine's Steward since Sir Lewis' death, and besides, it was a task that he had little experience in. There was nothing else that needed to be done, and to pass the time by playing billiards, or horse riding would be completely inappropriate.

Outside the sun rose higher, doing nothing to alter the mourning house. Richard emptied his glass and stood. He remembered his cousin's face, the torment etched in his eyes, and the struggle to rise from it, to draw upon the strength that previously had helped him many times before. He quitted the library, his decision made. He would help his cousin and friend, prevent him from loosing control completely. There would be time enough for that later.

Somehow, the day passed, although the occupants of Rosings and Hunsford parish hardly noticed. The weather surrendered to the state of the former, rainclouds replacing sunshine, grey sky replacing blue. Its sudden change made the building look worse, even to the impartial observer.

Inside the house was still silent, none of its guests or occupants daring to make the slightest sound for fear of it damaging the fragile state of their young mistress. She herself did not even notice. In fact, there was great concern about if she had noticed anything since her collapse. She had passed the day after it in a restless sleep, broken frequently by coughing that seemed to have no end, and now her unmoving form threatened the same activity once more. Nothing brought her comfort. Every draught of doctors and old wives tales had been attempted, and failed. Lady Catherine forbade the scarifier,1 lancet and leeches being used, leaving only those who watched over her daughter to do nothing other than holding her hand and hope for the worse to pass.

The Hunsford guests had spent the night at Rosings, Elizabeth in the chair she had occupied most of the day, watching over her friend, gripping her hand, afraid to fall asleep or relax in case Anne grew even weaker. Throughout the day she had attended her, propping her up when she coughed, holding the bold underneath, changing the compress, trying in vain to feed her the broth the proscribed. Mary replaced her sister at the daylight of that second morning, leaving Elizabeth to wonder the house in an attempt to distract her mind and make it face some sleep.

She found the gentlemen in the Music Room with Miss Darcy, who sat motionless at the pianoforte, watching her brother. He was by a window, trying to escape the room, only turning at Elizabeth's entrance. One look at his expression was enough. Elizabeth left the building for a walk before the rain that was to come, rebuking herself for misjudging his character. She knew not why now she had ever supposed him to be in love with another. The concern for his cousin ran deep on features, clearly marked for anyone to see. He had not the room to care for someone else at the same time, despite his marriage of convenience. The speculation spoken by Colonel Fitzwilliam had been but that; nothing more. It had be stupid and prejudicial to interpret it any other way, especially the way that she had done so. He did not deserve her condemnation, nor did she have a right to give it, let alone believe it. She had been so wrong. She who prided herself on intelligence, discernment and professed to know a person by their actions, expressions, manner and converse. She could not have been more blind. Her sister Jane's generous candour would have been far more wise to adopt.

With all this in mind did Elizabeth return to the house, to find it in uproar. Lady Catherine was awake, and yelling, as Lizzy soon discovered, at Georgiana, who was now alone in the Music Room. Upon her entrance the elder woman stopped, glanced at her, snorted in contempt and left. Georgiana burst into tears. Elizabeth pulled the girl into her arms, and carefully helped to calm down. Slowly the circumstances were revealed; how she had been playing the harp when her Aunt had come into the room. Instantly Lady Catherine had attacked, accusing her young niece of neglecting her cousin and sister by not taking part in the bedside vigil, and playing her music while Anne lay dying upstairs. Georgiana had tried to explain that she felt it beyond her, her memories of her father's sickroom making her struggle to breathe, but her Aunt would have none of it.

Elizabeth knew not how, but she managed nonetheless to comfort her friend, see that she partook of a little luncheon, and went to find a servant to fetch it, before making a search for the gentlemen. She found them where she had expected, the library, and acquainted them with the situation. Darcy thanked her, and left to attend his sister, leaving Colonel Fitzwilliam to help Miss Elizabeth to a chair, a fortifying sip of wine and a bite of food before she went back to the sickroom.

She woke with a start, her fine eyes rapidly glancing around the room to see that she was still in Anne's bedchamber. Across from her sat Mr. Darcy, his hand gripping Anne's. He nodded a silent good morning. Elizabeth returned to gaze at her friend. She at last seemed to be easier. As she was about to murmur a prayer of relief, Lizzy noticed the other symptoms, ones that bespoke not a recovery, but of the afflicted surrender to the inevitable. She did not even have to glance at the other attendant to know that he had witnessed the same.

The day reasserted its dream quality, hours passing with aching slowness. Anne woke at the tenth, causing the room to acquire more people as those who wished to say farewell did so, one by one. Elizabeth, feeling that she was intruding, waited outside until all but herself was left.

Anne did not say much. Elizabeth leaned closely to her, listening carefully to the softly spoken words, pronounced in a rush, for fear she did not time to make her point clear. She glanced up at the one who had been present throughout each visit, unable to leave, and back at her friend, shock and grief overriding the full understanding, but realising what was mainly required of her. Solemnly she uttered the promise.

The room slowly drifted back into stillness. Quietness reigned once more, as the vigil was resumed and the sufferer closed her eyes. Outside the wind swept through the trees and the rain crackled upon the window panes. Flames inside the hearth attacked shriven wood. Above, upon the mantle, the clock struck the first stroke of midday and Anne Darcy drew her last breath.

1) Scarifier: A device used in the nineteenth century to bleed for medicinal purposes, replacing the traditional leeches and lancet. A small metal box, concealing a mechanism which released two blades that clasped the skin, cutting it for the blood to run. Those who have read Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe's Eagle, will realise this is where I got the name from. You can also see it on the Carlton adaptation of the book.

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