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Chapter 21

Posted on Friday, 29 March 2002

September the fifteenth marked Emily Bingley's first birthday, and the Darcys had been invited to come to Brindlewood for a celebratory dinner.

Kitty would be returning to Longbourn in a week, so this would likely be her last social function away from Pemberley.

Elizabeth had mentioned as an aside, that Mr. Radcliff might be coming to call once Kitty was back in Hertfordshire, who, even though she was "in love", did not appear to disfavor the idea.

"After all," she had replied, "It is not possible to have too many suitors, is it?"

This remark had caused Elizabeth to smile inwardly, suspecting that Kitty was enjoying the extra attention with Lydia no longer around.

They planned to arrive at the Bingley's before lunch, with the intentions of staying the day, and not returning to Pemberley until that evening. Elizabeth held James on her lap beside her husband, with Georgiana and Kitty facing them.

Assorted sizes of gifts for their niece lay on the floor at their feet, as none of the ladies wished to have them carried outside or in the "boot".

It had been raining steadily for two days, causing the road to become muddy in some places, and bumpy in others. The combination of the two meant that the poor driver and footmen constantly had to stop to free the coach from a particularly deep rut, or slow down so that the horses would not misstep, and perhaps suffer an injury.

Inside, Elizabeth alternated between looking out of the window at the depressingly bleak day, and keeping James occupied so that he would not fuss.

The length of the drive was wearing on all of them, but especially him, as he had only just begun walking three days before, and now that he had learned, was not content to sit for more than a few minutes at a time.

Finally, Fitzwilliam took him from her, and, as usual, his behavior immediately improved. He adored his father, apparent in the way his face lit up whenever he was near. Lazily, she watched them together, blonde hair next to brown, as Fitzwilliam whispered something in his son's ear. The little boy giggled, probably tickled more by the feel of it then by what was actually said, but at least he was laughing. Her eyes moved to her sister-in-law, whose gaze had shifted from outdoors, to rest on her brother and nephew.

"Georgiana," Elizabeth inquired, just for conversation, "Have you heard from Mr. Eastman?"

"Oh, yes," but her voice did not carry the shy happiness which it usually did upon the mention of his name. She and Kitty exchanged a glance, before Georgiana added, "He has been in Italy the past week...he shall not be back until Christmas, at the earliest."

Oh, Elizabeth thought, that explained it. Perhaps, absence was not making Georgiana's heart grow fonder...maybe she was becoming weary of this long distance engagement.

"I should hate it above all things to be separated from my fiancé for so long," Kitty said, apparently trying to be helpful, but not succeeding.

"Are you engaged then, Kitty?" Elizabeth asked her pointedly.

Kitty made a face at her sister, and replied in a haughty manner, "Not yet, Lizzy, but I have hopes."

Georgiana sighed, ignoring their exchange, "I believe I need a change of scenery...or something."

"Perhaps you could return to Longbourn with me, Georgiana." Kitty suggested, suddenly excited.

"Would you like that, Georgiana?" It was Fitzwilliam, who, although unnoticed by the others, had been listening all along.

"I would like to go somewhere...do you think that would be all right?" She asked uncertainly.

"If that is what you would wish...would a month away help?" His voice was patient, as he settled James in a more comfortable position.

Elizabeth interjected lightly, "Yes, Georgiana, you could meet Mr. Martin in my stead, and see what sort of gentleman has captured our Kitty's heart."

After making another face at Elizabeth, Kitty urged her friend, "We shall have great fun, Georgiana. Say you will come with me. Perhaps we could even liven up Mary."

Georgiana was still watching her brother, "You would not mind?" she asked him.

He met her eyes and smiled at her, "No, not at all. It might do you some good to see some new people."

"Maybe, there shall be an assembly while we are there," said Kitty, immediately taken with such a prospect.

At last, Georgiana nodded, pleased with the fervor of the invitation, and Kitty declared happily, "Then, it is settled. Oh, we shall have such a good time!"

They arrived at the Bingleys' an hour later then they had calculated, but were relieved to be out of the carriage, at any rate. The ladies proceeded immediately above stairs to freshen up, and the gentlemen to the drawing room for some, much needed, liquid refreshment before luncheon.

As Kitty and Georgiana were occupied in front of the mirror, Jane turned to Elizabeth, announcing in a low, but ecstatic voice, "Oh, Lizzy, I am so happy! We are going to have another child!"

Elizabeth hugged her, at once pleased by her news, asking, "When, Jane? Do you know?

"If I have counted correctly, it should be in March. We have been so excited since we have learned of it, and very glad that Emily shall soon have a brother or sister."

"I believe," Elizabeth smiled at her, "That it is good for our children to all be so close together in ages...it shall be that much more interesting for them, growing up. No doubt, the fact of their having to contend with so many relations, shall better prepare them for the trials of adulthood."

"Oh, Lizzy." Jane had to smile at the image which her words invoked, but then, becoming serious, inquired, "By the by, Lizzy, how are you feeling?"

"I am fine...in fact, better than with the first. I only hope that the actual birth shall be as easy as the pregnancy has been thus far. At this rate I could have a baby every year."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the idea, causing Jane to laugh at her nonsense.

Downstairs, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy were settled with glasses of wine, James seated on the rug before them, contentedly arranging, stacking, and rearranging a multitude of brightly painted wooden blocks.

"Darcy," Bingley said, interrupting their comfortable silence, "Did you ever imagine our being here, like this?"

"Like this?" Darcy smiled, pretending to misunderstand the question.

"Yes...married, family,...domesticated." He spoke thoughtfully.

"It is not as if you and I were that carefree...that untamed, before this, Bingley," he reminded his friend.

"No, of course not...but to be as satisfied as I am...why, it simply seems unreal at times. In fact, I find it difficult to recall my life before Jane."

Darcy said nothing, but only smiled as he took a drink from his glass.

"Darcy," Bingley was becoming pensive now, "Did you never wonder why you had not married before...I mean, earlier, to someone else?"

"For myself at least," was the carefully worded reply, "Certain...circumstances prevented such a step."

"What?" Bingley looked a bit surprised, not being familiar with the tale of Miss Dumont, "You have considered it...and I never knew?"

"Bingley," his companion said dryly, "There are probably many details of my life of which you are not aware, much like myself being ignorant of portions of your own."

"Untrue," he argued, but mildly, "My past has always been an open book where you are concerned. You undoubtedly know more of my circumstances than anyone else who comes in contact with me,...save Jane, of course."

"Of course. All right, Bingley. I was been engaged before...long ago. Much longer ago than I have known you."

"How old were you, Darcy?" Bingley was hanging onto every word with disbelief. After all, they had been the closest of friends for nearly six years, and it was a bit disconcerting to be only just learning such an amazing revelation.

"The first, eighteen," he answered shortly, "She was but seventeen. Too young, obviously to know her own mind."

"But you loved her?"

"Well, at the time, I felt quite strongly. Whether or not it was truly love, is difficult to judge, now."

'Yet, you did not marry."

"No..." an odd little half-smile had appeared on his countenance, as he recollected the similar, albeit much more emotional, occasion when he had confessed all of this to Elizabeth. "As I said, circumstances of the time prevented it, and, in retrospect, I can feel nothing but relief."

"I must say," Bingley declared, even as he refilled their glasses, "I am astonished." After a moment, he apparently recalled the whole of his friend's admission, "You said the first...there were others?"

"One other, a few years later, of even less consequence than the first. I hesitate to even mention it."

"You are a mystery, Darcy," Bingley said then, shaking his head, "I had no idea...I suppose the most surprising element is that this is the first you've spoken of it."

"Why speak of something which is over and done with?" he reasoned, adding, "I have not brooded on either affair of late, I can assure you."

"Still, Darcy, I imagine I had always considered you to be as level headed as you are now."

"Perhaps, those two events are the factors which forced me to be so."

Bingley considered this new idea, "Yes, I can understand that...All right, Darcy, then putting aside your "foolish mistakes" as you called them, why did it take you another ten years to make the attempt, yet again?"

"That is easy," was his quiet reply, "I had not met Elizabeth yet."

"No, of course not," Bingley, recognizing an uncharacteristic openness in his friend, and impulsively pursuing the matter, "Then, do you think there was a particular reason for your earlier...failures? I mean, you could have met and married between that time and this...and then what?" His brow was furrowed as he considered, "Do you believe, Darcy, in there being a particular match for each of us?"

"Is this to include the whole world, or only Britain?" Darcy asked, humouring him somewhat.

"Here, now...you know what I mean. Do you suppose you and your wife were actually intended for each other, so to speak, or, that it was simply a matter of chance?"

"Bingley," Darcy inquired, reluctant to speak aloud of a subject so private. "To what, are these questions leading? Are you having doubts?"

"No, of course not...but if you consider the odds of encountering and marrying the right person, it almost boggles the mind. You would not place a wager on such an outside chance."

"I agree with that much, at least."

"Then you must concede that I am right. That there is but one person for us... we are predestined, or something, to end up with that person."

"It is a nice thought." Darcy admitted, "But, what of someone whose spouse should pass away, and they remarry...would that person have more than one match? And why do some never marry at all? Do they not have one? Were they passed over for some reason?" He watched Bingley's expression, challenging him to provide a ready supply of answers.

But instead he was asked, with a grin, "You just will not admit it, will you, Darcy?"

"Admit what?"

"That you are the most contented I have ever seen you, that the two of you are second only in happiness to Jane and myself, and, despite your reticence, it suits you perfectly."

"I have no need to admit it...you have just said it all."

Bingley, realizing that he was not going to win this argument, drained his glass just as they were joined by the ladies.

Kitty was carrying Emily, setting her down beside James, and the two studied each other as though they had only just been introduced.

"Well," suggested Mr. Bingley brightly, after meeting his wife's eyes, "Why don't we all go into the diningroom for lunch?"

Elizabeth scooped James up into her arms as the others left the room, while her husband waited for her.

She smiled at him, saying lightly, "You must have thought we had become lost. What did you two find to talk about in all of that time?"

He returned her smile, "Oh, nothing of consequence...I did, however, come to a conclusion during the course of our discussion."

"Oh?" Her face was so open, so dear, that he had to bend and kiss her quickly before he answered, "It appears, at least to Bingley, that we were intended for each other, and that I may as well admit it."

She looked puzzled, although pleased, "Mr. Bingley recognized that, did he?"

"Well...only after I had, long ago."

"When was that, Mr., Darcy?" she asked, while shifting James to one side, so that if he wished to kiss her again, he could.

"All of my life, Mrs. Darcy," was his reply, as his lips, again, met hers.

"So, Jane, " questioned Elizabeth, "Where is Miss Benedict?"

"Well, it was so strange," Jane replied, puzzled, "One day she just gave us notice and disappeared. I do not think she was unhappy with us, she never seemed so, anyway."

"Perhaps she found love, Jane, and wished to have a family of her own," Elizabeth suggested to appease her sister.

Her own private suspicion was that Miss Benedict had found another poor soul to prey on. As much as Mr. Radcliff and even, to a point, her own husband, had pitied the lady, Elizabeth could not shake the belief that she was only out for herself, and would use any means possible to get what she wanted.

Fitzwilliam had not mentioned Mr. Benedict again, but his wife was certain that he had not forgotten him, and that, somehow, he would provide for his future comfort, mainly because of the gentleman's history in relation to his own father.

Meanwhile, neither Elizabeth nor Fitzwilliam felt comfortable discussing the subject with any one besides each other, it still being too recently occurring, and still a little raw.

They were touring the rose garden at Brindlewood together; the two couples, the Darcys and the Bingleys.

Emily and James had been laid down for their naps, as Georgiana and Kitty had volunteered readily to watch them, leaving the four of them to walk out as they had not done since they were married.

The ground was still wet from the rain, but the sun was shining and already drying the more open areas of the lawn.

Somehow, Elizabeth and Jane had lagged behind their husbands, becoming deeply engrossed in whatever topic they found to talk of, and ceasing to pay any attention.

They only had to peer over even the tallest beds to see the two gentlemen, however, and so were not too concerned.

"So, Jane," Elizabeth asked, "Are you hoping for a boy or another girl?"

Jane sighed happily, the subject being the dearest to her heart at present, "Another girl would be nice, if only because we would already have the essentials, but I know Charles would like a son."

Elizabeth shook her head, "All men want their sons...they have this fear that there shall be no one to carry on the family name...or, they could have daughters who never marry..."

"Oh, Lizzy, be serious. What would you like for your next?"

"Well, I cannot argue with the convenience of having another boy, however, a little girl might be nice for a change."

"Have you names chosen yet?" Jane picked a white rose as she spoke.

"I am partial to Melanie..," she paused, but did not explain her reasons for either the choice of name or her hesitation upon mentioning it. She continued thoughtfully, "Melanie Elizabeth if it is a girl, and for a boy...I am not sure. We had not thought that far ahead, I suppose. And, you, Jane?"

"I love the name Nathaniel, but Nicholas was Charles's father. I must admit that I have not decided on one in particular as yet, if we should have another girl...perhaps Martha."

They exchanged a glance, but neither commented further on this suggestion.

"I expect, Jane, that we shall have plenty of time between us." Elizabeth smiled at her sister, "And, we may well receive other suggestions in the meantime."

It appeared to be more prudent to take Georgiana and Kitty to Longbourn themselves, for Elizabeth had not been back to visit since her wedding.

She and Fitzwilliam were only planning to stay a week before returning to Pemberley, both feeling that this would be enough time with which to appease her parents, and yet, not so much as to place undue strain upon their own relationship.

The ride was pleasant enough. James slept most of the way on the first day, behaved very well at the inn where they stayed overnight, and was not even too restless on the second. Luckily it was not very much further to Longbourn from the inn, so they were able to reach their destination easily by lunchtime.

The Bennets were waiting in their usual places before the house, when the carriage, at last, pulled up. After everyone had been warmly welcomed, Mrs. Bennet fluttering nervously about them all the while, much like a deranged butterfly, they entered, and Elizabeth looked around her curiously.

It was all very much the same, and yet, it seemed so foreign, so different somehow. Not even two years, she thought, and I feel as if it has been ten. She walked through each room slowly, but, try as she might, she could not think of it as her home any longer.

My home, she reminded herself, is Pemberley now, and I cannot return to what I was, nor who I was, and, furthermore, I have no wish to.

Fitzwilliam had carried James into the house, and set him down so that he could walk about to his heart's content. When she felt his little hands taking hold of her skirts, she looked down at him, smiling.

No, she decided, there were far too many things changed since she had left here, and she would trade not one of them. Impulsively she picked him up and kissed his cheek, causing him to squirm in her arms, as, he had only just begun to explore this new and quite fascinating place.

Kitty took Georgiana off to show her which room would be hers during her stay. It was Lydia's old room actually, but, as it was situated next to Kitty's, they would be able to visit back and forth as freely as they liked.

Elizabeth assumed she and her husband were to be in her old room, and as she entered it again, she felt the first stirring of any true sentiment since her arrival.

For, this was where she had spent so many hours...confused, sad, angry, heartbroken. It had been her place of refuge, where so many confidences, over so many years, were exchanged with Jane, and, where she had escaped when frustration, or irritation would become too much to bear any longer.

She went over to the dressing table, touching its smooth top gently.

And, here, she recalled, feeling all at once a bit misty-eyed, was where she had first begun to comprehend her love for Mr. Darcy, as well as her desolation upon believing that she had foolishly driven him away.

In an attempt to recover her composure, she glanced around, and noticed a crib standing in one corner of the room. A discovery causing her to wonder, with no little surprise, where such an item might have been unearthed?

They must have borrowed it from the Lucas's or another neighbor, she finally decided, as she knew that her parents had not retained any baby furniture from their own children.

The idea that someday, there might be grandchildren in the house, had apparently, not occurred to them, or, perhaps, and this seemed more likely, by the time of Lydia outgrowing it, it was probably quite worn out, and so, unusable.

She heard someone enter behind her, and turning, she met her husband's eyes after watching him take in the simple room, modestly furnished. His height alone succeeded in making it appear much smaller than she remembered.

Smiling at him, she said, almost apologetically, "Not nearly so grand as what you are used to, I know, but it is only a week."

"So long as it has a door which closes...and locks, I do not care," he replied evenly, returning her smile.

Even while she felt herself blushing at his inference, she diverted the conversation to a topic less...enticing.

"Where have you mislaid Jamie, Fitzwilliam?" She queried, ignoring his amusement at her discomfiture.

"One of the servants took him into the kitchen with her, no doubt to ply him with sweets...as all women are wont to do," he answered, knowing full well she would react to his words, but pretending he did not.

"All women?"

"Most women," he amended, upon recognizing the mild aggravation in her expression. To divert her, he inquired, as he studied the walls and ceiling, "So, this was your room then?"

"Yes, of course, for twenty-one years...it is odd how it has not changed at all."

"Odd? What else did you expect?" He was standing by the window gazing out at the old hermitage, visible below.

"Oh I don't know...perhaps I thought that since my life has been altered so completely now, I would see all of this differently as well. But," she looked ruefully around the room, "It is much the same as it was."

Her eyes settled once again on him, "However, seeing you in here, is not something which would ever have occurred to me, then."

He met her gaze, raising his eyebrows, "Am I to take that as an insult, or a compliment?"

Moving to join him by the window, she linked her arm through his, then, after leaning her head comfortably against his shoulder, she explained, "Much as I should have delighted in the notion, the possibility would have seemed remote, at best."

"And yet, my love, here I am...not so remote, after all." He was smiling down at her, although she did not see it.

"Thank heavens for that." She gave a sigh, "I could not have visualized anything near to the reality anyway."

"No?"

"No, my imagination was not nearly so vivid."

He was just bending to kiss her when a hesitant knock sounded upon the doorframe, and the servant, standing in the open doorway, awkwardly, announced, "Excuse me, Miss El...I mean, Mrs. Darcy, but luncheon is being served downstairs, ma'am."

"Thank you, Hill," acknowledged Elizabeth, quickly suppressing her smile at the near misstep, "We shall be down shortly."

"I suppose," her husband commented ruefully, "I shall have to become used to you being referred to as something other than Mrs. Darcy."

Laughing softly at the resignation evident in his countenance, she assured him, "I was Lizzy, Miss Elizabeth, and Miss Bennet much longer than I have been Mrs. Darcy, my love. You shall just have to be patient."

"Patience in many things, I have no doubt," was his reply, placing a determined kiss upon her lips, then gallantly offering his arm to escort her downstairs.

"So, Mr. Darcy," inquired Mrs. Bennet, "How is the hunting in Derbyshire this time of year?"

A dessert of fresh fruit and a gooseberry fool had just been delivered to the table, when the rather innocuous question was put to him.

"This time of year, it is generally favorable, although I have not personally had the time, of late to partake in the sport," he answered, less stiffly than usual when in her company.

They were attempting, Elizabeth knew, to carry on a civilized conversation, but as she exchanged a sideways glance with her father, she recognized it as an ordeal for them both, however entertaining it might be to anyone listening.

Widening her eyes a little as a signal to Mr. Bennet to assist, she suggested brightly, "I believe, after lunch we should walk towards Meryton. Perhaps we shall stop at Lucas Lodge for a few moments."

"Oh, yes, do," encouraged her mother, "Lady Lucas was just saying the other day, how she hoped you might do so...and do stop, also at your Aunt Phillips. Invite them around to dinner tomorrow night, why don't you?"

"Yes, of course." She had hoped to avoid her aunt for at least the first two or three days, knowing how she affected Fitzwilliam's sensibilities, but, her mother was now fully expecting her to follow through, and so it could not be helped.

"Perhaps, Lizzy," her father said, albeit belatedly, "You might wish to rest this afternoon, rather than do all of this visiting...it is, after all, only your first day here."

But at this, Mrs. Bennet appeared to take affront, "Well, of course, Lizzy, if you are too weary, do not bother. I am certain, your old friends shall understand." Her inference was not to be ignored, and so, Elizabeth, with a sigh, capitulated, meeting her husband's eyes regretfully.

When they left the house, James was being amply entertained by Kitty, Georgiana, and even Mr. Bennet, so there was really no excuse for not making the necessary calls, and, the further they walked from Longbourn, the lighter her spirits became.

As they had set off, she offered to him, as graciously as she could (for she hoped he would decline her suggestion), "You do not have to come along, if you would rather not."

"Elizabeth," he replied, a smile playing around his mouth, "You are, at times, as obvious as your mother...but, I suppose, if you can brave the "lions" of London society, I should return the favour."

Smiling to herself, she asked then, "Do you recall the last time we walked here together?"

"Yes," his expression softening as he did so, "The eve of our wedding."

"I was so very nervous...I recollect saying barely two words together," she said, ruefully.

"No more so than I," he countered, "For, I remember thinking you were quite talkative."

"How odd...still, even if I were, I am certain it was only nonsense which I spoke. My mind was definitely not on the topic of our conversation."

"You could have been speaking Latin and I would hardly have noticed."

"Do you recollect," she began hesitantly, "Your words to me...here?" She had stopped beside a stand of chestnuts, their branches hanging low over the road, providing a sun-dappled cover.

"I recall doing this," and he bent to kiss her gently, his fingers just beneath her chin.

As their lips parted, she looked into his eyes, reminding him, "You promised that we would feel always as we did that night...that our love would not waver."

"And, has it?"

"Mine has not, but of course, I cannot speak for you," she replied, attempting to tease him into disclosing his own ardency.

He shook his head slightly, then smiled and said, "I believe you could, in this case."

"Fitzwilliam, " she sighed, suddenly becoming serious, "Have I ever given you cause to regret our marriage?"

He looked surprised at the question. "Regret? Elizabeth, of every emotion I have experienced since you have become my wife, I cannot recall one, single moment of regret."

Her eyebrows rose at his words, as they began to walk again, slowly, "You are saying I am impetuous?"

"Impetuous, impulsive, stubborn, unpredictable...should I go on?"

"I do not know whether to be affronted or complimented."

"You should be complimented, for that is how it was intended. I can hardly recall what a dull life I must have led before meeting you."

"The question is, of course, which do you prefer?"

"Oh, there is no question...I much prefer impetuous, unpredictable,...and so on."

She smiled, "Well, you can scarcely say otherwise, for you have, as they say, already made your bed, and now you must lie in it."

"A prospect not unagreeable."

"Lizzy, my dear, have you been to town recently?"

"Not recently, Aunt. We find ourselves much too busy to attempt the journey, what with Jamie and now this..." It was her first allusion to her present condition, and as she had not intended to say even that much, she felt herself growing warm under her Aunt Phillip's scrutiny.

Fitzwilliam had taken himself off to study the library, meager though it was, and so, she and her aunt were presently having tea by themselves.

I suspected as much," was her rejoinder, "For you have altered, since last I saw you. Still, you must not be too far along."

Her cheeks now burning, and regretting her disclosure, she could only answer weakly, "No, not far, at all."

"You must not make a habit, Lizzy dear, of going out and about in your condition. People will talk, you know. Even if you are married to..."

Now irritated by both her aunt's reproof, and the drop in her tone when referring to Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth answered sharper than she had intended, "I shall not, after this visit to Hertfordshire, I am sure, but as I had not been to Longbourn for nearly two years, I thought it the most convenient time to do so."

"Oh, yes, of course," Mrs. Phillips voice, as well, had cooled at the defensiveness of Elizabeth's reply.

Good God, Elizabeth thought, exasperated, now I shall have to apologize, or she will be in a state of high dungeon for the remainder of my visit.

Gritting her teeth, she said, "Pray, forgive my rudeness, Aunt. I only meant, that as my condition is not yet too obvious, I should take the opportunity of calling upon my friends, while I still can."

"I do accept your apology, Lizzy, but please consider my counsel, for I would not wish my niece to become the victim of unsolicitous gossip, in any case."

"Yes, thank you." Elizabeth rolled her eyes heavenward while her aunt busied herself with refilling their teacups. The remainder of the visit did nothing to improve her mood, as Mrs. Phillips used the time to offer every sort of advice, from raising children, to Elizabeth herself, behaving as a wife worthy of the illustrious Mr. Darcy.

"She forgets," fumed Elizabeth, after they had left the place a half-hour later, "That I have held the position for some time now, and I believe I am more qualified to judge, than is she!"

"Calm yourself, my love," Fitzwilliam said soothingly, "You should not allow her to upset you so."

"No, I should not, but I am finding my tolerance for self-righteous hypocrisy wearing a trifle thin."

He smiled, "The saving grace of hypocrites, Elizabeth, is that they usually do believe themselves to be sincere."

Sighing, as her anger began, at last, to leave her, she slipped her arm through his, inquiring, "So I should forgive her, seeing as she "meant" well?"

"Or, because, she is so erroneous as to be pitiable, " he offered, "For, who else can rightly pass judgment, but yourself...or your husband."

Catching the humour in his expression, she finally felt herself relaxing, "And, if my husband has any complaints, I know he shall not hesitate to share them with me."

"Unquestionably."

Elizabeth was feeling very strange, as well as somewhat disoriented, lying in her former room, in her old bed beside her husband. She turned her head on the pillow to look at him, sound asleep, his breathing even and steady, his arm pressed lightly against hers. James was also sleeping peacefully in the borrowed crib in the corner, however, despite the long journey from Pemberley, the busy afternoon, and the late hour, she, herself, could not seem to do so.

Her thoughts simply would not settle themselves, and memories were returning at a great rate; some pleasant, and some not. As she lay there, musing on her life thus far, long ago events appeared to be so hazy, that it was as if they had happened to someone else. Someone who had once been Elizabeth Cecilia Bennet.

Feeling as if she were the only person awake in the house was not comforting, and the realization was almost certain to make her even less likely to sleep very soon, so giving it up at last, she rose and moved to the window seat to peer out at the night.

Moonlight was streaming into the room, causing odd shadows to appear on the wall. As the air was unusually warm for September, the window had been opened, and the breeze that drifted in reminded her of both summer and autumn at the same time.

She sat down on the seat, pulling her knees up before her, and as she wrapped her arms around them, her eyes took in the brightness of the landscape below. The moon was making everything glow, the trees, the lawns, even the stonewalls seemed to be alit. It was the same kind of light, she thought, as on that night that I was lost in the woods at Pemberley... the night that now seemed so much like a dream, except that it had not been. She remembered feeling so foolish and yet so very frightened.

Yet, she knew that she had been silly to have felt so...for as he always did, Fitzwilliam had found her, restoring her sense of security, and renewing her faith that he would always be there when she needed him.

Funny, she thought, returning to the present, all of my recollections appear to begin and end with him. Glancing over at the bed, although she was unable to see him through the darkness, simply imagining him there caused her heart to skip a beat, and her throat to catch.

Her thoughts drifted to the child whom she was now carrying. At six months, she was showing very little, her dresses were still able to hide her condition most of the time, and she felt surprisingly well. She wondered, as she stared out at the stars scattered across the night sky, if it would be a boy or a girl. James was so well behaved, she would not mind another boy, if he could be so mild as well...but a girl would be nice also. A little girl...Melanie Elizabeth Darcy.

She was finding, as she became older, that she liked, and almost expected, symmetry and balance in her life, and in the lives of those whom she loved. And this decision to name her daughter (if she should, indeed, have one) after a lost and, until recently unknown, relation (even if only through marriage), soothed her, and made her feel she was helping to maintain that balance.

She must have finally fallen asleep, her thoughts still on the child, her head resting against the windowpane, for she was awakened when she heard her name said very softly. She forced her eyes open to see Fitzwilliam sitting before her, a puzzled smile on his face, "Why are you sleeping here?" he asked her, keeping his voice low so as not to awaken their son.

The sky was only just beginning to lighten, the unbelievably bright moon vanished.

"I could not sleep...I came over here to look at the moon. It was a most amazing moon, my love."

She was having a difficult time keeping her eyes open, and she had just begun to lay her head against the window again, when he spoke in the same, soft voice, "Won't you come back to bed, Elizabeth? There is no moon now, and the bed is far too empty without you."

Even though her eyes remained closed, she smiled at his words, and a moment later, she felt his lips against hers.

As she opened her eyes to meet his gaze, she observed with some amusement, "You know exactly what to do, don't you?"

He did not answer her verbally, kissing her again instead, his lips so very gentle, she no longer felt that she had any choice in the matter.

Slipping her hand into his, she allowed him to pull her off of the window seat and over to the bed, where they lay in each other's arms for a very long time.

James was paid all the attention of a little prince during their time at Longbourn. Between the servants, his aunts, and, surprisingly, even Mr. Bennet, he never wanted for anything, causing Elizabeth's concerns to resurface about him becoming spoiled.

"It shall be a shock," she commented to Fitzwilliam one day, while they were sitting outside watching him "help" a servant hang clothes on a line to dry. "When we return to Pemberley...he will be quite ruined, I am afraid."

"Once he is home, I am sure he will readjust to the routine. I would not worry, Elizabeth...and, as you said, it is only a week," he assured her, after observing the girl slipping him a sweet cake from her apron pocket.

She shook her head, "But until he does, we shall all be suffering. At least he is not high-strung...not yet, anyway."

"No, he is not, and I don't suppose a week here will make him so...if it were any longer, however, you would have to put your foot down," he said thoughtfully.

"Me?" She repeated in astonishment, "Why would my foot be the one to be down, Mr. Darcy?"

"Well, this is your parents' house, they are your sisters..."

"And yours," she reminded him, nettled.

"And I," he continued as if she had not interrupted him, "Would not dare to interfere, seeing as I am the interloper in this nest of Bennets."

She was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, "You are hopeless, Fitzwilliam Darcy. Completely, utterly hopeless."

But when he smiled at her in his thoroughly charming manner, she forgot her peevishness, allowing him to kiss her until she quite forgot what they had even been talking of...just as he had intended.

There happened to be an assembly scheduled in Meryton on the fifth evening of the Darcys' stay at Longbourn. However, Mr. Bennet had no desire to attend, Mrs. Bennet was suffering from one of her headaches, and Mary desired to stay at home to learn some new music which she had only recently received.

Kitty was near to desperation when she pled with Elizabeth to please, please escort she and Georgiana to the much-anticipated social event. Surely Mr. Darcy would take her if she wished it...and they would not have to dance, after all, if they did not want to.

It was not that Elizabeth did not wish to go. It was simply that, she felt she ought not, what with her pregnancy becoming, she believed, more obvious with each passing day. A woman in her "condition" did not go out to a public dance, especially where there would be so many unmarried ladies, and gentlemen present. She, herself, thought it was a silly moray, but she had to consider her family's and her husband's reputations, as well.

Kitty though, would not be swayed, "Lizzy, cover yourself up or something...you must have an overlarge dress or cloak that would do." she begged, almost in tears.

Elizabeth was not unsympathetic. She knew that Kitty was planning, with much anticipation, to introduce them to Mr. Martin, and even better, to dance many times with him in the course of the evening.

Finally, she assented. "I shall speak to Mr. Darcy and see what he thinks...but, you must accept whatever we decide to do," she warned her younger sister.

"Thank you, Lizzy!" she cried ecstatically, even before it was done, and ran out of the room to spread the news to Georgiana.

Elizabeth approached her husband with some trepidation. She knew how he generally felt about these assemblies, and when adding to this her ever-increasing waistline, she felt certain that he would not be agreeable to the idea. He was reading in the drawing room; a book discovered in her father's library, which happened to be a certain volume he had been desirous of for some time.

Another argument against going out, she thought when she discovered him there. But, in spite of the chances of Kitty having her way diminishing by the minute, she took a breath and spoke quickly, "Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes?" He looked up at her.

"Georgiana and Kitty..." cleverly using his sister's name first, "Wish to go to the assembly this evening very badly, and it appears no one else is available to escort them...would you mind terribly if we did?"

"You wish to go to an assembly?" He was studying her expression a bit curiously.

"Well, obviously, I would not, but they are so looking forward to it...perhaps we would not have to stay too late," she kept her voice impassive, not wanting to influence his opinion.

"I suppose if they have no one else..." he paused, then rather suspiciously, "Why is there no one else? Is not your mother going?"

"No, she has a headache, and father does not wish to, that leaves only us...unless, you would take them by yourself." She waited for his reaction to this suggestion.

"No," he replied quickly, adding, "If I should go at all, it must be with you...you know that I would only suffer if you were absent."

She dimpled at his remark, before she asked, "Then...you would not mind?"

He was still reluctant, but he realized that to refuse could prove to be costly, and when he considered both his wife and his sister, he felt a strong obligation to agree.

The road around the assembly rooms was already filled with conveyances, although it was yet early, and Kitty was looking about excitedly to see whom she could recognize. She was visibly overjoyed when they were met at the door by a young man of about

one-and-twenty, thin and tall, with auburn hair. His youthful appearance a contrast to the staid manner in which he greeted them. When she happily introduced them to Mr. Martin, he bowed to them upon hearing their names, "I am pleased to meet you all. I have heard much of you from Miss Bennet."

He is pleasant enough, Elizabeth thought, perhaps rather ordinary in appearance, but if Kitty did not mind, then who was she to criticize?

Then he excused them both, and led Kitty out to the dance floor as the musicians began playing an introduction.

Georgiana was looking uncomfortable, staying well behind Fitzwilliam so she would remain partially hidden from curious eyes. Eventually, though, a young officer, who obviously wished to be introduced, was brought over by Kitty to meet Miss Darcy; an act allowing him to invite her to dance the next with him. She agreed shyly, and was led away under her brother's watchful gaze.

He found them two chairs together, and they sat down. Elizabeth was hoping that no one was noticing her figure, but at the same time, wishing just a little, to join in. She had resigned herself that she should not, could not, no matter how much she wanted to, when her husband leaned over and suggested, to her amazement, that they dance. She did not bother to hide her surprise, "You are asking me to dance with you?"

He replied quietly, "I do not think that it would cause you any problems, if it be a slower tune...would it, Elizabeth?"

"That is not what concerns me," she answered, "You do not think that it is apparent?"

"What is that?" He was watching Georgiana who had joined a group of young people with Kitty, Mr. Martin, and the officer, and appeared to be now at ease.

"Fitzwilliam," she said insistently, indicating her waistline.

"Oh, that," and dismissing her anxieties, he assured her, "It is not that obvious yet...but if you do not wish to, that is fine also."

"No," she said quickly, before he could change his mind, "I mean, yes, I would like to dance with you...but," she hesitated, "I dare not...I do not want to be conspicuous, Fitzwilliam."

He considered her plight for a moment, before he said, "Come with me."

Then, taking her hand, he led her out of the room and into the deserted hallway, where the music could still be heard easily through the walls.

Bowing low, he asked, "Now, will you dance with me, Mrs. Darcy?"

Even though he had managed to astonish her for the third time that evening, she realized fully the gift which she was being offered.

Accepting his hand, her eyes revealed all of what she was feeling, yet, her gratitude and acceptance were expressed aloud as one and the same, "Yes, Mr. Darcy, I shall dance with you."

They did dance only to "slower" tunes, in fact, all of their own motions seemed to be more staid and dignified than usual, or so it appeared to herself, at least.

Perhaps, she considered dreamily, it was because of her added girth, or, the fact that they remained quite alone, save for an occasional servant hurrying past them blindly, empty or filled tray in hand.

Either way, she thanked him often, through a look, a lingering touch, and, when she was positive that they would not be interrupted, a kiss.

The day arrived when Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth, and James, but not Georgiana, would be returning to Pemberley.

On the evening before their departure, Mr. Bennet called Elizabeth into his study for a private conversation, which both were guilty of deferring since her arrival.

"So Lizzy," he had begun, when she had settled herself opposite him, "Tell me how you have been?"

She smiled at him, "I am well, Father. In fact, I do not believe that I have ever been better."

"I can see you are, my dear." He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment, then as if remembering her presence, he met her gaze, saying quietly, "I would not have expected anything else with you."

"And you, sir, how are you?" She leaned forward as she inquired, and took his hand in hers.

"Other then missing my two eldest, I am fine," added ruefully, "It has not been the same here with just Mary around, though I expect that Kitty will liven things up very soon, now that she has returned."

"I expect she shall...she introduced Mr. Martin to us the other evening at the assembly."

"And what did you think of him, Lizzy?"

"He appeared very polite...gentlemanly. I think Kitty could do worse."

"Yes," he agreed, understanding what she had not said, just as he always had, "He is a solid, dependable sort, perhaps they shall suit each other...she being so flighty at times."

"She is less so than she was, but I see your point, Father." Elizabeth kept her expression serious, but her eyes gave evidence of her understanding.

"Not so handsome as Mr. Darcy, eh, Lizzy?"

"I would be a poor sister, indeed," she chided him, "If I even compared the two...you know that I could not."

"No," he agreed, "You could not." Then changing the subject, he said, "I have enjoyed becoming acquainted with your son this week. I had quite forgotten what one so young can yet teach us."

"And, what has he taught you?" She asked him a bit curiously.

"That there is always hope for the next generation, I suppose." He now appeared ready to insert a lighter tone into their conversation, as he added, "I cannot boast about my own offspring save for you and Jane, but I promise to make amends by pinning all of my aspirations on young James, and of course Jane's Emily...as well as any other which should be forthcoming."

"With any luck," she replied, matching his tone, "They shall not disappoint you, sir."

"Well, the advantage of becoming my age is that it does not seem to be of such import whether they do or they do not, only that they are who they are."

"Sir?" She wrinkled her nose, attempting to understand his meaning.

"Because they are your children's children," he explained carefully, "They can do no wrong. Do you see? It is very different when your own offspring disappoint, but for grandchildren, the only expectation is that of unconditional affection, and that is the easiest gift of all to give...and receive."

They smiled at each other in perfect comprehension, then, he cleared his throat to speak again, "Lizzy, it does my heart good to see you so content in your life."

She felt her eyes mist a little, as she answered, "Thank you, Papa...truly I am."

"I believe," he went on, "That you have proven me wrong once again."

"How is that?"

"Wasn't it I who doubted your commitment to Mr. Darcy at the first?"

She laughed, "Yes, but I could not blame you for that... I made it no secret how I despised him for so many months. You could not know how my own opinion had been altered."

"You did not let on, that is certain. No one could keep a secret better than you, Lizzy...and I think even from yourself at times."

Her smile lingered when she recalled her father's reluctance to give her his blessing upon the news of her engagement. At the time, it had not been diverting, but in retrospect, it surely was.

"Lizzy," he broke into her thoughts, "I wanted you to know how my estimation has also been altered regarding your husband."

"No more spying assignments for Jane, Papa?" she teased him.

His eyes twinkled at her, "She failed so miserably the last time, that I could have found out more by merely seeing for myself."

"And you have?"

"Yes, my child," he squeezed her hand fondly, "I have."

The following morning found the Bennet family and Georgiana bidding tearful farewells to the departing Darcys, who after several aborted attempts to be off, were finally on their way, with many arms waving spiritedly from both parties. As they lost sight of her relatives, Elizabeth turned to her husband with a sigh, "There is nothing worse than a long good-bye...I think it would be much better to be led off blindfolded and be done with it."

He raised an eyebrow at the image she conjured, shifting his by-now sleeping son on his lap. "That sort of separation would be a bit too final for me. Are you saying that when we part, for whatever reason, you would rather I simply leave you without a word?"

She looked at him, amused, "It is not your words that I recollect when we are parted, Fitzwilliam...and you know perfectly well that is not what I meant."

He met her eyes, teasing her, "So, you mean, that I could say nothing at all, no goodbye, nothing, so long as I...what, wave perhaps?"

"Yes, of course," she agreed, letting sarcasm enter her voice, "And see what you would have to return to."

"That would depend on how long I should be gone."

"Perhaps it would. But in your case," her irony quickly vanquished by the intense look he was giving her, "It would not have to be long at all."

"How long would be too long then?" His face was nearing hers, without disturbing James at all.

She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers, opening them again only when she no longer felt them there.

"Any length of time apart from you is too long...perhaps we should set the duration of the farewells directly proportionate to the length of the absence..." her words trailed off as he kissed her again.

"If that were the case, " he replied, softly, "I would always be preparing to leave and never leaving."

"That, " she smiled, languishing in the warmth of his kiss, "Is exactly what I should intend."

It felt very strange not to have Georgiana's presence there in the house upon their return. Although she was usually quiet and avoided drawing undue attention to herself, she was, nevertheless, a definite part of life at Pemberley. Elizabeth found that she missed having another female's point of view, other then the servants, who, when asked, were generally quite willing to give their opinion. Fitzwilliam was there, of course, but when he did sit with her, she sensed that his mind was on his other duties, and his attention not hers alone.

Then, thankfully, three days after their return, Jane came for a visit. Once they had settled in the drawing room, Emily and James temporarily occupied with a biscuit apiece, Jane asked her sister for all the news from Hertfordshire. Of course they discussed Mr. Martin and Kitty at length.

Jane was hopeful that this meant Kitty was finally becoming sensible, to which Elizabeth declared, "She shall either have to be so, or the fact that his disposition is the opposite of hers will eventually bore her, and she will seek someone new."

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane replied anxiously, "I hope that you are wrong...how awful if poor Mr. Martin should have his heart broken."

"You are amazing, Jane. You have not even met the gentleman, yet you manage to be sympathetic to him," Elizabeth observed unnecessarily.

"I should not wish unhappiness on anyone. Whether or not I know them," was her reply.

"No, you would not." Feeling that the subject had been discussed enough, Elizabeth said, "I spoke to Lady Lucas and she mentioned that Charlotte is expecting again...I am not certain whether to be happy for her, or astonished."

"Why, what do you mean?" her sister appeared puzzled.

"Well, really Jane, could you imagine having Mr. Collins for a husband...and actually sharing a bed with him?"

"Lizzy!" Jane was shocked at her words, but not before a look very near revulsion crossed her own features. Then she added, her voice full of pity, "Someone must care for him...perhaps Charlotte truly does."

"I do not think Charlotte married him because she cared for him. She told me herself that she was not romantic. I am afraid that her idea of marital bliss is very different from yours and mine, Jane."

"But, Lizzy..." she appeared to be searching for some ray of happiness for "poor" Charlotte. "Maybe they have been married long enough that she has learned to love him."

"That is hardly likely...but believe it if you will, dear Jane. I am sure that Charlotte is content enough with her home and her children, she would not welcome our pity."

This time it was Jane who changed the subject. "How did you find Mary, Lizzy?" she asked.

"Much the same. She spends many hours alone in her room now...I cannot imagine what she does. At any rate, she seems to be quite happy staying at the house with mother and father...not really venturing out at all anymore."

"She worries me so." Jane fretted," I wish she would socialize and perhaps meet someone of like interests."

"If you mean a gentleman, I think that is highly improbable...and maybe she prefers her life this way. Not everyone is suited to marriage, you know."

"I do recall a time when you were not convinced yourself of the virtues of it." Jane smiled. "Remember, Lizzy? You used to rant and rave about how women should not have to be slaves to their husbands and bow down to society's unfair standards."

"How well you recollect that, Jane," Elizabeth replied, laughing, "I was very young then, wasn't I? Thirteen, fourteen, perhaps? Yes, I did have my dragons to slay...I suppose I thought I could change the world." She smiled at the memory, "Fortunately, I have not had to forsake all of my ideals, as my husband tolerates and even appears to understand my little tirades."

"Does he?"

"Well, I suppose he does...he would not be so foolish as to argue with me on a subject that he knows he could not win."

"The fact that he even listens to you should encourage you, Lizzy. Many men would not allow their wives to have an opinion about it at all."

"Yes," she agreed, "And it is not so much that he listens to me, Jane, he even appears to respect what I believe...no, I am very fortunate." Her voice had become thoughtful as she spoke, and Jane had to repeat her name twice in order to return her to the present.

"And you, Jane," Elizabeth asked then, "Does not Mr. Bingley listen to your views also?"

"We do not really discuss topics such as that...our conversations tend to be more...domestic." She blushed as she answered so that Elizabeth wondered what they did talk about, but tactfully, she did not inquire.

Again, Jane took a new direction, "I received a letter from Caroline two days ago."

"Oh?" Elizabeth asked dryly, "And how is dear Miss Bingley?"

"She writes that Lord Fitzwilliam has been calling...rather frequently from the sound of it. What say you to that?" Jane's eyes met her sister's, and Elizabeth was almost certain that she saw an uncharacteristic glimmer of humour there.

"I think," she answered impishly, "Lord help Lord Fitzwilliam, for he shall need it if he commits himself to that lady."

"Lizzy!" Jane laughed, but Elizabeth could tell that she felt she should be shocked. It was her nature after all, to believe that everyone deserved to be loved, and even Caroline Bingley might be happy despite her complacent airs and false pride.

They were interrupted by Fitzwilliam's entrance, which apparently was Jane's cue to exclaim at the time, scoop Emily up along with a lapful of biscuit crumbs, and hurriedly say her goodbyes to them.

After the front door closed behind her, he looked at his wife, his eyebrows raised, "Your sister," he observed, "Appears to be avoiding my company."

"I am sure you are mistaken," Elizabeth answered, but she was a bit puzzled herself by Jane's sudden and swift departure, and as she moved into his arms for a kiss, she decided that she really would have to find out the reason for it, when next they were together.

Setting aside Jane's odd reaction to Fitzwilliam until she should see her again, Elizabeth began making preparations for her next child. Already it was October, but as the weather remained mild, she endeavored to be outdoors with James as much as possible before winter should finally arrive.

On fine days when her husband was absent, she positioned herself on a bench in the courtyard, her sewing at hand, and allowed her son to play well within her line of vision.

In the hope that the next child should be a girl, she had chosen pastels as her choice of embroidery colors, and, if it were another boy, there were plenty of the necessary linens, gowns, and blankets remaining from James. Hand-me-downs, she thought ruefully, are an unfortunate side affect of being a second son.

She was outside with him one afternoon in this manner, when she happened to glance up and see Colonel Fitzwilliam enter the courtyard. She rose in some surprise, not expecting him, nor recalling her husband mentioning his coming. As she stood, she saw him smiling in greeting, while barely avoiding a collision with James, who had only recently graduated from walking to running.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam," she greeted him, happy for some adult company, "What brings you here?"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Darcy," he replied, as he neared her, "I happened to have some business in Derbyshire, so I stopped...I have news for Darcy as well. Is he home?"

"He rode off to see some tenants, but he should be back in time for dinner. Can you stay?"

"Yes, of course, thank you," For just a moment, he appeared to be disappointed at his cousin's absence, but he recovered almost immediately, his normal easy expression again on his face.

Seeing his rapid change in manner, she felt the need to ask, "Is something wrong, Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"No," he shook his head, "Nothing urgent...I was only hoping to see him as soon as possible, but I suppose it can wait until later."

As they began to walk toward the house together, she gathered her materials and her son. Colonel Fitzwilliam chivalrously aiding her by retrieving the items dropped behind them, and holding the door until she was well through it.

"I have been to see Lady Catherine," he said as they settled in the drawing room to chat, and await Fitzwilliam's return.

"And how does she fare?" Elizabeth inquired, only to be polite, feeling little compunction to be truly concerned in regards to her.

He smiled as he answered, "She is doing much as she was. She has not changed, nor is she likely to."

"In other words, she has not forgiven us yet."

He shrugged, "Do not be too anxious...she does tend to hold a grudge uncommonly long."

"I assure you that I am not losing sleep over the situation. We have made several attempts to mollify her, but she will not respond."

"She is very stubborn...still, Anne expressed an interest in hearing from you."

"Miss de Bourgh? Excuse me, Colonel Fitzwilliam, if I am too blunt, but she does not appear to do anything without her mother's approval."

"She has been led, that is true, most of her life, but, I think you shall find there is more to her then is first evident."

"This is surprising." She thought about his words, then inquired curiously, "Pray, tell me, how I should contact her without her mother's knowledge?"

"I believe that your letters would not be opened by any one other then herself. The housekeeper is quite loyal to Anne in matters that do not directly concern Lady Catherine."

"And this would not be one of those matters?"

"Who Anne is in contact with should be her own business...she is nearly twenty-one years."

"But still in her mother's house." She was quiet while she considered, "She does not begrudge my marrying the man intended for herself?"

"That arrangement was no more to her liking then Darcy's. She would not freely choose such a marriage."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, "Although I can understand her wishing to make her own decisions in affairs of the heart, what other choices does she now have? I understood her constitution too infirm to be her own woman, or even to be out socially, in order to become acquainted with a gentleman of her own interests."

"She would like," he said earnestly, "To be as independent as you were, Mrs. Darcy...she has told me so, herself. Her birthday is very soon in November, her fortune shall be her own, and she does retain hope for her own autonomy."

"From Lady Catherine?" Elizabeth was astonished, "If this be so, Colonel Fitzwilliam, then I must apologize for doubting your words earlier. She must be much stronger then I have given her credit for."

"You have not seen her in two years...she has indeed grown much stronger, both physically and emotionally. I know that she and Georgiana have been corresponding regularly. Did Georgiana never mention it?"

"She might have, "Elizabeth tried to recall, adding, "She has not spoken of these apparent changes in her cousin, however."

"I believe, " he said firmly, "That if you were to make the overture, Anne would be most pleased. I know she is often bored and frequently lonely."

"That I can understand, having no one but Lady Catherine as company...and Mrs. Jenkins, of course."

"Mrs. Jenkins is no longer in my aunt's employ."

"But Anne is not by herself, is she?" She felt an immediate rush of sympathy.

"No. In fact another companion has only recently been taken on...a young woman who appears to be very dependable and quite competent...a Miss Mary Benedict." At the look on Elizabeth's face, he asked, surprised, "Why, what is the matter? Are you not feeling well, Mrs. Darcy?"

Chapter 22

Posted on Friday, 29 March 2002

The shock that Elizabeth had received at Colonel Fitzwilliam's news was soon replaced by more rational judgment, but even after her very obvious reaction to it, she rejected the notion of enlightening her companion before discussing it with Fitzwilliam.

She did not know if her husband had spoken to the Colonel about Miss Benedict's failed scheme, but just in case he was ignorant, she was not going to be the one to do so.

Upon reflection, the idea occurred to her as well, that perhaps the lady merely required employment, and her position with Miss de Bourgh was totally harmless.

Even as she thought this, however, she doubted that Miss Benedict would do anything without some design. Although Elizabeth's history with the lady had been but a brief one, she recognized the type who would grasp whatever opportunity was available, regardless of any ethical or moral concerns.

She had become acquainted with the same inner obsession for riches, power or both, in at least two other people: That of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Jeffries.

With these considerations in mind, she realized that Colonel Fitzwilliam was yet waiting for some assurance that she was not ill...or something worse (such as dropping her baby then and there). She managed to replace her expression of astonishment with something calmer, and hastened to ease his concern.

"I am fine, Colonel Fitzwilliam," she said in what she hoped to be a steady voice, "I must apologize if I startled you...I am afraid that I recalled something I should never have forgotten."

If he was hoping for a more complete explanation, he was disappointed.

Fortunately for herself, this was the moment in which her husband happened to join them, relieving her of inventing a plausible lie.

He breezed in, having already noticed his cousin's horse tethered in the stables, and after a brief , but deliciously intimate glance towards Elizabeth, greeted him warmly.

The conversation remained general for several minutes before Elizabeth sensed that the Colonel, for some unknown reason, wished to speak to Fitzwilliam privately. She did not take offense at this, using the opportunity instead to escape and ponder this new information just disclosed to her.

So, under the pretense of having to lay James down (for he was looking rather sleepy by then), she claimed him from his current occupation of spinning his blocks as though they were tops, and proceeded upstairs, the gentlemen's voices pausing only briefly behind her upon her exit.

It only took a moment after Elizabeth's departure from the room before Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke in a far more serious tone than Mr. Darcy had heard him use in some time. "Darcy, have you heard from anyone in town recently?"

"No...no, why do you ask?" He was obviously surprised by the question.

Looking troubled, the Colonel inquired, "What can you tell me of a man named Jeffries?"

Darcy visibly started before recovering his composure, answering carefully, "It is a name which I would prefer never to hear again."

"I do not know," Fitzwilliam said in a pained voice, "What his history with you is, Darcy, and if you choose not to tell me, I can accept that...but I feel I must inform you as to what he has been doing these past few weeks."

"Is not he in prison?" His voice sounded muted, as he had turned away to lean against the fireplace, a device, his cousin knew, used when he wanted to mask any emotion from his features.

"He is in prison, yes. He happens to be housed in the Tower, but that has not prevented him from doing you harm."

"He has done nothing but that since I have known him," Darcy replied, somewhat bitterly, "Pray, what harm can he do me there?"

"Before I tell you, would you please, at the very least, say why he should despise you so?"

Darcy, not turning to face his listener, spoke so quietly that Fitzwilliam had to strain to hear him.

"I shall tell you all, Fitzwilliam...I am a bit surprised that your brother did not."

"Frederick? What does he know about it?" The Colonel dismissed the momentary stab of envy upon the news that his sibling had been privy to his cousin's troubles, long before himself.

"He had the misfortune of having suffered under Jeffries even before I...it gave us a rather painful common bond." After taking a deep breath, Darcy continued to speak, "Mr. Jeffries," as his eyes remained focused on the fire, "Has apparently made a habit of trying to obtain money by whatever means possible, and failing that, in obtaining other men's wives."

"Not yours, Darcy!" Familiar as he was with the principals involved, his astonishment was complete.

"He did not succeed, thanks to Elizabeth's good sense...I am unsure if he ever truly succeeded, but that did not stop him from attempting it time and again."

There was silence while he considered his next words. Then, "He wished me to become his political ally...my money, his brains...you understand?" He looked at Colonel Fitzwilliam and received a nod of acknowledgement.

"The longer I knew him, however, the more I believed he merely wanted a puppet, a pawn...someone to further his own ambition. When he failed to make any progress with me, he began pursuing Elizabeth. Toward that end, he attempted to eliminate me," he paused at his cousin's shocked intake of breath, "And eventually was driven to kidnapping her...which he very nearly succeeded in doing."

"Darcy," his cousin interrupted, astounded, "What you are telling me seems impossible...when did this all take place?"

"Last year," was his reply, "Between April, when we were introduced, until his kidnapping attempt this past February...you remember the ball we hosted then?"

"Yes..." he recalled after thinking momentarily," But, you cannot tell me that..."

Darcy nodded, "That was the very evening that Jeffries decided to simply "take" my wife. I am certain he had it well planned...a house full of guests, the place in chaos...he would not be noticed..." his voice trailed off as he remembered.

"Darcy," Fitzwilliam urged him to continue, "What happened? How was he deterred?"

"Call it luck, fate, the hand of God...we, neither of us are certain to this day, but, as he held her at gunpoint, he slipped, fell down the stairs, and subsequently knocked himself unconscious in the process." He inadvertently sighed, "I happened upon her, mere minutes after his timely descent...drawn by his scream. I tell you, Fitzwilliam, there is nothing so unearthly as hearing a man scream like that...I can still hear it."

"But, " his cousin interjected, "It caused you to discover them, did it not? Was she all right?"

"Thankfully, she was...at least he had not harmed her in any physical way. Emotionally, he did do some damage to her sense of well-being, her security..." he shook his head, " Again, thankfully, it proved to be but temporary."

"And is that the end of it? You had him arrested and he went to the Tower?"

"Not quite the end of it." Darcy looked ruefully at him, "He managed to escape in March from a transport. We had a very trying fortnight while we waited to hear something. I ended up sending Elizabeth to stay with her sister during that time, for her own safety."

"My God, Darcy. Why did you not send for me? If nothing else I am a good shot."

"At the time, and I must apologize for this, Fitzwilliam, it did not occur to me. I suppose I felt that this had gone on long enough, and that I did not wish to involve any more people then already were...I would have welcomed the company, believe me." He finally smiled at his cousin as he recalled his self-imposed isolation.

"Were you here by yourself?"

At Darcy's nod of assent, the Colonel burst out in a worried voice, "Do you realize how dangerous that was...my God, man, you left yourself an open target!"

"The servants were still here, Fitzwilliam." He reassured him, "I assigned sentries to watch the place twenty-four hours a day...I was convinced that if I left, he would vent his anger upon Pemberley itself. I could not risk that."

Colonel Fitzwilliam had abandoned his chair by now and was pacing around the room in agitation. He finally stopped by Darcy, asking pointedly, "Is that, then, the end of the story? Or is there more?"

"That was all until your appearance today, Fitzwilliam. Now, tell me, please, how Mr. Jeffries can cause me distress while he is locked away in prison?"

"Yes, please do." They both turned, startled at the sound of Elizabeth's voice. She was standing in the doorway, her face pale, but her voice steady. "Please, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what crime against decency is Mr. Jeffries planning now?"

Both gentlemen were so startled at Elizabeth's interruption that they were momentarily speechless. Raising her chin, she stated in a most determined voice, "Please, Colonel Fitzwilliam, anything regarding Mr. Jeffries is of direct concern to me."

If the Colonel wished for his cousin to aid him in concealing it from her, he was to be disappointed, for that gentleman only shrugged, and with a half-smile, said, "You may as well tell her now, Fitzwilliam...she will know it all eventually."

Colonel Fitzwilliam, clever enough to know when to admit defeat, conceded, "I shall tell you both, but, I would wish you to be seated first, Mrs. Darcy." She complied, a knot in her stomach at the averse expression upon his face.

"Mr. Jeffries is a journalist?" He noted the look exchanged between Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth, accepted that as verification, and continued uneasily, "He has been writing articles, apparently very convincing articles, accusing the two of you of committing crimes of high treason."

There followed a shocked silence, as neither could think of a rational response, then, "Such as?" This from Fitzwilliam, his voice low, controlled.

"He claims you are withholding taxes owed the King," the Colonel hesitated, his eyes avoiding theirs, "And that Elizabeth," studying his boots, "Is a spy for France...for that scoundrel, Napoleon."

Elizabeth was so astonished that her mouth dropped open in a most undignified fashion, but her husband, his expression unreadable, said in the same dangerous voice, "That is ludicrous. Who would believe such lies...and from a known criminal?"

"He evidently has allies in Parliament. A few choice words from him were enough to have them calling for an investigation against you. I would not have come, Darcy, if I did not think the situation warranted your personal attention immediately." Colonel Fitzwilliam was speaking so earnestly, that his listeners had no choice but to believe him.

Fitzwilliam had strolled over to the window and was staring out, "So, because this lunatic has convinced a few obviously gullible men of something so ridiculous as to be laughable, I must leave my home to mount a defense?"

"I would highly recommend it...they may be gullible, but they wield much power, and it would not do for you to discount this."

Silence fell upon the three until at last, Fitzwilliam turned to meet Elizabeth's gaze, "It appears I am to go to London," he said simply.

"If you must," she answered, her composure outwardly intact, but her feelings spinning in turmoil.

It is not fair, she protested to herself, once again Mr. Jeffries has managed to totally disrupt our lives, and once again we are forced to allow him to. I was so in hopes that we were finished with him, that he would no longer be able to hurt us, but here he is...like an evil spirit always hovering around us...it is not fair.

She was so intent on her remunerations, that she was quite unaware of her husband's eyes still on her face, until he finally turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam to begin planning their journey.

It was decided that they would leave at first light the following morning, on horseback because it was faster than by coach.

Elizabeth, unable to go along due to her now advanced pregnancy, would have to remain at Pemberley, awaiting her husband's letters to keep her informed. She dreaded and hated the idea, for it was not in her nature to act the ever-patient wife, and yet it seemed to be what she was most often expected to do.

The rest of that afternoon and evening were spent helping Mrs. Reynolds prepare for his departure, and, all the while, keeping her emotions in check. She was determined that she should be as calm in the face of crisis as he, but every time she thought about the circumstances involved, she wanted to weep with vexation.

As they lay in each other's arms that night, their thoughts preoccupied, she refrained from crying still.

It will not do, she thought, to make him feel worse through my tears. I shall wait until he has gone...if I can only hold out that long.

She almost did not hear him when he spoke, his voice was so quiet, "You know that I do not wish to leave you, don't you, Elizabeth?"

"I know," she managed around the lump in her throat.

"I shall return as soon as I can."

"I know that also..."

"Damn Jeffries." His oath seemed to speak for the both of them, the vehemence of it soothing her somehow.

"Fitzwilliam," she said, her voice much calmer than she presently felt, "Do not concern yourself with me...I know that you will not delay your return...that you shall come back to me as soon as possible."

"Yes," he breathed, in an unanticipated onset of emotion, as he began to kiss her repeatedly; her eyes, her mouth, her neck, until she was breathless, and the resolution she had made to not weep seemed to have been swept away.

She buried her face in his shoulder then, as her tears fell of their own accord, but the release of them brought her no residual comfort in light of their impending separation.

She did not sleep well, as she fully expected. Her thoughts, although centered on her husband, also held just a bit of self-pity on knowing that she would be left behind.

As she concentrated on his presence beside her, she reminded herself, I shall have to recall this often in the coming days and weeks, although how many was anyone's guess. She had little faith of his business in town concluding swiftly, as the Houses of Lords and Commons were well known for their inefficiency and general ineptitude, and he would likely have to present his defense to both.

He would be taking little with him, but Mr. Ridgley, his steward, was to be at the ready to bring him any required papers or accounts upon his order. It was unknown to them how specific he was expected to be in his report, but no detail was going to be left to chance, in case it should be demanded.

Having had no rest, she did not mind quitting her bed to see them off.

They stood by their horses, and while Colonel Fitzwilliam busied himself with making a last-minute check of his bags, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth faced each other, each unwilling to be the first to say good-bye.

Again, she put on a brave front, resolved that the last image he would have of her was not going to be of her weeping, swollen face. In light of her resolution, she attempted to smile...not a complete success as her lips would not cease their trembling.

Thankfully, her charade did not have to continue long, as he suddenly pulled her to him, keeping her face pressed against his chest.

"I love you, Elizabeth," he spoke softly into her ear, and although she responded in kind, it was barely audible, her voice so unreliable that she could speak no louder than a whisper.

At last he released her, stepping away to draw near his horse, but for a moment more, her fingers lingered on his coat, pretending to brush away an invisible piece of lint.

Standing back as they mounted, she raised her hand briefly when he glanced at her, before he urged his horse into a gallop.

Then, in the time it took her to take a ragged breath, they were gone, and she was free to weep all she liked...instead, she remained standing very still, facing yet in the direction of her last sight of him, her heart frozen within her.

It would be too easy to lie around brooding, so she concentrated on seeing to James, writing hundreds of letters, and otherwise keeping her mind occupied. At night the loneliness threatened to overtake her, her only consolation being the movement of the child within. His, or her, constant nocturnal activity reminding her that she was not alone.

After less than a week, Mr. Ridgeley was, indeed, sent for, and dispatched immediately with all of the requested paperwork. Fitzwilliam had written of his reception into the Houses as having been cordial, although formal, and it was apparent that Jeffries had done his work well. In other words, his stay could be extended well into November, or even beyond. Any hope she had harbored was crushed by this news, but in an effort to keep her spirits up, she was determined not to anticipate any specific date of his return.

I shall expect him when I see him and no sooner, she decided, after reading his letter for the tenth time.

October ended with little notice from Elizabeth.

Her efforts to lose track of the passage of time were minimally successful. Each day dragged, but she refused to remain idle long enough to dwell on it. If she should find herself so, she would frantically move onto another activity, almost fearful of being alone and unoccupied with her thoughts.

In this manner then, her days took on a monotonous routine, keeping her busy, if not stimulated.

The weather, too, appeared to be detained in a dismal pattern which merely encouraged her grey mood. Each day dawned cloudy and cold, and even though thankful that there had been no snow as yet, she longed for sun and warmth just the same.

Georgiana returned the second week of November, and Elizabeth, having delayed the news as long as possible, explained to her the cause for her brother's absence.

Her reluctance to reveal this in a letter had been twofold. One: that Georgiana not feel the need to end her visit at Longbourn before scheduled, and two: Elizabeth's belief of it being better all around, for her sister-in-law to be informed in person.

Upon her enlightenment of the situation, Georgiana went from shock, to pained annoyance towards Mr. Jeffries, and, finally, complete confidence in Fitzwilliam's ability at soon setting everything aright. Judging by his most recent letter, Elizabeth was inclined to agree with her.

He had written of the case progressing satisfactorily, how he had presented his accounts for perusal by all who wished to see them, and, did not foresee any serious impediments to being back with them at Pemberley in the very near future.

But, as if the Fates were plotting to keep them apart, her complacence was destroyed when she awoke on the morning of November the twenty-first, to fifteen inches of blowing, drifting, and quite impassable snow.

It had been a very trying four weeks, and between toadying to the various egos in Parliament, organizing and presenting Pemberley's books, and keeping up with his correspondence to Elizabeth, Darcy was very near to exhaustion. When all of the political hoops had been jumped through, his accounts had passed inspection, and he had successfully cleared them both of the ridiculous charges brought forth by Mr. Jeffries, he could, at last, anticipate a swift return to Derbyshire.

In his mind, Pemberley and Elizabeth had become one and the same: He missed both, in fact, longed for both, but if he had to decide on one determinant to grant him complete happiness, he would have to choose his wife without hesitation.

For, devoid of her presence, Pemberley was merely an empty shell.

His admitting this did not mean that he loved the place any less, only that he loved Elizabeth that much more. Even the London house had seemed hollow without her presence.

A surprising revelation as she had only been there once, yet, that one visit had left her impression as surely as if she had written her name on every wall.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, although retaining his mother's residence in town, had nonetheless, remained with Darcy, supposedly to remain accessible to his cousin should he be needed, however, a more likely reason would be, that having a little company was preferable to being alone.

In truth, Darcy welcomed his society.

He was nearly always pleasant, never demanding, and, was as reluctant to probe too deeply into feelings as Darcy, himself.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's presence, however did not appease his need for Elizabeth, and often during the long evenings, he would picture her before him, until melancholia compelled him to heed other, more practical matters, in an effort to maintain his own sanity.

As they were planning on leaving for Pemberley the following morning, everything that could be packed that evening, had been, thus greatly improving the chances of their departure not being delayed.

He sat at his desk, taking a mental inventory of what items he might leave, and what to take, when his eyes fell upon the most recent letter from Elizabeth. It was folded neatly, only the greeting being visible, so as he picked it up between his fingers, and reread the words written there, My Darling Husband..., they acted as a balm on his weary spirit. The paper emitted a faint scent of lilac, stirring in him such an overpowering longing for her, that out of pure necessity he quickly tucked it away between the pages of a ledger. Rising, he went to the window, his thoughts now fully occupied with the vision of his wife; her lips, so soft against his own, her hands, small, gentle, her hair spread out on the pillow, and smelling of lilacs...always of lilacs.

Liza Lee, Liza Lee,
Sure as the morning dew,
Sure as the sun may rise again,
I'm coming home to you.

Now, where, he mused, had that come from? A long forgotten memory from childhood, sung to him by a nursemaid, perhaps? The tune, now reawakened, became rather haunting, repeating itself in his mind. He attempted to recall the verses, but his memory remained a blank, restricted to the refrain alone.

He turned abruptly, a bit impatient with his own sentiment, sternly forcing his thoughts into other avenues.

Thankfully then, he was able to summon forth a less painful, more recent recollection to replace it: That of Lady Fothingill-Grey, who unexpectedly called upon him on the second day of his stay in London,.

As it had only been about eight o'clock in the morning, he had been surprised (if not amazed) by her appearance, but, she had swept in as if she had done so every day of her rather lengthy life, coming directly, and with little pretense, to the point of her visit.

"Darcy," she spoke in a no-nonsense sort of voice, as soon as she had seated herself, "I have heard you are in some sort of trouble."

"Nothing," he replied, more amused than insulted, "Which will not set itself aright soon enough."

"Come, Darcy," she remonstrated, her voice taking on an uncharacteristic note of sentiment, "I have known you far too long to believe such insipid platitudes." Taking a deep breath, she began again, "I have much influence yet in places where it counts, and if you shall allow me, I may be of some assistance in this sorry mess."

"Pray, tell me, your Ladyship," he inquired calmly, "What, exactly, you have heard?"

"That you are under investigation in both Houses for acts of treason! I, of course, did not believe a word of it, and told Sir Matthew so, when that young nitwit blurted it out...That man," she added, pursing her lips, "Has absolutely no common sense. Why, to boast of such an report to me, when I have never hesitated to defend you on countless occasions in the past. It is insupportable!"

"I thank you, madam, for those countless occasions, as I may only guess why I was being so maligned, however, in this case at least part of what he told you, is the truth."

"You are being investigated?" Her faded blue eyes sought his, at once troubled by the concern so evident upon his own countenance. "Why should this be, then? Who is causing you such grief? Who would be so vengeful?"

"Someone I have made the mistake of underestimating in the past...several times, it seems. Are you familiar with a journalist by the name of Mr. Roger Jeffries?"

"Jeffries..." she considered the name for a moment or two, before she declared, "No, I am sorry, I do not recognize it at all. Is he employed in London?"

"No, he is employed nowhere at this time, as he is to be spending several years, I understand, in the Tower."

"He is a prisoner? What are his crimes?"

"Fraud, attempted kidnapping, trespassing, and, attempted murder," Darcy listed them methodically, knowing his listener was considering deeply, his every word.

"You know much of his case, Darcy," she commented dryly, when he had finished, "Am I correct in presuming these crimes were committed against you?"

"You would be partially correct," he affirmed, volunteering no further information.

"I see." She sat silently while she thought of what he had told her. Then, "And, what does he have to do with all of this business now?"

"He is, apparently, the catalyst for this investigation."

"Indeed? A convicted criminal?"

"In politics, as you well know, if there is discontent, there must be a diversion, and, it appears, I am to be the sacrificial lamb."

"You believe this mess to be only a deflection from a more serious problem?"

"What else could it be? Parliament would never bother with such obviously trumped up charges, if they were not deeply concerned with another matter too precarious to be discussed publicly."

"You could be right," she agreed, her expression becoming shrewd. "Then, if that is the case, Darcy, you must mount a defense so convoluted as to make them wish they had never begun their persecution of you."

"That is my intention," he assured her.

"And, meanwhile," she continued, becoming more enthusiastic by the moment, "I may pull a few strings of my own."

They were both silent for a time, deep in their own thoughts, until she spoke again, "How is your pretty wife, pray? She is not taking this nonsense to heart, I hope."

"No," he replied, his expression unconsciously softening, "She is far too sensible for that. I think it is more upsetting to have me away, than is the purpose of my having to be so."

"Yes, of course," Lady Grey nodded in comprehension, then, smiling good-naturedly she continued, "I understand you now have a son. Congratulations, Darcy."

"Thank you, madam."

"And another soon to join him?"

Although he was surprised at her knowledge, a lift of an eyebrow was the only evidence of it. "Yes, in January," he replied at length.

"Remember, Darcy. You may have forgotten London, but she has not forgotten you," her Ladyship reminded him, amusement in her voice. "People love gossip. It is in their nature, and when the subject is as propitious as you appear to be, well, then, they enjoy it all the more. Consider it a sort of...flattery, if you will."

"Flattery."

"They are petty and jealous, but not evil...well, at least, most of them are not." She rose then to leave, with further assurances of her support until this "nasty business" could be dispatched and done away with.

After that, she visited once, sometimes twice a week, giving him progress reports on her "pulling of strings", and inciting him to see the humour in what, otherwise, would surely be a thoroughly frustrating and annoying situation.

His last evening in town, he rested little, for he no sooner closed his eyes, then Elizabeth's face would appear before him, and, if he were not suffering enough, the song which had plagued him all day returned to encumber his dreams.

The lyrics reappeared in small bits and pieces, just enough to disturb his already troubled and elusive sleep.

Sweetest perfume fills the air,
Fragrant blossoms in her hair,
Think I hear the fair maid singing,
Close my eyes and she'll be there.

At last, dawn lightened the windows, and he rose, the weariness he should have felt, stayed by his anticipation to be off. Colonel Fitzwilliam joined him within the half-hour, a testament to his own restlessness, as well as his willingness to leave London far behind.

Breakfast was a hurried affair, and no sooner had they finished, then they were hastening outdoors to ready their horses.

As it had for almost a month, the same grey clouds greeted them, but today, feathery snow flurries drifted down as well. Neither Darcy nor Colonel Fitzwilliam considered this as cause for concern, however, they mounted their saddles swiftly, relieved to be away at last.

Not wishing to tax the horses, they set an easy pace, but the further north they rode, the heavier the snow fell. When stopping at an inn in Bedford, nearly halfway to their destination, for a short rest and to have lunch, they were both startled at the accumulation already lying upon the ground. Entering the inn, their eyes were forced to adjust to the dimness of the room, following the glittering whiteness which they had become accustomed to while out of doors.

Beginning to feel the first stages of worry, they seated themselves at a table, two sets of eyes instinctively drawn to the frosted windows. Yet, even though they did not tarry, upon returning to the horses they found the depth of the snow now to the midpoint of their boots, and the visibility around them almost nil.

Seeing the indecision evident on his cousin's face, Colonel Fitzwilliam spoke, "We should get lodging here, Darcy, before they become full."

"No," he shook his head, unconvinced. "I wish to go on."

"Darcy," Fitzwilliam argued reasonably, "It is too thick...we could not see where we had been, much less where we are going."

"Fitzwilliam, if you wish to remain, I will not fault you, but I must continue."

The Colonel then, unwillingly, played the only card which he was certain would stay his friend, "Darcy, listen to me. You shall not make it through this alive...and you will do her little good, if you are dead."

There was silence for several minutes while he considered Colonel Fitzwilliam's words. At last, with a sigh of resignation, he agreed.

Reluctantly, he turned to follow Fitzwilliam indoors, glancing up only long enough to assure himself of the infeasibility of the situation. In his head all the while, the refrain of the song continued to play insistently, as if it were taunting him with its now empty promise.

Sure as the sun will rise again,
I'm coming home to you.

Chapter 23

Posted on Monday, 1 April 2002, at 1:43 p.m.

The following morning, Darcy, who fully expected the inclement weather to have passed during the night, peered out of the inn window to see...white.

Nothing but white.

The snow which had fallen was now blowing at such a rate that nothing could be seen at all. No trees, shrubs, or buildings were visible. Having spent the remainder of the afternoon on the day before, pacing restlessly from window to window, he realized then, that today would only be more of the same.

For, it was obvious that they would not be able to continue on to Pemberley. He would be forced to spend another night in Bedford.

It was the feeling of helplessness which galled him; that, and the fact that his expectation of being at home with his wife by now, had been so thoroughly dashed. The whole situation put him in such a foul mood, that Fitzwilliam was wary of even inviting him to play cards while they passed the time.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, as was his nature, had decided to make the best of it. If they were stuck there, then so be it, but then, he had to remind himself, he did not have a family waiting for him. His only obligation was to himself, his time was his own, and if he was delayed for a day or two here in this inn, then why not? After all, it was warm and dry. He had definitly been in worse places. If only Darcy could relax a bit, and remember that it was only temporary. They would surely be on their way by the next day, with no permanent harm done.

The hours dragged on endlessly. Darcy deigned to play cards during the afternoon, having nothing else to do, but his mind was not in it, and Fitzwilliam won handily five games in a row. The only benefit derived from the activity for him, was that at least that awful day was nearly over.

He went to bed early out of sheer boredom, hoping against hope that the road would be passable the next morning. He slept fitfully. Having had no exercise, he was not overtired, and his dreams were restless and disturbing. Several times he woke to stare at the ceiling, recalling the visions that interrupted his slumber; of Elizabeth lost in the storm and himself unable to reach her, or, his never finding Pemberley, but always being just beyond it somehow.

Liza Lee, Liza Lee,

Sure as the morning dew,

Sure as the sun will rise again,

I'm coming home to you.

How old had he been when first he had heard it? He vaguely recalled a woman, girl more likely, her blonde hair tied back, her face careworn beyond her years, singing in a low voice as she straightened the nursery. She had taken little notice of him, for he was supposed to be practicing his letters, but occasionally, she would smile in his direction, as though she knew he was listening.

She seemed to always be humming or singing as she worked, and he found the music soothing, yet at the same time, strangely haunting. Her duties in the nursery had ended before even Georgiana was born, followed by several other girls, and, he had given her little thought until the song had made itself heard again in his memory.

Now, as he lay in the darkness, recollecting the girl and the song, he wished that he might have known both a bit better.

When light finally stole through the window, he arose wearily. Gazing out at the new day, it appeared as if the wind had died, yet everything was covered, so that if there were a road, it was anybody's guess where it might be.

One objective occurred to him then...to escape outside.

He needed to get away from the stale air of the inn, and to set his eyes on something other than those same walls which were now stifling him.

No one else appeared to be awake yet, although every room had been filled, and several unlucky men were even spread out in the hallway. Still, he dressed and made it outdoors without waking anyone, and, as he closed the door behind him, he took a deep breath.

The air was bitterly cold, but there was little wind, so every feature of the landscape appeared sharply clear, as well as every detail brilliantly enhanced.

The snow came to the tops of his boots, but not above, and since it was packed firm in some places, yet light and fluffy in others, it made walking difficult, although not impossible.

As he trudged through the drifts, warming from the exercise, his thoughts were on a certain day in London, when Elizabeth had persuaded him to go outdoors with her just after a heavy snow, similar to this, had covered the city.

That however, had been wet enough to pack into snowballs, he recalled ruefully, which this certainly, was not.

His reverie was interrupted when, while passing an open livery stable, he spied something which instigated an idea. Studying it closer, he finally entered the stable completely so that he could view the whole object all at once.

It was a sleigh.

Shoved unceremoniously into a stall, it's paint peeling, the upholstery ripped, it stood before him in all of its weathered glory. A sleigh.

A sort of wonder had stolen over him as he beheld it there. Bending, he checked the runners and box, deciding that both appeared to be sound, although poorly maintained.

Then, abruptly, he strode out of the building, his eyes scanning the immediate area in search of the home of the owner.

Luck seemed to be with him as he spotted a short, thickset man walking towards him, carrying an empty bucket in each hand.

When he noticed Darcy, he started, glancing up and down the road as though trying to decide from where this gentleman might have sprung.

Darcy, for his part, addressed him warmly, new optimism perceptible in his features.

At first, the man did not appear to be too anxious to sell the sleigh, but as they bartered, and the price increased, a gleam appeared in his eyes. It was at that moment, Darcy knew that the sleigh was his. Later, the thought occurred to him that he had spent way too much on such a poor conveyance, but at that time, he felt it well worth the expense.

The man, a Mr. Kirkland, graciously offered to hitch his lone horse up to it and pull it out of the stall, but for just a few shillings more, Darcy convinced him instead, to haul it all the way to the inn.

Once there, he hurried up to Fitzwilliam's room and roused him impatiently. The Colonel had been in the middle of a pleasant dream regarding a certain lady whom he had left in a country far away, when he was rudely awakened, putting him in a decidedly sour humour. But, with much urging from Darcy, he was soon dressed and standing outside, studying the sleigh in disbelief.

"Darcy, are you mad? This thing does not even look to be safe."

"It is sound, Fitzwilliam. I promise you that...and it shall get us back to Pemberley."

As he still did not look convinced, Darcy promised, "If there are any problems, I shall accept full responsibility, and, after all," he added cleverly,"You always complain that you are bored for want of adventure...well, here is your chance."

Unable to resist the challenge issued him, Fitzwilliam agreed, and in a short time they had hitched up their own horses to replace Kirkland's sway-backed nag.

With that done, there arose a new problem, however.

Neither of their beautiful, thoroughbred stallions had ever pulled anything of this nature before in their lives, and it was clear that they were not pleased with the idea. Their nostrils flared, their breath came out in short angry puffs, and they railed back dangerously. It took both men nearly an hour to calm them and then have them remain so, for when the sleigh had been packed with their possessions, and they attempted to climb aboard themselves, the beasts outrage would begin all over again.

Successfully soothing them at last, they purchased several extra blankets from the innkeeper, suspecting that once on their way, they could not have too much protection from the elements.

Then they started off, a little irregular at first, due to the horses' adjustment to one anothers gaits, but eventually, picking up speed until the village was far behind them.

Elizabeth gazed out of the music room window rather listlessly. Behind her, Georgiana was holding James upon her lap, letting him touch the piano-forte keys until he produced a sound. A pasttime which never failed to delight him instantly.

It had been a week since her last letter from Fitzwilliam, and although she was not truly worried, having assumed that he would have had the good sense to stay in London rather than braving the storm, she was prone to periods of pensiveness.

Three days after the blizzard the roads still remained blocked by five foot drifts, so it was no wonder that there had not been any posts, but just the same, it would have been nice to hear something.

She was still staring out at the snow-laden fields when Georgiana interrupted her thoughts in her soft voice, "Elizabeth, may I ask you something, please?"

Elizabeth turned to face her, only then noticing the troubled look in her eyes.

Georgiana continued after patiently adjusting James so he could reach the minor keys, "When you...during your engagement to my brother, did you..." she hesitated, "I mean, did you know, without any doubt, that you loved him?"

Elizabeth considered the question, a bit surprised, but answered her as honestly as she could, "By the time that we were engaged, yes, I did...but rememeber, Georgiana, it took us some time to become so."

"Yes...while we became engaged very quickly." Gerogiana said in a thoughtful tone.

"Are you having doubts?" Elizabeth inquired carefully, deciding that it was no use being vague.

"Oh, Elizabeth," she sighed, "I am just not...certain that I love Mr. Eastman enough to marry him. How do you ever know? How can you tell?"

She appeared truly confused by the matter.

Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly as she remembered the headiness of those first days and weeks after realizing her love for Fitzwilliam was yet returned.

Oh, she thought dreamily to herself, when the idea of not being with him is unbearable...you know.

But shaking off her recollections, she asked only,"Did something happen while you were at Longbourne?"

"I had a wonderful time with Kitty, and I met some perfectly charming people...but I had begun to think, to wonder, if I am truly ready to become someone's wife."

"Georgiana," Elizabeth assured her, "No one can make that decision except yourself...but realize that you shall not be forced into anything, especially marriage."

"I know," she replied, although her voice did not sound convinced,"But I made a promise to him. I could not break that."

"You would not be the first young lady to change her mind, nor would you be the last...and it is far better to decide these things before the wedding rather then after."

"I am just afraid that...I do not feel the same for him that you and Fitzwilliam do for each other." She flushed with embarrassment as she admitted this, but at the same time, she met Elizabeth's eyes bravely.

Taken aback by Georgiana's uncharacteristic candor, Elizabeth struggled to organize her thoughts.

What could she tell her, after all? Not everyone was the same. She and her husband shared a passion not readily apparent in most of their acquaintances, but that did not mean other relationships were lacking. Yet, had they inadvertantly set Georgiana up to believe that she must feel just as they did? Did she not realize that much of true love and regard in a marriage comes from the daily joys and trials?

Surely she recalled their stressful times, as well as the blissful ones...they were, she admitted to herself, usually all too apparent.

As if she could read her thoughts, Georgiana spoke quickly, "I know that it is not always perfect between you, Elizabeth. Do not think me that naive...but your understanding for each other is quite..." she searched for the word she wanted, finally she said, "admirable."

"That," Elizabeth reminded her, "Was not always the case, you know, and at times we still have our difficulties."

"Yet your regard for one another does not falter."

"Are you afraid that yours will?"

"I...I don't know. That is the problem. I suppose that I am afraid my regard is not deep enough, to begin with." She frowned, "Sometimes I cannot even recall his features. That should not be, should it?"

"That is only because you have not seen him since February, a considerable length of time by anyone's standards." Elizabeth assured her. Then,"He is to return in December, is he not?"

"Yes...he promised by Christmas."

"If you feel nothing for him then, Georgiana, when you next see him, your decision shall be that much easier, and you may judge more accurately how deeply you care for him. It is never wise to decide these things from such a long distance, I think."

"Perhaps you are right...yes, I shall just have to wait," Although she appeared relieved to have come to some decision, they both knew that the next few weeks promised to be filled with ample moments of uncertainty .

The posts made it through after four long days of isolation, which, although it was gratifying knowing that they could receive letters again, Elizabeth still heard nothing from London.

She was not certain whether to be worried or not. No doubt the storm may have delayed more than the posts, but she had been certain Fitzwilliam would have written if he were able.

Setting aside her initial disappointment, she decided to not dwell on it, and went about her usual tasks with renewed determination.

She was embroidering a set of handkerchiefs intended for her husband as his Christmas gift, with their combined initials affixed into a corner of each. This and a new watch fob should do him nicely, she thought.

For Georgiana, Fitzwilliam was to return with newly published music from town, and, as well, Elizabeth had sewn dainty lace pillow shams for her to use after her marriage...if she, indeed, should actually wed. Having considered many times, their conversation, she wondered what Georgiana would finally decide, when Mr. Eastman next came to Pemberley.

Truly, it was probably only a case of nerves, Elizabeth supposed, and if not, then they were all better off knowing immediately, rather then nearer to the actual wedding day.

Her needlework was progressing nicely, although, by noon her eyes were feeling the strain, so it was with some relief, she tucked it away to play a while with Jamie before lunch.

The hours following luncheon passed slowly as well, for the lack of fresh air was beginning to wear upon her, and if her pregnancy did not make her overtired already, the absence of exercise and stimulation would.

She laid James down for a nap at midafternoon, and was just returning to the library, where she had been half-heartedly reading a book, when Georgiana passed her, almost running, to peer out of one of the front windows.

"Georgiana," Elizabeth inquired, surprised by this uncharacteristic spontaneity, "What is it?"

Joining her at the window curiously, she saw then what had excited her sister-in-law.

Coming up the drive was a conveyance pulled by two unmatched horses. As it neared, they could see that is was a sleigh, yet the two figures whom it carried were unrecognizable, due largely to the amount of clothing and blankets covering them.

"Who do you know that would have a sleigh?" Elizabeth asked, as she attempted to identify them herself. As her eyes lit upon the horses, she felt a small shock run through her.

For, the one on the left resembled Fitzwilliam's, and no sooner had the idea occurred to her, then she became convinced of it.

Abruptly she left the window to rush towards the front door, stopping beside Georgiana, who, with much excitement, had already stationed herself there. As they stood back, the doorman opened it to admit the two travelers, along with a blast of cold air and a few stray flakes of snow. Even then, if their identities had not been surmised as yet, the sight of them would have yielded no clue, for their coats, gloves, scarves, and hats, were so encrusted with packed snow that they appeared to be completely white. Several more servants had appeared by then, to take the cold, wet wraps, as the gentlemen divested themselves of them, layer by layer.

Within moments, Fitzwilliam and Colonel Fitzwilliam stood before them, attempting to restore the feeling into their fingers and feet through a series of activities which might have appeared comical under other circumstances..

By that time, Georgiana could wait no longer, and had rushed forward to embrace them both.

"Oh!" She cried in delight, "Where did you get that charming sleigh?"

"It is far from charming," Colonel Fitzwilliam contradicted, "But it got us here, and that is what matters."

The two men exchanged a glance when he said this, some unspoken message passing between them.

Then, Georgiana, glancing at Elizabeth, linked her arm through the Colonel's and tactfully led him off to a much-welcomed fire in the drawing room.

Through all of this, Elizabeth had not moved, for her feet seemed to be frozen to the floor. All the while, her eyes were gazing, transfixed, into her husband's own.

She felt as if she were dreaming, that in a moment she would awaken, and he would be only a figment of her imagination, and vanish cruelly.

Suddenly he took two long strides towards her, drew her into his arms, and, at once, became very real.

With that knowledge, there followed relief, happiness, and something akin to shock, as she, for some unknown reason, unexpectedly burst into tears. Steering her into the nearest room, which happened to be the music room, he closed the door to insure their privacy, and held her tightly against him until she had regained her composure.

"Now Elizabeth," he asked finally, his own voice none too steady, "Why are you crying? Are you not happy to see me?"

"You know that I am." she managed, "I just did not expect to see you...you did not come through the storm, did you?"

"Only the beginning of it...we stayed in Bedford two nights ago, purchased the sleigh, and made it as far as Northhampton, where we stayed last night. It is fortunate that we did not have too much further to go...I am unsure if that harness would have lasted much longer."

"You purchased the sleigh?" She repeated, feeling a bit dense, "Why would you buy a sleigh?'

"Because," he explained carefully, "It was the only way to return home to you, and I was very determined about that. You may ask Colonel Fitzwilliam if you doubt me."

"I do not doubt you," she smiled through misty eyes, her arms now wrapped securely around his neck, "I expect there was little he could have done to stop you."

"No...although he did try."

He began to kiss her; soft little kisses on her nose, eyes, and cheeks, until she, near the end of her patience, planted her lips resolutely against his.

It was the kiss she had longed for, dreamed of, for four arduously long weeks, and every moment of its duration went towards restoring her weary spirit.

"You shall not leave me for so long again." It was a statement, brooking no argument.

"No," he agreed, "Even if King George himself should demand my presence, I would not."

Then, holding her even closer, he promised her solemnly, "I shall not leave you for such a length of time again, Elizabeth."

"I shall hold you to that, Fitzwilliam Darcy," she declared as serious as he, just before he began to kiss her again.

Chapter 24

Once December was upon them, there were two events to celebrate within a two day span.

The first, their second wedding anniversary, and the other, James's first birthday.

The anniversary they celebrated by themselves, spending the day together much as they had when they were newly married, although Georgiana surprised them after supper with a smaller version of their wedding cake.She had recollected the details of it so well that she was able to describe it to the pastry chef perfectly.

As the roads had been cleared and reopened by then, they invited the Bingleys for James' birthday and to spend the day.

Emily Bingley, now fifteen months, was able to talk in short sentences, although certain letter sounds were beyond her capabilities yet.

For instance, Jamie, was "Same", and Georgiana was "dana", but as she was increasing her vocabulary daily, they had no doubt she would master these soon as well.

With Jane's reticence towards Fitzwilliam still in evidence, Elizabeth meant to speak to her privately to discover the reason for it.

However, as no convenient time arose that day, her curiosity had to remain unsatisfied, yet she promised herself to clear the matter up, at the very next opportunity.

Since it was James's first true Christmas (he had been a newborn the year before), they decided to celebrate it fully. Besides Elizabeth's desire to decorate the downstairs expansively, they invited the Bingleys to stay for the whole of Christmas week.

Several days before their arrival, evergreen boughs were cut and brought into the house to be tied with ribbon and hung around the doors and windows. Festive holly, it's berries intact, along with garlands of ivy, were placed upon the mantlepieces, and used as table centerpieces. Elizabeth even pursuaded one of the gardeners to bring in a sprig of mistletoe for hanging over the drawing room door.

When all was finished, they agreed it was breathtaking. Whether James appreciated it or not was unknown, but there was little doubt that he was instantly attracted to the new "playthings", and enjoyed greatly taking down, what was only just put up.

Christmas Eve brought the guests as expected, but since everyone was weary from the preparations, they all retired early. The next morning, beside each breakfast plate, lay several brightly wrapped packages tied with ribbon or string.

Elizabeth received a book of poetry from Jane and Mr. Bingley, a new pair of gloves from Georgiana, and a silver heart-shaped locket from Fitzwilliam.

Even though she was aware of his undivided attention as she opened the clasp, she did not have to pretend surprise upon seeing the two miniatures inside: One was of herself, and the other of him.

"When did you have these done?" She asked him softly, touched by his apparent forethought.

"When Eastman was here in February, I had him paint them then." he replied, "His ability to be discreet is impressive."

It was quite obvious when their eyes met, of him being wholly gratified by her response, but as she insisted he open his immediately, he did not have time to bask in the satisfaction of it.

He was delighted with the watch fob, as well as the embroidered handkerchiefs, commenting quietly into her ear, that he would be more likely to be lending them to her, since whenever she saw him, she was either weeping or preparing to. In response, she wrinkled her nose at him impertinantly.

Christmas dinner also, was a festive affair. There were crackers to pull, and the plum pudding to cut.

Emily Bingley found the trinket intended to bring good luck, and it was good luck, indeed, that it was discovered before she could eat her piece.

After dinner, the children were laid down for naps, the gentlemen were either reading or napping themselves, made lazy by the quantity of food consumed, Georgiana was trying out her new music, leaving Elizabeth to suppose it the perfect time to speak to Jane alone.

When she asked her outright to explain her recent change in manner to Fitzwilliam, Jane coloured uncomfortably.

"I do not really know how to tell you, Lizzy. I was hoping that I was not behaving differently towards him...apparently not." She finished in a lame voice.

"Tell me, Jane. What has he done to concern you?" Elizabeth was truly curious now.

Jane sighed, then with some reluctance she spoke, "Do you recall Miss Benedict...our former nursemaid?"

"Yes," Elizabeth replied suspiciously, "What does she have to do with it?"

"She wrote me the most extraordinary letter a few weeks after she left. She claimed that Mr. Darcy..." she stopped, unable or unwilling to continue.

"Say it, Jane," Elizabeth's voice reflected her disdain for the lady in question.

"She said...oh, Lizzy. Please do not make me tell you. I am so embarrassed."

But Elizabeth waited quietly, knowing that sooner or later, Jane would tell her.

Having shared so much between them since their childhood, there was little doubt of it.

At last Jane blurted out, "She said that Mr. Darcy had compromised her, that he had forced his attentions upon her...which was why she had left us so abruptly...but," she went on quickly, "I did not believe her. I could not...how could I?"

"I should hope not," Elizabeth said, her fury rising.

"But Lizzy, why should she invent such a thing? I do not understand it at all."

"Because," Elizabeth suggested angrily,"She was frustrated."

As she explained Miss Benedict's failed scheme to her sister, Jane reacted with astonishment, "She claimed to be his sister? But, did she believe that herself, do you think? Could she have been acting out of a sincere conviction?"

"She was acting out of greed, Jane," Elizabeth answered drily,"And because she was thwarted, she apparently thought she could exact some revenge upon him by her false accusations."

"But how could a person be so vindictive?" Jane, in her innocence, could not fathom such a thing.

"I would sooner believe that of her, then that my husband would behave so abominably. Evidently she felt that if she could not be a Darcy by blood, then she could do some damage to his name. In a perverse way, I admit it sounds reasonable."

But Jane's astonishment had turned to shame, "Oh Lizzy, can you ever forgive me for even thinking of taking her word for such a thing?"

"Jane," Elizabeth tried to ease her distress, "Miss Benedict, and her kind, prey on the goodness of people like you. She would not have even attempted this if she thought for a moment, of your being aware of what she really is." She chewed her lip as a thought occurred to her, "I only hope you were the only person privy to such slanderous lies."

Jane's expression changed to horror, "Do you think that she would truly try to spread false rumors about Mr. Darcy?"

"She tried to with you...what would stop her from approaching others with the same intention?"

Both sisters were silent as they considered what effects such accusations might have on the neighbourhood. Finally, Elizabeth shrugged, "Well, there is no use in worrying about it now. We certainly cannot bring the subject up with anyone we know, so until I hear differently, we shall have to hope for the best."

"I am truly ashamed, Lizzy. I hope that you can forgive me...I should not have doubted Mr. Darcy."

"Jane," she smiled ruefully, "If this situation should arise again, promise me you shall come and speak to me before you are tempted to believe it...it would save both you and I much vexation."

"Yes, I shall," Jane breathed in relief and as she hugged her sister warmly, adding, "I shall be more cautious, as you are."

"No," Elizabeth corrected her, "Not like me. For heaven's sake remain yourself, but just remember to talk to me first, please."

The following morning, while Elizabeth was seated at the piano-forte trying one of Georgiana's new pieces, she felt a slight twinge. Very slight, and, as it was not repeated, she did not mention it. But as they rose from the dining table after lunch, a look of surprise and then realization crossed her features.

She stood for so long that, Fitzwilliam waiting behind her, inquired,"Have you forgotten something, Elizabeth?"

She turned to look at him, replying in a whisper, "My love, we are having a baby."

He instinctively took her arm as if she needed support, but spoke in the same register as she,"Are you quite certain?"

She nodded, smiling at his question, "I am very sure...but there is no hurry, you know. Remember how long James took."

He did, still his eyes searched hers as though seeking some guarantee. "Elizabeth," he requested soberly, "You will tell me in plenty of time?"

"You shall be the first to know...I promise."

They walked out of the diningroom sedately.

Elizabeth, while flashing a telling look at Georgiana, paused just long enough by Jane to whisper the news to her, then keeping her arm through her husband's, they walked upstairs together.

In their room, she turned and put her arms around his neck. "Fitzwilliam, what if we should have another son? We have not agreed on a name, you know."

"I chose the last," he smiled at her, "Now it is your turn."

"I shall have to think on it," she replied after considering the matter briefly, "I know that I will have ample time while I am waiting."

The pains began in earnest but two hours later, and, as if this child was already determined to be as contrary as possible from the first, Ethan Alexander Darcy was born at eight fifteen that evening, only moments ahead of the doctor.

The last hour, or so, was rather frantic, as Mrs. Reynolds, acting as midwife, several chambermaids, and Jane, all waited in the room while Elizabeth's labor intensified.

Jane, wiping her brow with a cool cloth and speaking soothingly, could only sympathize as Elizabeth was reduced to alternately taking in huge gulps of air between contractions, and, although she fought the urge, screaming all the way through them as they tore through her.

During one of these, Elizabeth concluded that although this birth was moving much faster, it was no less agonizing.

Fitzwilliam, waiting doggedly in the hall directly outside of their bedroom door, would not retreat downstairs, despite the entreaties of Georgiana and Mr. Bingley. Each cry of pain from Elizabeth sent shock waves through him, yet he would not leave.

After all, he reasoned, they had gone through this before...it should be simpler, shouldn't it?

Yes, he reminded himself then, and remember what almost happened? He had very nearly lost her for good.

This time, perhaps, he would not be so fortunate.

No, he would not leave.

He finally heard the infant's cries, and as Jane opened the door to him, her face happy yet weary, his eyes sought his wife's across the room for confirmation that she was well. When she smiled at him, raising her eyebrows as if she were wondering why he hesitated, he felt himself finally relax before going in to her.

Beside the bed was the bassinette with the baby already lying in it. Elizabeth, closing her eyes in relief, reopened them just long enough to see him gaze upon their second child for the first time.

"It is another son," she told him sleepily.

"Shall he have a name, then?" He asked, when he had, at last, found his voice.

With her eyes again closed, she answered, "Ethan Alexander."

Not familiar with the inspiration for this, he made no comment, only smoothing the hair from her forehead tenderly.

"Elizabeth," he spoke very low. Her lashes fluttered but she only smiled as he continued, "I love you so very much."

"I know," she whispered.

After the doctor had been in to see Elizabeth and their son, and pronounced them both doing remarkably well, Mr. Bingley insisted on drinking a toast to the newest Darcy.

So long as Elizabeth was sleeping anyway, Fitzwilliam agreed.

They drank to Ethan, to Elizabeth, then to Jane, and of course, to both of their other children, and anyone else that they could think of. In the middle of all of this toasting, Mr. Eastman was announced.

He was uncertain of what he was interrupting, but the two gentlemen before him appeared to be well into their cups. This state, owing to their very differing personalities, simply accentuated those traits which dominated in the first place.

So, while Mr. Bingley became more open, friendly, and egragarious, Mr. Darcy retreated further into silence, speaking only when the glasses were raised and he echoed Bingley's "Cheers!" in a polite voice.

Upon discovering the cause for the celebrating, Mr. Eastman offered his congratulations to Darcy, who barely responded except to stare at him as if he were unsure as to who was speaking.

Mr. Bingley, on the other hand, roared with laughter, slapped Eastman on the back as though they were old friends, and poured some more wine.

Into all of this, Mr. Eastman finally asked hesitantly,"Is Miss Darcy here?"

"Miss Darcy!" Cried Bingley,"We have quite forgotten Miss Darcy, eh, Darcy!" Laughing delightedly at his own joke, he handed Mr. Eastman a glass, who took it, not really knowing what else to do.

"Wait a moment!" yelled Bingley as if it just occurred to him,"Eastman, right? We cannot overlook Eastman here!" He refilled their glasses, although why Darcy was still holding his was a mystery, as his eyes had closed and he appeared to be sleeping.

Bingley thought this was hilarious, and while he told jokes at Darcy's expense, Mr. Eastman sidled to the door, hoping to escape. However, Bingley, unwilling to let the only other conscious person in the room leave the party, held his arm firmly and urged him to drink another glass of wine.

"To marriage, to home and hearth, felicity, and happiness!" he toasted heartily.

Mr. Eastman, seeking any aid which he could, asked in a loud voice, "Mr. Darcy, is not your sister here?"

Darcy's eyes opened abruptly, startling Eastman, but he only answered, "She is upstairs...with my wife."

To hear him speak, the listener would not suspect that he was inebriated, but for the glassiness of his gaze.

"Don't mind him, Eastman," Bingley assured him, "He shall probably sleep the rest of the night, and be absolutely no good to anybody in the morning."

"Oh?" Eastman was eyeing the door somewhat wistfully.

"Yes, but whatever you do, do not make him angry while he is in this condition." Bingley barely got the words out, his speech was becoming quite slurred.

"And, why is that?" Eastman inquired reluctantly.

"Because, he becomes positively violent...I have witnessed it myself," Bingley insisted upon seeing Eastman's doubtful expression, "I have seen him attack for absolutely no reason under these same circumstances...it is true."

Darcy, whose eyes were again closed, said, "Be quiet, Bingley."

"I have seen him," Bingley continued in a stage whisper,"Run a man through with little provocation...he is quite ruthless, you know."

At that moment, Darcy, who had been sliding lower into his chair, dropped his glass, which shattered as it hit the floor.

Mr. Eastman started, nearly jumping away in alarm, and with that, quit the room hastily.

A servant met him in the front hall to lead him to his room, and as he followed him, he found himself glancing over his shoulder as though he thought Darcy would follow and attack him then and there.

Mr. Eastman had come to Pemberley determined to discover why Georgiana's letters had dwindled from one each day to perhaps one per week. Was she having second thoughts regarding their engagement? He needed to know, but after Bingley's graphic description of her brother's vile temper, he was beginning to doubt the wisdom of marrying into such a family.

Perhaps, he thought, that was the reason for Darcy's own unmarried state until he was well into his twenties...nearly thirty, in fact. What humiliations must poor Mrs. Darcy suffer at his hands?

Here, however, the voice of reason stepped in. He knew Mrs. Darcy well enough to know that she would not bear mistreatment silently. He had painted her likeness, after all, and in doing so had found her personality to be of one who would not tolerate a cruel or abusive husband.

On the other hand, if Darcy only became so with drink, then perhaps she purposely limited that substance in an effort to control his violence. Eventually, Mr. Eastman fell into a troubled sleep, diturbed by images of Mr. Darcy chasing him through Pemberley, saber in hand.

The following morning, Mr. Eastman entered the diningroom with some trepidition, but as neither Mr. Darcy nor Mr. Bingley were present, he relaxed and made himself agreeable to Mrs. Bingley and, of course, Miss Darcy.

Indeed, she seemed to be pleased to see him, although being naturally placid, he could not decide her level of happiness. Still, it acted as reassurance, and putting the evening before, far from his mind, he prepared himself for an enjoyable visit.

Fitzwilliam awoke suddenly.

Who, in God's name, was beating a blasted drum next to his head? Then he remembered.

Somehow, he had made it to a bed...where, exactly he was not certain. Someplace in Pemberley, he could only hope. While he lay there, he took stock of himself.

His boots and coat had been removed, otherwise he was still dressed.

The inside of his mouth felt dry and tasted of stale wine, his eyes hurt, and even his hair seemed to be sensitive, he discovered, as he ran his fingers through it. He was unsure of how much he had drunk, but he vaguely recalled Mr. Eastman appearing, and staring at him as though he had horns growing out of his head.

He rang for his bath to be drawn, and upon entering it, lay back in a stupor, nearly asleep again until he suddenly recollected the reason for all of the drinking.

Elizabeth.

His eyes opened involuntarily at the thought of her, and then instantly closed again, as the light coming through the window almost blinded him.

Not quite recovered, but at least presentable, he went to her after donning clean clothes and suffering (because of his headache) through a shave.

She was sitting up, propped against a stack of pillows, while holding Ethan in her arms.

Her eyes traveled over him, her amusement obvious, "I had heard you celebrated quite handily last evening, Mr. Darcy."

He sat beside her on the bed, and taking the baby from her, answered carefully, "You heard that, did you?"

Her amusement gave way to sympathy as she studied him. He looked as if he felt much worse than she, and she had just given birth.

"Well. you do not do it often, so I forgive you," she said, gently brushing a lock of his hair from his forehead as he managed a pained smile, replying, "I remember now why I do not do it often."

His attention was then drawn to the child in his arms, "Ethan Alexander...who is he named after?"

"No one in particular," she answered, laying her head against his shoulder, "I just like the name, and you had no other suggestions, as you recall."

Ethan Alexander was a healthy sized baby with a shock of straight, nearly black hair standing up from his head. His eyes were closed,but his colour was already changing from newborn purple to a more natural hue.

"So shall your new son suffer as he is the second born, like poor Colonel Fitzwilliam?" she teased him.

"No," he replied, still studying his child, "But, I do not have an Earldom to leave as my legacy either."

They exchanged a smile then, his head feeling somewhat better, simply by being there with her.

When Mr. Darcy, still not feeling absolutely himself but, somewhat better, entered the drawing room, he found Mr. Eastman there alone with a book.

Upon seeing him, that gentleman started, rose nervously from his chair and hurried from the room. Puzzled by this behavior, but not enough to dwell upon it, Darcy took a seat, leaned back and closed his eyes.

He was almost immediately interrupted by Bingley, who greeted him in his usual cheerful manner, not appearing to have suffered from any after-affects of the last evening's overindulgence.

"Yes?" Darcy asked him pointedly, wishing only to be left to himself with the hope of some peace.

"Oh, I am sorry, Darcy, did you wish to be alone?" He inquired, but making no move to leave.

Darcy glared at him, "Bingley, can nothing affect you?"

"What are you talking of? I feel fine...perfectly fine. Why...are you ill, Darcy?"

His tone had taken on a hint of surprise, no doubt to mask his amusement at his friend's discomfort.

Instead of answering, Darcy studied the other for a moment before he asked abruptly, "Pray, Bingley, what happened with Eastman last night? He acts as if I have two heads this morning...went dashing out of here as soon as he saw me."

"Eastman?" He seemed to give the matter deep consideration, then, "Why, nothing that I can recollect...perhaps he is not well either."

Following this answer, Bingley was suddenly struck with a prolonged coughing spell and was forced to excuse himself from the room.

Alone at last, Darcy closed his eyes once again, and was drifting off into a pleasant stupor, when he heard Georgiana's soft voice speaking hesitantly,

"Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes, Georgiana?"

"I am sorry to disturb you...are you ill?"

"No." Giving up the idea of rest for the moment, he opened his eyes, and sat up straight to wake himself up a bit."Did you need something?" He asked her, as patiently as he could manage.

"Well, nothing urgent. I just wished to speak with you..." She seemed to be waiting for his permission, so he nodded, indicating the chair opposite, so recently vacated by Bingley.

She sat on the edge of it silently, apparently reluctant to speak.

Watching her for several moments before the danger of dozing off again came over him, he stood and walked over to the fireplace in an attempt to ward off this unnerving urge.

Finally, she said brightly, "Ethan is simply wonderful...you must be so happy to have another son." Then, continuing as if she were not expecting an answer,"It is a charming name. Where ever did it come from?"

"Elizabeth chose it." He turned to face her as he answered, curious at her odd behavior. It was unlike her to talk just for the sake of hearing her own voice, but she did not appear to be daunted by the look he gave her.

"Is it from someone she knows? A family name, perhaps?"

Although the subject was his son, something he would normally have been pleased to discuss at length, he had the distinct impression it was not what she truly wished to talk about.

However, he answered her calmly, "I believe she just had a liking for it...she did not give me any particular reason."

"Oh." Her eyes dropped to her lap, as she seemed to be preparing herself for what she had really come to him for.

"Have you seen Mr. Eastman?" She finally asked, keeping her focus upon the rug.

"Yes," he replied, both expecting and dreading the next question.

"Have you spoken to him?"

"I really don't remember," he muttered in a low voice, as he truly did not.

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind, Georgiana," covering his admission and grateful that she had not heard.

She waited silently, then, "Well, did you?"

"Did I what?" What had she asked him? He felt as if his mind were shrouded in a fog.

"Did you speak to him?"

He knew she expected some sort of answer, so he only said rather lamely, "No...not as such."

"Fitzwilliam," she blurted out suddenly, "Would you think me incredibly foolish and fickle if I..." Her voice trailed off, but he waited quietly, hoping he looked more alert than he felt.

She studied her folded hands, and when she spoke again, he could barely hear her.

"It is just that, I am afraid that I am not ready to be married...it is nothing against him."

It was beginning to dawn on her brother where she was leading, but she continued speaking as if she had forgotten his presence.

"Elizabeth suggested waiting until I had seen him again, and I have, still, I am unsure yet. That should not be. If I truly held him in the regard which he deserves, then I should not feel so. I dread so much having to tell him...it is so unfair. He has not earned such a rejection...pray, tell me, brother, how can I do this?"

As she had been fretting aloud, he had returned to his seat, aware now of the importance of giving her his full attention.

When he spoke, his voice was gentle, "Georgiana, are you saying that you do not wish to marry Mr. Eastman?"

She hesitently met his gaze then, giving a slight nod, but saying nothing.

He leaned forward, taking her hand in his in an attempt to ease her distress, "How long have you been thinking on this?"

"Since August, when I was at Longbourne...do not blame anyone there, Fitzwilliam," she added quickly, continuing in a more thoughtful tone, "I simply had time away from Pemberley to consider what I wanted with my life...I am afraid that being someone's wife did not seem to be so appealing any longer. Am I awful to think thus?"

The look she gave him was so full of trust for whatever advice he could give her, that he felt at once uncomfortable.

Good Lord, he thought to himself, how can I tell her anything? I have made as many mistakes as anyone. Why isn't she speaking to Elizabeth about this instead of me? But apparently she had already, judging by her earlier words, and now she had come to him. Having always prided himself on his care of her, of their close relationship, and of her unvarying faith in him, what else would she do? If she had not, he would have been hurt, he knew, but still, it was awkward.

Realizing she was still waiting for an answer, he cleared his throat, "No one has told you that you must marry now, Georgiana." It was a statement requiring confirmation.

"No," she admitted, "No one has said anything either way. Everyone expects that I know my own mind...but I suppose I must not," she sighed, "What can I do, Fitzwilliam? I do not wish to hurt Mr. Eastman..."

"If your only reason for marrying him is so you do not hurt his feelings, then do not, for you would not be happy, and he definitely would not be."

For the first time, her face began to clear, "He would not?"

"If my," he struggled to find the right words, "Wife had married me only to save my pride, or to keep from bruising my sensibilities, then I could not help but be discontented."

Something pricked his memory as he told her this, but it was so vague, he dismissed it.

"Georgiana, you must ask yourself what your reasons are for marrying. I can guarantee that if you do not feel enough regard for him now, you shall not later."

"You know," she said, quietly, "Elizabeth told me the same thing...I just am lacking the courage to speak to Mr. Eastman, I suppose."

"It would be kinder to tell him now before he continues to make his plans," he encouraged her, adding seriously, "No one deserves to be jilted at the altar, Georgiana. I know that would damage his pride far worse then calling off the engagement privately."

Her face, although not exactly serene, had become calmer, as she replied in a decided manner, "You are right, of course. I shall tell him as soon as I can think of the right words," and with that, she stood up, "Thank you, Fitzwilliam."

Squeezing his hand briefly, she turned on her heel and left.

He spent the next several moments trying to recall what exactly she was thanking him for, and dearly hoping that not only had his words been rational, but that they would also be helpful.

After Georgiana left him, Fitzwilliam stayed where he was for another hour or so, considering the relationships of married people whom he knew, or, had known in the past.

His own parents' had been one which he recalled as being unceasingly respectful and perhaps, even a bit formal.

They did not argue, at least not within his earshot, nor did they show much public affection, yet he was unconsciously aware of their regard for one another. Georgiana, of course, had not had the privilege of knowing her mother, as she had died soon after her birth.

The only other couple whom Georgiana would be in close contact with, would be he and Elizabeth.

What did she see with them, he wondered? He hoped this same affection was apparent when they were all together.

He, himself, had never been one to display publicly what he felt in his heart.

Elizabeth, however, by simply flashing her dimples, or allowing a smile to reach her eyes, could make him feel as though she had shared something intimate with him.

Because of her, he had changed, or, rather, he amended, was in the process of changing. He was reticent yet to display affection before others, except Georgiana, and even then, nothing above a chaste kiss or embrace.

Yet, as they had adjusted to one another as a couple, their unspoken communication had improved so much that, even if he did not take her into his arms, sweep her off her feet, and carry her away, they both were aware of the inclination being there.

His mind began to wander as he tried to recall what, exactly, he had said to Georgiana regarding Mr. Eastman...what had stirred that indistinct recollection. Something about not marrying for the wrong reasons, simply to save face or to protect pride.

Slowly the painful memory returned...his first proposal to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth had believed him to be very proud and disagreeable when they were first acquainted, but that had been his own fault. She, as well as himself to a degree, had not understood then, that it was not so much pride as...fear.

Even as he thought of it, he winced at the word, never having connected it to his own actions, but it was true. He had been fearful of people and situations outside of those long familiar to him. Hence, he had built a facade of disdain, which appeared to the world outside of his own, as vanity.

And now, he mused, now what was he?

He was still very aware of his own place in the world, but currently it was tempered with the ever-present awareness of his love, and the joy of her loving him in return.

That knowledge alone, made him more willing to take the risk of being either accepted or rejected by people whom he should never have spoken to, until only recently. He doubted that he would ever be as open or easy in company as Bingley, or Fitzwilliam, or even Elizabeth, but he was better than he had been...and that, after all, was something.

He became gradually aware that he was no longer alone. Standing in the open doorway, obviously reluctant to disturb his reverie, was Jane.

He arose politely in greeting, realizing as he did so, that his headache had, at some time, disappeared.

Apparently, whatever had been troubling Jane about himself was no longer the case, as she smiled warmly now, saying, "Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth is asking that you come upstairs, if you would be so kind."

"Yes, of course. Thank you." He even returned her smile, and as he left her, his mood was so vastly improved, that he very nearly flew up the stairs.

Elizabeth was waiting for him, her smile lighting the room as he entered. An invitation which he gladly accepted by putting his arms around her, and kissing her as though they had been apart for days instead of only hours.

James did not appear to be impressed with his new brother. In fact, the newest Darcy seemed to have no impact on him whatsoever.

Too young to feel anything but curiosity at a being smaller than himself, he merely stared for several minutes, made some unintelligible noise and then squirmed to get down from his perch on the bed beside his mother.

Both parents had observed the initial disinterested introduction between siblings with some amusement, and so, did not insist on a longer meeting.

At his eldest sons' retreat from the bed, Fitzwilliam took his place, watching while Georgiana followed the now trotting James out of the room.

"That went well, don't you think?" Elizabeth asked him wryly.

He considered her words, then replied, "If by that, you mean that he did not try to poke or pull him as he is prone to do with his toys, then yes, I believe it did."

"Well, give him time for that. I expect there shall be a few squabbles between them before they are grown...it is only natural, after all."

He took Ethan from her as she spoke, cradling him against his shirtfront, while she stretched gratefully, glad for a chance to change her position. It had been four days since Ethan's birth, and, although she had been instructed to stay in bed at least another two, she was feeling restless and a bit bored. Knowing this, her husband was good enough to take his turn with the baby, thus allowing her some little time to herself.

As he observed her actions now, he suggested, "You may wish to prolong your recovery, after all."

"Yes," she agreed, "I may...but right now I would give anything to get up and at least walk outside for a while." She lay back against the pillows sighing and closing her eyes, resigning herself to another two days of inactivity.

As she opened them to watch her husband, a thought occurred to her. "Fitzwilliam," she spoke tentatively, "Do you suppose we should be seeking a real nursemaid, not just Clara or any available servant...now that I shall not be able to devote all of my attention to James?"

He had intended to broach that subject himself, believing that two children so close in ages would very likely stretch her strength and patience, and so was surprised when she brought it up first.

"You would not mind?" he asked her doubtfully, recalling how she had once insisted that she wished to raise their children herself.

"Well," she considered, "I would still spend as much time as I could with them...but I do not wish to do so at the expense of our marriage. I am your wife first."

She met his eyes with a smile, then, becoming serious again, "And besides, it is hardly fair for Georgiana to always have to care for our children when we are absent...especially if she should marry."

Fitzwilliam wondered if Georgiana had mentioned to Elizabeth his conversation with her concerning Mr. Eastman. Nothing more had been said between the siblings, and judging by his manner, Georgiana had not said anything to Mr. Eastman yet, either. Such a change would certainly have been noticable. Elizabeth, meanwhile appeared to be unaware of Georgiana's decision, leaving her husband wondering if he ought to inform her. Believing that Georgiana had not discussed it with her sister-in-law because she was yet uncertain of her own feelings, but would probably do so as soon as she was, he told himself that it was not his news to share.

Thinking on the situation, however, reminded him of a something which had been plaguing him over the past several days.

"Elizabeth," he inquired, disregarding the fact of his having veered off of the original subject, "You know how Bingley and I were, on the night of Ethan's birth?"

She nodded, her dimples showing, but refrained from commenting.

"Well, I know that Eastman showed up sometime, although I could not say exactly when...the thing is," by now he was a bit embarrassed, but continued anyway,"I do not recollect what went on between us, if anything...yet, since that evening, he has been avoiding me as though I were the devil himself. I do realize," his gaze was concentrated upon his son's face, unwilling to meet his wife's undoubtedly amused countenanace, "You have not seen him very much, since his arrival, but, has he said anything regarding me to you?"

She took a few moments to answer, aware that she could not take too lightly, a matter which was causing him such grave concern.

"No," she answered finally, "He has not spoken of it specifically, but...I have noticed a difference in his manner towards me, as well."

"Oh?"

"He has always been polite, well-mannered...except when he painted me, of course," she smiled to herself at the memory. "Lately, however, he has been especially attentive. I thought, at first, it was due to my just having a baby, but after several visits from him, I believe he behaves almost as if he pities me." This was disclosed with a combination of amusement and astonishment.

"He does?"

"That is the way it appears...I could be mistaken," yet, her tone belied her belief in that notion. "I do not understand it at all, and...quite probably never will...so, my love," she leaned forward until their eyes met, "I suggest that we put it out of our heads. For, unless he should decide to confess the reasons for his strange behavior directly to one of us,...an unlikely event, I am sure, it shall remain a mystery."

Abruptly dismissing a puzzle which she had no power of solving, she returned to her original topic, "So, Fitzwilliam, how do you feel about hiring a nursemaid?"

"I could ask the servants," he replied at length, "Perhaps they will know of a reliable girl who would do well...but...are you positive of this being what you want, Elizabeth?"

"Will you think less of me for it, Fitzwilliam?"

"You know that I shall not...I could not," while he looked at her in such a way, that she felt as though he had kissed her.

Forcing her eyes from his, she said, "I am sure if you ask me that tomorrow I shall probably answer you differently. No, I am not positive," she admitted, "But I think it will be the best thing."

Sighing again, she continued, "I believe it shall be for the best."

"Elizabeth," and waiting until she had looked at him again, said reasonably, "I would be very happy to share your company at any time, but not if you would be wishing to be with our children."

His words succeeded in restoring her good humour, and she shook her head at him as she smiled, "I fear that you will no longer respect me, Mr. Darcy, for whenever I am with you, I find that all of my other concerns become quite immaterial."

"All of your other concerns?" he asked her, his eyebrows raised, "And pray, what might they be?"

"I cannot recall at the moment." She had raised herself up enough so that he could kiss her if he chose to, and, upon observing such open impertinence in her expression, he promptly did so.

Chapter 25

Posted on Friday, 5 April 2002, at 8:14 a.m.

The year of 1817 began quietly enough, although January was duly noted as being the stormiest in years. The snow, once fallen, was being constantly blown by the howling winds to form high drifts over the fields and hills, resembling nothing if not rolling ocean waves.

Inside Pemberley, the fires were kept stoked, and indoor occupations encouraged.

The Bingleys had returned to Brindlewood on New Year's afternoon after an eventful and enjoyable week.

Mr. Eastman stayed on but one day more, as he had arranged to meet with a prospective client on a nearby estate, who was desirous of having his three daughters' likenesses painted that spring. He found himself forced to stay on longer than originally intended, due to the onset of a sudden storm, and Georgiana, who had not spoken to him yet of her doubts on their impending marriage, was a bit relieved at the prospect of postponing the unpleasant task a while longer.

They had chosen a nursemaid, or rather, Elizabeth did, as her husband shrewdly deflected the actual decision-making to her.

After interviewing several prospects selected from a list provided by Mrs. Reynolds, a girl of eighteen years named Florence Mills was favoured over the others. She had a sweet open face and tender mien which appealed to Elizabeth, for she was not seeking a disciplinarian. That task would fall upon herself and Fitzwilliam, when the time came, and until then, all which would be required, was a figure to nurture in her stead when she could not, for whatever reason.

Jamie took to Florence immediately, since, as the eldest of eight siblings, she knew many games and songs, and did not mind getting down on his level to teach them to him.

Her meagre possessions were immediately moved into the little room adjourning the nursery, and she was soon "set up" to happily take on her new duties.

One of the characteristics which had attracted Elizabeth to her was her good-natured common sense. She would not be one to overreact if a child had the sniffles, nor run to Elizabeth for every inconsequential problem. On the other hand, if there were a dilemma she could not resolve herself, she would know when the mistress should be consulted, without second guessing herself.

Thus, the lady of the house could now relax a bit, recognizing that the position had been filled in the most efficient and satisfactory manner possible.

Elizabeth, nursing Eathan as she had James, usually did so in the nursery itself, where she could spend time with her eldest as well as feed her youngest. She was very often joined by Georgiana, and occasionally, Fitzwilliam, when he could pull himself away from the estate steward, Mr. Ridgley.

Apparently, with the new year, had come new tax laws, and the two gentlemen had been spending many hours figuring and refiguring the changes, how they would affect Pemberley, and its outlying properties. It caused Fitzwilliam to be preoccupied, even when he was with her, although she had long since resolved to be understanding, and magnanimous about the whole business.

Because of this, she refused to introduce the subject of business should they actually find precious time alone, instead, she endeavored to divert his thoughts to more pleasurable pastimes.

During a period of quieter weather, then, she suggested they go outdoors for a "tramp" through the snow, as they had when they were newly married.

He had looked at her doubtfully, protesting, "Elizabeth, do you know how deep the snow is?"

"It surely must be packed down," her voice, rather than being discouraged, only became more determined, "What with all of the wind we have had...perhaps we shall be able to walk on top of it."

He shook his head at her, "I must admit that the idea does not appeal to me...we shall be exhausted before we have gone ten feet."

"If you do not wish to go out with me," she replied, "Then, I shall go alone. I need some fresh air at any rate."

"You will not go out alone, Elizabeth." It was the first time he had ever given her anything near to an order, and the effect was immediate.

She stared at him with undisguised disbelief, to be immediately replaced by a glare of defiance, punctuated, of course, by the familiar lift of her chin.

"I will not?" she repeated, carefully.

Recognizing, too late, his mistake, he hurried to justify his words, "It is far too dangerous...what if you should fall or, something worse...," his voice trailed off lamely.

He was aware that she was already furious, and thus, would be determined to have her way no matter what his own opinion might be.

They were both silent as they studied each other; enough time for him to firm his resolve, as well as for her to decide how far she wished to push the matter.

She turned to leave the room abruptly, pausing only when he asked, "Where are you going, Elizabeth?"

Without facing him again, she answered, "I am going for a walk."

"You shall not go outside." He was not going to give in this time.

Despite softer sentiments now threatening to intervene, he would remain immovable.

"Where I go shall be my decision."

With that, she left him standing there, undecided on what he could possibly do to stop her. He watched the doorway through which she had disappeared for several moments, with a mixture of anger and helplessness.

What good did it do for him to issue orders he could not enforce? If she chose to defy his wishes and go outdoors, there would be little he could do about it. He was not the type of man to bully or physically force his wife to adhere to his will. Even if he were, she would never comply. He knew how strong her own will was, and, anyone who would be so foolish as to restrain her, would only lose her heart in the struggle.

So...why had he said what he did?

It does not matter, he told himself grimly.

She was his wife, and she had agreed to obey him. If she did not, then... but here he was still stumped. He did not know if she would be so foolish to attempt her scheme, but as he considered it, he was able to replace his momentary regret with the determination which generally served him in good stead.

If she goes out, he decided then, she will be on her own. I shall not give in on this. She will have to learn her lesson the hard way.

Upon leaving her husband, Elizabeth had retreated to a room seldom used, off by itself in the east wing. It was sparsely furnished with few chairs and tables, but its attraction for her was a deep window seat covered by an outdated cushion, which, although worn, was still quite comfortable.

When she was upset or needed to get off by herself to think, she found it just the secluded nook in which she was seeking. Curled up, she could pull the heavy drapery closed behind her, and be virtually hidden.

This is where she fled, after her short but telling argument with Fitzwilliam.

Outside, the sun was beginning to fade behind a snow covered hill, the shadows lengthening considerably as it set.

She would not have gone outdoors by herself, in any case, she knew, although it would serve him right if she did.

In the first place, the only reason she had even suggested the outing, was because they had not done anything together since Ethan was born nearly three weeks earlier...at least anything which did not involve either the children, Georgiana, or the Bingleys. In the second place, she had imagined (mistakenly apparently) that they could relax a little away from the house and it's never-ending duties...Perhaps even laugh as they had used to do.

She lay her cheek against the cold windowpane and sighed involuntarily.

At any rate, he had no call to speak to her as he had...as though she were a child, or a servant. If he did not wish to spend time with her, then he had only to say so in a civil tone, not in his Lord-of-the-Manor voice, as she had dubbed it at one time.

She realized ruefully that he was well within his husbandly rights to speak to her in any way he pleased...she had no say in the matter, according to current social mores. He could beat her every night, drink himself stupid, lose their home in a game of chance, and she could do absolutely nothing about it.

Yet, she had thought...she had assumed, he regarded her with more esteem than that. She had even supposed that he respected her as much as she did him, that he would always treat her as considerately as he had when she had first fallen in love with him.

Outside, dusk was settling over the landscape, causing her to feel suddenly cold, and wishing she had brought a shawl with her.

Wondering what the time could be (there was no clock in the room behind her, and probably had not been for years), she guessed it must be nearly five o'clock. Time to feed Ethan, and see to James's supper as well. However, she found herself reluctant to leave her hiding place, nor was she quite ready yet to face her husband's, predictably distant mood.

Still feeling hurt and angry, she would have preferred to remain here until bedtime at least. But finally, she pushed the curtain aside and made for the nursery, the only light to aid her, coming through the windows of the various rooms which she passed on her way.

She found both Georgiana and Florence waiting upon James, who was seated at his little table, with his supper before him. He reached out his arms to her when she entered, saying something that sounded very close to "Mama", but could have been something else as well.

As she stooped to hug him, heeding the wadded-up bread clutched in his hand, she whispered, "Mama loves you, my little Jamie."

As if he understood, he gave her a kiss on her cheek, leaving traces of milk behind which she wiped off as discreetly as she could.

"How has he been?" she asked Georgiana, as she stood to allow him to finish eating.

"A little angel, as usual," replied his totally unbiased aunt who was returning some toys to their places on the shelves. "We read all about the prince who slayed the dragon."

"Oh?" Elizabeth wrinkled her forehead trying, in vain, to recall the story.

"You must recollect it, Elizabeth. You have read it to him at least a dozen times."

"Yes, of course," she replied, only half-listening, so Georgiana proceeded to patiently remind her, "The dragon who kept the people as prisoners, and the prince rescued them..."

"They were prisoners because of their hard hearts," Elizabeth finished, able to recall it at last.

"Their hard, cold hearts,"Georgiana said nodding, "And it was only when they could forgive and learn to love again, that they were freed and the dragon conquered. I think it is a lovely story, don't you?"

Did Georgiana know about their argument, Elizabeth wondered with some surprise at her astuteness, or was this pure coincidence? It had to be so, as Fitzwilliam would never mention it, and she had not been in that part of the house where they had quarreled, to have overheard anything.

Aloud, she said only, "But, if the people had been treated cruelly or unjustly...perhaps they had good reason not to forgive."

"Oh, Elizabeth, how can you say that? If someone who has done wrong is truly sorry, how can they not be forgiven?"

"And if they are not truly sorry, should they be forgiven anyway?" Elizabeth asked her.

"I suppose..." Georgiana hesitated," It would depend on the circumstances. What was done and by whom...still I believe it is always better to forgive, even if the people involved should never meet again."

"Why do you feel so, Georgiana?" Elizabeth found herself bit curious, and even a little envious at such generosity of spirit.

"Because," Georgiana replied thoughtfully, "Anger only really hurts the person who is angry. Especially if the other is unaware of it being directed at them."

"But what if they are aware of it, yet make no move to right the situation...is not that person at fault instead?"

"As I said, it would depend on the situation. I know that if there were permanent or lasting ill-effects, then the forgiving must be more difficult...but I would not think impossible."

"So not being able to forgive is a weakness?"

"Oh, very much so," Georgiana said positively,"It would be a weakness, indeed, if it kept one from being happy or did not allow others to be so."

"Well," Elizabeth said finally, "I must go and feed Ethan," and as she left the room, Georgiana watched her leave, wondering at her sister-in-law's manner.

Elizabeth, changing and nursing Ethan, found herself thinking about that conversation with Georgiana. Was she then, at fault, because she was not willing to forgive Fitzwilliam? Was she the one being hard-hearted? She did not think so, for she felt that he owed her at least an apology for the curt manner in which he had spoken to her.

As she had with James, she found herself speaking softly to the child in her arms, "Do you think, Ethan, that I should set aside your papa's high-handedness? Should I assume that he did not intend to hurt or insult me?"

For answer, she only received her son's blue-eyed stare, and his fingers wrapping around her own as he nursed. She continued musing aloud anyway, the words soothing her injured spirit, "Oh, I know that we shall forgive each other, we always do. But, I wish..." here she had to stop and think what it was she wanted right then, "I wish, we could go back to when we were more considerate of the other's feelings, and would not speak without thinking...because I believe that is what happened, Ethan. I think he simply forgot to think about my feelings...as I have his."

As this last occurred to her, she supposed that she was probably as much at fault as he. She did not have to react in the way which she had. It had not been the first time he had reverted to that manner which caused her such irritation. Of late, she had considered herself quite clever by being able to deflect it with some humour, thus averting further conflict. Today, however, she had foolishly allowed it to affect her in exactly the way she had been striving to avoid.

It helped little, she realized, that even three weeks after Ethan's birth, Fitzwilliam was still sleeping in the adjourning bedroom. She had suspected, but never paid enough attention to prove, that their attitudes were directly influenced by the physical closeness attained in their bed.

When they did not have that, they, both of them, were definitely edgier, and thus much less willing to be understanding towards the other...of anything.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy said very little to each other at dinner that evening.

When Elizabeth entered the diningroom, she had almost involuntarily sought her husband's eye, but when he kept his own averted, she soon responded in kind. Georgiana, sensing their coolness towards one another, only watched them both from under her lashes, making no direct remark to either.

If they spoke at all, it was formal, and very polite, until Miss Darcy finally stopped introducing any topics for discussion at all. When that uncomfortable meal was finally finished, they retired to the music room where Georgiana played, while the other two remained stiff and silent.

Able to excuse herself at last, Elizabeth unhappily fled to her room, where, although she was not very tired, went about preparing herself for bed. With a book open on her lap. she was determined to put their quarrel out of her mind, but the words would not focus, nor make any sense at all, no matter how she attempted to concentrate on them.

After blowing out her candle, she lay there for what seemed an eternity while the household settled for the night, until finally, all was still. The clock in the downstair's hall chimed eleven and then twelve, yet she was no closer to falling asleep than she had previously been.

When one chime was at last heard, she sat up thinking, this is ridiculous. We are two adults, and we are sulking like children.

A decision made, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and stood, her eyes picking out shapes to avoid in the darkness. Making her way cautiously to the door of the adjourning bedroom, she tried the knob.

It was not locked, of course. He would not do that, no matter how angry at her he might be. She pushed it open carefully, holding her breath, lest it make a noise and wake the household. Taking a breath, she went in, and feeling her way, sat on the edge of his bed, all the while a bit unnerved by her own boldness.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, then, speaking in a low voice, said, "Fitzwilliam."

He must have been at least partially asleep as it took him a moment to answer (either that, or he was deciding whether or not he even wished to answer).

At length he did so, asking cooly, "What is it?"

He did not address her by name, which let her know that he was still quite angry.

She sighed, "Can we not talk about this?"

He was silent, so she continued in a troubled voice,"If you will not speak, then at least listen to me, please...This afternoon, you issued an order to me."

He almost said something, but stopped himself.

"I understand," she continued, ignoring the brief interruption, "That you are well within your rights to do so...but remember, Fitzwilliam, when you asked me to marry you, you knew that I could not be that kind of wife. If you wanted someone who would be submissive and obedient, than you must have been aware that I was not that person."

To her surprise, his reply was calm, "Yes. you made that very clear, as I recall."

"Then...why are so vexed with me? Was I acting out of character, when you knew how your tone would affect me?"

It took him several moments to answer, mainly because he had raised himself to a sitting position, his face now on the same level as her own.

She heard him take a deep breath.

"Elizabeth," his voice was so low, she had to quiet her own breathing to hear him.

"I did not intend to speak as I did. Perhaps...I had hoped it would compel you to listen to me. I knew as soon as I spoke, that you would take it in the wrong way."

"I took it in the only way evident to me," she frowned, "You were not thinking of me then as your wife, but as a possesion to be protected...in a safe or vault."

"No..."

She could not see him, but she somehow knew he was shaking his head in denial.

"No, he repeated," You are wrong. Yes, I know you. I know how headstrong you are, and I know you were upset because I rejected the idea of going out. It would be just like you to go by yourself, to spite me."

As that very idea had occurred to her, she could not deny it, so she pounced on his former words instead, "And, why did you reject it? Can you not understand that by doing so, you managed to hurt me deeply? I was left with the impression of your wishing to avoid my company outright." Her lip, despite her best efforts, was beginning to tremble, so that she had to stop speaking to regain her composure.

Although the darkness covered her, she lifted her chin to bolster her resolve. "Do you realize that we have not been alone together since before Ethan was born?"

"It is difficult," he said reasonably, "To do so, when the house is full of company."

"But you have not even attempted...and the company left over a week ago."

"I was waiting."

Astonished, she cried,"Waiting for what?"

Unexpectedly, she felt his fingers begin to gently stroke the side of her face, a gesture which threw her off her guard, for just a moment.

"I was waiting for you, Elizabeth."

"For me?" She was suddenly bewildered, confused, "What was I to do, Fitzwilliam?"

"To give me some sort of sign, I suppose. I was uncertain of how long of a recovery time you would need."

"But, three weeks?" Her amazement was complete,"Why did you not say anything? I cannot read your mind."

"Nor I, yours."

So, she thought to herself, they appeared to be at a stalemate.

As she had been sitting all of this time on the edge of his bed, she suddenly realized she was becoming chilled, and almost unconsciously, she shivered.

Immediately, and yet, seemingly in one motion, he pulled her under the covers and into his arms, holding her snugly against him.

"There," he said into her ear,"Does this make it more obvious?"

Not quite ready to concede yet, she insisted stubbornly, "We have not finished with this discussion, Fitzwilliam..." But her words seemed to lose their impact as she felt his lips, soft against her own.

As one, who had traveled across a wide and barren desert, receives their first drink of water, so Elizabeth felt with that kiss.

It was not that he had not kissed her of late, but, that he had done it so chastely, the question of any intention to take it further never arose.

There was no doubt of his intention now.

His kiss, beginning as gentle as a baby's touch, suddenly became more intense, and, although she might have languished in the sensations brought on by it for some time, her own passion was rapidly rising, as well.

With one arm supporting her back, his other was already traveling downward to the hem of her gown, occasionally stopping to caress her, until at long last, he lifted away the thin bit of material separating them.

As his lips moved from her own, down to her throat, and then to the soft rise of her bosom, she sighed.

It had been so long, and she had missed him so very much.

Their coupling, although not of extensive duration, was of such exceptional fervor that both were left fully and entirely drained for some time following.

As neither were in a hurry to move, she remained lying contentedly beneath the weight of him, enjoying the soft kisses he would periodically place upon her face, and revelling in the complete gratification left from their lovemaking.

No matter what, she thought to herself, the future may hold, I pray we never disregard this element of our marriage...I am certain we shall always disagree at some time or other, yet we must be able to adhere to this.

Once he had moved off from her, the serenity which inevitibly followed overcame them both. At length, however, she recollected the question which she had intended to have answered when first she had come in.

For, if somehow, this most satisfying resolution had not been attained, she would certainly have required an answer from him straightaway.

Simple curiosity, and nothing else, motivated her to ask it of him now. "Fitzwilliam?"

"Hmmmmm?"

He sounded only half-awake, but she continued thoughtfully, "Do you ever wonder...?"

"What's that, my love?"

"Have you ever speculated on what your life might have been, if we had not married?"

He was silent for so long that she thought he might have fallen asleep, but, finally, he responded, sounding puzzled, "Why would you ask me that, Elizabeth?"

"Sometimes I just wonder...what would have happened with each of us, if we had not." Stroking his chest lightly, she continued with her musing, "You know, it was all just a matter of chance, do you not?"

Although he did not answer, she knew he was listening. "If I had not come to Pemberley with my Aunt and Uncle Gardiner, you would have been prepared to live without me."

"So you say," he replied drily.

"Would you not?"

"No," he shifted a little to allow her head to move further onto his shoulder,"I would not. I had not been successful at putting you from my thoughts...out of my mind. If you had not appeared here, I would have been forced to go to Longbourne."

"You would? And to what purpose? As far as you knew at the time, I thought no better of you than I did while at Rosings. Are you so fond of rejection that you seek it out?" She was teasing him now, but his next words were serious.

"If I would have come to Longbourne at that time, would you have disliked me still?"

"No," she softened,"I had already begun to change my opinion of you...but, until I came to Pemberley, and witnessed for myself how good you could be, I was not totally convinced."

"You had not seen that at Longbourne?"

"You never showed me that side of you while you were there...you were not amiable in my presence, anyway."

"Was I so at Pemberley?"

"You were...very much so..." she closed her eyes as he kissed her, then with a sigh, she added," But I fear, Fitzwilliam, that all of the circumstances together are what finally made me fall in love with you."

"What circumstances, pray?"

"To begin with, the letter you wrote to me from Rosings, then later, your improved manner upon my visit here, and finally, although I dislike mentioning it, the way you aided in my sister, Lydia's wedding."

"Ah, yes..." he said ruefully, "That. Then, your falling in love with me had as much to do with gratitude as anything else...I am not too certain that is agreeable."

"Not merely gratitude," she stated, smiling to herself,"But, that you could act so unselfishly...so unpredictably. I found it intriguing, to say the least."

"Intriguing?" He sounded amused.

"Yes...and other feelings as well. Touched, I suppose, and confused. I did not totally understand your motivation at the time."

"Elizabeth," he interrupted her, exasperated,"How could you not know? I was afraid of it being painfully obvious...it was to myself, at least."

"Well, it was not to me. I had believed you wished yourself as far from me as possible because of Lydia's scandal...that you had no further wish for my company at all. You gave me no sign otherwise," she reminded him.

"As I have already said, I believed it was quite apparent to everyone, particularly you."

"And when you did return to Hertfordshire...well, we have had that discussion before."

"Yes," he agreed.

"But, you have still not answered my question, Fitzwilliam."

"I do not even recall what it was," he replied a bit reluctantly.

"If events had not happened as they had," she explained patiently,"If we had missed each other somehow...what would our lives be like today?"

"Unhappy, no doubt." He had begun to kiss her forehead, making it difficult to concentrate. She managed to retain her calm, however, asking him in a firm voice,"Do you truly believe that? Do you not think you would have married someone else?"

"No," his lips were moving down to her eyes and nose.

"Perhaps Miss Bingley?" she suggested.

He stopped kissing her, answering in a most definite tone, "Not Miss Bingley."

"You might have been more..."

"What, Elizabeth?" He had laid his head back on his pillow, frustrated by her persistance.

"Serene, perhaps."

"Bored," he corrected her,"I could have had a wife such as that a dozen times over...I had no desire for it."

"And, you do not regret your choice?"

"Elizabeth," he suddenly leaned over and kissed her full on the mouth, then drawing back, he said,"I had long ago lost my power of choice concerning you. Even if you had rejected me a second time, I could not have gone about my business as though you did not exist."

"What would you have done?" She asked, breathless from the depth of his kiss.

"That, I could not tell you. I had not planned that far ahead. If the unthinkable happened, if you refused me once more, I, most likely, would have had to continue trying."

"But, you had declared that you would not...if I refused you... you would not speak of it anymore," she challenged him.

"I said that, yes," he admitted,"I had to hang onto what dignity I could. It does not mean I would have conceded."

"Oh?" She became quiet as she realized the solemnity of his manner.

"No, my love. That was never an option. I could not have accepted the loss of you. So," he took her hand into his as he placed tender kisses upon it, stating in between, "To answer your question,...sweet, Elizabeth,...if you had not married me...by now,...I would be still encamped...outside of your door,...waiting for you to change your mind."

"That," she replied with a contented sigh, "Would only have been a matter of time."

Chapter 26

Mr. Eastman returned from his meeting with the prospective client the following day. No sooner had he entered the music room, then he requested a private word with Miss Darcy. Elizabeth, who had been reading aloud to Jamie, appeared to understand immediately, excused herself, and, tucking her son under her arm, hurridly quit the room. Georgiana, standing a bit nervously, realized that the time had at last arrived to be completely forthcoming.

Mr. Eastman, however, was the first to speak.

"Miss Darcy...Georgiana," he said, sounding as ill-at- ease as she felt, "Pray, sit down for I am afraid I must tell you something which may distress you."

Bravely she sat, keeping her eyes on his face while she tied her handkerchief into tiny knots. He sat opposite her, leaning forward to take her hand gently into his as he did so.

"Georgiana," he said again, "I feel I must be honest with you...I can no longer take advantage of your sweet nature."

Her cheeks had reddened while he spoke, but she said nothing.

"I believe...I really feel that, our engagement must be reconsidered." Now that he had begun, he hurried on as though afraid she might stop him, "I cannot help but think that your feelings have cooled somewhat...no, do not deny it for I can tell. The thing is..." he hesitated, "That I think it would be unfair to ask you to marry me at this time...to travel with me in less than comfortable conditions, or to be left behind to wait while I must be gone from you...for many weeks or even months, perhaps."

As he spoke, her expression had gone from surprise to relief and then to doubt, and she suddenly realized that her mouth had dropped open in a very inelegant fashion. She closed it, at once embarrassed, but he did not seem to notice, his eyes being now focused on some point above her head. He could not seem to meet her eyes, as he continued unabated,"I must also tell you..."

"What?" she asked when she had found her voice.

"I despise my own cowardice, Georgiana, but I cannot put it off any longer. I am afraid that I must object to..."

Whatever he meant to say, was having a difficult time being said, until she finally urged, "What, Mr. Eastman? What do you object to?"

He appeared to be suddenly and unexpectedly embarrassed, and his words, when he could speak, came out in a torrent,"I have only recently been made aware of your brother's unpredictable disposition, especially when he is, shall we say, in his cups. I feel for you, dear Georgiana, but I cannot marry into a family where such an idiocycrancy might be a threat to our marital felicity."

This time her mouth had dropped open, and she did not trouble herself to disguise or minimize that fact.

"What are you inferring, Mr. Eastman?" she cried in astonishment.

"I am sorry," he seemed to be deeply disturbed by her reaction, but mistook the meaning of it,"I should not have been so blunt. If I believed that our affection for each other were as strong as it could be, then I might chance such a union...but, I am afraid that I do not." He might have expected her to swoon or at least tremble in her despair, as he appeared to be ready to leap to her rescue if needed, but she only sat, staring at him in disbelief. At last she spoke, her voice low, "You believe that my brother is...insane?"

She studied him, her eyebrows raised, as he watched her tentatively.

"You are convinced?" she asked. her bottom lip beginning to quiver. Again he mistook her expression, and quickly tried to assure her, "Believe me, dear Georgiana, I would not hurt you for the world, but I must consider my future also...so much of my reputation shall depend on that of my wife's family. It would be unfair to both of us to proceed with this marriage. You must see that."

She was looking down at her hands, unable to trust her emotions, but when she spoke her voice was steady, "All right, Mr. Eastman. I release you from this engagement, rather then see you in any way, unhappy."

He attempted to hide his relief, but failing that, said only, "Thank you, my dear Miss Darcy. I have to believe that this shall be the best course for both of us."

With that, he stood, bowed respectfully, and left her to pack the remainder of his possessions, as he planned to return immediately to that estate only just vacated.

Elizabeth, hearing the front door close, hastened down to discover the outcome of their discussion. She was amazed, then, to open the music room door and find her sister-in-law, still seated upon the settee, and doubled over in mirth.

"What is it, Georgiana?" she asked when she had recovered from her surprise, "What is so excessively diverting?"

Georgiana, meanwhile, had been wiping her eyes with the edges of the knotted handkerchief, and could not answer for fully five minutes.

She finally regained enough composure to choke out, "He thinks, he truly believes that Fitzwilliam is mad."

"Mr. Eastman?" Elizabeth was wondering by then if her sister-in-law was not feeling a bit hysterical from all of her recent stress.

As Georgiana was in clear danger of surrendering to another wave of laughter, she could only nod in reply.

"He thinks Fitzilliam is mad?" Elizabeth could not grasp such an impression, asking again, "Our Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam Darcy..."

"Yes...Mr. Eastman firmly believes that my brother...your husband, the most sane person of my acquaintance, calm and collected Fitzwilliam James Darcy is quite, certifiably, mad." She had contained her laughter enough so that she could look Elizabeth in the eye, but it was apparent that more of the same was just beneath the surface.

"And how," exclaimed her sister-in-law, "Did he come upon that supposition?"

"That, he did not explain. I truly have no idea, but it is so preposterous I cannot imagine it coming from a reliable source."

"And did you not set him aright on the matter?" Elizabeth was now eyeing her quizzically.

"Oh, Elizabeth," was her reply, "He was allowing me a graceful way out, and I am afraid I took it. Was that so wrong of me?"

"No..." she assured Georgiana somewhat ruefully, "But I hope he is not relaying as much even now...I am not sure your brother would find the same humour in it as you are."

That put a new light on the subject, and Georgiana sobered immediately, "Do you think he could be so ungenerous?"

"Perhaps not..." sounding unconvinced, "Perhaps he still has enough affection for you to protect your good name...we must hope so anyway."

Mrs. and Miss Darcy agreed that there was no point in informing Mr. Darcy of Mr. Eastman's fantastic assertions.

Elizabeth, upon later reflection, considered the irony of the whole situation. If one were to travel newly into Derbyshire, with no clue as to whom Fitzwilliam Darcy was, they might be told that he was either a lunatic (through Mr. Eastman), a philanderer (by Miss Benedict), or a traitor (via Mr. Jeffries).

It really was almost bizarre the way he seemed to attract such wholehearted dislike of his character. Suppose, she thought, someone should believe all three charges, would that cause the entire household to be suspect for tolerating Mr. Darcy's most unscrupulous behavior? She could not blame Georgiana for her immediate reaction upon Mr. Eastman's departure. It was truly laughable, after all, and if she, herself, was not already painfully aware of Miss Benedict's slander, she would have responded in much the same manner. As it was, she could not help feeling some guilt for having to keep yet another matter from her husband. But, she also suspected the subject of Georgiana's broken engagement would be brought up soon enough.

Which it was.

It was assumed, from the blissful reunion of the night before, that he would no longer be occupying the adjourning bedroom, and so it was with complete joy she welcomed him back to their bed that night.

However, just as she was once again securely wrapped in his embrace, was when he chose to discuss his sister's sudden change of status.

His statement was inocuous enough, "I heard Mr. Eastman left Pemberley for good today...I must surmise then, that the engagement has ended."

"Yes," she replied guardedly, "To the satisfaction of both, I think."

"Did you ever discover the reason for his odd behavior of late, Elizabeth?"

"No," she lied,"He gave no hint to Georgiana before his departure."

Oh, Elizabeth, she silently told herself, you shall surely burn in hell, but even then she could not rationalize telling him something that would only upset him.

"It seemed," he mused, "To stem from the evening of his return...the night that Ethan was born. I just cannot imagine what would have affected him in such a way."

"Well, we shall probably never know, so there is no point in dwelling on it."

He was silent for several minutes, then as if Fate was conspiring against her, he unexpectedly asked,"Did you, perhaps, find out why your sister was so cool towards me before Christmas? Do you think it was related, somehow?"

She turned over so that she was lying on her stomach, her arms crossed on his chest, "Are you feeling singled out, my love?"

The light from the fire illuminated his smile, "No, not really...but if I am to be despised, I should like to know the cause of it."

"You are not despised...in fact, I can attest to the fact that you are very much loved by everyone in this room." His responding kiss was all that she could hope for, except that it was not successful in turning his mind from the topic at hand.

She could see that he was still occupied with it, so she attempted another diversion. "I noticed that you received a letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam today. What did he have to say?"

"Just, some minor matters concerning that mess in London. Fortunately, I do not have to return there...but, he did mention something rather odd. Were you aware that Lady Catherine had retained the services of Miss Benedict as a companion for Anne?"

Uncertain as to the exact message from the Colonel, she decided to at least tell the truth once that night, "Yes," she replied carefully, "I believe he did mention it...why?"

"I just found it curious...do you think she can be trusted?"

"If not, I should think Lady Catherine would be the last one whom she would wish to cross. God help her if she attempts any of her schemes with that lady!"

"Yes," he was obviously amused at her words, "I suppose you are right about that...so no warning should be needed?"

"Who would you warn? Lady Catherine or Miss Benedict?"

"Actually, I was thinking of Anne."

"Oh...well,"Elizabeth conceded, "By all means write her and explain Miss Benedict's questionable past, if you will, but you may have to explain then, how we came to be involved with her."

His silence told her that he was considering her words, and trying to decide if he wished to disclose the whole of it, even to a cousin..

The sordid business of Miss Benedict had not been made public, beyond Elizabeth's confiding it to Jane (which she knew to be completely safe), and he was especially reluctant to mention it to the daughter of the one who already considered him to be so far beneath her contempt.

The decision was unexpectedly made for them by the arrival of Lady Catherine, herself, but two days later.

Her entrance was, as usual, one worthy of a queen.

She was announced to Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam in the drawing room, where they were quietly occupied with their children: She, nursing Ethan, and he playing Jamie's favorite game of hide-the-watch-fob. This was always guaranteed to send the child into giggles where ever and whenever it was finally found, often in simply a different pocket on his father's person. As a result, all looked upon the interruption of the game, not to mention the intrusion to their privacy, as most highly unwelcomed.

This, however, did not impede their unexpected guest from seating herself, without waiting for an invitation, and then gazing upon them with great disdain. Elizabeth, already seething at Lady Catherine's rudeness, covered herself leisurely, laying Ethan upon her shoulder as she met her husband's eye.

Meanwhile, he had risen from his place on the rug, much to the disappointment of his son, and stood politely while his aunt had settled herself.

"Lady Catherine," He greeted her calmly, "To what do we owe this honor?"

For reply she made a disapproving noise in her throat, staring at Ethan and James pointedly, until Elizabeth, who was becoming more indignant by the moment, rang for the servant to come and take them out.

All three waited in silence while Florence removed the children; Ethan, tucked under one arm, and Jamie, holding fast onto her free hand.

Seeing the sad little look on her eldest's face, Elizabeth hugged him as he was leaving, whispering encouragingly, "Papa shall play with you later, but now you must go and have your tea."

His face brightened a bit at her words, and he followed Florence out obediantly, his expression wearing one of awe as he glanced quickly at Lady Catherine.

The silence continued for several minutes, each waiting for the other to speak.

Finally Lady Catherine, her voice cold, said, "Mr. Darcy, I should wish to speak to you in private...if you would be so kind."

"Whatever you have to say to me, madam, can be said in the presence of my wife." His own voice was tinged with impatience, a fact he hardly bothered to disguise.

After an icy glare at Elizabeth, she must have realized that he was not going to be intimidated, thus forcing her to unwillingly concede.

"Very well," was all that she said, but her eyes, all the while, had been scanning the room, no doubt to see what havoc his marriage to Elizabeth had wrought upon its walls and furnishings.

From that moment on, all of Lady Catherine's remarks were directed only to Fitzwilliam, the shunning of her nephew's wife being so obvious as to cause him great irritation, and Elizabeth, some amusement.

But, without further delay, she finally got to the point of her visit. "I suppose you are aware of my acquiring the services of a Miss Benedict as a companion for Anne?"

"Yes," he answered her warily.

"The very same young lady lately employed by your friend, Mr. Bingley?"

"I know who she is."

"She has, and most reluctantly I might add, relayed some very distressing news concerning you, Fitzwilliam." By Lady Catherine using his given name, she was making it clear to them the serious nature of her business.

After studying his aunt impassively, he walked over to the fireplace, then leaning against the mantle, stood staring into the flames. "And what, pray, did Miss Benedict have to charge me with?"

"She states," the older lady's emotion was now so great, that the feathers in her bonnet shook, "She claims that you, my own nephew, made such unwelcome and inappropriate advances to her, that she was forced to leave the employ of the Bingleys'!"

Elizabeth, all this time, had been watching the exchange with guarded interest. Now, she stood angrily, "This is absurd! You cannot possibly believe such nonsense!"

Ignoring this outburst, Lady Catherine continued, "I had to come straightaway to see for myself what dreadful circumstances would lead you to such a scandalous act. Well..." and her eyes swept over Elizabeth contemptuously, "Now, I have seen."

Elizabeth had gone from red to white and then back to red again, so furious she was speechless, but she was saved the necessity of thinking up a scathing reply, by her husband.

"You have seen nothing," he replied in a tightly controlled voice. "You never have, and you never shall."

Lady Catherine's mouth had dropped open in shock, but he, now facing her, was only just beginning.

"You have never recovered from the disappointment of my not marrying Anne, and now you think you have found a means for revenge." He shook his head, "You are mistaken." His eyes were raking over her, in much the same manner as she had inflicted on Elizabeth but moments before. "My wife is too polite and will tolerate your abuse, aunt, but I shall not. Believe Miss Benedict if you wish...I cannot control that, but ask yourself what her motives might be...what would she have to gain by inventing such a story? If you can convince yourself that she is after nothing, then you are a fool."

At these words she stood, her face red with fury, "You shall not speak to me thus, Fitzwilliam Darcy!" she demanded, but he was not finished.

"If your only incentive in coming here today, was to drive a wedge between my wife and I, then you have failed miserably. If, however, you intended to make me think less of you then I already do, you have succeeded admirably...Good afternoon, Aunt."

He did not show her out, his expression cold and hard as he stared at her, and after a moment of astonished disbelief, she turned on her heel and hastened from the room. As the front door was heard closing behind her, their eyes met.

Elizabeth let out her breath in relief, but her stomach instantly knotted again at hearing his next, carefully phrased inquiry, "So, tell me how long you have known of Miss Benedict's accusations?"

Her mouth had become suddenly dry while she considered how to answer her husband's question, for the betrayed expression on his face gave evidence to the fact, that by withholding this piece of knowledge from him, she had already upset him immeasurably.

"Fitzwilliam, I..." she could not seem to speak in any intelligible form, so she only stood helplessly, watching him.

"Why would you choose not to tell me, Elizabeth?"

"What would be the point?" Finding her tongue, at last, the words now poured out of their own accord. "What good would it have done? You would have been hurt for absolutely no reason, and I could not bear that."

"I might have, at least been prepared for Lady Catherine's onslaught," he replied, not looking at her. Then, almost casually, "How did you discover this?"

"Jane told me," she admitted, "She received a letter from Miss Benedict filled with slanderous lies against you."

"Ah," he was comprehending the entire matter, at last, "That explains her coolness towards me before Christmas...and you did not believe I should know this?"

"Fitzwilliam," if she sounded desperate, she did not care, "I did not do so out of spite or cruelty, but because I love you."

He did not appear to have heard her, as he gazed into the fire pensively. When he spoke again, his voice was expressionless, "And when I asked you, you lied to me."

"I was protecting your feelings...is that so very wrong?"

"I was not aware of my feelings requiring protection. What else have you chosen to hide from me?" He happened to look at her then, and, instantly she feared that every secret she had ever harbored must have been evident by her expression, for he sighed wearily and became silent.

Unable to bear seeing his unhappiness, she closed her eyes, and upon opening them, discovered he had left her without speaking another word.

Sinking into a chair with a sudden rush of despondency, she buried her face in her hands.

Why, oh why, had Lady Catherine come to Pemberley simply to upset them? What a selfish bitter old woman she was. But...only she, Elizabeth, was culpable now, not Lady Catherine, and her mind was becoming consumed with her own self-recriminations.

Why did I not tell him? God knows he gave me plenty of opportunities...yet, I saw no purpose to it. Would not he have done the same?

This, however, she could not answer. He had certainly kept unpleasant facts from her before, but he had not spoken an outright lie, as she had.

I did not, she rationalized, do it out of selfish motives, but only to spare him.

Even to herself, however, this argument sounded weak and cowardly. Finally, she had to face the awful realization that he must truly despise her, that he would never trust her again, and it was all of her own doing.

Feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her, her instinct was to flee.

I must get out, she thought desperately, get away from here for a while. I cannot stay here to witness the reprehension in his eyes.

Without saying anything to even a servant, she hurridly slipped on a coat and bonnet. As she pulled on her gloves, she imagined she heard a door open behind her, so she quickened her step, in her haste to escape without being discovered.

Outside, the air was cold enough to promptly cause her lungs to ache, but she was too upset to notice, almost running to get as far from the house as she could. The snow drifts were uneven, and although some she could move through easily, others were almost waist-high, and took much more effort. Eventually, she became aware of the shoes she was wearing being totally inadequate in the snow, and that very soon her feet were wet and extremely cold. Without rational thought, she had begun walking in the direction of the stables, not heeding the wind which blew around her, its icy fingers reaching down into the back of her coat collar, and whipping her cheeks until they were red and raw.

As she neared the building, she noticed that the door was ajar, and cautiously she stepped inside.

Inside, the air was not much warmer then out, but at least there was no wind. She stood for a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dimness, the only light coming in, was through the windows from the waning afternoon sun. The floor, strewn with straw and sawdust, had been laid with wide flat boards, stretching out before her. She moved forward between the line of stalls on either side of her, the horses therein letting out an occasional nicker or snort as she passed them. Reaching the far end of the building, she noticed wooden slats, to be used as ladder rungs, nailed directly onto the wall, leading to the rafters above.

Well, why not? She thought, as she studied them, it shall give me a place to think, away from the house, and it is better than being outside.

Decisively, she placed her hands on the rung nearest to her, and began to climb.

At first sight, the loft appeared much smaller then the area below it, but she saw by the light coming in through a window, that stacks of straw were piled high against the walls, thus falsifying the actual size of the room.

She went over to the window and peered out. From here she could see the house, its windows still dark, as it was not yet late enough in the day to begin lighting the candles.

But, she realized, noticing the shadows on the snow beginning to lengthen, it soon shall be, and unfortunately I shall have to return to nurse Ethan.

She did not relish the idea of facing her husband again, in fact, she dreaded it, yet, she was also aware that she would have to swallow her pride eventually, no matter how distasteful it might prove to be. Startled from her reverie, she became aware that she was no longer alone, as several stablehands' voices began to drift up from the floor below. They were laughing and joking as they went about their work, filling her with a terror that she should be discovered, and thus unwittingly humiliate her husband even further.

For, it would surely be a total breach of propriety for Mrs. Darcy, the master's wife, the mistress of the estate, to be found hiding in the hayloft of Pemberley's stables.

She ducked down behind a large pile of straw just as she heard one of the men coming up the ladder, his voice sounding alarmingly close.

Fortunately, he did not see her, being intent only on finishing his task of pitching down clean straw to be used as bedding for the horses. Even so, she held her breath until he had again descended the ladder, and the voices had faded away at last.

Warily she stood, and made her way to the ladder. Upon reaching the ground floor, she hurried to the door by which she had entered, pulled on its handle, and...could not budge it. Refusing to panic, she tried again. Nothing. Not even an inch.

It dawned on her then, that the workers must have bolted the door from the outside when they were finished for the night. A quick glance around the large room gave evidence of an identical door at the other end, and as she went to that, a flicker of hope arose in her, only to land with a thud, as that one also refused to open to her efforts.

It was at that moment she realized her toes and fingers were entirely numbed from the cold, she was locked in a building with no heat, in the middle of January...and the worst of it was, no one even knew of her being here.

Judging by the fading light outside, Elizabeth supposed that the stablehands would not be returning that night. She wiggled her toes inside of her sodden shoes, in a vain attempt to restore some feeling into them. Her clothing, she knew, was ridiculously inadequate for being stranded in a stable overnight in the dead of winter.

Well, she thought ruefully, she had not planned to be in such a predicament...in fact, she had to admit, she had not used her head much at all, of late.

Taking a deep breath, she considered her options. There was no purpose in yelling for help, as there would be no human ear near enough to hear her, plus she did not relish the idea of having to be rescued...yet again. No other exit was apparent besides the two doors which she had already tried, unless she wished to heave herself from the loft window...not an appealing idea, to say the least. So, what did that leave?

She simply had no choice but to wait for someone to return, probably in the morning, and open the door from the outside. Meanwhile, she scanned the walls for a blanket, apron or something which she could put over herself as insulation from the ever intensifying cold. Unfortunately she saw nothing useful. No doubt, she decided, material goods would be kept somewhere else during the winter months, where they should be less likely to become damp or moldy. Well, if she had to wait here, she could at least return to the loft, and cover herself with straw as a last resort. Her secondary motive for doing so, although she hated to admit it, was that she might yet be able to leave the building without being seen, if she could keep herself out of sight until the stablehands should be otherwise occupied.

She climbed the ladder once again, settled herself on a stack of straw, and removed her shoes.

Comprehending that she needed to restore the feeling back into her feet, she began to message them, a temporary solution, of course, but her only one at the time. When they at last began to tingle and burn, she slipped the icy shoes back on, and covered them completely with dry straw. Then, drawing her knees up before her, she sat where she could watch the windows of the house as they were lit one-by-one.

Her absence, of course, was noticed at dinner.

Georgiana asked her brother if he knew of Elizabeth's whereabouts, and at his rather curt reply to the negative, murmured, "I hope she appears before Ethan gets very hungry."

Assuming she was somewhere in the house nursing her wounded pride, he was not terribly concerned. But, as another hour passed, and she did not appear either to feed herself or their child, he began to wonder where she would have gone.

He, reluctantly, because it was embarrassing not to know where his wife might seek refuge, enquired from the servants if any of them had seen her recently, but the response was a consistant, "No sir, Mr. Darcy."

By eight o'clock, Ethan was in a frenzy, arousing James, who, upon the realization of his mother not being present to comfort him, energetically joined in the fracas.

Just as the din was becoming unbearable, Florence carried Ethan down to the kitchen in an attempt to appease him with some means other than mother's milk. Meanwhile, Georgiana was able to calm down his elder brother somewhat by humming soothingly one of the tunes often sung to him by Elizabeth.

By the time his children had been quieted, Fitzwilliam had thoroughly combed every room in their wing of the house, but having had no success, was becoming more baffled by the moment. He knew his wife could be upset, angry, immersed in self-pity, or simply depressed, but she would never neglect her duties as a mother, and that fact was enough to cause him extreme concern.

Unable to face the idea that she may have ventured outdoors, he then began to search through the unoccupied wing of the house. By eleven o'clock, he had to concede that she was not there, leaving him in a quandary.

If she had gone out, was it to spite him? And if were, what should he do about it? After some inner debate, he decided that even if she had fled outside, she would not be gone so long, unless...something unimaginable had happened to her.

Going to the window in his study, he peered out, but as even the moon was not visible, all he could see was the starlight reflected upon the snow.

I had best not fall asleep, Elizabeth told herself firmly. She had heard tales of people who had done so in such bitter cold, and had not reawakened at all. An outcome which, even though she was far from happy with her life at that moment, she did not wish to emulate.

Yet as the hours wore on, it was becoming next to impossible to keep her eyes open, and in an effort to stay awake, she forced herself to stand and repeatedly walk the length of the loft. Becoming too weary, at last, to even remain upright, she collapsed into her now familiar pile of straw, where, surrendering out of pure exhaustion, she allowed her eyes to close, and remain so.

She dreamt, not surprisingly, of ice and snow surrounding her. What was surprising was, that she reached a point whereas every part, every inch, every cell of her body was numb, hence she felt nothing at all...not cold, not damp, nothing. At one point, she had pulled enough straw on top of herself so that only her face was exposed, but the frigid dampness had nonetheless permeated everything, and not even her makeshift cover was able to be effective against it.

Somewhere in the stage between being awake and asleep, the thought suddenly occurred to her; I shall die within walking distance of my own home.

Twelve o'clock chimed on the Grandfather clock in the front hall of Pemberley, and still no trace of Elizabeth. Fitzwilliam, now very worried for her, was pacing before the fire of his study, his mind rather frantically occupied.

There was no doubt now that she must have gone outdoors after their quarrel, and that alone was causing him great concern. With the temperature dropping steadily, she would surely freeze to death, if not discovered soon.

But where could she have gone?

Every grievance against her had been forgotten in this latest crisis, and he gladly would forgive her anything if she would only return to him safe and sound.

There really was no possible way to search for her in the darkness, without even a clue to her whereabouts, causing his helplessness to fade into complete and utter despair.

Why is it, he wondered wretchedly, that I have spent half my married life agonizing over my wife?

After some time ruminating on the subject, he had to admit that the very part of her character which had attracted him in the first place, also included her ability to rush headlong into situations sure to cause them problems. She could be, at times, maddeningly headstrong and even incautious, but, more often then not, her generous and loving nature made it terribly easy to forget those faults which invariably vexed him.

Right now, he would have paid dearly to be in company with any of her traits, good or bad, so long as she was home.

He was startled from his reflections by a hesitant, "Sir?" from the doorway, and looking up, saw one of the stablehands standing there, nervously clutching his hat in his gloved hands.

"Yes?" Fitzwilliam inquired, although his mind was still far away.

"Sir, I...well, they said I should come and tell you, seein' how the misses is disappeared, like." He was obviously embarrassed at being in that part of the house, his discomfort apparent, but he had caught the full attention of his master.

"What?" He had risen to his feet, "You have seen her?"

"No, not exactly...but I maybe know where she is."

Without waiting for another word, Fitzwilliam strode past him, ordering a servant to fetch his coat immediately, then turning back, inquired in a deadly serious voice, "Tell me, where do you think she is? "

The worker swallowed, saying, "I seen tracks leading up to the stable from the house earlier...I didna' think naught of it, but later, when I heard you was lookin' for her, I got to thinkin' 'bout them..."

"You suppose her to be there?" He was too relieved at this crumb of hope thrown him, to wonder why his wife would flee to a stable, in any case. It had always been evident to him, as well as anyone else who knew her, that she held nothing but apathy towards horses, along with all of the trappings involved.

At the moment, however, he did not stop to think about such a peculiarity, pulling his coat and gloves on, and rushing out the door with such haste, that the stablehand had to run to keep up with him.

Never had the distance between house and stable seemed so far, and never had he crossed it as rapidly as on this night.

He spotted the tracks which the stablehand had spoken of. They could be hers...although some had been blown away by the wind, there were enough left to surmise that, yes, they might very well be hers.

At last, they reached the stable where three other men were waiting, holding lanterns before them and occasionally blowing on their hands, as well as stomping their feet in an obvious effort to keep warm.

As soon as they were near enough to them, one of the men handed Fitzwilliam a lantern as they all entered the building together. The light from the lanterns were all that illuminated the interior. There was still no moon, and anything beyond their small group was in total darkness.

Not certain where they should look, several men were searching the stalls, but her husband, instinctively, knew better.

She would not climb into a stall to sit with a horse...not Elizabeth.

No, he decided, glancing up, she would go where she would be least likely to be discovered...the loft. Without waiting for the rest of the party, he crossed the length of the room to where the ladder led to the space above. Holding the lantern above him, he managed to climb single-handed until he reached the loft floor. Scanning the room, he could, at first, see nothing out of the ordinary, but upon closer inspection, he did notice an object which made his breath catch in his throat.

Under the small window, under a mound of straw, a gloved hand lay open against the cold plank floor. Having hoisted himself up in no time at all, he moved swiftly to where she lay.

At first it appeared she was merely asleep, but, as he bent over her nearly motionless form, impatiently throwing handfuls of straw aside, he could hear her shallow breathing. All the while, the glow from the lantern gave evidence to her wan, and almost ghostly complexion. When he attempted to wake her, and she did not move nor even appear to hear him, his alarm increased greatly.

Returning to the first floor, he stationed the men at intervals on the ladder where they could hand her down to him in safety.

Once he was holding her in his arms, he carried her back to the house, his feet not moving anywhere near the speed he wished them to.

Even when he laid her upon their bed to remove her soggy clothing, she did not stir. Her hands and feet were like ice, her lips blue, her cheeks held no colour at all, and the whole picture together terrified him.

My God, Elizabeth, he thought, panic-stricken, what have you done?

He had a waiting servant stoke the fire in their room, then, wrapping her in several blankets, carried her, like a child, to the hearth, where he sat cross-legged as close to the flames as he could bear. There, he held her tightly in his arms, her cheek against his shirt, her lashes appearing black next to the paleness of her skin. Bits of straw still clung to her hair, which he carefully picked out without moving her from her position.

Willing the heat from his own body to suffuse into hers, he stared at the flames, unaware that he was speaking aloud to her, his voice low and desperate.

"Elizabeth, my love...you must come back to me...if you should leave me now, I shall surely go mad. Please, do not...Dear God," he was suddenly praying in the same broken voice, "Don't let this happen...I know that I have made mistakes, many mistakes...but please don't take her from me."

He said nothing more for a time after that, but his thoughts were not still. Between praying for her life to be spared, and guilt and anger aimed towards himself, his mind was in a constant turmoil.

At one point, he, while somehow able to disassociate himself, helplessly studied her unmoving form.

How very fragile is human life, he mused in a sort of tormented stupor. One moment we are breathing, hearts beating, brains functioning, then, in the blink of an eye, all is finished. It has stopped, as a candle is snuffed out. With very little effort, we are gone from this world, and into the next.

But, how can it be so? When the very act of birth is so intense, so all-consuming, and yet, death itself, is very much like going to sleep...to rest...with so little resistance to remain with those who would miss us...who love us.

At this, he, involuntarily sobbed, for she looked to be already gone, although she breathed still.

"Elizabeth, my Lizzy. My love, you cannot go away yet...I need you. If this is your revenge, you have succeeded...How can you be so cold? Tell me that you do not care, Lizzy, and I shall let you go...tell me anything at all, and I would thank the heavens above. Dear God, please, not yet," for, with a slight sigh, she seemed to have stopped breathing for just a moment. Panic arose in him, until he saw her chest rise, and fall again.

He began to pray in earnest then, every prayer ever taught him as a child. He did not pause between, but rattled them off as if he were reciting a lesson. All the while, he watched her face, bidding her to open her eyes, to show him some sign of awareness. At last, he ran out of words, and still, she had not moved.

Wearily, he held her close, his face buried in her hair.

If she were going to die, he decided, he could at least keep her as near to him as possible. The thought of letting her go was unbearable, and he would not do so until her heart no longer beat against his own, until her breathing had finally, unequivocally ended.

He remained in that position for several hours, not daring to sleep, in case she should slip away without him knowing it. At last, however, despite his efforts, his eyes closed, and unwillingly, he drifted off.

As Elizabeth returned to consciousness, she was unable to recall exactly what circumstances might have placed her in her husband's arms, wrapped in a blanket and wearing nothing but her chemise, on the floor of their room. She wondered then if she could be dreaming, as the liklihood of such a situation seemed next to impossible.

But, no, she decided finally, she was here, as was he.

He was leaning back against the legs of a chair in what must be a most uncomfortable position, apparently asleep, while her mind laboured to recollect why they were here and not in their bed.

At last, she did remember...the stable, the straw, the horrible, relentless cold. At the same time, she realized that she was quite warm now, although her toes and fingers were beginning to ache and burn for some unknown reason.

She must have stirred as her discomfort increased, for Fitzwilliam sat up abruptly, his eyes wide and startled.

When he saw her to be awake, his expression became such a mixture of emotions that he looked as if he would either cry or laugh, she was not sure which. Instead, he only drew a deep, ragged breath and pulled her tightly against him, making her efforts to flex her fingers and toes even more difficult.

She spoke finally when he did not, "How did you find me?"

Her voice sounded strange to her, muffled, and unlike her somehow.

His own was hardly better, but he managed to reply, "A stablehand noticed your tracks outside..."

"So he discovered me there?" She was embarrassed, and said so, "I am sorry, Fitzwilliam. I did not realize that the door is locked at night...I should not have gone there."

"Elizabeth," he tried to quiet her fears, "It was I who found you. Although, he and some others had to aid me in getting you down from the loft...I could not have done it alone."

"I am sorry," she repeated in a miserable voice, "I am always causing you such trouble...how you must detest me."

"No!"

So emphatic was his response, she stopped speaking immediately, feeling only confusion.

"No," he repeated, "Don't ever suppose that I could...if you only knew..." but he did not finish what he was about to say, for he was again holding her resolutely against him.

"So," she asked meekly, after several moments of silence, "You are not angry with me anymore?"

"I am not."

She swallowed, "Fitzwilliam, I did not intend to lie to you..."

But he would not listen, "Stop, Elizabeth. It doesn't matter...I was as wrong to walk out on you, as you were to do what you did. We were both at fault, but it doesn't matter. If you...if you had not been returned to me tonight, do you think that is all I would have recalled? There is more to us then one inconsequential quarrel...and if I had lost you knowing that I was a part of it, that I had left you in such a state where you would put your own life in peril...how could I have lived with that?"

She was silent as she thought about his words. Although she was grateful that he was no longer perturbed, she seriously hoped, he did not suppose her to be trying to manipulate him by purposely placing herself at such a risk.

Another thought occurred to her then, even as her own body reminded her of it, "Where is Ethan? How was he fed?"

"He is well...the cook apparently found something to satisfy him until your return."

"Fitzwilliam," she sat up, speaking earnestly as she looked into his face, "I truly hope you do not think I did this to compel you into forgiving me...I was not consciously aware of who, or what my actions might affect...it was most selfish of me."

"You acted impulsively as you are wont to do, Elizabeth...I cannot fault you for being who you are."

"You are far too generous. I behaved childishly...I am quite ashamed of myself."

"If I do not condemn you, then would it not be extremely ungracious of you to do so of yourself?"

His question held a glimmer of humor, causing her to smile ruefully, "It is no wonder that I love you so well...you have managed to take the blame for this sorry episode from my shoulders, and place it most unfairly upon your own...I do not deserve you, Fitzwilliam."

"Would it make you feel better if I admitted that I was not an angel during your disappearance? In fact, I was determined to be unconcerned by your absence until Ethan needed you."

"Yes," she replied firmly, lifting her chin a bit, "That does make me feel better...thank you."

The look they exchanged then, just before their lips met, was not one of recrimination, guilt or accusations, but of mutual understanding, and a tenderness which succeeded in bringing them both some much needed comfort.

Continued in the next section