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Chapter Fifty-Two

Posted on Monday, 20 May 2002, at 3:23 p.m.

Glaring at the Darcys in a most unfriendly fashion, he growled something in an awkward German dialect, which neither could interpret, so, Fitzwilliam, stepping only slightly away from Elizabeth (although his arm remained protectively around her waist), replied in English, " I am sorry, you are speaking a language we are unfamiliar with."

At this, the other unexpectedly grinned, "Oh, thank God," he said, relieved, "I haven't heard a word of the King's English spoken in nigh on three years."
Then, as if recalling why he was there before them, he reaimed his pistol, "As that is neither here nor there, however, you need to convince me as to why I should not shoot the both of you this minute for trespassing."

"I beg your pardon, sir," Fitzwilliam apologized smoothly. It was obvious the gentleman had no real desire to commit an act of such severity, and only lacked the justification to forestall it. "I was not aware of this being your property when my wife and I stopped to rest here. We meant no intrusion."

"Your wife, eh?" he asked, scrutinizing a now thoroughly mortified Elizabeth, "I would have guessed something else by what I have just witnessed."
His arm, while he spoke, had lowered gradually until it was beside him, and the gun out of view. "How came you to be so far from Mother England? I believe if I had any choice, I would return to her shores and never leave them again."

"We had business in Germany, and are only now returning home."

"But," the gentleman looked around him, puzzled, "Where is your carriage...your driver? Surely they were not taken from you by highwaymen?"

"We are traveling by horse."

"Both of you?" The man's astonishment was now evidently complete, for he stared at the two of them speechlessly for a full two minutes.
When he had finally recovered himself, he asked, still in disbelief, "How far were you intending to ride today?"

"We had hoped to make Antwerp by tonight, but I fear we may be too late already. We shall stop instead at the next village which we come to, I suppose,"

"Ah, that would be Mechelen...but, I am afraid, sir, you shall find no accomodations there. The Boar's Head closed three months hence, and no other inn has been opened to take it's place."

"Could you tell me then," Fitzwilliam inquired, concealing his disappointment, "How much further it is to Antwerp?"

"Oh, you would not make it tonight, for it is certainly another thirty miles, and the sun is setting already."
As if suddenly recollecting his duties as a host, whether intended or not, he bowed to the two of them, "Forgive me, I am Mr. Francis Berrick, at your service. I own this land, plus two square miles on either side, left to me by an uncle over three years ago. Before that I was happily ensconced in London as a simple barrister."

"Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and my wife, Mrs. Darcy, of Derbyshire," Fitzwilliam responded in his most cordial manner. Then, wishing to return the topic to their present predicament, he asked the aforementioned Mr. Berrick, "Could you tell me, sir, if we might find lodgings nearer this vicinity instead?"

"I am afraid not, " was the reply, "The nearest burg is Aarschot, east of here, but there, the inn is very poorly kept. I could not, in good conscious, recommend it."

Elizabeth, listening, experienced a sinking feeling at these less-than-helpful words. It was yet too cold during the evening to sleep out of doors, to say nothing of the many risks involved, but, other than continuing their journey through the nighttime hours (not an appealing prospect, as her very bones ached with weariness at the notion), what choice did they have?

Mr. Berrick's continuously cheerful voice finally returned her to the present.

"I will not permit otherwise, Mr. Darcy. You shall be my guests this evening at Tellerone, my estate. I must insist upon it...You would not, after all, wish your charming wife to be out in this chill night air, now would you?"

"You are very kind," acknowledged Fitzwilliam, but Elizabeth could see that it was with some reluctance in which he accepted Mr. Berrick's invitation to stay. She was positive that if he were alone, he would think nothing of riding on to Antwerp, tired or not.

"Come then," invited their host affably, "We shall collect your horses and have them seen to straightaway. "
The house, modest in comparison to Pemberley, or even the Bingleys' Brindlewood, still emitted an air of studied dignity. Of roman design, four large pillars supported the second of three porches, off of which the stairs curved towards the ground gracefully to meet them as they neared.

While a stable boy led their horses away to be fed, watered and curried, Mr. Berrick took them inside to meet the "household", as he put it.

This, it turned out, consisted of a widowed sister, Mrs. Paquin, her daughter, Bernadette, of about nine years, and, finally, the governess, a quiet, middle-aged personage, called Mistress Mott. Nicknamed that, no doubt, thought Elizabeth, because the child enjoyed the sound of the two words spoken together.

Thankfully, as Mr. Berrick introduced the Darcys, he did not mention under what circumstance he had happened across them, nor that he had been holding a gun upon them at the time.

Elizabeth did note, as he spoke, however, that he had to repeatedly cover his mouth as if to stifle a cough. A fact his sister commented on after the third instance.

"Really, Michael," she reproached him gently, "You ought to send for Mr. Parsons about that. It must be quite taxing."

"No, Helen," he argued, his smile unwavering, "I shall be fine. There is nothing Mr. Parsons could prescribe, as it is only a temporary ailment."
She looked at him a bit strangely then, but remarked no further, returning her attention instead to their unexpected guests.

"So, whereabouts in England are you from?" Inquired she, in a polite voice.
A pretty woman of, perhaps, thirty, Elizabeth decided as she studied her. Full young to be a widow with a child, at any rate. I wonder how her husband died? Perhaps he was much older than she, or perhaps an accident of some sort...either way they were unlikely to find it out in the course of this short visit.

Meanwhile, Fitzwilliam had been answering the questions put to them regarding Pemberley, when Mrs. Paquin remarked thoughtfully, "Pemberley...that name sounds so familiar to me, but I cannot..."

She appeared to be still trying to recollect when her brother spoke up, "Pemberley? Why, did not that Colonel mention such a place oftentimes when he was here?"

"That's right," she agreed, her face brightening, "Colonel Fitzwilliam."
At his cousin's name being spoken in so familiar a manner, and so far from home, Fitzwilliam could only look surprised, so his wife graciously took up the conversation in his stead.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam is my husband's cousin on his maternal side," she explained, her own curiosity piqued as well.

"He is!" cried Mrs. Paquin, "But, that is very odd, for we know him through my late husband's regiment. They were at Knokke together when England was helping us to prevent Napoleon's navy from entering the Westerscheide channel."
She suddenly became pensive, "I was housed in a cottage then...before Bernadette was born. One of several dozen especially built for the wives of the officers, and only a few blocks from the harbor and the marketplace. Somedays you could hear the cannon fire so clearly, and others not at all...those were the worst, for you did not know what was happening, and imagination is sometimes much more gruesome than any reality ever could be. One of Leonard's, my husband's, duties, was as a courier, and he would try to stop on his way to reassure me whenever he could. He knew how incredibly frightened I was..." Her voice trailed away, and all sat in an expectant silence, waiting until she had again returned to the present.

"I am so sorry, " she apologized then, her cheeks reddening , "I did not mean to digress so. In any case, that is where we became friends with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Leonard would often bring him around for meals. I believe the navy rations were a trifle inadequate for young men working as hard as they, and he was always so hungry." She smiled at the memory, "He was unceasingly good-natured also, and never came to visit but that he did not bring along a fine bottle of wine...I suspected it was plunder from the captured French ships, but no one ever mentioned such a thing aloud. On those evenings in particular, we tried to pretend that life was normal, and as it should be. There was rarely cannon fire at night, you see, so it was possible to convince ourselves of this. "

She looked down at the needlepoint on her lap for just a moment, then meeting her daughter's gaze, said, "And, when Bernadette was born, he brought her a little gold locket, which she still has...haven't you, my love?"

"Yes, mama," answered the child, just a trace of a French accent in her voice, "Shall I go and fetch it?" she offered, her eyes lighting up at the prospect.

"No, not now, perhaps tomorrow before the gentleman and lady must leave us," her mother replied not unkindly.

Mr. Berrick spoke up then, "The Colonel still comes to see my sister when he can...that is, when he is in the area. The last time was, perhaps, six months ago. That is why we were so surprised at your being his relations. It is very coincidental, don't you agree, that you should have stopped so near for your...respite?"

His hesitation before the last word was so infinitesimal that only Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam noticed it, but there was no doubting the mischief intended, as his coughing spell was in danger of beginning anew.

Mrs. Paquin looked at him, her eyebrows raised, "I think, brother, you could do with a glass of water, and perhaps supper is ready as well. Bernadette, my love, will you go and see if the table is prepared?"

"Yes, mama," replied the child readily, and walked sedately from the room, with a quick sideways glance at Fitzwilliam in unabashed admiration.

The meal was somewhat noisier than the Darcys were accustomed to of late. Mr. Berrick kept up a steady conversation with whomever would listen to him. Mrs. Paquin divided her time between their guests, her daughter, and her brother, and Bernadette, when not being corrected by Miss Mott, attempted to speak directly to Fitzwilliam whenever possible.

"Have you little girls, Mr. Darcy?" she inquired in a grown-up voice, pronouncing his name "Dawsee", which caused him to smile surreptitiously.

"No," he replied in as serious a tone as he could, "Only two boys."

"Are they as old as me?" She asked then, after recovering from the disappointment of his being daughterless.

"No, no, they are still very small," was his answer, glancing at his wife who was enjoying the conversation immensely.

"What are their names? Are they named after saints as I am?" Not waiting for his reply, she chose that moment to abruptly changed the subject, "Would you like to hear me play on the piano-forte after supper? Sometimes I am allowed to, when we have company."

"I would enjoy that very much," he responded politely.

"I shall play "The Ash Grove". That is my favourite, and the fingering is not too hard, if I do not hurry," she declared in a serious voice, obviously echoing often-heard reproofs from her teacher. "Do you play the piano, Mr. Darcy?"

"No, I am afraid not. Mrs. Darcy does, though."
Bernadette shifted her gaze from Fitzwilliam to Elizabeth, studied her from under lowered brows, then inquired, "Can she play "The Ash Grove"?"

"You would have to ask her that yourself."

"Well," the child said generously, "If she wants to play it tonight, I shall choose something else instead. What is your favourite song, Mr. Darcy?"

"I could not say, really. I take pleasure from so many."

"After supper, I shall bring you my books and you can choose one. Would that be all right?" She offered, her face so hopeful that Elizabeth had to turn away to hide her smile.
Miss Mott distracted the girl for a time after that, leaving Fitzwilliam free to speak to his wife.

"You were thoroughly enjoying yourself, weren't you?" he whispered close to her ear.

"Oh, very much so. It is not often that I am able to witness an actual conquest."
Before he could think of a rejoinder, Mrs. Paquin's voice was heard above the rattle of dishes and clinking of silver, "Let us take our dessert and coffee to the drawing room. I am sure Bernadette is anxious to play for us."

So, as a group, they rose and retired to the drawing room, which actually served a variety of purposes. By the large bay window, a white piano-forte waited, a harp and viola standing sentry beside it. Across the room stood a study table surrounded by several bookshelves along with various sized cupboards, and, of course, before the fire, the usual arrangement of both comfortable and less-than comfortable chairs. They chose their places, and were no more than seated before Bernadette was seen whispering something into Elizabeth's ear. Her response was simply a smile and a nod, which apparently pleased the child greatly, for she curtseyed and went to the piano without further ado.

Within a matter of minutes, she had begun playing, as promised, "The Ash Grove", her fingers enunciating each note, and being very careful not to "hurry".

"Mrs. Darcy," Mrs. Paquin said, after a few moments of appreciative listening on her part, "Do you have children of your own, pray?"

"Yes, two sons... the eldest is nearly seventeen months and the younger, but five." her voice lowered just a bit as she spoke of them.

"So close together, but then, they shall always be close at heart as well, don't you think?" The lady suggested kindly.

"So one would hope," Elizabeth answered with a smile. In a way, Mrs. Paquin reminded her of Jane but with a little more worldliness to her. "Your brother mentioned that you have lived here but three years. Do you find the area agreeable?" she inquired, wishing to know a bit more about her hostess.

"Yes, it is very pretty. Sometimes I miss Knokke, for despite the fighting, it was a time to remember with fondness. We were yet newlyweds and so incredibly young." Her eyes took on a far-away look as she continued, "Leonard passed on from lung fever almost five years ago, and my brother was kind enough to allow us a home here with him after his inheritence of the place...I am sure," she added pensively, "That we are sometimes the only reason he remains here. His heart is still in London, you see."

"Could he not sell, and move you all to England, if that is what would satisfy him?" Elizabeth asked, not wishing to pry, but feeling as if she were merely stating the most obvious solution.

"I have suggested the same to him, but he believes that Bernadette would be happier here. I cannot think why, as there are few children her age in the neighbourhood. I sometimes wonder if it is not an excuse."

"An excuse?"

"If he should return to London would his heart be broken anew? You see, Mrs. Darcy, he was betrothed for a time while he was employed there. The reason for his accepting the terms of my uncle's will was only because she had already ended the engagement, and his only wish was to leave that period of so much grief far behind him.

"Is this woman still in London then, causing him to be wary of meeting her there?" Asked Elizabeth, unobtrusively studying Mr. Berrick who was deep in conversation with Fitzwilliam across the room.

"I am not certain, nor, I believe, is he, but, it is a possibility he feels he cannot risks right now...perhaps after a longer span of time has passed, he might consider such a decision." Mrs. Paquin's voice was patiently sympathetic, her features concerned, but as her daughter quit the piano bench to make her way back to her, she relaxed once more, offering her hand to the child in tender greeting.

"Mama," Bernadette said, leaning on Mrs. Paquin's chair, "Might not Mrs. Darcy play now? My fingers are becoming quite tired."

"You shall have to ask her, my love," she replied in gentle reproof, meaning, do not talk of another when they are near enough to overhear the conversation.
Unabashed, Bernadette turned to Elizabeth and inquired, "Mrs. Darcy, won't you play, please? I have a lot of books if you would like to choose from them."

"Can you show me?" Elizabeth answered, smiling at her. The girl's attempts to appear grown-up were really quite charming, as she had not yet learned the unfortunate practice of "putting on airs", so common in young ladies of circumstance.

Having not heard Elizabeth play since her miscarriage, Fitzwilliam was momentarily distracted from Mr. Berrick's eager conversation, which had consisted mainly of questions regarding any great changes in London since his leaving there. After assuring him that there was little difference save for even more houses, shops, and, inevitably, the poverty which seemed to follow whenever a population increased rapidly, he fell silent, concentrating on his wife's performance.

She had improved considerably, he decided, in as objective a manner as was possible for him, and, in fact, she could play nearly as capably as she had on the first occasion of his hearing her at Pemberley.

Mr. Berrick, noticing his companion's sudden preoccupation, stopped speaking just long enough to pay heed to the music, before he commented, "She plays very well...If you do not mind my asking, Mr. Darcy, how long have you been married?"

Fitzwilliam, more curious as to the impetus for such an inquiry than offended by it, answered, "Not yet three years."

"Forgive me, I do not mean to pry. I inquired only to resolve a question in my own mind. I recall the Colonel stopping once, perhaps in May or June, some three years ago, very soon after we had settled here as a matter of fact. He mentioned that he had met someone...a woman, but that his admiration was all for naught as she had little or no dowry, and he would be required to marry, not for love, but, ultimately, for reasons of practicality. He visited us again in November of that same year, and when my sister, quite innocently, inquired as to the fate of the aforementioned young lady, he told us of her betrothal to his own cousin, and that they were to be wed within a matter of weeks. He had, by that time at least, quite reconciled himself to it, I assure you, Mr. Darcy. With no bitterness nor despondency of spirit, and went on to say that, he hoped they would be happy in their union."

"Why are you telling me this?" Fitzwilliam asked, his eyebrows raised, "It has little to do with me."

"Then," Mr. Berrick hesitated,"She is not the woman he spoke of? Your wife, I mean. I am not saying this to cause you displeasure, Mr. Darcy. Quite the opposite, for I merely meant to say that Colonel Fitzwilliam's praises of this lady were not inappropriate in the least...if this cousin was, in fact, yourself, and the woman, Mrs. Darcy." He fell silent then, evidently waiting for whatever response (if any), should be forthcoming.

Fitzwilliam, studying the carefully ambiguous countenance of Mr. Berrick, mulled over the account just given him, and conceded that there was nothing in it to be upsetting nor even unexpected. After several uncertain moments, Fitzwilliam heard himself replying calmly, "I thank you."

Encouraged, Mr. Berrick went on, "The Colonel, you see, has always spoken highly of you. Not by name, of course, but as reference to "his cousin". His admiration was always most evident when he referred to your character. That is why, I believe, he could sincerely wish you well in your marriage, because of his regard for both you and the lady."

"I was aware of his esteem for her," Fitzwilliam admitted at length, "It did not surprise me at the time. I was not, however, conscious that he had been considering marriage to her."

"Considered, and in the end, abandoned as well," was the replication.

"Thankfully."

"Why should you say that?" questioned Mr. Berrick in a reasonable voice, "From what I have seen, she obviously has no regrets."

"They have much in common, actually," explained Fitzwilliam, keeping his voice impersonal, "They are both spontaneous, affectionate, generous, open-minded, and socially adept."

"But often," Mr. Berrick sensibly enjoined, "It will not do to have two such similar temperaments unite, and Mrs. Darcy, herself must have seen that as well."

"Yes...I have no doubt of it. Mrs. Darcy is very clever."

"You, also, appear to have much in common."

"So it would seem...Has your question been resolved, Mr. Berrick?"

"I have another, but if you feel it is none of my business, I shall respect that."

"Will you? Well, go ahead then."

"You said that you are returning to England from Germany. Yet, you have no trunks, nor carriage for transport. An obviously refined couple such as yourselves would hardly be traveling without personal servants. Yet, here you are on horseback. No baggage, no attendants, apparently anxious to reach Antwerp by some deadline. And then, for no rational reason, you stop in my woods to...rest, and waste your seemingly precious time on a tender interlude. But, why is it so precious? Are you fleeing from legal entanglements...Pursued by a party intent on doing you some harm? I admit, Mr. Darcy, you have stirred my interest."

"Your questions are understandable, Mr. Berrick, and it is only because of your considerable hospitality that I shall condescend to answer what I can. No, we are not fleeing legal entanglements, nor does anyone wish us harm from whence we have come. It is where we are going, that our need to make haste has arisen. We are on horseback, because our carriage suffered a breakdown in Verviers. That, also, is where our attendants and additional luggage are, waiting for the repairs to be completed, so they may soon rejoin us in London."

"Then, if this is all true," Mr. Berrick asked, "Why did you stop here...so near and yet, not near enough, to your destination?"

"By the time we stopped, I knew that we would not make Antwerp today. I deemed it necessary to converse with my wife at that time, so that is where we tarried. Again, I did not intend to trespass on your property."

"Well, seeing as there are no accommodations between here and Antwerp at any rate, it is fortuitous that you did. However, the motive behind it still leaves me puzzled."

"I can believe that, Mr. Berrick, as, not only are you unmarried, your understanding of the condition is, at best, limited."

"I cannot argue, sir...and aware as you are of my limited understanding, explain to me this "condition". What are it's causes and symptoms?"
Fitzwilliam was beginning to enjoy this verbal sparring, if that was what it was. This gentleman was brighter than his first impression had signified, and was showing himself to be an able adversary.

"It's causes," he said thoughtfully, " Are difficult to identify. A look, a certain expression, perhaps a particular way of reacting to some innocent remark. Then, over time, these, supposedly inconsequential incidences, combine and build, until rational thought and common sense are but a memory. Once you have entered this phase of the affliction, you are already finished, and the symptoms...are as devastating as they are enticing."

"That much I believe I can comprehend," Mr. Berrick replied, his eyes watching the fire pensively.

A log broke in half and fell against another, sending sparks flying and, at once dying, as Fitzwilliam began to speak carefully, wondering at his own candor.

"There was once a gentleman," he said, "Who fell hopelessly in love. But, the woman of whom he dreamt would not have him. In fact, in her...more than eloquent refusal, she accused him of pride, conceit, arrogance, and various other crimes against human nature. He left her overcome with anger, bruised sensibilities, and a sense of incredulity. She had been correct about one point at least; He was arrogant enough to believe her, if not in love with him, at least in enough awe of his rank and connections to accept him without question."

Silence overtook the two for some moments, until Mr. Berrick spoke up, "And did she then go off to marry another?"

"No...no. This gentleman, fool though he was, knew that if he were to win her, he must alter his disposition, as in the rather drastic rectification of his general manner at large. A course, I promise you, which he had never considered as necessary in the whole of his life thus far. Furthermore, he had to allow her to see into his heart...his true heart, and, despite his pride, discard his own narrow-minded convictions. Finally, when she was facing a time of anguish, but would never have considered asking for any real help from him, he came to her aid, with the hope that her eyes might be opened to the depth and breadth of his feelings for her."

"Were they?"

"Yes...thankfully, they were. You see, Mr. Berrick, there is no cure for the condition I speak of. For, even though the lady accepted the gentleman at last, he still courts her as earnestly and ceaselessly as if she had not. He cannot forget how very near he was to losing her completely, an outcome inconceivable to him, even after..."

"...nearly three years," Mr. Berrick finished for him, his voice low.

"Yes."

"And so, what is it," Mr. Berrick asked following another lengthy pause, " That is so urgent in England to cause you such impetuosity...that keeps you from waiting upon your coach and servants?"

"You questioned earlier if someone had intent to harm us in Germany...it is not of Germany that we must be wary, but England."

"Someone has threatened you?"

"Someone of a vindictive nature has indeed threatened both my home and my family."

"But if you have reason for concern, can you not contact the authorities there?"

"This...person has not alarmed us through any physical intent of peril, but rather, an emotional one...she is subtle, shrewd. Therefore, no act apparent to any outside authorities, unfortunately."
Mr. Berrick raised an eyebrow at his words. "She? This is a woman you speak of?"

"A woman of greater will and more cunning design than even I gave her credit for. My wife, you see, is of a less unwitting nature and, therefore, wisely suspicious of her long before myself."

"And you plan to board a ship in Antwerp?"

"That is our intention."

"You do realize, of course, that security for all ships making the crossing has intensified greatly, due to fear of smugglers?"

"Yes. The papers for our return are all in order, I expect no cause for any prolonged delay."

"I hope you are right, Mr. Darcy. I heard you telling my niece earlier that you have two sons. Who is caring for them in your absence?"

"My younger sister."

"And is she in jeopardy as well?"

"I am afraid so...she is unsophisticated, impressionable." At this admission, he rose restlessly and strode to the darkened window. "I was a fool to leave her unprotected for so lengthy a time."

"I should say, sir," Mr. Berrick stated emphatically, watching him, "If she is anything like you, you should have nothing to dread."

"She is..." his voice softened slightly, "She is very little like me. She has been protected through her life, mainly due to my influence, and has not had to deal directly with the...harder elements of society."

"Perhaps she has more sense than you give her credit for."

"Sense is not what she is lacking. She is so trusting, so innocent. She sees only the good in others, even when they do not deserve such consideration."

"Does your wife share this concern?"

"My wife's concerns are centered upon her children just now, although she and Georgiana, I am happy to say, care very much for each other."

"Georgiana? That is your sister?"
His silence was taken as affirmation, and when he spoke again, it was with some regret, "Forgive me, Mr. Berrick, I did not intend to speak so freely of such a private matter. I hope you understand my desire...the necessity for this to be communicated no further than this room."

"You needn't fear, Mr. Darcy. Even if I were a gossip, which I assure you I am not, there is not a soul around here who would have either the time nor the interest in such a tale. I do have one other concern, if you will humour me."

"And, what would that be?" He had turned to face Mr. Berrick as he spoke, his countenance undergoing an understated yet definable change, such as that of a door closing.

"What will your actions be when you reach your Pemberley? How shall you deal with what awaits you there?"

"I must wait and see what exactly that is. Until then, we have only to hope for the best, and," he added with an assurance he did not feel, "Maintain our presence of mind even as it is severely tried."

Both gentlemen suddenly became aware of the silence now emanating from the other end of the room. Bernadette had been taken out to be prepared for bed by Miss Mott. Mrs. Paquin was quietly involved with her needlepoint, and Elizabeth, apprehending the import of their conversation, had risen from the piano and was watching her husband wordlessly. He turned then to meet her gaze, and Mr. Berrick, who looked on, could not help but feel a small pang of envy at the deep and steadfast regard mirrored there.

Chapter Fifty-Three

When their horses were brought around the following morning, Mr. Berrick surprised them by offering to escort them as far as Antwerp.

"I have not been to the docks in so long, and I must admit that I have been craving the scent of the breeze over the water for many months now," he explained when questioned by his sister.

Finally, she could only shake her head and admonish him, "Well, take care then, and do not escort them all the way back to London, or we shall see you no more. Please see that he does not, Mr. Darcy," she finished with a small sigh of exasperation.

Fitzwilliam nodded from atop Penumbra, saluted Bernadette who smiled delightedly, and with a silent confirmation of readiness from Elizabeth, moved his horse forward.

They rode three abreast whenever they could. Where the road narrowed or an oncoming coach or rider met them, they fell easily into a line. Elizabeth, indeed stiff and sore from the day before, was determined to be uncomplaining, especially in the presence of Mr. Berrick, as well as resolved to keep up an even pace with the two of them. This was not too difficult so long as they merely walked, but when Fitzwilliam impatiently urged his mount to a canter, she winced and bit her lip as Apparition and Mr. Berrick's chestnut, Charlemagne, quickly followed suit. Fortunately, just as Elizabeth thought she might scream for the discomfort, they entered the outskirts of Antwerp.

As in many port towns, it bustled with its midday business. Merchants displayed their wares in open carts lining the main street, and tourists as well as natives, stood in dense crowds to complete their purchases. It was, as well, very noisy, and even more so as they drew near the harbor.

"What is the name of your ship?" Inquired Mr. Berrick loudly in order to be heard above the din.

"The Gwendolyn," replied Fitzwilliam in a similar tone, eyeing the assortment of vessels presently docked in the harbor. They dismounted before a one-story building with a weathered sign swinging in the wind, which read, Port of Antwerp - Office of Business and General Affairs.

"I won't be long," Fitzwilliam promised Elizabeth after helping her alight, an action which would normally have been appreciated, but in her present state, only forced her to concentrate harder on disguising her distress. Once he was out of sight, she sighed, wishing more than anything to be immersed in a hot bath as a balm for her aching muscles.

Mr. Berrick, who had been studying the activity around them, turned to her, smiling pleasantly, "It has been a long ride, I vow. You must be relieved to be here at last."

Fearing that her expression resembled a grimace rather than the smile she intended, she answered him ruefully, "More than you shall ever know, Mr. Berrick."
They were interrupted upon Fitzwilliam's return, his countenance suggesting no good news.

"What is it?" Questioned Elizabeth, her heart skipping uneasily at his manner.

"She is late...the Gwendolyn. The man does not know if she will pull in today, tomorrow, or next week," his voice was low, tense, and tight with repressed anger.

"There is no other ship leaving today?" She asked, at once troubled.

Mr. Berrick, who had been observing them not without sympathy, spoke then, "Pardon me, Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy. Pray, excuse me for just a few minutes, and...do not leave this place before my return, will you?" With that, and without waiting for agreement, he hurried away, his demeanor that of a man filled with purposeful intent.

And so it was, that Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy found themselves aboard the East Indiamen merchant ship, Diana, complete with armed and ready guns belowdeck. It was a carrier of cargo and goods, but because of the rash of smuggling between England and her neighbors east, was amply protected against attack.

Mr. Berrick, somewhat miraculously, had managed to procure their passage despite an abundantly-stocked hold and full crew.

The captain, Mr. Tieggs, was an acquaintance of whom he had successfully represented in a legal dispute some years before while still a barrister. This gentleman, not overly anxious to be carrying non-marine personnal aboard his vessel, nonetheless agreed, so long as the "master and misses" stay out of the way of the crew and make no extra demands.

Their cabin, meager though it was, was more than adequate for the one night stay, particularly when they considered the risks of waiting upon the Gwendolyn, which might not choose to appear at all.

Supper and breakfast had been purchased along with the passage, but neither Fitzwilliam nor Elizabeth expected anything too lavish, this being a working man's ship. As far as the sleeping arrangements were concerned, two bunks nailed to the wall, one above the other, gave the impression of being rather droll to the two of them, however utilitarian they might otherwise be.

"It does not matter," remarked Elizabeth, "I shall probably not sleep anyway."
She was not meaning to appear flippant or careless. Her body, not recovered yet from the disconcerting tenderness resulting from her equestrian exercises, promised to remain in its present state of discomfort for some time yet, and so, little, if any, rest was to be anticipated.

They sailed out of the Antwerp harbor just as the sun was dropping low enough to illuminate the trees and buildings lining the pier. Although several hundreds of people mingled on the shore, few watched the ships departure, save for one man who waved once, then turned and mounted his horse, his thoughts remaining for a time with the couple standing together on the deck.

"We must write and invite him to visit soon," Elizabeth decided aloud, thinking of Mr. Berrick's benevolence, in light of the fact that he knew nothing of them before yesterday afternoon.
Fitzwilliam, beside her, silently agreed, his eyes following the lone rider as he took the road back to Tellerone.

It was only after their supper, a heavy affair of pork, biscuits, and a pudding of questionable flavour, that Elizabeth involuntarily made known to him the extent of her distress. Easing herself back upon the lower bunk, she found that she dare not move again for fear of the aching becoming unbearable, and she should be forced to cry out against her will. So, in a position which, she hoped, would not betray her plight, she lay perfectly still in the candlelight, yet unnoticed by her husband who was studying an ancient map tacked crudely upon the wall.

She closed her eyes, willing him not to approach her, but the sight of her there apparently proved too tempting for him, and within moments she felt the bunk sag from his added weight. At the same time, an excruciating spasm of pain shot up her spine and across her shoulders, causing her to moan and contort unwittingly, and he to leap off of the bed in terrified astonishment.

"What is it?" he cried, supposing her death to be imminent.
Giving up her pretense at last, she sighed, her eyes yet closed, "The riding...I fear I am paying that price I mentioned yesterday. I shall be fine, tomorrow, Fitzwilliam. I promise."
Without batting an eye, he carefully sat beside her once again, ordering, "Turn over onto your stomach, Elizabeth."

She did so, slowly, purposefully, moving certain parts with more caution than usual. When she had laid her face onto her crossed arms, she felt his hands begin to gently massage her tender muscles; At first, mainly around her shoulders, then moving downward, to the very end of her tailbone. She smiled lazily to herself, but said nothing, basking in the luxury of having him tend so proficiently to her needs. At length, she could feel his lips, with sensual lightness, replace his hands, placing lingering kisses from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. The sensation created by this activity was the only thing detaining her from sleep, for her eyelids were becoming very heavy. At last, he relented, leaving her to drift off alone. Where he went, she did not know, but she supposed that he would have pulled himself onto the upper bunk, undoubtedly in some uncomfortable position as it had not been built to support a frame as tall as his own.

She was awakened abruptly, she thought at first, by thunder. But as it went off at regular intervals, and rocked the cabin each time, she soon realized, it was cannon fire.
Sitting up, still a bit stiff, she looked around, dazed, and attempting to get her bearings. Flashes of light could be seen from outside the porthole, and she stood up to peer out into the night. All was in darkness, except for a thin line of light where the sea met the sky. If there was another craft out there, it was outside of her range of vision, and she had just turned away to seek Fitzwilliam, when another blast succeeded in throwing her off balance, forcing her to hang onto the edge of the upper bunk to remain upright.

"Elizabeth!" his voice, startled, urgent, sounded behind her as the door opened, "Stay away from the window, it is not safe!"

Sinking down onto the bunk, she asked weakly, "Is anywhere safe?"
He was beside her in a moment, his arms pulling her to him securely, "Remain down and away from the walls, my love... we can do nothing else now but wait."

"Where were you?" she whispered against his chest, even though the volume of her voice was not at issue.

"I was speaking with the first mate," he replied soothingly while kissing her hair,"We are being pursued by a privateer vessel...Spanish, he thought.He was not terribly concerned, as it is several times smaller than the Diana...and, if they have guns, they have not fired them as yet."

"Let us hope they do not," she said only.
Another shot set the boat rocking aimlessly once again, causing her hold to tighten around him with considerable vehemence.

"Fitzwilliam."

"Yes?"

"What if they do?"

"We cannot think of that. It will do us no good, and only make a bad situation worse. No, we must hope for the best." He seemed to be trying to convince himself as well as she.

Sliding back so that he was leaning against the wall, he kept his arms firmly around her. She noticed that he had left his boots and coat on, but did not comment on it, her mind fully occupied with this new and unsettling turn of events.

"Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes. my love."

"I...if something should happen to us..." Another roar of gunfire interrupted her. As the ship slowly ceased it's rocking, she continued intently, "If we should die, at least I would have the comfort of doing so in your arms."
His lips against her hair being his only response, she went on, "I only wish that I could have seen James and Ethan again, and perhaps, let them know..." her voice trailed off , drowned out by a deafening report, coming this time out and away from the ship.

Silence followed. A heart-stopping, expectant silence, with only some minimal swaying on the Diana's part. Then, nothing at all, but the sounds of lapping waves against the outer hull and the occasional creak of wooden boards as someone walked on the deck above them.

After what seemed an eternity, they sat up as one, and looked at each other hesitantly.

"Do you hear anything?" she asked, whispering again.
He shook his head in answer, placing a finger against her lips in warning as the sound of footsteps being heard in the hallway stopped outside of their cabin.

"Mr. Darcy!" A deep voice called, "Are you all right, sir?"

"It's Samuels," Fitzwilliam said, rising from the bunk. He strode to the door and opened it to admit the drenched and dripping first mate, who was holding a lantern high before him.

"Just checking on you and the misses, sir," he announced, then in a tone obviously not intended for Elizabeth's ears, murmured something more, before turning and leaving them alone once again.

"What did he have to say?" she asked as she stood uncertainly, her knees still trembling a bit from all of the recent excitement.

"He said that the British Navy came to the rescue, and just in time," he did not meet her gaze as he answered, but his voice shook just a little despite his efforts to appear calm.

"Meaning?" she went to him, her hands taking his insistently.

"Mr. Tieggs was actually considering a surrender of sorts...apparently he was nearly out of ammunition, and the privateer vessel was gaining ground...He would have turned over the cargo, until a British Guard ship appeared and conveniently fired upon them."

"And if he would have surrendered...what...what would have become of us?" She hated to ask, but she felt that she had to know it all.

"I am not sure...they might have let us go, or...maybe not," he was staring at her hands, still clasped around his, as he spoke.

Impulsively, she slid her arms around his neck to draw herself as physically near him as possible, the trembling of her own body intermingling with his. They stood like that for some time, neither of them willing or able to move apart. Eventually, they returned to the bunk, and slept at last from sheer exhaustion, arms and legs entwined in mutual solace.

The sound of rapping upon the door awoke them both, followed by the voice of Samuels, announcing loudly, "If you please, Mr. Darcy, sir. It is nearly noon and we have just sighted London town. We should be dockside within the hour."
Elizabeth, lifting her head from his chest at hearing the message, laid it back down again and sighed, "Well, we survived the night, my love."

"Apparently," he answered while straightening his cramped legs, and in the process shifting her enough so that she was soon sitting unwillingly upright, blinking against the sunlight now pouring through the porthole of the tiny room.
After taking inventory of their general dishevelment and crumpled garb; she declared, "Well, we certainly shall not be at our best, today, but the fact that we are still alive should count for something."

"It is not far to the house...we should be able to get a hansom cab to drive us there," he said reasonably.

"Supposing we can convince one to stop...you have not looked into a glass lately, have you, Fitzwilliam?" she teased.

"Have you, Elizabeth?" he replied, tugging at a wild-looking curl hanging over her ear.

"I admit, I am longing for a bath," she conceded, "But it does me little good while here. Come, my love, the sooner we leave this place, the sooner we may look like ourselves again." With that, she slid off of the bunk, and as there was no mirror, peered intently at her reflection in the glass of the porthole. The sight made her laugh, although mixed to a certain degree with exasperation, as, comb in hand, she tried to restore some semblance of order to her tangled curls.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Posted on Thursday, 23 May 2002, at 9:38 a.m.

Their emergence upon the deck of the Diana brought with it a certain amount of surprise, for after such a harrowing night, they expected some outer evidence to remain. Instead, the ship in the bright sunlight appeared to be as it was, its hull as scratched and weatherworn, but otherwise undamaged, as the day before.

Despite Elizabeth's prediction, they did manage to get a cab, for Fitzwilliam Darcy, even in complete disarray, still emanated an air of aristocracy not diminished by the simple absence of bath, shave, and freshly pressed clothes.
Their reception at the London house might have been humourous, if they had been of a mind to see it as such. The servant who answered the door appeared to not recognize them at first, until, realizing his oversight, collected himself, and thereafter could not move aside quickly enough to allow their entrance. In an effort to make amends, he ended up bowing so low that they both imagined that he might actually scrape the floor.

Elizabeth, herself, was very much aware of the picture they presented; He, unshaven, clothes wrinkled, boots dingy. She, dress, coat, bonnet, and gloves nearly grey with road dust, hair, despite much effort, almost totally undone and hanging down her back, shockingly unbefitting of a lady.

Still, upon entering their residence, they maintained at least the visage of grace and dignity, never letting on that they felt to be less so than at any other time of their lives.

Sometime later, as Elizabeth lay soaking in the much anticipated bath, the events of the past twenty-four hours surged over her all at once, causing a delayed reaction of sorts, and tears to inexplicably roll down her cheeks.

Attempting to stifle her sobs did nothing, succeeding only in frightening the poor girl assigned to take Clara's place, who ran out, flustered, to fetch the master, crying, "Something's wrong with the misses...she will not leave her bath!"
Fitzwilliam came directly, took one look at his wife weeping into her hands while sitting in the now-tepid bath water, and immediately ordered the girl to leave them.
Without another word, he knelt down beside the tub, his arms coming around to draw her close to him. No sooner had she realized him there, then the tears started afresh, his presence proving to be an impetus rather than an abatement.

After several moments, she at last, quieted, partly because her thoughts were becoming distracted by the rapidly cooling water surrounding her, and yet somewhat, because of his fingers stroking her cheek, producing in her a serene languor.

Pulling her dressing gown from a nearby chair, he, somewhat awkwardly, attempted to wrap it around her at the same time as lifting her from the tub. Part of it falling into the water, of course, and trailing wetly behind them as he carried her into the bedroom.
She kept her face buried in his neck, but was aware, that, rather than the bed, he sat instead in one of the two chairs facing the fire, settling her upon his lap and holding her close against him as if she were a child. After some moments, he spoke softly, "Elizabeth?"

"Mmmm?" she murmured, not moving.

"Are you feeling better?"

"If I answer yes, will you then leave me?" She inquired, finally opening her eyes, but remaining in her relaxed state.

"Not necessarily," he replied, smiling at her evasiveness.

"Then...yes."
She was silent for so long after that, he thought she might have fallen asleep, until she said, "I was thinking about last night..."
He made no answer, waiting.

"Fitzwilliam," she said at length, sitting up to look into his face, at the same time causing the dressing gown to slide precariously in the opposite direction. She pulled it around her shoulders distractedly in an effort to maintain at least some modicum of modesty. For the garment in its present situation covered little; a circumstance her husband was determined to ignore.

"I was thinking, that if something should have happened last night to the both of us,...and, although I was thankful that we were together, for I...I could not imagine what my life would be without you...," she paused, taking his hand into hers to lightly trace the lines of his palm as she considered her next words, "I was wondering, what would become of Jamie and Ethan? It is hardly fair to expect Georgiana to keep them...she is so young and has her whole life before her yet." Despite her obvious efforts to speak in a sensible manner, her voice caught, and she was forced to compose herself yet again.

"She would do so gladly, you know," he assured her, his eyes watching her face.

"I know that she would, but...it is not something that should be left to chance. I should...I should so much like to know that they would be cared for if, for whatever reason, we could not..."

"My love," he said then, his heart contracting upon seeing her so concerned, "If it will make you happy I shall call on my solicitor, and settle it with him just as soon as we are back at Pemberley."

She did not reply immediately, her eyes still focused upon their hands entwined together in her lap, then, with a rueful smile, remarked, "Of course, in a perfect world, we should both live to see our great-great-grandchildren. That, however...," with a sigh, she suddenly stopped speaking, and, leaning back against him, pulled his arms around her like a shawl. She stayed that way, curled up, for so long he was convinced of her having fallen asleep at last , until she moved her face nearer to his and began to place small tentative kisses upon his cheek and neck. Turning his head so that their lips met, he instantly became aware of the change in her mood as her breathing had quickened considerably, while her fingers buried themselves in his hair.

Somehow, she wriggled around until she was, more or less, facing him, "Fitzwilliam," she said in a low voice, "I am ready now."
Not understanding, he only looked puzzled until she clarified, "I am ready to have another child now."

"Now?"

"Well, not right now, of course...but, as soon as possible..." she prefaced this last statement with a deep, lingering kiss, so that he would not mistake her meaning.
He did not.

Clara and Preston arrived the following afternoon, having gained passage on the Gwendolyn after all, which had apparently docked the same evening in which the Darcys departed on board the Diana.

"So," Elizabeth said, "We might not have had to risk life and limb at all."

"No," Fitzwilliam agreed, "But, we could not know."
She smiled ruefully, her humour having long been restored.

"So, we may leave for Pemberley tomorrow?" she inquired then, hopefully.

"First light tomorrow," he promised, as impatient to complete the last leg of their journey as was she.

It seemed that the closer they drew to Pemberley, the more anxious Elizabeth became, while Fitzwilliam not only appeared to be more composed, but even napped a bit on the morning of the final day.
Reaching Derbyshire at last should have been truly sublime, and surely would have been so, if the perceived threat to their family had not dampened the occasion. When they finally passed through Pemberley's gates, it was all Elizabeth could do to stay seated until the coach had actually stopped. The footman, although being as prompt as was possible, could not open the carriage door quickly enough as she flew past him and up the steps.

Home! She was home at last! Already she could imagine Jamie's chubby cheek against her own, and Ethan cradled in her arms. The front door swung open barely in time for her to rush through it, and she took the stairs faster than ever before, up to the second floor.
Behind her, she barely heard Georgiana's surprised voice, "Why, it is Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth! You are home!"

Whom Georgiana was addressing as she spoke, seemed immaterial in light of Elizabeth's urgent desire to be reunited with her children at last. But, at the nursery door she stopped short, breathing heavily from the rapidity of her ascent.

The room was unoccupied. That is, there was no one in it, and in addition, everything was quite neat and tidy. Every shelf was organized. Every toy, book, and piece of clothing was in its place, as though no one had ever been there.

She stood for a moment uncertainly. Where would they be? Were they, perhaps, downstairs, and she had run right past them? She half turned to leave when something caught her eye. Ethan's crib, normally containing several soft playthings, now stood completely empty...even his blanket, of which he was quite attached, had vanished.
Despite her disinclination, a suspicion was beginning to form in her mind; a terrible, horrifying, unthinkable suspicion.

Moving to the bureau where both boys' clothing were kept, she cautiously slid the top-drawer open, and stood, frozen, her mind blank.
It was quite empty.

Where once, Jamie's little shirts had been neatly folded into piles, there was nothing but the blue velvet drawer liner. Bending, she pulled open the three lower drawers as well. The last still bore some articles, the two between, however, were as desolate as the first.

Hearing movement from the doorway, she straightened, but found that she could not seem to move her feet from where they were fixed. As she gazed unseeingly into that empty top drawer, she became aware of Fitzwilliam standing just inside the door, and behind him, Georgiana, both of them watching her.

"What is it, Elizabeth?" He asked, his voice low, his eyes dark with concern.

"Are the...where are the children, Georgiana?" She inquired, concentrating on keeping her voice steady, not daring to breathe in hopes she was mistaken...was only jumping to ridiculous and unfounded conclusions.

"Why," answered Georgiana innocently, "I would have explained, but you ran by me so quickly that I did not have the chance. They are at Rosings."

"Rosings?" It was Fitzwilliam, "Why are they at Rosings?"

"Why, Mary thought it best, of course," Georgiana replied, apparently surprised at their shock.
"Mary? You mean Miss Benedict?" Elizabeth managed, hanging onto the edge of the bureau as though her knees could no longer support her.

"Why, yes...I was ill, and Miss Benedict thought...Elizabeth, whatever is the matter?"

For Elizabeth was not reacting as Georgiana had expected. Her face had gone suddenly chalk white, and she would have collapsed to the floor, had Fitzwilliam not caught her just as she fell.

Carrying her in his arms, he passed an astonished Georgiana, and bore her into their own room where he laid her, outstretched, on the bed. Clara, who had been unpacking, halted her task abruptly when she saw Elizabeth's motionless body being placed upon the coverlet.

"Oh! Is Mrs. Darcy ill, sir?" She asked, instantly concerned, "Shall I have a doctor fetched?"

"No," Fitzwilliam answered curtly, then softening his voice, added, "Leave us alone, please."

She left at once, looking back once in puzzlement at the odd tableau there, for although he was sitting on the edge of the bed holding his wife's hand, his attention was focused solely upon his sister.
No sooner had the door closed behind her, then Fitzwilliam, in the sternest voice she had ever heard used towards herself, questioned, "Georgiana, why are the children at Rosings?"

"I had a fever...only a slight one really, but Mary, Miss Benedict, believed they should be kept apart from me until I was well again. She was merely considering their own health," she finished somewhat defensively, beginning to feel self-conscious by his brusque manner.

"When was this?"

"Last week. I only just wrote them yesterday to let them know I was better, and that they might return at their leisure...Fitzwilliam, what is the matter? You are acting as if I had done something unwise."

"Let us hope not," he breathed, watching his wife's face anxiously as her eyes fluttered open. She lay there stunned for a moment, then asked weakly, "Did I faint? What a foolish thing to do..."

Recollecting suddenly what had caused her to do so in the first place, she looked quickly at Georgiana and then to Fitzwilliam, her expression a mixture of consternation and dread.

"Fitzwilliam," sitting up quickly, she spoke in a hushed voice, "What if...?"

"Shhh," he warned, his eyes gazing into hers intensely, "We shall discuss it later."
Georgiana, yet unaware of their misgivings, spoke joyously, "But, you are home! It is wonderful to see you both. Come, you must be in need of refreshment...let us go downstairs and talk. There is so very much to discuss after, what is it, nearly two months? Goodness, come along, you two." With that, she went to the door, smiling happily, ready to act the hostess as though nothing at all were amiss.

"We shall be down in a moment, Georgiana," Fitzwilliam answered, his eyes still upon Elizabeth, who, after placing her feet on the floor, seemed to be unable, or unwilling, to rise.

As she left them, a feeling similar to one who has been dealt a single stunning blow, and then cruelly deserted to recover quite alone, gazed at one another in anguish.

"What shall we do?" Elizabeth whispered, feeling, for the first time in her life, a paralyzing helplessness.

"I shall have to go to Rosings," he answered darkly, his face a study of outrage and frustration, "I shall bring them back."

"What can she be thinking of? What can Miss Benedict mean by doing this?" she questioned, although afraid that she already knew.

"It is another way to hurt us, to hurt me..."

"But, what if Georgiana is right, Fitzwilliam? What if she does intend no harm to them?" She suggested desperately, clutching at any available straw, "Perhaps we are misjudging her..." Her voice trailed away, however, as she realized how inlikely her words sounded, even to herself.

"I shall discover exactly what she means," he promised grimly.

Chapter Fifty-Five

When they joined Georgiana in the drawing room, the tea service was set before her on a low table, and she was beaming happily at them. "I am so glad...You cannot imagine how pleased I am to see you again," she stated, pouring the tea neatly into three cups.

Elizabeth sat uneasily in the chair opposite her, but Fitzwilliam remained standing, his features exhibiting a profusion of painful emotions.

"Georgiana," he spoke at length, "Have you heard from...Miss Benedict or Anne since they left for Rosings?"

"Why, no," she replied, apparently surprised by the question, "But, I was not expecting to. Why should you ask?"
He sighed, the task before him as unwelcome as any he had ever been forced to do.
"Because, Miss Benedict is not what she seems," he told her.
As anticipated, she only looked confused, "What can you mean? Miss Benedict is a perfectly charming, selfless person. She has been ever so kind since her arrival here, and never thinks of herself in any situation. I am surprised at you, Fitzwilliam."

"It is true, Georgiana," Elizabeth affirmed in a gentle voice, "She appears to be determined to destroy your brother by any means available to her."

"No, I cannot believe that," Georgiana argued ,"She cares deeply for our family...why, you should have seen her with Jamie and Ethan."
The image made Elizabeth a bit squeamish, so she turned her mind to the lady's recent history. "She first came to us claiming to be your sister, Georgiana. Yes, it's true, she wished to share in your inheritance, and your name. Fortunately, her plan was frustrated when we found her out."

"Why are you saying these things?" Georgiana exclaimed then, looking hurt.
Fitzwillliam pulled a straight chair near to his sister's, so that he could hold her hand as a consolation to what, he knew, would surely be abhorrent to her. "She is an opportunist, Georgiana. She has told blatant falsehoods about myself to our own relations."

"What sort of falsehoods?" Although her countenance had hardened at their words, she still seemed to be listening, an encouraging sign.

"She told Jane, my own sister, of his making unwelcome advances towards her when we visited them at Brindlewood," Elizabeth said earnestly.

"But, Mrs. Bingley was here several times while you were away, and did not spurn Miss Benedict's friendship...No, Elizabeth, you must be mistaken."
Elizabeth sighed, "Jane has the happy ability of believing only the best of all people, not unlike yourself, Georgiana. The problem arises when it blinds you to their faults as well."

"She repeated these same accusations to Lady Catherine when she was later employed at Rosings," Fitzwilliam persisted, detecting a breach in Georgiana's misdirected loyalty, for she had turned to gaze at her brother, her face a study of confusion.

"Lady Catherine confronted us with this, " confirmed Elizabeth, recalling the yet jarringly unpleasant scene, "She believed it as well...you see, Miss Benedict can be, and obviously still is, quite persuasive."

"Yet," Georgiana insisted, "Mary has proven herself to be a true friend with Anne."

"Has she?" Elizabeth asked, "What has she done to earn such a friendship?"

"She escorted her here when Lady Catherine and Anne suffered their falling out," she answered defensively.

"Did Anne actually say that she and Lady Catherine had argued?"
Georgiana hesitated while she considered the question. "Not in so many words...but it was implied," she responded at length, "Why else would they have come here?"

"We have reached no conclusion on that yet, "Fitzwilliam said, "I suspect they were sent to spy."

"Spy!" Georgiana cried, "No, this I know you are mistaken about...Anne would do no such hateful thing!"

"Perhaps not Anne, but, Miss Benedict? Perhaps Lady Catherine and Miss Benedict plotted this between themselves alone," Elizabeth suggested, while meeting her husband's eyes.

"But, to spy...for what? What could she be looking for?"

"Something of consequence to hold against me, no doubt," Fitzwilliam replied, a surprising touch of irony in his voice. "Lady Catherine has not forgiven me yet for not submitting to that prearranged marriage with Anne."

"To spy? I cannot..." She rose to walk about the room in agitation, "I am sorry, this is too much to grasp."
They both waited while she absorbed all that they had said. Finally, she turned to them, her hands clasped before her in supplication, "If this is so...if what you say is true, then, what motive would she have for taking the children?"

"We are not certain," Fitzwilliam admitted seriously, "There are at least two possibilities. One, that it is just another ploy to hurt me, or, two, that they are to be used as an influence against us." At this Elizabeth suddenly closed her eyes, some spasm tearing through her at the suggestion of such a plan.

"Lady Catherine would not see them harmed," Georgiana insisted desperately, "They are her grand-nephews."

"Lady Catherine would not," Fitzwilliam agreed grimly.

"Enough, please!" This from Elizabeth, "I can endure no more of this!" Rising from her chair, she took her husband's hand into hers, tears beginning to run down her cheeks while she pled with him, her voice urgent, "Fitzwilliam, we must go to Rosings at once...we have delayed too long already."
Fitzwilliam rose also, but his eyes remained on his sister as he asked her gravely, "Do you believe us, Georgiana?"

"If you tell me this is so, then I must believe it," she answered, but her face retained some rather unsettling doubts.

They left within the hour. Being so recently unpacked, it was nothing to reverse the process so soon, only this time, the servants would remain behind, as well as Georgiana, who did not seem to mind. The carriage, even at its fastest rate of speed, still would not reach Huntsford until nearly nine o'clock in the evening.
Full late to be descending on Charlotte and Mr. Collins unannounced, Elizabeth thought grimly, and, once they know of the purpose for the visit, Mr. Collins might wish to put them out rather than incur Lady Catherine's wrath.

They decided, as they drove, that Elizabeth would not go along on the initial call to Rosings, but stay behind at the parsonage, while Fitzwilliam attempted to somehow right the terrible wrong done them. Lady Catherine's open dislike of Mrs. Darcy would only impede the object of the interview.

In characteristic fashion, Charlotte welcomed them graciously, while Mr. Collins, although toadying as always, appeared to be a bit less self-inflated in his greeting than usual. Yes, yes, he told them, they were aware of the Darcy children currently in residence at Rosings, and, no doubt, were being taken care of most generously under her ladyship's selfless regulation and guidance. In fact, their own little Catherine had been condescendingly included in the last two invitations there.
Charlotte, meanwhile, sensing Elizabeth's distress, pulled her aside to speak to her privately. "Pray, Lizzy, what is it? You look as if you could weep at any moment."

"Oh, Charlotte, it has been awful. To have only just returned from Germany and find our children taken without our knowledge or wishes."

"Without...but Miss Benedict told us that you had encouraged this visit...that you wished time apart from them."

"Why? Why would that be, Charlotte? We have been absent for nearly two months, it does not make sense that we should wish them to be away from us any longer then that."

"Are you certain, Lizzy? I cannot believe Miss Benedict would take such a responsibility upon herself without prior understanding. Even she could not be so bold."

"And, I cannot believe that you, too have fallen under the spell of that woman," replied Elizabeth, who in her frustration, felt like screaming aloud. It was really all too much.
Charlotte looked a bit hurt, but answered calmly, "I am aware that she can be insincere, Lizzy, despite how ignorant you might think me. I just did not suppose her to be so blatantly so."

"Forgive me," instantly regretting her hasty words, Elizabeth hurried to explain, "It is just that... everyone seems to consider her as perfectly honourable, and, believe me, Charlotte, she is not... I should have known that you are too sensible and loyal to be taken in by her lies."

"Tell me what you want from me, Lizzy," Charlotte then offered firmly, guiding her to the sitting room, "If this woman can be so openly unscrupulous, she deserves no favour."

"Thank you," Elizabeth replied relieved, "We might indeed require your help. We shall know more when Fitzwilliam calls upon Lady Catherine tomorrow."

Chapter Fifty-Six

The visit with her ladyship did not begin well. She greeted him coldly, no doubt recollecting the circumstances of their last meeting.
Seeing no point in standing on formality then, he wasted little time in addressing the issue at hand. "I have come," he said cooly, "To retrieve my children."

"Have you?" she challenged, "So now, you desire their company? They are no longer an inconvenience to you?"
Allowing the bewilderment to be discernible upon his features but for a moment, he recovered quickly, "My children are not, and never shall be thus. I do not know what exactly you have been told, but it is, without a doubt, all falsehoods."

"Falsehood? I have detected no evidence of this."

"You are doing so now. I am here and shall not leave without my sons."

"You may have no choice. I am applying for a petition to remove them from your care permanently. They shall become my own wards."
His face flushed, otherwise he managed to remain inscrutable, "You do not know what you are doing, Aunt. On what grounds do you enter upon this suit?"

"That you and your...wife are unfit, negligent parents and undeserving of the responsibility."

"By whose charge?" It was becoming more obvious by that time, the difficulty he was having in maintaining his composure, for his voice had acquired a decided edge.

"By my own," she answered triumphantly, "It is evident you care nothing for them as you have deserted them for these many weeks, without benefit of even a proper guardian."

"My sister and a trusted and valued servant have served more than adequately in that post. What right do you have to find them wanting?"

"The right of being the oldest living member of this family. I do not take my duties so lightly as you have done, nephew."

"My duty," he replied between clenched teeth, "Is to reunite my sons with their parents in as timely a manner as possible, and not to be inhibited by the pretenses of a relative clearly not in possession of her own better judgement."

"And, what, pray, are you implying, Fitzwilliam?" The fact of her addressing him by his Christian name set the discussion on a more personal level.

"That you have been unduly influenced, and do not comprehend the magnitude of the battle you have chosen to undertake."

"I do not shrink from such a challenge, nor shall I. My obligations far outweigh any personal aversion which I might be feeling."

"Aunt, consider carefully before you continue with this. You shall be driving a wedge into the very essence of this family which can never be extracted, and relinquish our own connection in the process."

"You shall not intimidate me, Fitzwilliam Darcy. No doubt that...woman has incited you into using such scandalous language against your own mother's sister, but nevertheless, I shall remain steadfast in my purpose to rescue your sons from her injurious mismanagement."

"She is their mother and far more qualified to manage them, than are you...Enough," He said at last, in disgust, "I have wasted enough time with this pointless arguing. Will you turn my children over to me now?"
For answer, she merely intensified her glare, while remaining stubbornly silent.
Rising from his place, he spoke in a voice of such repressed fury that his features appeared to be chiseled, "Then, Lady Catherine, remind yourself in a month's time that you are the one who chose to travel this path, not I."

With this, he left her, his thoughts entangled in such a maze of rage, frustration, and perplexity, that as he quit the manor, he vowed with the last vestige of rational thought that if he were never to see her ladyship again for the rest of his existence, it would still be too soon.

He somehow managed to avoid Elizabeth upon his return to the parsonage, for he had, before speaking even with her, a task to complete without delay. Laying out two sheets of paper, he wrote two precise accounts of his interview with Lady Catherine and her intentions in regards his sons.

When he had finished, upon one he inscribed the direction; To: Mr. Donald Radcliffe, while on the other; Mr. Michael Berrick. Then, calling a servant, had both taken directly to the express office in Huntsford Village to be posted immediately.

Finally, steeling himself, he prepared to recount the morning's events to his wife, and no doubt, comfort her afterwards.

She took the news far more steadily then he had dared hope. Her face, which had become quite pale and her hands clenched together tightly in her lap, were the only visible clues to her anguish.

"This was not wholly unexpected," she commented at length in a choked voice, "Lady Catherine has never hidden her disapproval of me. I suppose Miss Benedict merely supplied the means for her reprisal." After some moments of silence, she took a deep breath, met her husband's concerned gaze, and asked, in as calm a manner as was possible, "So, Fitzwilliam, what must we do now?"

"I have applied to Mr. Radcliffe to provide us with information, and in doing so, perhaps furnish for us some type of leverage to be used against Miss Benedict and my aunt."

"This business shall be injurious to your family, will it not?" she questioned soberly.

"I have no doubt of it," he replied, "But she has set the course, there is no reversing it now."

"She would not be reasonable?"

"Any reason which she might be capable of, Miss Benedict has successfully tainted."

"And, we must argue this before a judge? But, surely it shall not come to that...she would not wish to expose us all to public scrutiny."

"She seems to be determined to do so," as he spoke, he walked to the window and gazed out unseeingly.

"But, Fitzwilliam, she cannot win...can she?" She was beginning to feel desperate and truly wished that he would reassure her.
His answer, however, succeeded only in doing the opposite. "She is very influential in the neighborhood."

"This is not right," rising, she began to pace, speaking almost to herself in her agitation, "She cannot just parade in and take our babies. This is incongruous. Surely any right-minded judge would see that. How can this be happening?"

"Elizabeth." He had not intended on divulging his strategy to her yet, at least until he had received some response, but her distress was more than he could endure, "I have sent for Mr. Berrick, as well."
She looked at him then, obviously surprised, yet not unfavourably so. "Do you think he might be of help?" she asked, some small hope in her voice.

"He impressed me as being quite shrewd when we visited," he told her, explaining his incentive behind making this particular decision, "And if he cannot, I am certain he may recommend someone equally as capable."

"We have no choice, do we?" She asked, at length, no longer referring to his selection of Mr. Berrick, but of the whole dreadful matter altogether.

"No," he replied, ruefully, "We do not."

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Posted on Saturday, 25 May 2002, at 2:10 p.m.

However stalwart Elizabeth might have promised herself to be in the daytime hours, at night she wept inconsolably while within the refuge of her husband's arms. Feeling helpless and frustrated himself, there was little he could do or say to ease her tears, but to hold her, kiss her intermittently and curse the day of their having ever met Miss Mary Benedict..

Mr. Radcliffe, eager to take on a case which promised to be such a challenge, did not waste time with the posts, but rode to the parsonage himself the following day, and immediately accepted Mr. Darcy's commission. However, no sooner had he arrived, then he was forthwith discharged on an assignment, bearing no delay.

Mr. Berrick also responded in the affirmative within the week, promising to arrive at Pemberley in ten days time, and was anxiously looking forward to seeing Mr. and Mrs. Darcy again very soon. To the gratification of both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, he would be bringing his sister and neice, as his stay with them might take several weeks (although neither wished to consider the possibility of being without their children for so long), and he did not wish to leave Mrs. Paquin and Bernadette feeling utterly abandoned at Tellerone.

After much discussion, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam decided that they must return to Pemberley; The locale being more convenient for the task at hand, as well as their growing awareness of the Collins's being divided between two loyalties.

And so, reluctantly, they returned home, a humbled and chastened Georgiana awaiting them.

"I am so sorry," she told them both meekly, even before they had removed their coats, "I would never have suspected Miss Benedict of such duplicity. Can you ever forgive me?"

Elizabeth, who always seemed to be close to tears these days, could not answer, so her husband did so instead, "Miss Benedict has turned far more experienced heads then your own, Georgiana...there is nothing to forgive."

With that gentle pardon on her brother's part, they embraced warmly, Georgiana's allegiance now back firmly where it belonged.

No sooner had they gathered in the drawing room to discuss the chaotic events of the past weeks, when they were surprised, although not unpleasantly so, by the announcement of the Bingleys having arrived en masse.

Never had Elizabeth been so glad to see her sister, for, inasmuch as she loved her husband intensely, he could not understand the vast emptiness induced by this forced and prolonged separation from her children. Jane and Charles were aware only that Miss Benedict and Miss de Bourgh had taken the children to Rosings, but had yet heard nothing of Lady Catherine's nefarious scheme.

The next hour, then, was spent explaining the whole sorry situation, and gratefully accepting, in turn, the collective outrage and condolences of the Bingleys. Thankfully, Elizabeth was not adversely affected by the presence of Emily and the twins, Nathaniel and Nicholas. In fact, there was a certain comfort in cuddling a baby again (to say nothing of two), even if it could not be her own.

As if fate were ensuring them no want of company, on the following morning, who should arrive alone on horseback, but Mr. Bennet. He entered, apologizing profusely to Elizabeth for his dereliction in not traveling to Pemberley sooner during their absence.

"I am afraid Mrs. Bennet would not see me go before giving my consent for Kitty to marry Mr. Martin. Unfortunately, he appeared to be less eager to approach me, than your mother was to have him do so. I confess it was almost a relief when he finally did."

This interested Georgiana despite the household's current preoccupation with the plight of the Darcy children, but as her timidity forbade her inquiring further, she would only listen attentively as he described the latest Bennet caprice with dramatic relish.

It was a shock to him, then, when Jane finally disclosed Elizabeth's latest troubles, rendering him quite speechless for a time. Unable to think of even one witticism to lighten the mood, he asked at last, in a tone unusually solemn, "So, Lizzy, what must we do to reclaim my grandsons?"

She smiled at him a bit tenuously, "We are doing what we can for now, Papa. Merely having you here helps a great deal."

"And your husband, where is he?" He inquired, attempting to distract her. For it was apparent that Fitzwilliam was not among them, as he and Charles had gone out earlier, and had not yet returned.

"He has been very busy," she explained, knowing what her father was about, "It seems he cannot rest these days."

"No, I suppose not," he conceded, studying her face. Then, perceiving her careworn countenance, added in a tender voice, "I am, indeed, sincerely grieved, my child, but, knowing the two of you as I do, I suspect you shall triumph...in fact, I am certain of it."

"Are you, Father?" She had to ask. It was the first real words of confidence heard since their return from Germany., "I pray you are right."

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley surprised them when they appeared at lunchtime with the news that the Bingleys would be staying on at Pemberley until this "mess" was sorted out. Taking a carriage that morning, they had returned to Brindlewood to fetch the family's trunks, packed with sufficient clothing for a lengthened stay.

Once, Jane and Elizabeth had recovered from the seemingly impetuous aspect of the scheme, they could not help but see the practicality of it. For, after all, Jane would very likely wish to spend as much time as possible in her sister's company as confidante and advocate, and, undoubtedly, Elizabeth would not discourage such an opportunity.

The gentlemen, then, enjoyed the great pleasure of being genuinely appreciated by their wives, and thus, rewarded with extra attention from them throughout the afternoon. Mr. Bennet, meanwhile, did not enclose himself in the library as was his wont, but made himself available to the company, even entertaining them with stories of all of the recent tribulations concerning Longbourne and its occupants.

"Now that Kitty is engaged, Mary is considering a life in the convent," he told them, amusement plain about his features.

"That would not surprise me," said Elizabeth, "Mary always preferred a solitary existence in contrast to a social one."

"But, Mrs. Bennet does not look upon the idea as open-mindedly as you, Lizzy. I believe she had her heart set on all of you being wed to worldly gentlemen of respectable repute."

"That would exclude one of her son-in-laws, certainly," Elizabeth spoke drily, thinking of Mr. Wickham, "But I suppose Mary has no interest in such a future, and wishes only to be left alone."

"We see her rarely these days," he affirmed, "She is either reading in her room or walking about the hermitage."

"Walking? Mary was not much for that exercise as I recall," Elizabeth commented, "Perhaps she meets a lover under your very noses."

This suggestion caused a variety of reactions to the listeners of this exchange; Mr. Bennet emitted a droll cough behind his hand, Jane looked appalled, Georgiana thoughtful, Charles cheerfully ignorant, and Fitzwilliam bent upon fixing his wife with a gaze of both humour and exasperation.

Not in the least ashamed, she smiled at him impudently, rising and saying, "Speaking of walks, would anyone care to join me outside? It is a lovely day." April was on the wane, and May, approaching quickly with her enticement of warm breezes, as well as the intoxicating scent of spring blooms, Elizabeth found to be irresistible, even in this time of emotional upheaval.

Jane immediately volunteered to accompany her, then glanced sideways at Fitzwilliam as though unsure if the invitation had actually been intended for him. Her sister's pleased countenance, however, dispelled that notion immediately, and the two went out together, stopping only long enough to don coats and bonnets. This appeared to be the cue for Mr. Bennet, who, clearing his throat, peered at Fitzwilliam from over his spectacles, inquiring, "Mr. Darcy, might I, perhaps, have a moment of your time?"

That gentleman, after a fleeting look of surprise, nodded acquiescence, led Mr. Bennet to his study, offered him a glass of sherry, which he accepted readily, and settled himself into one of the two chairs before the fire. Appreciating that Mr. Darcy did not sit, as he might have, behind his desk, thus putting his father-in-law at a subtle disadvantage, Mr. Bennet cordially occupied the other. They sat in silence for some minutes, before Mr. Bennet at last spoke, "This matter with the children is a sorry business."

"Yes," Fitzwilliam agreed unnecessarily, "It is."

"Lizzy is taking it hard, of course." It was not really a question, more of a confirmation.

"She is doing better than I would have expected," his son-in-law answered, "But I am sure it is due largely to yours and Mrs. Bingley's presence."

"Or, to yours?" As the comment did not require a response, Fitzwilliam said nothing, and they were again silent until Mr. Bennet, leaning forward a bit, asked, "Pray, who exactly is this Miss Benedict?" Fitzwilliam, considering the question, smiled wryly, "No one whom you would ever have cause to know...her parents were acquainted with mine, although I was only introduced to her last year under rather unsettling circumstances." "Yes?"

"She was employed by Bingley, for a time, as nursemaid to their daughter. While there, she devised this scheme...or perhaps the scheme is what brought her to Derbyshire in the beginning...at any rate, she attempted to prove herself my sister." He took a drink of his sherry, met the bemused gaze of his listener and asked dubiously, "Do you really wish to hear this?"

"Oh, yes, very much," Mr. Bennet assured him, "Surely Lizzy has told you of my keen interest in the unfailing folly of the human species...I have found it to be the one constant in life."

"Well, this could definitely be called folly...all the way around, I suppose."

"How do you mean?"

"I should have dealt with her with more finality at the time...finished this nonsense once and for all. I did not suspect her of such ruthlessness. "

"So, you believe her to be motivated by revenge?"

"Well, of course. What else could it be? We obstructed her plan, and so she will not rest until she has destroyed my life, one way or another."

"But, she shall not succeed, after all," he was studying Fitzwilliam, expressionless, as he spoke.

"No, she shall not." he vowed, staring into his glass.

"Because she does not have that capability." Fitzwilliam looking at him quizzically, found himself puzzled by the obscure manner of his speech. "Pardon me?"

"Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet was still leaning forward, as if he were to disclose a great secret, "I have observed you over the past...what has it been, two, three years?"

"Nearly three," he supplied, now openly curious.

"Nearly three. You see, that is what I mean. Some men, you ask how long they have been wed, and they could not tell you, for it is of no importance to them. But you...you, Mr. Darcy, carry it about inside of you, so that you cannot forget. It is a gift, you see?"

"What is a gift?" he asked, becoming even more confused.

"You take all things to heart...that is your gift, and, no doubt, what attracted my daughter to you in the first place. She has always been a highly intelligent girl...I was relieved that at least one of them should turn out to be so."

This much Fitzwilliam could understand, and nodded agreement tentatively, although he was still uncertain as to the point of Mr. Bennet's words. Not deterred by his reticence, the elder gentleman continued, "You love one another...an observable fact to any who know you. But, beyond that, you trust one another, and that, my friend, is worth all of the affection in the human heart...It is this trait which will see you through, and, as I have already assured Lizzy, will undoubtedly return your children to you, safe and sound."

Both fell silent then, since for Mr. Bennet to reveal his innermost thoughts in such a way, an unusual, somewhat disconcerting occurrence, would require some reflection.

Finally, Fitzwilliam, attempting to not appear uncomfortable, replied simply, "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." Believing that he had successfully proven his case, Mr. Bennet settled back to enjoy the remainder of his sherry without further need of conversation.

Chapter Fifty-Eight

When Elizabeth discovered them within that half-hour, they were still sitting in tranquil camaraderie, quietly watching the fire. An event proving to be both amazing and pleasing, as neither had ever appeared to be easy in the other's company, and one which she would have never expected to witness.

After all of this time, she mused, it has taken such a misfortune to bring them together at last. Truly, as much as I love them both, I do not understand them at all.

Seeing his daughter in the doorway, Mr. Bennet rose, "Ah, Lizzy, you are returned I see. Perhaps you will favour me now with a quick game of chess. It has, after all, been much too long since last I was allowed the pleasure."

"Father, playing the game with you was never quick, but, I shall accept your challenge just as soon as you have it set up in the drawing room."

"In that case, I shall see you there in five minutes," he promised, smiling affably and leaving them to stare after him. Elizabeth turned to her husband curiously, "Pray, what were you talking of?"

"To own the truth, I am not sure," was his mystified reply, "But I believe he finally gave me his approval."

The arrival of Mr. Berrick and party was greatly anticipated by the household as a hope that, finally, something of significance should be accomplished. The waiting had been taking its toll increasingly upon all of them, but especially Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, whose moments of gloomy introspection were daily increasing.

These periods of misery were not only becoming more frequent but, where once they had relied upon one another for solace, they now seemed to have withdrawn from that consolation as well.

It happened to be the third day of this decidedly cheerless atmosphere, in which Mr. Berrick, at last, made his appearance. The hired carriage arrived just as they were sitting down to tea, and the company, consisting of Elizabeth, Jane, Georgiana, and Mr. Bennet, stood cordially when the newcomers were announced.

Mr. Berrick entered then, his sister holding demurely onto his arm, while Bernadette trailed behind, her large brown eyes taking in the magnitude of the house. Elizabeth introduced everyone, her relief at their most recent friend's arrival alleviating some of the worry etched into her features of late. Mrs. Paquin curtseyed to all, complimenting them on the breathtaking English countryside and how happy she was to be finally meeting them. Bernadette, following this polite exchange, glanced around, puzzled, to blurt out impulsively, "But...where is Mr. Darcy?" An inquiry immediately causing her face to become a deep shade of rose, as all turned to look at her in barely concealed amusement.

"He is away, but should return soon," Elizabeth assured her. Then, tactfully changing the subject, suggested, "Perhaps this evening, you might favour us with your playing, Bernadette. As I recall, it entertained us well, when last we saw you."

"Thank you," she whispered, still mortified by her own outburst. Without another word, she spent the remainder of the hour attempting to conceal herself behind her mother's chair. Georgiana at length rose, and, taking pity on the child, offered in a kind voice, "Bernadette, would you like to see the piano-forte? Perhaps you might choose some music to play this evening." Bernadette, agreeing, accepted Georgiana's hand in hers shyly as they quit the room together.

"I am afraid, Mrs. Darcy," Mrs. Paquin apologized, an affectionate smile on her lips as she watched her daughter's departure, "That your husband has made a deep and lasting impression upon her."

"He has that affect on some people," Elizabeth acknowledged, still amused at Bernadette's unabashed admiration, "Perhaps she will be able to offer him some pleasant diversion while you are here." She did not specify from what he should be diverted, but, as well, did not have to. The unspoken words, of their own accord, lingered heavily over the room for several minutes, much like a shroud.

The entrance, sometime later, of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley was a welcome sight to all; in particular to Mr. Berrick, who, although travel weary, wished to get down to the business at hand as soon as possible. No sooner had they greeted one another, as well as the necessary introductions concluded, then the three of them (Mr. Bingley was, of course, included, as Darcy's oldest and dearest friend), shut themselves into Fitzwilliam's study, and were not seen nor heard from again until dinner.

"So, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Berrick began as soon as the study door had closed behind them, "Tell me all that I do not know already." He stood beside the desk expectantly, while Darcy lifted a sheaf of papers from its top and offered them to him.

"You know most of it, unfortunately. We have heard nothing from either my aunt nor her attorney since I wrote you of it." Perusing the legal papers rapidly, Berrick nodded as if it were no more than he had expected. "Well then," he said, "We shall start the process rolling ourselves. I shall serve your aunt a notice of countersuit."

"And, the charge?" Darcy questioned, his eyes meeting the barrister's.

"Kidnapping, plain and simple. A punishable offense, even for the aristocracy. That should force them to make their next move."

"Is this a game then?" Fitzwilliam asked moodily, "Check and checkmate? These are my children we are using as pawns, you know."

"Precisely why we cannot wait any longer. If your aunt believes us to be easily dissuaded, she shall have to reconsider her strategy. We are talking of power, Darcy. Power and money. Who shall be the victor and who the defeated?"

"I had hoped she might have backed down before it came to this," Fitzwilliam spoke, almost to himself.

"Tell me," Berrick demanded then, his voice becoming impatient, "Do you want your sons back with you?"

"Of course...there is no question of that."

"I am afraid that it has come down to a simple choice. Either you can retain the Darcy family pride and its absence of scandal, or, you can take these unprecedented, yet necessary, measures to have your children returned to you once and for all." Berrick stood facing him, waiting for some sign of Darcy's total commitment to the matter.

"Do what you must," was his resigned reply, "But, I pray we are not going about this the wrong way. My aunt has never responded well to pressure...if anything, it makes her even more obstinate."

"She has met her match then, hasn't she?" Berrick answered with a grin, "You are her nephew, after all." Bingley, who had been listening from his chair near the window, rose, while suggesting cheerfully, "I must propose a toast then." Moving to a small table by the door bearing a silver tray and amber refreshment, he poured out three glasses of brandy and handed them around. "To success, an expeditious conclusion, and above all, to seeing James Fitzwilliam and Ethan Alexander Darcy returned to their parents, as well as to the warmth of Pemberley's halls...in the very near future," he announced, raising his glass and meeting Darcy's eyes reassuringly.

In acquainting Elizabeth with Mr. Berrick's plans that evening in their room, Fitzwilliam could not help the note of regret which crept into his voice. Because of this, she did not respond immediately, pondering instead the basis for her husband's obviously divided loyalties.

As she studied him, she reflected silently, he has surely suffered as much as I. For everything ever taught to him as a child, is reversing itself, and he is finding himself without that one security...of family. While I, who have always accepted the shortcomings of my own connections, am able to concentrate on the current fate of my children, he must also allow for the public downfall they shall all endure because of this. And, she conceded, it may affect James and Ethan, as well. Twenty years from now, when they are young men, shall people still remember this contest of wills? Might they be ostracized, or made to feel conspicuous because of it? The image caused her to sigh involuntarily, distracting Fitzwilliam from his own dismal contemplation.

Reaching out his hand to stroke her cheek, he said, "Do not despair, my love. Now that Mr. Berrick has arrived, I am hopeful of this matter being resolved soon, and we can again return to a more temperate existence."

"Will we?" she asked, troubled, "I have this dreadful feeling that we never shall." Impulsively he pulled her to him, holding her fast against his chest where she could feel his heart beating beneath her cheek.

"I would wish it to be so," he murmured, his face in her hair, "This is not what I had planned for us, Elizabeth."

"I do not suppose anyone could have foreseen such a turn of events," she replied, her voice gentle in an attempt to ease his own distress.

"I must admit," he said ruefully after some moments, "That there is a certain irony on the occasion of our disgrace, of it being brought about by my own relations...I cannot believe how arrogant I once was to have lain such an allegation at your feet."

"We are not the dishonoured party, Fitzwilliam," she corrected him, "We have done nothing."

"So it would seem," he conceded, "Yet, I cannot help but feel responsible to some point."

"Why should you be?" she argued, "Your aunt has brought this all upon herself. I cannot believe she would succumb so readily to Miss Benedict's wiles...it seems somewhat out of her character."

"Well, since the arrival of Miss Benedict we seem to all be behaving somewhat differently," was the resigned reply.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

The countersuit was filed accordingly, leaving the household with little to do but wait, an excruciating task even under the best of circumstances.

As the days turned into weeks, the Bingleys decided that they should return to Brindlewood for some time at least, but would rejoin the Darcys at Pemberley as soon as possible. Mr. Bennet, as well, left for Longbourne, promising Elizabeth that he would delay informing Mrs. Bennet of the situation until absolutely necessary, with the hope that a happy solution might be reached before it should become so.

"Pardon me, Mr. Berrick, I hope I am not disturbing you." Georgiana stood uncertainly in the doorway of the study, where that gentleman had established himself almost from the moment of his arrival.

He arose from his place behind the desk upon her entrance, bowing briefly as he assured her, "No, not at all." She smiled, "I wondered if you would care for some refreshment...you have been working so diligently in here." Glancing at the mantle clock, he appeared surprised at the time displayed there, saying, "Yes, I did not realize, but," he added as she turned to leave, "Do not trouble yourself, Miss Darcy. I shall ring for something to be brought in...if," and here, he hesitated, "If you will join me?"

"Of course," she agreed, seating herself in a chair facing the desk. Then, demurely folding her hands upon her lap, she inquired, "Is there something you wished me to tell you of Miss Benedict?"

Turning to pull the cord for tea, he paused for just a moment to study her, his eyes serious. Smiling, at last, although a bit ruefully, he replied, "Miss Darcy, every day for nearly three weeks, you have come to see to my needs, and although I appreciate your consideration, I would rather you tell me something of yourself, instead."

At this, she coloured, but answered readily enough, "What did you wish to know? I had assumed my brother had already apprised you of my disastrous involvement in all of this." His smile broadened, "No, you misunderstand me. I want to know of you, yourself...apart from Lady Catherine, Miss Benedict, Miss de Bourgh, and, even your brother."

"Oh." She appeared to be so surprised by this request that she could think of nothing to say.

"How old are you, Miss Darcy?" The query might have been considered impertinent, except that it was spoken in such a gentle tone, she could not take offense.

"I shall be nineteen this June."

"Ah," he looked a bit rueful, "So young, yet." Raising her chin in the manner of her sister-in-law, she inquired, "In what respect, Mr. Berrick? For these days, I am feeling quite old."

He studied her for a moment, before he asked, "And, what do you want from your life, Miss Darcy? What shall you do? Will you accomplish the expected...marriage, family? Or, something else, I wonder..."

"What else is there?"

"Have you thought of continuing with your music?"

"Continuing? Doing what, exactly? I am a woman, Mr. Berrick. I can hardly become a concert pianist." She was surprising herself now with the boldness of her replies, a fact which was adding much to her enjoyment of the conversation.

"Sometimes the accepted mores may be altered, you know...that is, if the desire to do so is strong enough."

"Ah, yes..." she sighed, "Well, you see, that is the problem. I mean, I do enjoy my music, but to play before an audience of strangers...there, my desire falters."

"So, you have considered it."

"As you have to return to London, I am sure." The words were out before she realized it, leaving her with a wish that she could take them back, for, upon Mr. Berrick's face was a mixture of both surprise and...something else. After an excruciating moment, he asked curiously, "Who told you about London?"

"I am so sorry," Georgiana gasped, appalled at her own audacity, "I did not mean..."

"No, I am not affronted, Miss Darcy. However, since you have been informed of my less than auspicious past, I hope the report was complete. You see, even my sister does not know it all." He had risen from his chair to move over to the fire, where he stood staring into the flames.

"Please, forgive me," she stood as well, so mortified she could not look at him directly, focusing instead, on her own clasped hands. "I spoke without thinking...it was unforgivable of me, I know."

"Miss Darcy, pray, do not concern yourself." He had turned to face her, and when she dared lift her eyes, she saw that he did not appear angry nor even distressed. In fact his countenance was nothing if not calm. "It was, after all, a lifetime ago," he said then, "I am not nearly so heartbroken as my sister believes."

"Mr. Berrick," Georgiana protested, "You do not have to tell me anything...it is not my business."

"No..." he agreed, "It is not, but...somehow, I should like it to be." Their eyes met briefly before she looked away, disconcerted by what she saw there. At that moment the tea tray arrived, and was set upon the low table beside her chair, but as her thoughts were still pondering the meaning of his unexpected, and somewhat startling revelation, she did not move.

Then, his voice again gentle, he asked, "Might I impart the whole of it to you, Miss Darcy? I would not wish to impose, but I feel you are already a friend, and as such, that I can tell you these things in confidence, and know they shall be heard with a sympathetic ear."

Sinking back into the chair, she nodded, still too flustered to meet his gaze. After a moment he began to speak from his place by the hearth. "I was twenty-one, my position on the bench only just acquired...I felt I could do anything. She was the sister of my closest friend, a schoolmate at Eton. Of course, we fell in love. It was inevitable. We, the three of us, did everything together, and so, by sheer lack of constraint, it was bound to happen. Still, it took me by surprise, I must admit."

Georgiana said nothing, her eyes wide and, indeed, sympathetic. Mr. Berrick, meanwhile, took a seat directly opposite of her own, continuing to speak easily, as though they were old and dear acquaintances.

"There was no emotional scene to finish us, despite what my sister believes. We just...became too familiar, if that is possible. She wanted the drama, passion, call it what you will, which had eventually waned between us, and, although we parted as friends, we lost contact long ago."

"But," Georgiana said, confused, "Why then, did you quit your practice, and move to Belgium?"

"It was not from pining for a lost love, I assure you," he replied, his voice amused, "Practical considerations, more than anything else, decided that. The estate was left to me, it made sense to go and take it, while at the same time, allowed me to offer my sister some security, as she had only just recently lost her husband."

"There was no sense of regret, of loss?"

"Oh, perhaps a little. The affair definitely left me wiser, but even then, I knew there was more to love than the flash-in-the-pan which we had experienced." With a sudden lightening of mood, he inquired, "And, you, Miss Darcy, have you not suffered the wages of a disastrous love affair?" If the blush of her complexion had not given her away, the spontaneity of her verbal response succeeded in doing so. "How did you know?" She cried, astonished, "Did Fitzwilliam tell you?" His smile became a little deeper at her reaction, "No," he assured her, "No one has told me anything, save you, just now."

"Oh..." her voice trailed away, as she realized how she had impulsively confessed that which she would rather forget altogether.

"Don't worry, Miss Darcy. Your secret is quite safe with me."

"It is no secret," she admitted then, "Only, a little embarrassing."

"Oh?"

"He...ended the engagement because of my brother."

"Your brother?" He was leaning forward now, his face alight with anticipation of her next words.

"Yes... he thought, and I really don't know where he got the impression, but he firmly believed...was convinced, that Fitzwilliam was mad." She finished lamely, wondering if she would ever be able to move past this nonsense, and at the same time, fearful of how prudent it was to confess all of this to Mr. Berrick.

Even now he must be laughing at all of us, she thought then, instantly regretting her candor, but when she glanced hesitantly at him, he was not laughing. Rather, on his face was an expression of bemusement. When finally he spoke, she was relieved at the sensible tone of his voice.

"He was mistaken of course."

"Well, of course!"

"Your brother may be many things, but deranged is quite probably not one of them."

"No."

"Unless," and he rose, a smile of mischief on his face, "You consider his addled mind where his wife is concerned."

"Elizabeth?" Georgiana looked at him, nonplused, "I have never supposed that as madness."

"What else can you call it? Yes...I would certainly diagnose his symptoms as a sort of lunacy...however, one to be envied." For the first time that afternoon, she smiled back at him openly, "I have thought the same thing...of their regard for one another being enviable, I mean."

"No flash-in-the-pan, that."

"No..." Again, her voice trailed off, as her eyes looked into his, for there was no mirth left there at all, and as he took her hand into his to draw her from the chair, their eyes remained locked. Slowly, as if in a dream, she stood and, as naturally as though she did so every day, moved into his arms until their lips met.

For a man possessing such obvious strength, his kiss was a mere flutter of wings against her mouth, and reluctantly she drew back a very little as she realized what she was doing.

"Georgiana," when he spoke her name, her heart gave a series of leaps within her. Is this love then, she wondered? I did not feel this with Mr. Eastman. Strange, I cannot even recall his first name. Aloud, she whispered, "Michael, I..."

"You do not usually allow men to take such liberties?"

"No..." she shook her head, feeling befuddled, and wondering if he could see it.

"Never fear, my...I shall not think any less of you," his fingers were under her chin so that she could not look away.

"My, what?" She asked, just before his lips covered hers once again.

"My love," was the reply when he next spoke, as his arms came around her to draw her firmly against him. She lay her head upon his shoulder, her thoughts floating on little clouds of happiness. Without even being aware of it, her arms had traveled around his back, and there they remained. This feels so right, she mused. How can there be anything improper in such perfect bliss?

A knock upon the door caused them to part hastily, and as Mr. Berrick called "Come," his voice unsteady, Georgiana turned away in an attempt to recover her composure.

The door opened, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, of all people, peered around it, "Oh, pardon me, I was looking for Darcy..." His words ended abruptly as he recognized the rooms occupants. "Berrick? Georgiana?" Stepping in, the expression of astonishment still upon his face, he exclaimed, "Berrick, I did not expect to see you...when did you arrive? ...What the devil is going on around here? Everyone appears to be in mourning!"

"You do not know?" Georgiana, at last, had found her voice.

"Know what?" Obviously he did not. Glancing quickly at Mr. Berrick, she said, "I believe Mr. Berrick might explain it better than myself...Won't you both please excuse me?" With that, she turned and fled from the two pairs of eyes, one curious, the other, regretful.

Passing the nursery had become a form of torture which Elizabeth made a point of avoiding whenever she could.

Today, however, some dreadful force drew her in, so that she was soon standing beside Ethan's crib, staring helplessly at the little lace pillow and matching coverlet neatly placed there. Over the past weeks, she had endeavored to remain busy, to not think or brood, but in these few heedless moments, her carefully maintained resolve began to crumble, until inevitably, she wept.

Once begun, she could not seem to stop, and when her husband discovered her there sometime later, she was curled up in a corner of the room, the now soggy coverlet being used to catch the tears as they ran in endless rivulets down her face. Silently, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her to him, and remaining there in a position which was undoubtedly awkward, yet, from where he was loathe to remove himself.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she sighed, when her tears had abated, somewhat, "I am so lost...I feel I cannot bear another day of this."

"You must, my love...we all must."

"I shall never see them again, I know that now," she continued, after taking a ragged breath, "I have been a fool to even hold onto any hope."

"Elizabeth, don't..."

"But, what is the point of having children if I am to lose them all? I don't understand." He could not answer, for his own throat had closed at her words, and he was rapidly running out of soothing adages. They remained wrapped around each other for another half-hour, before she finally allowed him to untangle himself, and assist her in rising as well.

As they stood facing each other, she gave him a weary smile, her eyes, even while she assured him, portraying her despair, "Never mind, Fitzwilliam...I shall recover." With that she left the nursery, her entire manner one of resignation, a sight which hurt him far worse, even, than her tears.

He did not remain long there, himself.. For, in the moments following her exit, something inside of him seemed to snap, and he made for the steps as if shot from a cannon. Downstairs, he practically flew to his study, flinging the already-ajar door wide, and ordering , "Berrick, get your coat!" He stopped short at seeing his cousin there talking to that gentleman, but even that did not detain him for long. "Fitzwilliam," he greeted, not even hesitating, "Good, you may come along also, if you've a mind to." Colonel Fitzwilliam turned to study him, picked his hat up from where he had set it upon the desk, and replied calmly, "Certainly, Darcy...where are we going?"

"To retrieve my children," was the determined answer, as he turned and went out in as abrupt a fashion as he had entered. Berrick and Fitzwilliam exchanged a glance of guarded understanding, then both followed him without speaking another word.

Outdoors, the horses were already being brought around, due, no doubt, to Darcy's increasingly impatient tone of voice.

"Wait, Darcy," Berrick warned, before he had mounted, "What is your plan? We cannot just storm the gates and take them by force."

"Why not? They are my children, are they not?" Darcy was looking down at him from his steed, his eyes challenging. Berrick glanced at Colonel Fitzwilliam, shrugged his shoulders and mounted the third horse, venturing no further argument. It was apparent the gentleman was in no mood to listen to reason, and all that he could hope for, was that he might do so before they reached Rosings.

Continued in the next section