Chapter 1

Posted on Thursday, April 10, 2003

Early December...

Elizabeth walked briskly towards Netherfield and broke into a trot down the hill, enjoying the scrunching of frosty ground beneath her feet. It was a blessed relief to escape the carriage, to close its door, rather firmly, on her mother's irrepressible twittering. After two days of inclement weather that had confined them all to the house, Mrs. Bennet had fallen well behind schedule with her social calls and was now bustling about the county, an unabashed ambassador of her own good fortune. In the last fortnight she had inflicted three and twenty families of her close acquaintance with a lengthy prologue to the forthcoming nuptials, but with only one call remaining, Elizabeth had caught sight of Netherfield through the carriage window, and immediately rebelled.

Now, carefully picking her way along a muddy path through the woods, she approached a small gate that opened onto Mr. Bingley's grounds. She saw with delight her fiancé walking not far off on the other side of the fence, and in response to her greeting he came to meet her. The ground between them was dirty and treacherous, and obstructed in one place by a fallen tree, a casualty to the gales of the previous night. It was on opposite sides of this tree that they drew to a halt

"Good afternoon, Miss Bennet," he bowed, with mock formality.

"Mr. Darcy," she performed her best curtsy. "You find me in an awkward spot sir; if I climb over this tree and jump down into the mud, I'm afraid that I will spoil my gown."

"That would be a risk, I agree. So it is lucky," he added rather cheerfully, "that I am here to assist you."

"Indeed it is!" she smiled, stepping forwards - but he was not finished.

"I am surprised by your circumspection. I believe we had the pleasure of receiving you here last year in a less than pristine state, and you appeared to suffer no embarrassment then. "

"I thought only of my sister; I had little desire to please anyone else."

She had said too much.

"And that is no longer the case?" He smiled. "Is there someone in particular, a gentleman perhaps, whom you desire to please?"

It was evident that whether she desired it or not, the deed had been done; the gentleman in question was already very well pleased.

"Perhaps you shall meet him some day," she laughed, and then, as he was clearly reaping much greater enjoyment from this exchange than she, and she was of no mind to be the object of teasing, she pulled herself up and resolutely prepared to jump.

"Please, allow me," he said, stepping in front of her, and placing his hands on her waist, he swept her through the air and set her down on firmer ground. There he did not release her, only regarded her with amusement and more than a little curiosity.

She exclaimed at the presumption. "Someone will see us!" she hissed, glancing towards the distant windows of Netherfield. His response was merely to draw her closer.

"With barely a week till we are man and wife," he murmured, "let them look."

As the distance between them slowly diminished from one of intimacy to nothing at all, she watched the ribbon of her bonnet trail and fall within the folds of his coat, and quietly removed a small speck of lint from his lapel. She was trying to be severe, for such boldness was of course unpardonable, and if left unchecked might soon lapse into disrespect - but she was not disposed to resist. His hands had crept around her (did he think that she had not noticed?), and in anticipating their movements she was surprised once again, this time by the heightened rhythm of her pulse. He was looking down at her with a softer, more pensive expression, and the warm familiarity of his gaze rendered her speechless. He drew back a ringlet of hair from her face, but did nothing more, and it was at this unprompted hesitation, this implicit regard for her feelings, that her consent was won. With a smile she reached up, and softly kissed him.

His reward was captivating, and with permission to proceed thus granted, his lips met again with hers, fleetingly at first, and with a certain polite restraint, but having at last sought this introduction, Mr. Darcy discovered to his satisfaction that he was very well equipped to recommend himself, and that his impatience to further the acquaintance was warmly reciprocated. Nonetheless, he had been anticipating this moment for longer than he cared to admit, and now that it was upon him, he was of no mind to squander his good fortune. He carried on with growing assurance, but his more primal impulses were successfully held at bay by acting solely to further Elizabeth's happiness, and convey to her his most respectful and affectionate sentiments.

Until, that is, she bit lightly upon his lip, twisted her fingers through his hair, and drew him into a kiss that left no doubt as to her inclinations, and a marked repletion of air in his lungs. As if to needlessly emphasise the point, an uninvited guest then meandered its way into his mouth. He was breathless, but delighted. His bride-to-be clearly knew what she was about. How? - What had she been reading?

A surging began within him - glorious, but ill omened. Discipline was required, and a savage pinch to enforce it, but at every attempt he found that his hands were full of Elizabeth. Outright disaster nearly befell him when his fingers, which had somehow manoeuvred inside her coat, halted perilously near to a small, suspicious convexity in the muslin of her gown. He could only surmise it to be a nipple, a charming but somewhat premature discovery, the tweaking of which would be highly injudicious at this embryonic stage of their lovemaking.

He began to extract his wayward appendage, but all resolve was crippled by a low and tantalising moan from Elizabeth, an opposing vote to which there could be no convincing rejoinder. Obediently, he replaced his hand - whereupon she covered it with her own, the better to demonstrate the correct form of manipulation. At this he might have begged to differ - he was quite overflowing with perfectly excellent ideas of his own, and was rather accustomed to having his own way - but he was distracted. Unrest had been detected in other quarters, stirrings, and as she applied gentle suction to his lower lip, and peeped at him flirtatiously from beneath her fine, dark lashes, he realised with dismay that he had become excessively lively in other places.

He pulled away abruptly, and stared at her, not in his habitually complacent manner, but as a seething wreck of incredulity, lust and indignation. This was not what he had imagined; it was much better and slightly worse, heated, spontaneous and woefully disorganised. His meticulous planning had been hurled into disarray, and there remained little recourse for a man whose passion existed in one of two states - repressed to a gentle simmer when in company, or unleashed at boiling point behind a locked and bolted door.

She was regarding him with amusement and more than a little curiosity. Her face was glowing with warmth, her eyes were brightened by exercise, and her hair was...what was the word? -Blowsy.

Divided between desire to wipe the smile from her face, rumple her hair past all recovery, and devour her like an animal, and doubt as to the occasion's justifying his doing so, he cursed silently. Then he took her face between his hands and kissed her with a single-mindedness that sped the first of his wishes to fulfillment, and proved that she had seriously underestimated her adversary. Her eyes widened with surprise, her mirth was extinguished, and his victory, however small, was soothing.

But he had been rash. Several heavy locks of hair tumbled down her back, and there it was, that look - almost wild, with a hint of "country-town indifference to decorum" that, although tempered in company, held promise of wondrous things to come in the marriage bed. He could hardly keep his countenance. She was luscious, and well nigh irresistible.

He fled from the sight of her, precluding his third wish by retreating to the pale silken skin of her neck, where he sampled but did not devour. He heeded not the fingers that stole beneath his waistcoat and the seductive easing of shirtfront from trousers, and if he did tense at the cool sensation of a hand traversing his stomach and creeping around his waist - he trusted there was no need to blush - he nevertheless remained calm, merely drawing the dainty little lobe of her ear between his teeth, and toying with it gently.

At last, with a final wriggle under the many layers of his apparel, she reached his chest, and was clearly much pleased by what she found there, for there she chose to remain. Her caresses were beguiling; and they could not be ignored. He ceased all movement, simply holding her close, breathing, slowly and deeply.

Respiration ...he told himself...that biological imperative, which - unlike certain others - can safely be enjoyed in public venues, such as the theatre, a dinner party, the gentlemen's club, or in the garden of a friend. Steady ... rhythmic. In. Out.

Absently, he kissed her hair, her brow, her cheek. Before long he found himself gazing at her face, and there he encountered a look that startled him from reverie, a look of self-congratulation such as he had never seen before in the countenance of a woman, all the more alluring for its peculiarity. As her exploration progressed, of those parts of him within reach, it seemed that with every additional inch, so grew the smirk on her face. She could not have expressed her approval of his person more eloquently had she waggled her eyebrows at him and licked her lips. Her manners were certainly not those of the fashionable world.

As if she had read his thoughts, she caught his eye, and the faintest blush coloured her cheeks before she resumed, with a playful air and undisguised satisfaction. He was caught, ensnared, utterly at her mercy, and he would at that moment at a word from her, have done anything to give her pleasure. He felt no unease in his predicament.

So he kissed her again, his good intentions scorned, obliterated, and forgotten. Determined to know more of her, for one wild moment, despite the frosty air and lack of shrubbery, he was convinced he must know her biblically - and then a soft chuckle fell into his ear, followed closely by another, and her hold on him diminished. She rested her head against his chest, and was still.

All was quiet, but for the thudding in his head. When at last he spoke, his voice was weary and dejected.

"Miss Bennet. You are ... bothering me," he said.

"Am I sir?" she replied faintly. "You do appear to be somewhat ... agitated."

There was a pause.

"I had not expected this of you."

"Then you have shown a disappointing lack of foresight," she smiled, and her lips brushed consolingly against the line of his jaw.

He cleared his throat, and breathed in and out deeply.

"Why did you laugh at me?"

"I did not laugh at you."

"Then why did you laugh?"

"Because I was happy."

"So was I, but I felt no urge to laugh. "

"Because you do not laugh when you are happy. You are Mr. Darcy."

"Perhaps. But there are many kinds of happiness. This was not the laughing kind."

She conceded, and looked at him more seriously. "I was also laughing at the situation in which we have placed ourselves - it would be folly to continue. And we will drive one another to distraction."

Mr. Darcy was already distracted. He was meditating on the very great pleasure that a pair of rhododendron bushes in the arbour of Bingley's garden might bestow.

She tucked his shirt in carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles and straightening his waistcoat. Then she slid her arms around his waist, and standing on tiptoe, placed a little kiss on the creases of his frown.

Grudgingly, he smiled.

"You are perfectly right, of course. Although your timing might be considered somewhat hasty."

At least, he reflected, he was now presented with an opportunity to settle a question he had been debating upon since last Michaelmas - rather infantile perhaps, and a meagre recompense for his disappointment, but certainly better than nothing. He drew her coat aside a little, and studied its contents. Then, as if prepared to be amused, he set off on a quest over the great expanse of her skirts, coursing the undulating peaks and inclines en route to her bottom - the object of his curiosity, of size and nature to be determined.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, rested quietly in his arms. She had experienced somewhat of a revelation, and for the moment was content. She looked up at him, the man she was to marry, the sight of him so dearly familiar, and acknowledged feelings that she had long ignored.

Her fingers had moved over him, like a first lesson on an instrument of exceptional quality, but where others would have demanded years of practise and instruction, she had quickly achieved, judging from the quality of sounds emitted from him, a superior execution she would not have thought possible. She smiled to herself. Her vanity was taking an epicurean turn. It declared that her performance was pleasing, and quite arguably capital. And such was the pleasure of playing upon him, that she might feel persuaded to heed some long disregarded advice.

``Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practised more ... She has a very good notion of fingering."

He was magnificent. She could hardly believe her good fortune. No one admitted to this privilege, could think anything wanting.

"Caroline? What is it?" Mr. Bingley approached the window, even as his distraught sister fled from it and quitted the room, slamming the door emphatically behind her. He soon spied the cause of her distress.

"Good God!" he chuckled. "Is that Darcy?" He stepped forward for a better view, and clonked his nose on the window.

"What is it Charles?" said Mrs. Hurst, joining him. "Oh! I see." She threw a baleful look in the direction of Mr. Hurst, who appeared to be reading the newspaper (but was in actual fact, as she knew full well, engrossed in the sporting column planning his betting for the coming fortnight), and then settled herself on the window seat to watch the performance. She would rather die than kiss her husband, and as she was abominably bad at keeping secrets, to take a lover was out of the question. To observe Mr. Darcy was the most she could hope for, and therefore highly agreeable. She wanted only her opera glasses. Charles on the other hand, seemed to think it all a very good joke, and as if to mark the occasion, ordered some tea.

And so, though they neither of them performed to strangers, for a short time Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy unknowingly entertained their friends. The rapt attention of their audience was sadly ended by a tumultuous crash from a window alcove in the next room, where a maid was paying more heed to the work of Cupid than to her own, and had dusted an entire family of porcelain ducks out of the china cabinet and onto the floor.

"Where is my bonnet?" Elizabeth whispered.

"In the mud," he replied softly.

"Oh."

"And ... Mm."

"Yes?"

"In my haste ... I may have torn a button from your coat." He most certainly had, and moreover, had taken shameless advantage of the access gained. "Forgive me."

"I shall not," she breathed unevenly, the December air chilling his warm kisses from her neck.

A muffled "Hm?" rose from somewhere about her collarbone.

"To be forgiven you must first repent."

"But I cannot repent if I do not care." He looked up with amusement. "Disguise of every sort is my ... - I will buy you a new coat."

"No," replied she. "You will find the button - that will be quite sufficient, I thank you."

He was incredulous, and a trifle irked, at the perverse enjoyment she would derive from watching her illustrious fiancé poking around in the muck for a worthless button, but in fact the button was easily retrieved, being large and blue, and the only vexation to be borne with was the dirt acquired beneath his neat fingernails. His reward, on the other hand, was in pointing out the unfortunate state of her boots, for in the throes of passion she had stepped backwards rather heavily into the mud.

"Oh Lord!" she cried, lifting her skirts hastily.

It was rather too late for courtesy, so he looked at her legs with unashamed curiosity.

"And I am to be mistress of Pemberley!"

"In that case you will be needing this," he returned her button consolingly, and offered her his arm. "Perhaps we should go into the house?"

Elizabeth's visit was brief, for her mother arrived before long, as arranged, to carry her home, where she and Jane were to dress before returning to Netherfield to keep their dinner engagement.

The evening passed quite merrily. Miss Bingley, professing illness, had retired to her room, and the whole party felt her absence with relief, especially Mr. Hurst, who required an even number of participants for the evening's card game. Even Mrs. Hurst had little regret, for this evening she was in no humour to nurse her sister's wounded feelings. With judgment unimpaired by jealousy or conceit, she had at last accepted what her sister would not; that Mr. Darcy did not admire Caroline, and that all their schemes and attentions to him had been fruitless.

Louisa was not a stupid woman, despite her imprudent choice of husband, and she desired, above all, prestige for herself and for her family. In that respect her marriage had failed her, for her husband had subsequently reserved his fashionable and affluent acquaintance only for drinking and gambling at his club, and his determination to avoid other social engagements had been insurmountable. Forced to reconsider, the dissatisfaction that her marriage had instilled had at times been alleviated in aiding her sister's attempts to win Mr. Darcy's regard. In this, her life had at least had a purpose, her hopes an avenue. Upon his engagement to Elizabeth Bennet however, she had been forced to concede. Disappointed, her feelings had been soothed almost at once, for she realised that her brother's connection to Mr. Darcy through the Bennet family would be almost as beneficial to her cause as if Caroline's designs had been successful. With the right to visit more frequently at Pemberley, her own ambitions might yet be attained.

Her most immediate concern, therefore, was to find a means of whiling away the long dull evenings with her husband, and happily, diversion was afforded in plenty by the present company. It had not gone unnoticed by her that Mr. Darcy had been in much improved humour of late, particularly when his fiancée was present. In fact, in the last few weeks, he had read only three books, she was certain of it.

That evening, Darcy's cheer was such that he exerted himself so far as to beat Mr. Hurst quite resoundingly at cards, and remarkably, to persuade Mr. Bingley to sing a duet with Elizabeth, Mrs. Hurst accompanying. The performance was of a quite incomparable standard. Mr. Bingley's voice was strong and his execution eager, but his fondness of music did not counteract his unreliable sense of rhythm, and his pitch wandered unpredictably throughout the song. The ladies made futile attempts to compensate, Mr. Bingley was pitifully aware that something (he knew not what) was amiss, and the audience was enthralled. Poor Jane struggled for composure until her eyes met Mr. Darcy's, and caught off-guard by his very evident amusement, she giggled, Elizabeth laughed and the others followed.

Their mirth startled Mr. Hurst from slumber, and resounded in the farthest corners of the house. Caroline could only fling her fashion periodical at the door of her room and blow her nose petulantly into an exquisite Valenciennes lace-trimmed handkerchief.

"Well, Darcy, I believe I have you to thank, for exposing me to such humiliation in my own home," cried a red-faced Mr. Bingley. "I promise you, I will have my revenge!"

Mr. Darcy's perfect unconcern only provoked him further.

"But I will not attempt to persuade you to sing - I know you would not be so easily convinced to make an ass of yourself as I have been! It is rare indeed, that we have any occasion to laugh at you!"

He paused, observing Mr. Darcy's now somewhat perplexed expression, and Elizabeth and Jane, apparently deep in conversation with his sister, before continuing in a lower tone.

"Although I might perhaps cite an incident this afternoon as an example, of some rather diverting activity beside a fallen tree."

At this Mr. Darcy stiffened in surprise, but Bingley's triumph was quickly overthrown by dismay - for before him stood Elizabeth.

"What can you mean sir?" she smiled. "Forgive me, but there must be some mistake. I am sure that Mr. Darcy's behaviour today has been beyond recrimination, and to my mind, quite satisfactory!"

Bingley's mortification was relieved by a footman's announcement that the carriage was awaiting them. Making their way outside, they said their goodbyes, the parting of the conspirators accompanied by much self-satisfied smirking and one escaped giggle.

"Do not laugh too soon, Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy, handing her up into the carriage. "Remember, you promised to ride with me tomorrow!" and he quickly closed the door on her horror-stricken face.

Chapter 2: Sir Darcy Saves the Day

Posted on Thursday, April 10, 2003

In which:

- Mr. Darcy is sensitive and funny
- Mr. Darcy is admired by lots of jealous ladies
- Mr. Darcy is a Knight in Shining Armour (apart from the armour obviously)
- Mr. Darcy is a bit naughty (there's a running theme - did you spot it?)
- Oh, and Elizabeth's in it too...

To Elizabeth's dismay, the next day dawned with a clear sky, mild and sunny, with not a speck of a rain cloud in sight.

"There Lizzy, you shall have a fine morning riding with Mr. Darcy!"

Her mother joined her at the window for earnest scrutiny of the horizon.

"Now do take care to wrap up warmly; it would be most vexing if you were to catch cold, and be sniffling and sneezing on Saturday! The mistress of Pemberley, puffy and swollen nosed on her wedding day - what a beginning that would be! Mr. Darcy might have second thoughts and run off in fright to see such a creature approaching the altar! But you may take comfort Lizzy that few will notice you, for I have no doubt that most eyes will be on Jane; she is quite charming in her gown, so you must not upset yourself if you are overlooked a little; only think of the beautiful gowns you will have as mistress of Pemberley and how well you will look in them; Jane's will be nothing to yours you know!"

Elizabeth expressed a sudden desire to wait outside.

Nelly, the family's horse, had already been led round from the stable, looking, if such is possible for a horse, as pessimistic as her mistress. There was little opportunity for apprehension to build however, for within a couple of minutes the sound of horses' hooves was heard and Mr. Darcy appeared on his proud black stallion, leading, to Elizabeth's dismay, another rider-less horse bearing an elegant side-saddle.

"Oh!" she said weakly.

Seeing her stricken face, he dismounted and took her hand in his own. "I thought we might leave the poor old creature in peace today - she is rather too fractious and toil worn for our purposes. Our company might prove to be a little trying on her nerves, don't you think?"

A sharp intake of breath was heard from the front doorway of the house. Elizabeth rolled her eyes before turning to answer.

"Mr. Darcy is referring to Nelly, Mama!"

"Oh yes, I know!" tittered Mrs. Bennet, with a doubtful glance at Mr. Darcy. He bowed, and said nothing.

"A horse of uncertain temper with an inexperienced rider is an inadvisable combination Elizabeth." He paused before adding, "She is a rather discontented old creature...as fat as a pig. Let her rest."

Elizabeth felt that he was being rather harsh, and looked at him suspiciously.

"Her company would be more than flesh and blood can bear," he added, his expression impenetrable.

"Perhaps you are right," she replied with haste. "Where did you find her?"

"I had her brought here from London. Her name is Carrie; she was Georgiana's first horse. I believe she was named after an acquaintance of ours," he lowered his voice, "due to a certain physical resemblance...about the nose, I think." He patted Carrie's snout, and the animal nuzzled against him adoringly. With a sidelong look, he saw that his efforts had been rewarded; Elizabeth was astonished. "My sister is perhaps neither so charitable, nor so unobservant as you may have thought."

Elizabeth was delighted to learn that the responsibility of mocking Miss Bingley need not fall to her alone, and much cheered, she informed the stable boy that Nelly would not be required. She then allowed Mr. Darcy to help her up into Carrie's saddle. Mindful of her feelings, he offered only a few carefully chosen words of instruction, and they proceeded slowly towards the gates.

"Lizzy!"

Mrs. Bennet had recovered, and rushed forward all aflutter. "I have just now remembered that I told Mrs. Long and Mrs. Andrews and Mrs. Ingram that you will be out this morning, so you must ride through Meryton if you can, and return by the same route to be sure you are seen!"

"Yes, Mama!" said Elizabeth. The riders simultaneously broke into a trot, and passed quickly out through the gates.

By the time they reached the village, Elizabeth was surprised to find that she was enjoying the experience tolerably well; her horse was quietly responsive to her instructions, and her companion's obvious enjoyment was infectious. She was pleased to greet friends and neighbours, and was pleasantly conscious of the admiring looks and self-conscious giggles of some of Meryton's ladies as they watched Mr. Darcy's progress down the street. Now that all of Wickham's untruths had been exposed, and Mr. Darcy had been so good as to choose a wife from amongst the Hertfordshire ladies, he was as popular as Mr. Bingley himself, assisted of course by his handsome person and his much talked of wealth. The man himself tolerated his popularity with great fortitude, and if the attentions of some of the village's more mature ladies (of an age to know better) did turn his stomach, he concealed it admirably well, with Elizabeth only occasionally hearing him muttering about it under his breath.

At length they began their journey back to Longbourn, observing with some anxiety that the wind had picked up unexpectedly, and that ominous clouds were fast approaching. They proceeded as briskly as Elizabeth's confidence would allow, but after only a few moments thunder was heard, and soon afterwards rain began to fall. With only a short distance to their destination they were not overly concerned, until disaster befell them at a crossroads. They had paused to allow a speeding carriage to pass by, but without warning it turned the corner and hurtled towards them, their presence obscured by the murky conditions and the now driving rain. Elizabeth was unable to control her startled horse, and it reared up in fear, jerking away from the road, and stumbling across the roadside ditch into the uneven ground beyond. She was dimly aware that a firm hand was all that was required to control the frightened animal, but she could only cling tightly to its neck as it lurched unsteadily forward.

Mr. Darcy drew alongside, attempting unsuccessfully to catch the flapping reins. Her grip was failing, but even as she felt herself starting to slip, his arm caught her firmly about the waist and he dragged her unceremoniously from the horse. For a moment she seemed to hang helplessly in mid-air, as Mr. Darcy reined in his horse, braced himself in his seat, and now employing both arms, hauled her up to safety. White faced and breathing heavily, they came to a halt, silently watching the departure of Elizabeth's horse.

As if conceding victory, the rain and wind eased off and Carrie slowed to a trot, finally stopping in the next field but one. She looked back reproachfully and then lowered her head to graze.

Elizabeth felt unaccountably warm as she leant back against her gallant rescuer, his breathing heavy from exertion, his chest rising and falling in turn. Wrapped securely in his arms, she was acutely conscious of the closeness of his body to her own, and in order to prolong his embrace she laid her own arms over his to hold them in place. Her thoughts however, were not concerned with matters equestrian, nor did they linger on her own traumatic experience.

Before long a wry smile had escaped, and she bit her lip to subdue it. The desire that gripped her, demanding recognition, was without question an inconsistency; a nonsensical whim in fact, and for once she regretted her vaunted delight in laughing at the ridiculous, and that her quickness of observation encompassed her own actions as well as those of others, for just now she wanted nothing more than to play the damsel in distress, to breathlessly proclaim to him her gratitude and collapse in his arms with her breasts heaving. And since, apparently, every woman in Meryton would be very well pleased to do exactly that, to fail to conduct herself so as to (how had his letter phrased it?) avoid any share of the like censure, seemed that much more forgivable.

She settled upon dignified compromise, and by way of beginning, turned towards him with a smile, but his expression was grave and he did not return it. She caressed his cheek, and he spoke, but only to ask if she was hurt. Perhaps it was simply the favourable answer that she gave that enabled him to throw off his solemnity, but more than likely the result was enhanced by her squirming awkwardly in the saddle as she replied, for it was certainly not made for two and she was becoming rather uncomfortable. In fact, she decided, it was prodding her delicate feminine parts and they were beginning to go quite numb.

At least he had been distracted; from the increasing complacency of his expression, she judged that his thoughts had taken a more self-indulgent path. Her eyes met with his, but drifted almost unconsciously away, falling to his lips, and on downward to where his arms encircled her tightly.

She could not conceal her intentions, and with an impish twitch of her lips, the role of damsel in distress was forever lost to her.

"So...what are we going to do about this horse?" she murmured, in a vague attempt to compose herself.

"Damn the creature!" he cursed. "If she ever comes back I'll have her shot!"

"I think that her reaction was quite in proportion to the circumstances," said Elizabeth. "It would have been the death of Nelly, if she had been faced with a similar threat, and if Carrie will ever trust me again, I think I would like to further our acquaintance."

He said nothing, considering her words and the quiet composure with which she spoke. He was undecided as to whether or not the sublime sensation of her body nestling against his own justified the perilous means by which it had arrived there, and being more accustomed to shouldering responsibility than to shrugging it off, for once he was at a loss.

When she kissed him, briefly but tenderly, he found that his mind had cleared a little. When she kissed him again, he considered that this blessed turn of events would undoubtedly be of short duration and that he should most sensibly enjoy it while it lasted, and he also thought of how dull he would be during his ride home and of how empty his saddle would seem. And when she kissed him again, this time smiling as though he were displaying the sort of quaint eccentricity that a man might take on in his dotage, it was as if his dilemma had never existed.

The outcome of this entire morning excursion, with all its varied but extraneous circumstances, saw them settled in that state of seclusion and physical proximity where young lovers might safely behave exactly as they pleased, and yet here he sat, fussing about nothing of consequence. Had he, Fitzwilliam Darcy, reached decrepitude at the age of eight and twenty? Or was he simply a fool?

He kissed her without further delay, for she appeared to be growing impatient, and in consequence his questions were answered. Her smile, alight with mischief, kindled within him a small reserve of youthful exuberance, deeply submerged and pitifully neglected, but enough to reassure him. It also served to remind him of how he had once scarcely allowed this woman to be tolerable, when any man with eyes in his head could see that she was excessively tolerable. He was a fool, therefore, but not an old fool.

"Mr. Darcy," she was saying, with a longsuffering air. "It is quite tragic that you are so inclined to observe - some might say stare - when you would do so much better to participate."

He smiled. His mind was finally at ease, and in celebration he kissed her, and embraced her with such vigour that she cried out in surprise. Thereafter, he gave to her his full and undivided attention.

It was not until his horse began to huff and snort that their ardour was cooled, and, leaving Elizabeth standing safely by the fence, Mr. Darcy rode off to retrieve the disgraced mare.

She watched him with admiration; with his ease and grace it was clear that he had been riding from an early age. She thought of the first time she had seen him, as he and Bingley galloped across the fields outside Netherfield. Streaking into the lead, with the tails of his grey coat flying out behind him, his boyish, competitive energy had belied his gentleman's attire, and reminded her of her own childhood, of running races with Jane and the other girls, and the thrill of winning. Elated, she had skipped down the hill, never suspecting that before long she would be embroiled in battle with this stranger, and that for both sides, the outcome would be so favourable.

He returned, having led the two horses through the far gate, and followed the lane back to her. He helped Elizabeth into her saddle with some reservations, but knew better than to question her resolve, or risk an inquisition should they be seen returning on the same horse. It was quickly decided that it would be unnecessary to trouble anyone with details of their outing; both were well aware that once she was sure of her daughter's safety, Mrs. Bennet's concern for Elizabeth would be utterly overwhelmed by her love of melodrama; her raptures on Mr. Darcy's heroism would undoubtedly be prolonged and unbearable.

On their entrance to the house, Mrs. Bennet, driven to distraction with visions of imminent coughs and fevers, swept her protesting daughter off to a steaming bath, which she had ordered the instant the first raindrops had hit the sitting room window pane, and scattered servants in all directions with shrieked instructions to stoke fires, fetch blankets and brew medicinal teas. With Elizabeth thus taken care of, Darcy accepted Mr. Bennet's quiet offer of some brandy, and they withdrew into the library, shutting the door behind them.

Chapter 3: Madness and Mortification

Posted on Thursday, April 10, 2003

In which:

Mr. Bennet and Mr. Darcy become chummy
Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips are excessively vulgar
Mr. Darcy thinks shameful thoughts
Miss Bingley goes loopy
Mr. Bingley gets very cross!

One of the few pleasures Elizabeth had experienced during Mr. Darcy's now almost daily visits to the Bennet household was in observing his developing rapport with her father. Although Mr. Bingley usually accompanied his friend, he was generally occupied for some time by Mrs. Bennet, who was still too much in awe of Mr. Darcy to bombard him with the same torrent of civilities. Darcy, from his refuge by the window, made every effort to be tolerant, only very occasionally expressing his suffering to Elizabeth with a long, pained look, a raised eyebrow, or a subdued yawn. It was on such occasions that his eyes would sometimes cross paths with Mr. Bennet's, and although at first no common sentiments were communicated, before long there was recognition between the two men of a certain likeness of mind. So it was that Mr. Bennet began to engage Mr. Darcy more frequently in conversation, and the two gentlemen, together with Elizabeth, would now and then withdraw to the library, leaving Bingley and Jane to fend for themselves.

Although Darcy could not approve Mr. Bennet's passive enjoyment of his family's frequent misconduct, he was aware that many men in such a situation would have drawn solace from less respectable sources than a bookshelf, and for his adherence to good principles he respected him. Mr. Bennet, on the other hand, having learnt his lesson with Lydia, though possibly not as well as he should, was a little more disposed to consider the welfare of his family at the expense of his own amusement. He had already derived unprecedented sport from the courtship period, and having developed a certain empathy for the longsuffering suitors and satisfied himself that they were not squeamish youths, he was, for the moment at least, content. He esteemed Darcy first as the man with enough sense to love his favourite daughter, but soon for his own merits, and their animated discussions on a variety of subjects would at times succeed in silencing even Mrs. Bennet, leaving her only to fidget nervously and order more tea.

On the evening following Elizabeth's and Darcy's riding excursion, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy arrived to keep their dinner engagement, the latter having only returned to Netherfield to dress for the evening after consuming several of Mr. Bennet's generous measures of brandy. Thus fortified, he attempted, out of a sense of obligation to his friend, to take the chair next to Mrs. Bennet, but Mrs. Phillips's sudden arrival resulted in a rearrangement of the seating and his good intentions were thwarted; the two ladies, whose thirst for wedding gossip craved a receptive and submissive audience, had cornered Mr. Bingley.

"Well, my dear Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Bennet effused. "I am so glad you have arrived safely! What a wretched afternoon, with such blustering of wind and downpours of rain! I am certain that this very night the roof shall be torn from the house and we shall all be drowned in our beds!"

Mr. Bingley sat back and gripped the arms of his chair.

"In fact if the weather worsens by morning I do not know what we shall do! We are expecting the dressmaker to call for the final fitting of the wedding gowns; if the conditions are stormy she will not be able to travel and if we are delayed any longer we will have to postpone the ceremony!"

She paused to allow her sister a dramatic intake of breath.

"Jane's gown had to be taken in a little Mr. Bingley, for although she has always had a hearty appetite, I fear the excitement of the last few weeks has worn her down a little. I hope she is not developing my nervous disposition!"

As she laughed shrilly, Mr. Bingley glanced at Jane, who was indeed looking rather pale.

"Perhaps it's for the best though, to start off one's married life a little on the scrawny side. I myself was never plump as a girl, but when I was wed to my dear Mr. Bennet I must confess that my hips suffered vastly, and as Jane is built the same way I suspect it will be just the way with her too!"

Mr. Bingley's expression was now that of a man confronting a charging bull.

"Mama," began Elizabeth, but Mrs. Phillips was taking her turn.

"But sister, a fuller figure does have its own benefits; they do say that a woman needs some reserves of strength to carry her through the childbearing years."

Elizabeth, in her agony, was relieved to see that Mr. Darcy appeared not to have heard; in fact, his expression seemed rather vacant, his gaze seemingly fixed on some detail of the rug beneath his feet.

"Yes indeed, and speaking of childbearing, I am excessively glad that at least some of my grandchildren will be within easy distance of Longbourn," continued Mrs. Bennet, "Why, just the other day, I came across some of our mother's old journals, full of useful advice on all aspects of childrearing, together with recipes that have been handed down through many generations of our family, including some for nourishing broths and gruels for the expectant mother. Apparently," she leaned towards her sister, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, "apparently some of them are of mystical origin!"

Mrs. Phillips' eyes widened, as she drew her hand to her breast in reverence.

Mrs. Bennet continued. "I shall pick the wild bulbs and roots myself and Hill can brew up a fresh batch for me every morning so that I can deliver it straight to Netherfield, for I am sure it will not be long before Jane is with child - she has that look about her! Why, I shall be kept quite busy looking after you and all your family, Mr. Bingley!"

As the two ladies continued in this manner, the dismay of their audience was somewhat alleviated by a long sigh from Mr. Darcy's chair, and it was observed, with quiet amusement, that not only had he refined his ability to ignore Mrs. Bennet beyond all expectation, but he was now in fact, fast asleep, his expression vouching for his profound, blissful contentment.

Under pretence of warming her hands, Elizabeth moved to the fireplace, treading firmly on his foot as she passed. He sat up with a jerk, but she instantly regretted the ill timing of her action, as the oblivious pair continued.

"And Lizzy's dress! Well, what a to-do! It needed to be let out, for she has filled out over the summer and is now much too busty to fit into it; I can only pray she won't split a seam half-way down the aisle!"

"Mother!" Elizabeth's horror went unheeded, as Mrs. Phillips chimed in, nodding wisely.

"Yes, sister, although she is not so heavy as Jane, she has always been more voluptuous in figure!"

Mr. Darcy, still drowsy and somewhat nettled by the cruelty of his awakening, was beginning to enjoy this turn of the conversation.

"Although if she has my ill luck her assets will decline beyond measure after childbirth!" finished Mrs. Bennet in triumph, as it seemed to her daughters, and the two ladies laughed heartily.

Angry and humiliated almost beyond bearing, Elizabeth was on the verge of running from the room, but at that moment a servant entered to call them to dinner. Mrs. Phillips departed, and the others rose silently, to join Mary, Kitty and Mr. Bennet in the dining room.

Darcy, seated for once next to Elizabeth, tactfully resisted the temptation to verify Mrs. Phillips's last statement. He had already on countless occasions observed the available evidence to the best of his ability, and each time had arrived at the same verdict. While it pained him most grievously to agree with Mrs. Phillips on any issue, he was forced to concede that in this case she was quite correct, the proof was abundant, in consequence of recent developments, palpable, the conclusion a resounding affirmative; Elizabeth was delightfully ample in at least one respect (or two to be exact), and although thorough evaluation of her concealed attributes was for the moment beyond his grasp, further investigation would soon be possible.

"Five more days." he murmured, squeezing Elizabeth's hand under cover of the tablecloth. Elizabeth, for reasons not entirely similar, shared his eager anticipation, and clasped his hand firmly in her own, managing a smile in response.

Dinner passed without any further embarrassment. In her sister's absence, Mrs. Bennet had receded into the role of gracious hostess, and if at times she threatened to lapse into vulgarity, Mr. Bennet, having taken note of Lizzy's dejection, exerted himself to deflect her blunders. Mary, who had always admired the austerity of Mr. Darcy's manners, was pleased to occasionally support his opinions with a carefully selected proverb, and Kitty busied herself by imagining the two visiting gentlemen in officers' uniforms. Ensuing visions of Captain Bingley and Colonel Darcy preoccupied her for several minutes, and when she returned to her soup it was quite cold.

The ladies retired to the drawing room, and the gentlemen relaxed over port. Mr. Bennet began the conversation.

"I hope your sister is in better health, Mr. Bingley; Jane tells me she was taken ill yesterday."

"Thank-you sir, I believe she may be a little better today, but not yet quite back to herself. She joined us for breakfast this morning and then suddenly decided to go into Meryton, which is most unlike her; she and Mrs. Hurst usually make all their purchases in London. She seems to have over-exerted herself; my driver told me she was in a great hurry to return home, and in fact, she urged him on until he almost overturned the carriage at Meryton crossroads. He couldn't see a thing in the rain and almost collided with a rider; he was quite shaken, poor fellow!"

"I am not surprised to hear it; the roads here can be quite treacherous in such unfriendly weather. He was not the only one to be surprised by this morning's cloudburst. Is that not so, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy was staring at Bingley in astonishment, and it was only with significant effort that he was able to continue the conversation. After Mr. Bennet had laughed for some time at a few of Elizabeth's past riding experiences, he excused himself, and the younger gentlemen rejoined the ladies for coffee.

It was not until the carriage ride back to Netherfield that Darcy was able to make further investigation into Miss Bingley's morning exploits. It transpired that she had quit Netherfield shortly after his own departure for Longbourn and on arriving in Meryton had sat in the carriage for a prolonged period before allowing Rossiter, the driver, to continue. On reaching the southern hilltop, she had then stood for some time in the rain surveying the area, before hastily re-entering the carriage, and ordering Rossiter to proceed. Her instructions had become more urgent with every turn, repeatedly commanding him to hurry, until after narrowly avoiding an accident that could have caused serious injury to the other party, Rossiter had insisted on slowing down and delivering her safely back to Netherfield.

"Rossiter came to me shortly after their return." continued Bingley. "He was in quite a state. Apparently Caroline commended him and offered him a handsome tip for his trouble, which only served to bewilder him more."

Darcy was silent, in disbelief, trying to make some sense out of this information.

"Well, what's the matter, man? You look like you've just met your mother-in-law!" Bingley was unusually bold, having over-indulged slightly on wine at dinner. "Don't concern yourself Darcy - Caroline appears to be behaving strangely, but I'm sure she will refrain from killing herself over you, even if you are such a handsome devil! She needs another day in bed I expect, and then she'll be fit as a fiddle, restored to the sweet tempered creature we are all accustomed to!"

His good humour deteriorated somewhat with Darcy's cautious account of the morning's events; in fact, the effect was immediate; shock, with the rhythmic rocking of the carriage, dispelled his pleasant inebriation, leaving him looking distinctly queasy.

"I cannot believe it - my own sister, bent on murder! What the devil is she playing at! Is she completely out of her wits?"

"Do not be too hasty Bingley. Most likely it is merely strange coincidence. If not, and if indeed it was she, and malice was intended, then I doubt that she intended to kill anyone. Judging by the good humour she showed your driver, she was satisfied with the result of her efforts. I imagine that the worst she intended was to startle the horses, knowing Elizabeth would be vulnerable. Whether she hoped to cause injury or merely to frighten I know not."

"Well, I shall summon her first thing tomorrow morning and demand an explanation! If she has any excuse for such behaviour, I should dearly like to hear it!" Bingley's face was now flushed with outrage, and Darcy found himself fighting a smile at the unusual ferocity of his friend's countenance. "And what's more, if she cannot acquit herself of all blame in this matter, I'll ... I'll ... what shall I do Darcy?"

Darcy only smiled ruefully. "Perhaps we should establish the facts first?"

But Bingley was scowling, immersed in thought.

"She relies on me for financial support," he mused.

Despite himself, Darcy was curious. "I am surprised to hear that."

"Thanks to my father, her fortune is held securely in a trust until her marriage. It provides her with a handsome income, which she cheerfully exceeds, before applying to me to discharge her debts. At present she has nothing, and is dependent on my goodwill. And there I have it!" he cried determinedly. "If she cannot convince me of her innocence in this matter, I'll withhold her allowance! "

And with this dire threat, Bingley stumbled from the carriage and marched off to bed.

Chapter 4: The Interrogation

Posted on Thursday, April 10, 2003

In which:

- Bingley and co. put the wind up Caroline
- Caroline and Louisa have a blazing row
- Darcy and Bingley form an evil, evil plan

The following morning, Bingley rose and prepared to conduct his inquisition with all the severity he could muster. He was relieved of the trouble however, by Miss Bingley's beginning on the subject herself at breakfast.

"Mr. Darcy, I had the pleasure of seeing you and your dear lady passing through the village yesterday. Your pupil appeared to be enjoying her lesson very well!"

If Darcy was surprised he did not show it.

"Yes, I believe she did enjoy it - but you have me at a disadvantage, for I was not so fortunate as to see you."

"Oh, I was sitting awhile in the carriage. These little country roads are so uneven - I had been jostled around until I thought my very bones should break! I continued the perusal of my book; such opportunities for self-improvement should never be wasted!"

She looked at Mrs. Hurst who sat opposite, awaiting her agreement, but strangely, in its place, received only an inquiry.

"What is it that you are reading sister?"

Miss Bingley sipped slowly at her tea before delivering her answer.

"I am reading the Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica!" she answered at last.

At this, Mr. Bingley choked convulsively on his coffee.

"Excuse me!" he spluttered, through spasms of coughing. "The coffee," he cleared his throat, "- fiendishly hot this morning!"

He began to mop up his breakfast with a napkin, but on glancing up at Darcy, who was observing with his most satirical eye, he reconsidered and began dividing his scrambled eggs into two heaps, one coffee bespattered, the other not. "Quite ludicrous!" he added, with a fleeting look at Miss Bingley.

"Outrageous," agreed Darcy.

"Astonishing," retorted Bingley. "Ridiculous. Incredible. Preposterous! "

"Ex-tra-ord-in-ary," smiled Darcy, enunciating each of five syllables.

"Yes!" Mrs. Hurst interrupted impatiently, as her brother hesitated. "But Caroline, I had no idea you were a scientist in the making! This is a new occupation indeed!"

"Oh Louisa, you know that I strive to be well informed on all subjects, not only in those disciplines deemed appropriate for our sex, and as I'm sure you are aware this is the most important work ever published in the physical sciences!"

Such shameless and fraudulent conceit certainly deserved exposure, but even as Darcy resisted temptation, Mrs. Hurst spoke again.

"So tell me Caroline," she narrowed her eyes slightly, "who wrote this great mathematical work?"

"Galileo." Miss Bingley announced, after a short pause. "Now Charles, what plans do you have for the day?"

"Oh, I'm going to ... but wait just one moment, wasn't it that fellow... what's his name? You know the one! An apple fell on his head!"

"You do talk such nonsense sometimes!" laughed Miss Bingley. "We all know you've never read a book from one end to the other! Is that not so, Mr. Darcy?" She looked at Darcy playfully, and ran her fingertip lightly around the rim of her teacup.

"Pass the butter please Caroline," mumbled Mr. Hurst, through a mouthful of smoked haddock.

"Newton! That's it, Sir Isaac Newton!" Bingley exclaimed, beaming victoriously.

The butter slipped from its dish, and was surreptitiously retrieved.

"Yes, it was Newton," said Darcy. "Although the story about the apple was most likely fictitious, at least in part. The truth of the matter has been greatly distorted."

He looked intently at Miss Bingley, as she shifted a plate over the telltale smear on the tablecloth.

Silence fell for a moment, as one sister attempted to compose herself, closely observed by the other.

"Rossiter informs me that you were almost involved in a collision on the journey home yesterday." Bingley continued resolutely.

"Did he? I must admit, on the return journey I was in such wretched health that I sat with my eyes closed and scarcely noticed a thing. I believe it may have been raining, so perhaps the roads were unsafe."

"But Caroline, you know it was raining! You were caught in a shower and almost soaked to the skin; you told me so yourself, at dinner!" cried Mrs. Hurst.

"At dinner? But of course, you are right. It had quite slipped my mind! After my sojourn in Meryton I longed for refreshment, to escape the confinement of the carriage; you know how I cannot abide long periods of inactivity; and so I braved the elements for a short time. It was foolish perhaps, but with my spirits revived, I was impatient to return home quickly, to remove my wet clothes."

She lingered, almost imperceptibly, on the last few words, daring yet another look at Mr. Darcy. His expression was impenetrable.

"And what a peculiar coincidence, that your journey should have taken you as far as Meryton crossroads, on the other side of the village from home! Isn't that the very place where Miss Bennet's horse was startled by that carriage Darcy?"

"Yes, it is. And it is remarkable that there should be two such occurrences in one morning; but I did not have time to observe the carriage. My attention was more engaged in ensuring Elizabeth's safety."

"And indeed you were successful Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bingley was now becoming desperate. "By the mercy of heaven our dear Eliza escaped uninjured, and will recover from the shock in time, I am quite sure. Now, Charles, you were telling me of your plans for..."

Her sister interrupted coldly. "Was Miss Bennet uninjured? I don't recall either Mr. Darcy or Charles telling us of the outcome!"

Miss Bingley, with a clatter, returned her cup to its saucer, and three pairs of eyes observed the small beads of perspiration that had collected on her brow.

Her brother, with all the flourish of an actor on his final curtain call, drew the interrogation to an end.

"Yes indeed, Sir Darcy on his valiant steed rescued the maiden fair, and bearing his mighty sword aloft, enjoyed a most pleasant ride back to Longbourn with his Lady in his arms!"

Delighted with his own wickedness, Bingley beamed at his friend, who, though slightly discomfited at this distortion of the truth, was also amused by it, and allowed the matter to rest.

Mr. Hurst, after a polite enquiry to his sister-in-law, helped himself to the last of the ham, lying unheeded on her plate, and shortly afterwards the meal ended.

A short time later, Bingley and Darcy were walking around the grounds of Netherfield, deep in discussion. It was quickly established that, although their findings during breakfast had been insubstantial, Caroline's behaviour was certainly suspicious and some precautions should be taken.

"I shall speak to Fitzwilliam when he arrives this afternoon." said Darcy. "I believe he would be most happy to assist us."

"What do you have in mind?"

Darcy smiled.

"My cousin dearly loves a joke, and the prospect of alarming your sister with a show of newly-awakened devotion would be highly amusing to him. His services would only be required for a few days; he would not tire of the occupation in that time."

"Well, if that be the case, I will be greatly indebted to him for keeping the lunatic element of my family under restraint! However, this is not sufficient; the consequences might have been severe if you had not acted so quickly! If indeed Caroline is guilty then she must be punished!"

At this point they paused, on hearing raised voices from the walk beyond the shrubbery.

"Whatever do you mean, by humiliating me so just now? You know how I rely on your support!"

"Well rely on it no longer Caroline, for I will have no further part in your ridiculous scheming! It was not I who humiliated you - you did that of your own accord, without any assistance from me. How can you continue with such transparent pretensions? Do you think Mr. Darcy is a fool? Why even Charles noticed your clumsy flirtations this morning! You know Mr. Darcy will be married in four days and there is nothing more you can do to win him; it is quite clear that he is very much in love with Miss Bennet. If you wish to continue in his circle of acquaintance you must learn to adopt at least the appearance of civility with his intended bride!"

"It is not too late and I will not be defeated by the impertinent ambitions of an unpolished, uneducated country bumpkin! With her "fine eyes" and her muddy skirts...she's a trollop, as mercenary as her mother, only more cunning; she wants only his money and his influence!"

"Oh, of course, that would explain why she was so abominably uncivil to him for so many months, for we all know that that is the surest way to win a man. In any case, are your motives so very pure, my dear sister? You are not actually in love with Mr. Darcy! And allow me to make myself quite clear on one subject - I do not know, and I do not wish to know, what your intentions were yesterday morning when you stalked the object of your jealous obsession about the countryside. But you may rest assured that I will not stand idly by and watch you bring disgrace upon yourself and your family! There is more at stake here than your own reputation; be very careful, Caroline!"

"Make no mistake Louisa, I shall behave only as I see fit, without heed for threats or ill-judged advice from you! What makes you think, even for a moment, that you have a right to counsel me? You cannot possibly be of the opinion that your life is a model of success, to which I should aspire? You, who married a man of no great fortune because you saw him in distinguished company, in distinguished places, with a different frock coat for every occasion? Look at what he has become Louisa; what effect marriage to you has had on him! He's a red-faced, pot-bellied slouch of a gambler who can scarcely string a sentence together in polite company; he cares more about his next meal than he does for his wife; the only reason that he hasn't taken a mistress is that he's too inebriated for such an exertion!"

A chilling pause followed this outburst, before Mrs. Hurst replied, her accent oddly measured and detached.

"I assume, sister, that when you resolved to share your thoughts with me in this way, that you had in mind alternative arrangements for accommodation during the next three months. I assure you, that despite our former plans, you will not be welcome in the Hurst residence!"

After another brief pause, footsteps carried first one and then the other away, leaving the gentleman in stunned silence.

At last Bingley spoke.

"Good God! I haven't heard such a hostile dispute since they were fifteen years old and squabbling over a bonnet!"

Darcy said nothing, Miss Bingley's spiteful description of Elizabeth still stinging his consciousness.

"And what the devil does she mean, "even Charles noticed"? What does she think I am, a half-wit?" Bingley was most affronted.

"And why on earth would Miss Bingley not be in love with me?" Darcy frowned, also somewhat perturbed.

Recollecting themselves, they moved on with renewed dignity, leaving behind their wounded pride in exchange for more admirable concerns.

"Well Darcy, I think we have all the proof we need! Now, what action shall we take? Forgive me, I do not wish to see my sister consigned to a lunatic asylum, but it is clear that extreme measures are required!"

"Your feelings are perfectly understandable Bingley, and it is best for all concerned if your sister's indiscretion does not become common knowledge. However, I think you will soon be facing another problem, a question of storage, one might say."

Bingley looked at him blankly. Darcy elaborated.

"It seems likely to me that your sister will shortly be approaching you on the subject of continuing her residence at Netherfield. I have little doubt that, like myself, you would wish for privacy during the first weeks of your marriage. An asylum would perhaps be a trifle harsh, but another solution must be found, and found without delay!"

"Good Lord!" Bingley was appalled. "I must say that, although I had no fixed plans, I was looking forward - very much looking forward to my first evening alone with my wife!"

"Exactly," agreed Darcy.

Both men looked sheepishly at the ground.

A moment's consideration inspired Bingley with a feeling that was quite unknown to him, something akin to resentment, and with sudden fierceness he exclaimed,

"Well, upon my honour, after her misbehaviour of the last year, and now this, it's time I showed her that there is a limit to my tolerance! I'll have no more of her self-satisfied superiority and her selfish manipulation of others - and I'll be damned if she's not out of this house by the morning of my wedding day!"

"Self-satisfied superiority." Darcy was murmuring to himself. "Selfish manipulation..."

Suddenly he turned to his friend with fresh optimism.

"Bingley, I have a plan."

Moving off, the two gentlemen, deep in conversation, began another tour of the grounds.

Chapter Five: Lady Catherine Comes to Call

In which:
- Our friends flex their acting muscles (and find them sorely lacking)
- Lady Cat descends on Netherfield
- Caroline gets it right between the eyes

When the gentlemen returned to the house, they found the others in the drawing room. Miss Bingley was at the pianoforte, playing fretfully, her white knuckled fingers stabbing spitefully at the keys. The Hursts, remarkably, were sitting together, and even more remarkably, were united in the occupation of reading aloud from a large volume of the works of Shakespeare. It appeared, from the begrudging attitude of her husband, that Mrs Hurst had somehow cajoled him into the activity, and having settled on Macbeth, they were immersed, frowning with uncustomary effort.

"This is a singular entertainment, Louisa!" Bingley exclaimed.

Mrs Hurst looked up. "Yes, perhaps." Her attention darted in the direction of the pianoforte. "I have been neglecting such… gainfulpursuits."

She returned to her book, and with their companions thus employed, Darcy and Bingley seated themselves, and also began, thus:

Bingley - Well, Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam should be here within the hour! You said he was travelling with Lady Catherine, did you not?

Darcy - Yes, he is. Lady Catherine has been visiting my uncle, the Earl of Matlock. Fitzwilliam writes that she was only too eager to convey him as far as Netherfield in the Barouche Box. She goes on to visit friends not twenty miles from here.

Bingley - Do you think she will take some refreshment with us on their arrival?

Darcy (dryly) - I should imagine so. She will greatly desire to see how you are settled here, and to become better acquainted with you and your family… (to himself) and all of your most private affairs.

Macbeth (loudly, resonantly) - Is this a dagger, which I see before me?

Bingley (startled) - I beg your pardon?

Macbeth - Come let me clutch thee!

Bingley - Oh! I see…

Macbeth (turning pages) - Shall we not move on? This speech is of a tiresome length. Damned tedious waste of an afternoon!

Bingley - But Darcy, I suspect that this meeting will not be a cordial one; you have not been on the best of terms with your Aunt, since she learnt of your engagement!

Darcy - It is true that my choice of wife does not meet with her approval. She has expressed her opinions to me most emphatically, and continues to exert all her influence to prevent my union with Elizabeth (the music quietens) . I will pay my respects to her, however, as familial duty requires, and then, if you will allow me Bingley, I believe I shall retire. I have some important business to attend to.

Bingley - By all means; the visit may pass more amicably if you leave us; indeed, your absence may afford Lady Catherine the opportunity to become better acquainted with Caroline. She has expressed a wish to do so, has she not?

Darcy - Yes, she has expressed such a wish. I believe she has a high esteem for your sister. Although, I must warn you, she also has a great love of matchmaking. Being a woman of great influence she has, with her typical condescension, hurried the course of many an unsuspecting soul into wedlock. Your sister might not wish to be a recipient of such assistance.

Bingley - I will not attempt to speak for Caroline, but where you are concerned Darcy; no doubt she is biding her time. When you experience your first attack of the wedding jitters, as I am told we all do sooner or later, she will swoop down, hawk-like, upon her prey!

Miss Bingley leaves the pianoforte and takes up a book, "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire".
Macbeth (wearily) - Methought I heard a voice cry, sleep no more…

Miss Bingley smiles sardonically at Lady Macbeth.
Macbeth - …Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care…- now really, what utter nonsense! Is there any sport in this? (Turns more pages)

Lady Macbeth (impatiently, to her husband) - Come on: Gentle my Lord, sleek o'er your rugged locks. Be bright and jovial among your guests to-night.

Miss Bingley laughs derisively, at some element of Roman history, it seems.
Lady Macbeth (rapidly turns pages, then speaks with malevolence) - Avaunt, and quit my sight, let the earth hide thee…

Macbeth - Isn't that my line?

Lady Macbeth -…Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold: Thou hast no speculation in those eyes, which thou dost glare with.

Bingley - Right! Well, I think…

Miss Bingley (closing her book and moving impressively to the fireplace) - I am in blood Stepp'd in so far, that should I wade no more, Returning were as tedious as go o'er…

Macbeth – Where the devil are we?

Miss Bingley - …Strange things I have in head, that will to hand Which must be acted, ere they may be scann'd.

Macbeth - For pity's sake!

Lady Macbeth (pointing to the page) - You lack the season of all nature, sleep.

Macbeth (sullen) - Come we'll to sleep… tosses book aside and moves to comfortable chair to await luncheon call.
Exeunt Miss Bingley and Lady Macbeth, separately.

"Now there, d'you see that Darcy? Caroline knew those lines by heart! I tell you, that's the benefit of a decent education!"

"Well those are some of Shakespeare's most famous speeches, Bingley. Many a half-educated aspiring playwright has had the presumption to misquote those lines for their own purposes, instead of composing their own."

"Well, be that as it may, were you content with our performance? I thought it went uncommonly well, I must say!"

"I would estimate, that between the pair of us, we may have as much talent," a punctuating snore escaped from Mr Hurst, "as your brother-in-law has enthusiasm, but I think the information reached its target before the stage was eclipsed by melodrama. Now it falls to you to play the lead in the final act!"
Bingley was denied the chance to dwell on this prospect by the sound of a large carriage approaching the house. Miss Bingley immediately hurried back into the room, followed closely by Mrs Hurst, who attempted, with only temporary success, to rouse her husband. A moment later the front doorbell rang loudly, several times, and shortly after that, a familiar voice was heard.

"This hallway is very drab! Has Mr Bingley no plans to redecorate? -But of course he has! I shall advise him most strenuously on the choice of colour; I have excessively good judgement in such matters. A darkish green would offset such quaint architecture; like that of my own drawing room. –As I always say, what is good enough for Rosings is certainly…" - several doors were heard to open and shut - "…but this is rather a small cloakroom! It must be a quite inconvenient room for the hanging of coats!"

The drawing room door finally opened and Lady Catherine made her entrance, a blushing footman in her wake, Colonel Fitzwilliam following at an easy distance.

"Er, Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir." the footman announced apologetically.

"Your Ladyship! Fitzwilliam! I am very pleased to see you!" Bingley stepped forwards.
Lady Catherine nodded graciously.

"Have you grown since our last meeting, Mr Bingley? -Indeed you have! You are a full inch taller, I am quite certain."

Her eyes fastened themselves on Mr Darcy, standing next in line, and a chill seemed to settle upon the room. In answer to the icy enquiries after his sister, her nephew assured her that Georgiana was well and was expected at Netherfield the afternoon following. Then, seizing his opportunity, he made his apologies to his cousin and departed, with a look of heartfelt sympathy for Bingley, as he closed the door behind him.

"Mr Hurst!" Lady Catherine had spied his recumbent form in the armchair. "Do my eyes deceive me? Are you sleeping? – I have not been accustomed to such behaviour as this! –It is highly improper! -It is not to be borne! – Do you know who I am?"

Mr Hurst appeared to have no idea whatsoever, and even less desire to be enlightened, but he rose slowly to his feet and mumbled his apologies.

"Yes, Yes, but this is all extremely vexing – I am quite put out!" she glared at Mrs Hurst, whom she now judged to be defective, for possessing such a husband.

"Miss Bingley." She reached the end of her inspection, and was received with such polished refinement as smoothed her ruffled feathers, and allowed her to speak with renewed benevolence.

"I am afraid you do not look well Miss Bingley. Are you so out of spirits? –But of course you are, to see your young brother marry before you yourself are in receipt of an offer." She looked Miss Bingley up and down, as if seeking explanation. "Pray, tell me, what is your preferred colour of attire? You have been presented to me on several occasions, and each time you have been dressed in orange. For a lady of sallow complexion it is most unbecoming. –Now Anne. ..but circumstances have not allowed her to wear it; it is Mr Darcy's least favourite colour."

"I beg your pardon?" Miss Bingley was aghast. "Did your Ladyship not once tell me that Mr Darcy favoured orange above all other colours?"

"No, No, No! I said nothing of the kind. He told me of his abhorrence for the colour when he was five years of age, and so, for more than twenty years, I have never dressed my dearest Anne in orange, but it is all to no avail. My hopes are to be dashed by the upstart pretensions of a…"

"I had the most exquisite gown made for my coming-out ball, in silk the colour of fire," Miss Bingley whispered to herself, her words trailing off into nothing.

"…with her arts and allurements – are the shades of Pemberley are to be thus polluted? The marriage will be a disgrace, of which I shall never speak…"

She continued to speak of it for quite some time, until they were called to the dining room, whereupon she graciously condescended to join them.

The necessity of eating something during a meal, forced Lady Catherine to occasionally desist in voicing her opinions, and Mr Bingley was able to speak.

"Your Ladyship, Darcy has had it from Fitzwilliam that your daughter has been unwell. I hope she is feeling better?"

"Unfortunately not. At the moment she is not at all well, Mr Bingley. She has been suffering dreadfully with the gout – her feet are so painful that she can barely walk, and as if this was not enough, fate has now seen fit to afflict her with chickenpox. She is quite covered with carbuncles, and itches from head to foot."
Bingley swallowed with difficulty, and then continued.

"I hear also that Mrs Jenkinson is shortly to give up her post as your daughter's companion and nurse!"

"You have heard that, Mr Bingley? You seem well acquainted with the news from Rosings Park." Lady Catherine raised an eyebrow at Colonel Fitzwilliam. "But you are correct; Mrs Jenkinson has disappointed me most severely by relinquishing her post. Her sister-in-law passed away a fortnight ago, and she is abandoning us to go and keep house for her brother and his seven children. Quite an unnecessary inconvenience, I must say. I shall have great trouble finding a suitable replacement at such short notice. –I am most seriously displeased!"

"Well I hope that you will have little difficulty in finding another worthy of the post, but such persons must indeed be few and far between. There can be few who are well adapted to such a noble and selfless vocation. I always thought that if Caroline had been required by circumstance to work for a living, she would have made an excellent nurse. I am sure my dear Jane will never forget the kindness and attention she was shown when she fell ill at Netherfield."

"Oh Charles, I did no more than anyone would have done for poor, sweet Jane!"

"Caroline, you are too modest! Lady Catherine, I assure you, while Jane was ill my sister could scarcely think of anything but her well-being. She spent many hours by her bed, reading aloud to her, and tending affectionately to her every need!"

"Is that so? Well, I only wish that I had such a nurse at present, Mr Bingley –"

"Perhaps, Aunt, you have been too vigorous in your endeavours," said Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had thus far been unusually silent. "I believe there is not a single lady left in Kent who is still in need of a situation, for under your recommendations they have all been employed as governesses!"
It seemed that even the Colonel's amiable manners could be fatigued on spending three hours locked in a carriage with his aunt.

"Hmm." Lady Catherine was not amused. "I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment!"

"Did Mrs Jenkinson play and sing?" Bingley carried on.

"Yes, she did. Her performance was by no means capital, but we regularly did her the honour of hearing her. In my opinion, every gentlewoman should learn. There is no excuse for neglect of such things, and if I had ever learnt, I should be a true prof-… Mr Hurst, I think you will find that that is your third piece of pie!"

Mr Hurst was feeling somewhat persecuted. Having been inflicted with Shakespeare, and on an empty stomach, denied a well-earned nap, and now dealt a second scolding from this insufferable woman, he felt in great need of his third piece of pie, and stuck his fork into it protectively.

"Of course you are perfectly right Lady Catherine," Bingley continued, before his opportunity could pass by.

"I was discussing the subject only this morning with Darcy. There are very few young ladies of my acquaintance whom I could truthfully describe as truly accomplished, and for this reason I am exceptionally proud of my two sisters. Darcy was expressing his great admiration for Caroline, in particular for her skill at the pianoforte, the effortless beauty of her singing, her lively conversation, her love of reading, her elegance…"

Here Bingley floundered, having exhausted his repertoire of false compliments, awakened the suspicion of one sister and thrilled the vanity of the other, and all in one breath.

Fitzwilliam could not contain himself.

"Indeed Aunt, she would make an excellent governess!" he exclaimed, his glee somewhat curtailed by the inkling that a portion of his inheritance would now be graciously reallocated to his elder brothers.

"Mr Darcy is too kind!" Miss Bingley was positively simpering at the news of his admiration.

"Well," her Ladyship was at her most thoughtful, "it is unfortunately the case that my nephew's opinion of young ladies is no longer to be relied upon, but I am sure you are not undeserving of such compliments, Miss Bingley."

She regarded Miss Bingley once again, and then smiled benignly.

"I must confess, Lady Catherine," Miss Bingley confided, "that the opinion of certain members of your family means a very great deal to me!"

"Well, if that be the case, you must favour us with a visit to Rosings Park as soon as may be, Miss Bingley! Your kind solicitations and youthful spirits will be of great benefit to Anne."

Miss Bingley sat back in confusion.

"How very fortunate!" her brother cried. "Why only this morning, Lady Catherine, all Caroline's arrangements were thrown into disarray, and she has no plans at all for the next few months!"

"Well Charles, I was intending to speak to you on that very subject – perhaps we…"

Her brother did not hear.

"Because of course, you will no longer be needed here. Jane will be taking care of me, and although she will be exceedingly sorry to lose her most loyal friend, our conversation would be quite uninteresting for you, Caroline – I do talk such nonsense, do I not? To be sure, I have never read a book from one end to the other!"

Mrs Hurst finally understood.

"And you know how tedious you find the company of Mr Hurst and myself after a few days, dear sister! We are such slouches – why, we can hardly string together a sentence in polite company!"

"Then it is settled." Lady Catherine pronounced. "I shall stay an additional night in Hertfordshire and return on Saturday to transport you to Kent, for," her eyes narrowed, "I assume you will wish to attend the ceremony. Indeed it is most fortunate timing for, with Mrs Jenkinson leaving upon my return, you will be present to assist in the application of Anne's poultice. I will not allow Nicholson, that dreadful apothecary, to lay a hand upon her, although he meets the needs of the Collins's quite adequately I am sure."

She rose and indicated that she was ready to take her leave.

"Charles, what on earth do you think you are doing?" Miss Bingley hissed as they left the room. "Have you taken leave of your senses?"

Bingley took a deep breath, and looked authoritatively at his sister.

"On the contrary, I am in full control of my senses, Caroline, as I wish you had been yesterday morning! Darcy and I heard your conversation earlier with Louisa – we know everything! Considering your behaviour of the last year we think a few months' sojourn at Rosings is an eminently suitable opportunity for you to review your transgressions. You will be treated with the same selfish superiority that you have inflicted so freely on others! You will discover that any family, regardless of its wealth or stature, can possess its own less estimable characters – not only the Bennet family, but even our own, and even Darcy's. And perhaps," he paused to recollect Darcy's third objective, "perhaps you may learn that even great fortune and influence are not sufficient to secure happiness in life!"

Miss Bingley stared at him in disbelief.

"You cannot mean what you are saying, Charles! This is a joke! I shall apologise to Lady Catherine for this misunderstanding, and stay at Netherfield until I have had time to make other arrangements. I can return to Scarborough, or perhaps go to my uncle – I shall not be turned out of this house by my own brother!"

"Caroline," Bingley sighed, quite worn out by such confrontation, "for the last two years you have been reliant on my financial support."

His sister stiffened in horror. He continued.

"You have consistently frittered away your allowance and taken advantage of my generosity! Well, in a matter of days, I shall have a wife to think of, and before very long I hope, a family. I do not wish to be forever discharging your debts - if this means you have to wear the same gown more than half-a-dozen times, then so be it! You have given me little choice – I will make one final payment to you, on condition that you make your visit to Kent, and then no more assistance will be given, and no more will the subject be mentioned!"

Mr Bingley turned, trembling, to make his escape, but before him stood Lady Catherine. Further speech was quite beyond him, and he opened and closed his mouth ineffectually.

"What is it that you are saying, Mr Bingley? What is it that you are talking of? I must have my share in the conversation!"

"Aunt Catherine, I believe you must make an appointment with the milliner!" Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped forward with a smile. "The bird of paradise in your hat seems to be coming loose."

He pulled at it recklessly, and assisted in its dethronement.

"I will not be interrupted!" his aunt declared, and then on finding that indeed she had been, could no longer recall what she had been talking about.

"Well, I shall look forward to seeing you on Saturday, Miss Caroline Bingley. You will enliven our evening gatherings immeasurably, I am sure. I have been assisting Mr Collins in the composition of his sermons, and I dare say such widely read intellects as your own and Miss Bennet's will have much to contribute."

"Miss Bennet, Lady Catherine?" Miss Bingley's voice was cracked and hollow.

"Yes, Miss Mary Bennet will be staying at Hunsford for a few weeks, and I shall be taking care that none of my un married nephews cross her path. She has offered up her musical accomplishments in service to the parish until they have managed to employ a replacement organist - the previous gentleman went to meet his Maker during the Addendum to the Epilogue of Mr Collins's third sermon in a series on "Humility". He was thought to be asleep, for such was his habit, but on one of the choristers attempting to wake him for the next hymn, it was discovered that he was in fact quite dead. Apart from Mr Collins beating out the time with his Book of Common Prayer, we were reduced to singing "O Come, O Come Emanuel" quite unaccompanied."

With these words, Lady Catherine made her departure, leaving behind only her nephew, her compliments, and one white-faced and not quite so superior sister.

Chapter Six: If You Go Down To the Woods Today…

In which:

- Mary contemplates padding and uplift.
- Mrs Bennet is almost hysterical.
- Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are rather naughty, again.
- Mary does some soul-searching and makes some shocking observations.

"Miss Bennet!" exclaimed Mrs Allen, the proprietress of the small dress shop in Meryton. "To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here?"

Her astonishment was quite plain, even to the undiscerning eye of her customer.

"Mama sent me to see you." Mary glanced around the shop to be sure that they were alone. "She wishes me to make a purchase from you, for the wedding."

"Yes, Miss Bennet?" Mrs Allen surveyed her prospective client from head to foot, in a doubtful but calculating fashion.

"She wishes me to wear my white gown."

Mary gripped her book tightly, the book that she had been reading during her walk to Meryton, thus enabling her to exercise both mind and body as a harmonious whole – a scheme on which she had been congratulating herself, when she had crashed into Henry Allen, son of Mrs Allen, clerk to her Uncle Phillips, and had bent her spectacles, most mortifyingly.

"Oh, yes! The one I fitted for you, with the pretty floral pattern!" Mrs Allen brightened considerably.

"She feels that I would benefit from the assistance of …a new… stay. One of your new line, that has just been brought from London."

Through the window, Mary caught sight of someone approaching the shop entrance.

"With improved uplift!" she blurted out, just as the shop door with its jangling bell swung open, and in bustled Mrs Phillips.

"That's what I've been saying to your mother for years Mary," she began immediately, "one of those padded ones. Lord knows you need a curve or two about you; a bonier creature I've never seen before in all my days! You might even consider tucking a few handkerchiefs inside, for every little bit helps you know! Now, I've just been talking to Henry, and he tells me that the pair of you have had an unfortunate mishap." her eyes met those of Mrs Allen, "but I know that your son would be nothing but the perfect gentleman, Mrs Allen!"

What further comment she intended to make on that subject was cut short by the sound of the door banging shut, as Mary scurried off to make a therapeutic purchase from the village bookshop and then retreat to the comforts of home.

Within minutes of leaving Netherfield, Darcy was well on the way to his appointment, urging his horse on impatiently, determined to arrive on time. As he rode, he contemplated the pressing matter of business ahead of him, and smiled wryly at the likely reaction from his Aunt should she discover its nature.

He reached his destination, the Bennets' house, precisely on time.

Elizabeth was awaiting him in the hall, ostensibly to read a book in a sunny refuge by the window, but in reality, as he was well aware, to brook the verbal onslaught of her mother upon his entrance. He knocked quietly on the window next to her and she opened the front door, offering a hurried greeting whilst wriggling into her coat, but even as she snatched up her bonnet and opened her mouth to call out a hasty farewell, so came the voice she most dreaded to hear.

"Mr Darcy! How good it is to see you! But I see you are going walking, so I shall not keep you. But be sure not to venture too far for I believe there may be some showers this afternoon and Mr Bennet has just now finished the last of the brandy, though heaven knows he drinks too much of the stuff, and at this time of the day too, but he has done so for almost as long as we've been married! I suppose all gentlemen must have their little habits, as Elizabeth will find out soon enough, I'm sure - these things can't be kept hidden for long once you are married you know - you are most likely endowed with some peculiarity of your own, Mr Darcy, yes indeed! And unless I am very much mistaken, one or two little foibles to go with it, and every now and then when you least expect them to, they are very apt to just pop up…"

"What?" her daughter interrupted, and then trembled lest her question be answered.

"Don't say "what", Lizzy, say "pardon" !"

Mrs Bennet at last encountered the forbidding eye of Mr Darcy, and came to an uncertain halt, her mouth open, her hilarity briefly checked. The gentleman, in adherence to duty, as he had trained himself specifically for times such as this, performed a weak but determined smile. Unfortunately, he carelessly fixed upon an erroneous angle of elevation, the corners of his mouth rising a degree or two above that required for smoothing out awkwardness, and straying into that which might be interpreted by Mrs Bennet as friendly encouragement. He was aware of his mistake even as he made it, and silently cursed himself in the foulest terms he could devise; but without hesitation she started up again.

"Well, I shall send someone at once to get some more for your return, just in case you do get caught in the rain and are in need of warming, for…" she cocked an eyebrow playfully, "you may get lost in those winding lanes again!"

"Yes," said Mr Darcy. "I believe that is well within the bounds of possibility."

"Well let us go, while the rain still holds off," cried Elizabeth. "Goodbye Mama!" They departed, swept on by Mrs Bennet's interminable stream of chatter. The sound of her voice, now turned on some other pitiable member of the household, seemed unabated by the solid front door behind them, and was still clearly audible some fifty yards from the house.

For some moments neither spoke; Darcy only glancing bemusedly at his companion as she marched him forward, gripping his arm, until she had placed them at a distance from the house that she deemed tolerable. Only then did he observe a certain degree of relaxation in her features. She stopped, and turned to face him.

"I am sorry for my rudeness just now," she began purposefully, "but I could not delay any longer. To remain in my mother's company was more than I could bear, and had I done so, sentiments might have been expressed disagreeable to more than myself and to no purpose. Mama has scarcely drawn breath this morning! Encouraged by the fawning of the seamstress and the whims of my aunt Phillips, she has subjected Jane and myself to two hours of pokes and tucks and pin-pricks, followed by an unexpected call from three recently acquired acquaintances whom we have never before had the misfortune to meet and in front of whom we were paraded like thoroughbred horses at auction! With every passing day her frenzy escalates; the fragment of good judgement that discouraged her from conversing with you and allowed us at least some respite, has finally deserted her, and if she is allowed to continue in this way she will be completely hysterical by Saturday!" She gasped for air. "I apologise for the mention of a subject so uncomfortable for us both, but if the situation does not improve, and improve at once, I believe I will have no alternative but to throw myself into your power and elope with you to Scotland!"

She moved on abruptly.

As he followed, Darcy strove to shake off the disturbing realisation that his future wife's tongue was as nimble as that of his future mother-in-law, that when under duress her lively disposition tended towards the nervous, and, worst of all, that the energy of her step took on a staccato punctiliousness like that of her aunt Phillips. Instead he pondered on his possible responses. He was not in the least offended by her opinion (which he knew was not her own); indeed, he was keenly aware of the numerous merits of a sudden elopement, and he resolved to dwell, during his long ride back to Netherfield, upon the admirable entertainments they might devise in a closed carriage bound for Scotland. Meanwhile, he could sympathise with her, reminding her of the fact that there were now only four more days of torment to be endured, or he could take her tenderly in his arms, draw her close, and after a quick but thorough survey of the surroundings to ensure a lack of spectators, he could see to it that she forgot all of her troubles. This, without doubt, was the most pleasing, the most romantic, and therefore, the most suitable course of action; the response which, judging by the furtive looks she was now giving him, was the very response she was hoping for.

Unfortunately, he was detecting a certain impediment to this plan, a third possible response, of submission to a physical urge, irresistible in nature. In vain he struggled - but his feelings would not be repressed.

"Fitzwilliam!"

With Elizabeth's voice came a fleeting vision of his mother, scolding him, when he was seven years of age, for playing with marbles at his Great-Uncle's funeral.

"You are not laughing at me?"

"No!" He coughed. "Certainly not."

Only smiling. Not laughing.

He coughed again.

Scrutiny of his face however, confirmed Elizabeth's suspicions; she had caught a hint of amusement, flickering briefly across his face.

Irritated, surprised, then irritated at her surprise (her study of his character was by no means over), and finally surprised by her irritation, Elizabeth had never, in fact, been so irritated in her life. However, she was not one to forego a challenge, and it occurred to her, that with only four more days till she was his wife, it might not be too early to begin some things after all.

"I have been blind," she said quietly. "Again. At least on this occasion I can claim love as my excuse! What would Charlotte say? I am to be most painfully aware of the defects of my partner before marrying!"

With a look of disdain, she continued along the path, breaking off onto a narrower track that led into the woods.

Mr Darcy remained where he was, observing her departure thoughtfully. He wanted to plead his case, to assure her that his amusement had been mild and fleeting, that he was not in the habit of laughing, that gentlemen of ten thousand pounds a year did not laugh (more like twelve thousand in fact, the gossips for once had underestimated), they merely smiled, usually smugly, those of recent ascent to affluence having a tendency to smirk, while those with pedigree did not. But given her mood, to set her straight might be a tactical error. He did not consider for a moment that she was as offended as she would have him believe – he could sense duplicity in the air – but, nevertheless, he was uneasy. Relinquishing control was not one of his talents, but his guilty conscience advised him to follow and to accept his punishment. Curiosity quickened his steps.

Mary hurried home, wretched and alone. She paid no heed to her deportment, and derived no satisfaction from the exercise. Her books remained firmly shut. One subject and one subject alone occupied her mind; Divine Intervention.

In recent months, she had observed the romantic experiences of her elder sisters, rejoicing in the enlargement of her mind, and preparing her findings for the future edification of lesser mortals. While thus occupied, it had occurred to her that Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy were very handsome men. She could not help but notice. The story of their courtship was not unlike a fairy tale. Any old fool could see that. Fairy tales were despicable works of unholy origin promoting wealth and beauty as virtues, and she abhorred them with a passion that was fervent…but seemly. And yet she had succumbed.

On the morning of Mr Bingley's proposal, she had observed his departure, and desire had been awakened in her bosom. This desire had found her weak, and from it had sprung vanity. She had listened to her mother. She had entertained thoughts, degrading thoughts, of trinkets and adornments, beads and ringlets, of feathers, of millinery, and worst of all – she trembled with shame – of décolletage.

It was with gratitude that she now accepted her humiliation in Meryton. It had been a fitting punishment for her transgressions, and it had directed her back to the straight and narrow path. As gentle raindrops began to fall, she wiped off her spectacles and took shelter under some trees. The sun was still shining, the shower would be brief, and she rejoiced in the second benevolent intervention of the afternoon. It offered her a welcome opportunity for quiet reflection.

"Well, I must say, I was beginning to lose hope!"

Elizabeth was comfortably perched on a branch, swinging her legs back and forth contentedly, when Darcy finally reached the grove. The path - if it might be called a path - along which she had led him, was densely overgrown, both to the sides and overhead, and it demanded a significant degree of athleticism to negotiate its obstacles. A most inconveniently situated gorse bush had seized his hat, and he had been forced to dispense with his gloves on discovering an uninviting substance of unknown composition smeared upon his left palm. He now searched for a clean, dry spot on which to place them, but finding that no spot reached the required minimum standard, he sighed in resignation, and dropped them to the ground.

"Are you finished?" he enquired, moving towards her tentatively.

"Perhaps."

She tried to remain aloof, but seeing his glum face began to weaken, and when he reached her she leant forward and took up his hand.

"And what, might one ask, is this?"

She had spied a patch of the same unidentified substance on his sleeve. He said nothing, but handed her his handkerchief. For a moment, as she scrubbed, they were silent, hearing only the restless whispering of the leaves above, closely observing her progress, absorbed by insignificance.

"Perhaps we should start back," said she, finishing her task.

"Perhaps we should."

She held on to the soiled handkerchief awkwardly. Its owner reclaimed it, and tossed it carelessly into the depths of the bushes. She smiled.

"Well, I hope that I have taught you a lesson; that if you will behave so abominably when I am upset, you may expect me to retaliate!"

Still he was silent, as if sulking, but his eyes betrayed him, declaring that he was far from displeased with his situation. She inadvertently glanced downwards, recalling that other display of appreciation, which she had so unexpectedly discovered only the previous day. She caught herself, almost at once, but her curiosity had been observed.

"Have you lost something?"

"No," she replied, rather defensively, but could not help but smile. "I believe that everything is… exactly as it should be."

He was surprised, and a little self-conscious. "I am very glad to hear it."

"It is always vexing to misplace one's possessions."

"I agree," he responded, carefully. "I prefer to keep my own under close regulation."

"But even the most fastidious of gentlemen must occasionally lose track of some article or other."

"So it would seem."

Mr Darcy floundered uselessly in the course of this brief exchange. As he floundered, he admired the supreme justice of a plight that was entirely of his own making, in impulsively starting something that he was so ill equipped to finish. Elizabeth did not appear to suffer from any such difficulty; precisely why, he could not decide. Neither prim nor bashful, she possessed a talent for poking fun at him from every conceivable angle - she would likely give a passable performance in her sleep - but he had not anticipated her drawing him into conversation, however fleeting or indirect, on such an intimate subject. Surely she had not failed to catch his meaning? This artful little skirmish, carried out so effortlessly, so provocatively, was perhaps nothing more than a foolish flight of fancy, and he did not care to revisit past blunders by seeing encouragement where there was none. He was quite out of his reckoning, and feared to venture beyond the bounds of cautious propriety lest, by some evil misapprehension, he bring shame upon them both. And yet - there was that in her tone suggestive of interest in matters other than the orderliness of his closets.
When silence fell, he determined that of late he had been plagued by such spells of confusion, and that if he did not put an end to this one at once, he would forever regard himself as a spineless, weak-kneed simpleton.

He looked at her, and found that her head was now tilted a little to one side in consideration, her eyes fixed on him. It would be rash to assume that he was an object of admiration, so he could only imagine, at last, that he drew her notice because there was something about him wrong and reprehensible, according to her ideas of right. Perhaps a bird had…

No.

Her eye was roving, yes, roving over him in such a way that his first suspicions were confirmed. She was flirting with him, and flirting as though her very life depended upon it. Not that he considered this cause for complaint. He was not annoyed. His sentiments, no longer in upheaval, and concealed with utmost care, might be more aptly described as positively euphoric.

Elizabeth meanwhile, was quite aware of Mr Darcy's concealed feelings, and comprehended them perfectly. Gentlemen were in this respect at least, eminently predictable; an illuminating truth that she had first learned, ironically, from Mary. Of course, her sister's sermonising had promptly outlived its value by failing to warn of a similar propensity in woman, and, more to the point, the wanton misdoing it might excite. Despite never having heeded her sister, Elizabeth now felt absurdly resentful at the omission.

Unprepared, she had blithely responded to the teasing of her companion to find herself running on in a wild manner she was certainly not suffered to do at home. Her spirits once again had led her astray, but alarmingly, the charm was formidable and the distance but a short false step. She ought to be ashamed of herself, just as he ought to be offended, but it appeared, quite to the contrary, that they were enjoying themselves immensely. His eagerness, which ordinarily she might have laughed at, was now a point of fascination, while her impertinence, which so engaged and enlivened him, was a power with implications that she was just beginning to understand. She was amused and exasperated, captivated and bewildered, and worst of all, she had been robbed of the pleasure of laughing at someone, by rendering herself every bit as ridiculous.

"Does the view meet with your approval?" he was saying.

It was, most certainly. Indeed, it was quite agreeable.

"I would say so," she replied evenly. "In fact I might go so far as to call it handsome. "

Her heart was beating erratically. She felt uncommonly restless, distracted, and possibly light-headed. She wanted something, and her desire for it, whatever it might be, was rising, slowly and inexorably.
Fetch me my smelling salts! she thought.

"You are rather grudging in your praise."

"Well then," she smiled, "I shall have to do better. It is…" she paused, drawing his coat aside theatrically, "of large and exceptionally handsome construction," - she tilted her head the other way to enjoy the prospect from a different angle, "standing well…and neither formal, nor falsely adorned."

"Better," he decided. "Pray, continue."
She pulled a face. "I am not much inclined to further indulge a gentleman's vanity," was her severe reply, but on his gently taking up her hands into his large, strong ones, she quickly added, " but it is remarkably well-proportioned, handsomely fitted up, lofty and, in my opinion, neither gaudy nor uselessly fine."

"Handsomely fitted up? " He frowned. "These are generous words, but I feel bound to point out that I am not an item of furniture, Miss Bennet. Nor am I a house."

"But it is quite the fashion to sketch from the grounds of an estate and the interior of its house, the taste and personality of its owner. And as the likeness in this case appears to be a good one, it is perhaps not unfitting to extend the metaphor."

He smiled, and looking at her intently, replied in a low voice, "You do not find it easier then, to draw conclusions from what you can presently see, than from your memory of many months past?"

Elizabeth's light-headedness was no longer in dispute, but she would not be intimidated.

"I must be mindful of propriety, sir! It would not do at all to speak of the contours of Mr Darcy's thighs within his breeches," she paused, and then continued steadily, "or of the potent, almost Herculean physique they disclose, and the thrill that accompanies such a sight. I may however, safely hold forth on the structural soundness of Pemberley house, and my conviction that it will be an eligible purchase for many decades to come. But you are quite right; you are most certainly not a house. No more are you an edifying read, an amusing knick-knack, or an intricately crafted ornament, but that does not mean to say that you have nothing in common with those things. Your society is both edifying and amusing, and, if I may say so, you are as pleasing to the eye as any ornament I have ever seen."

Despite the levity of her accent, slight warmth came over her cheeks as she spoke, and was observed with pleasure by Mr Darcy. He leaned forward a little, drawing her slowly into his arms, feeling superlatively lofty and handsomely constructed, as he looked down on her.

Elizabeth met his gaze, and her blush deepened. "I am prattling," she murmured.

He nodded gently. "But I am pleased by your account of me. And also relieved to hear that I am not uselessly fine."

"No," she continued, "I suspect that you do have a purpose, and that before very long…"

She hesitated, but then smiled as she noted his movements. He was rearranging his arms around her, inside, instead of outside, her coat.

In a lowered voice, she finished, "Before long, Mr Darcy, I suspect that I will be putting you to very good use."

He smiled, with alacrity. "And I suspect that just now you are not in full possession of your senses, and that you may come later to regret what you are saying. But please, continue."

She did not, for with only one arm holding her in firm embrace, his free hand roamed and passed with such delectable slowness around her, that every inch seemed awakened somehow, dignified by his attention, and more appealing because of it. She sank back against his support, the power to talk nonsense, for a moment or two, deserting her.

When he remarked on her silence she sighed, and sat up.

"I am only a little distracted. You are excessively diverting, Mr Darcy." She kissed him softly, and then smiled. "Besides, I must have leave to admire my future property – of all this," she glanced downwards over him, "I am to be mistress! With these…fixtures and fittings, I will soon be familiarly acquainted! Instead of viewing them as a stranger, I might rejoice in them as my own."

He ignored her. Quite what she was rambling about he knew not; he would wager that she did not know herself, so he attended instead to continuing as he had begun, and hoped that her effusiveness was a mark of his success.

When she whispered, "Your dimples are in charming evidence, sir, which leads me to believe that I have now said quite enough," he found that she was besetting him with a look of such warmth that he could not fail to comprehend her meaning, a look with which she might have sent Mr Collins hurtling into a veritable rhapsody of hot and cold flushes, and ruined her reputation as gentlewoman, should it have been seen by any but the man before her.

And so when he simply responded with a look of equal warmth, she was not in the least bit amused.

Teasing man!

She frowned, and releasing her hold on him, pulled off her gloves and tucked them carefully into her pockets. That done, and with her expression set with determination, she caught hold of him and pulled him forward with an abruptness that signalled the end of her tolerance. In fact, as he observed with a quiet smile, although she was perfectly capable of self- mockery, should someone else dare to relieve her of this office, however ineptly, then she had no tolerance whatsoever.

He returned her kiss without further ado. Having proved himself to be a man of fortitude and understanding, and therefore neither spineless nor simple, at that moment he was incapable of anything but mindless surrender.

Time passed, Elizabeth's head cleared, and Mr Darcy redeemed himself exceedingly well. And then on his breath she caught the crisp scent of apples.

I drank coffee, she thought in dismay.

"Elizabeth," he interrupted, "there is something…" he trailed off, for the something in question mattered little to him after all. He was busy.

"Yes, what is it?" she coloured slightly, and held her breath.

"What is what?" he had forgotten.

"What is that?" she gasped, forgetting about coffee, and caring only about the wriggling thing that had appeared over the rim of her bonnet.

"That?" he awakened. "That is the thing I was telling you about. A spider, a rather robust one; almost Herculean perhaps…"

As he spoke, he pulled gently at the ribbon, loosely tied at her throat, and removed her bonnet. With a flick of his finger, the spider, which was indeed very large, scuttled off through the leaves.

"Spiders, frightened horses – from what lurking perils will you next deliver me?" said Elizabeth, with questionable good cheer.

"At the moment, I must confess that my intentions towards you are not quite so pure."

She was delighted to hear it, and without further delay, with wordless eloquence and admirable attention to detail, she made her own not so pure feelings known to him.

Tongues are peculiar things, thought Mary, from her seat directly above Mr Darcy's head. Rather like big pink slugs.

The tongue was the strongest muscle, pound for pound, in the human body. She had read so in some book or other, so it must be true. She knew little else about it, for a thorough knowledge of biological sciences was not an esteemed accomplishment in plain young ladies, and was apt to see them labelled as "eccentric". Handsome girls, contrariwise, would become known for their "remarkable intellect".

Elizabeth's tongue was of a paler hue than Mr Darcy's. There was no manner of ascertaining if that were a common disparity between the male and female kinds. Interesting, nonetheless.

She wrapped her skirts securely around her legs, for if Mr Darcy were to disengage himself from Elizabeth's face, he might look up, and if she were to be discovered, at least he should see no more than was appropriate. Then she reconsidered, and loosened her skirts again, for actually she had rather nice legs, though no one had ever seen them, and if he were to see and admire them, then at least in the midst of her humiliation, there would be some small comfort. And then she quickly covered them up again, and castigated herself in the most severe of whispers.

While she was thus employed, she could not help but notice that Elizabeth had now shifted forwards on her perch, allowing Mr Darcy to stand very, very close to her, and that Mr Darcy had then buried himself within the collar of her coat, seeming to have developed some fascination with something in the vicinity of her neck. Was this normal behaviour? How peculiar! He had not looked up before doing so. Not once. Quite rude! Mary wished to call down to them, to advocate the merits of restraint, or at the very least extreme moderation in matters of the flesh, and then, with a pithy closing remark, an epigram of sorts, to say something very sensible. But she knew not how.

"I notice you have brought your riding crop," Elizabeth was murmuring, looking decidedly pleased with herself.

Strange. Not a riding crop in sight! Mr Darcy had not replied, but of course, well-bred gentlemen did not speak with their mouths full. Mary polished her spectacles, and replacing them, scrutinized all the visible appendages beneath her. These were remarkably few. She could not make out the whereabouts of Mr Darcy's right hand; similarly Elizabeth's left hand was notable for its absence. Perhaps she was holding the riding crop. One might worry about it if one had not other things to think of, such as the precariousness of one's hiding place.

The branch, upon which she was seated, was giving way.

The lovers were well protected by the dense foliage above them; nevertheless, when the rain eased off, they reluctantly agreed to leave their sanctuary.

"Such is your calming influence, Fitzwilliam, that I believe I am ready to face my mother again!"

Before he could answer they were startled by the sound of snapping branches, then a crash, a thud, a muffled oath and hurried retreating footsteps.

"Someone was watching us!" cried Elizabeth in horror, but Mr Darcy was already in pursuit, disappearing through the trees. He returned a few moments later, holding only a crumpled sheet of paper, which he placed in her hand. It was the flyleaf of Fordyce's sermons.

Chapter Seven: Desire, Depravity and Sins of the Flesh

In which –
- Mary goes over to the Dark Side…
- Elizabeth learns the truth about Caroline
- Mr Bennet teases Mr Darcy (or tries to anyway)
- Mary selects a victim……

With the turn of a key in a lock, Mary's flight came to an end. She sank onto her bed, staring fixedly at the door, a meagre shield from the looming, heartless world beyond. In her trembling hands she caught and quieted her gasping breaths, and calmed the shuddering that would betray her so unkindly. She listened but no one came, no footsteps on the stairs, no knock, neither prying eyes nor pointing fingers. Safe and alone but for her cherished companion, the book from which she sought guidance in all of life's trials, torn and soiled with earth from its misadventure in the woods, she caught it up in haste, brushed it clean and carefully smoothed out its pages.

She studied the table of contents. Then she turned to the index, placing bookmarks at all references to female virtue, loss of and sex, the other, undeserving of, and finally at sundry passages dealing with the likes of desire, depravity and sins of the flesh. When she ran out of bookmarks, she folded down the corners of pages instead. Then she began to feel better. To be sure, there was no section dealing particularly with what one should most properly do when caught in a tree above two lust-crazed lovers, but with so many extortions on the evils committed by her sister awaiting her perusal, Mary felt lighter of heart, and brave enough to think back over the recent events in search of a moral.

She had been caught in the rain. That had been her first transgression. Young ladies ought not to get caught in the rain, for this might result in their garments clinging revealingly to their femininity and, in cases of the utmost severity during the summer months, a lighter shade of fabric might soon become transparent. On unexpectedly meeting with such a spectacle, many a gentleman had stumbled into the chasm of iniquity and been forever lost.

She made a note in her pocket book to pay greater attention to the weather before an excursion.

Next she had found shelter, sitting on a sturdy branch and reflecting with gratifying solidity on her own misery; that done, she had then spent a protracted time in the gainful employment of counting her blessings, recalling almost three before hearing footsteps approaching. With such important things to think about, she had been in no humour for idle chitchat, but unwilling to leave her refuge and uncertain as to the best direction for escape, she had clambered a little further up the tree. With its broad, conveniently situated branches, it was easy to climb whilst holding two heavy books; sadly these attributes also rendered it a perfect candidate for sitting upon, which would explain why Elizabeth, reaching the clearing, had elected to sit in precisely the spot that had just been vacated.

The situation had then deteriorated, and try as she might, she could draw no comforting conclusions from it all. Trapped, horrified, her composure had only been maintained by observing the activities below her just as a naturalist might study the mating rituals of savage creatures in the jungles of Africa, in unmoving silence, and thankfully located such that the wind could not carry her scent to the objects of study. Had she been an artist, she might now be making some excellent sketches, for she remembered all in vivid detail.

Now, within the austere sanctum of her own room, she quickly returned to her book, and though comprehending nothing, read with fevered application, pages turning at whim, a fleeting escape afforded her by the rush of familiar words and the flick and whisper of paper. As the sun began its evening descent, she rose to move to the window, but on so doing her eyes were arrested by a sight that revived and intensified every unhappy feeling. Her white gown, the white gown, had been removed from the closet and was hanging out to air in all its puffed up, freshly pressed glory, suspended before her like an effigy of everything she was not, its delicate fabric adorned with printed trails of honeysuckle and wisps of lace, and, as if the mockery were not yet complete, Mary fancied that she saw her sisters, one after another, taking shape within its skirts, smiling, radiant, womanly. Never had she judged herself so at variance with anything as she did at that moment.

A throbbing sensation interrupted her morbid thoughts, and she discovered an angry bruise on her knee, together with numerous scratches acquired whilst scrambling from her splintering branch onto another, from thence to another tree and then, after a heavy fall, to the ground.

It was all Elizabeth's fault.

To be witness to such a fall from virtue was an enormous disappointment. She had waited and waited and waited for her sister to redeem herself, but to no avail; a spectator with such depth of penetration as she, Mary, possessed could not long be deceived. Elizabeth had quite recklessly rambled into a secluded spot with a member of the opposite sex. She had been rash in agreeing to walk out with Mr Darcy at all without a chaperon, once his affections had been declared to her, lest he secretly be harbouring designs on her person. In the seclusion of a country lane, his masculine appetites would crave the flesh of a female as manna in the wilderness, and surely rage beyond control. Oft as not a lane would be bordered with thick hedgerow, of the kind, one could well imagine, that a rampant male might unexpectedly grapple one into, under or behind in order to have his way with one.

It was enough to make one's hands go clammy.

Elizabeth, on finding herself thus ensnared, far from taking prudent steps to discourage such amorous notions, or simply tolerating the gentleman's advances with feminine forbearance, had actively encouraged them with panting and moaning, and a variety of bewildering movements of her right hand. The whereabouts of her left hand in the latter stages of this encounter remained a mystery, a matter for future speculation, but Mr Darcy had certainly been inspired by something, and had subsequently proven himself to be a thoroughly undeserving member of the other sex. It was a sight that would make one's hair stand on end, and one that, having already picked off all the leaves from the twigs below her, she could not help but observe. She would undoubtedly be tormented every night till the day she died by nightmares, in which she, Mary Bennet, might become the pitiful and helpless victim of his overtures. His fingers would push back her hair to make way for a torrent of kisses, into her ears would fall his whispered words of passion, and his hands, first gentle and wandering, then forceful and urgent, would search and explore until every nook and cranny had been plundered, his eyes burning with desire… she had not been able to see them this afternoon, but she had imagined them…searing through her spectacles until all will to resist was lost…

Mary steadied herself, and wiped cold perspiration from her brow with a large handkerchief.

She stared again at the gown before her, and all at once her thoughts ceased to race, ceased almost completely, lulled by something strange building within her, a rising calm that frightened her, until fear was overcome. It had no name that she could think of, and while nameless, whether good or evil, it could not be addressed. Her book slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor, lying open at some page of its useless index. Hardly knowing what she did, she slowly, clumsily, unhooked her gown. Something had come upon her, and it could not be ignored. From this day forth, she would never be the same.

Elizabeth and Mr Darcy agreed during their walk back that Mary would say nothing of what she had seen. To relay the events to another would only serve to increase the mortification she was doubtless already suffering, and to describe their actions in detail would be to reveal the extent of her spying. Therefore, no great danger was anticipated from that quarter, and Elizabeth's happiness was sufficient that she was soon able to jest on the reaction such a sight would have provoked in her pious sister.

Mr Darcy then lost no further time in recounting to Elizabeth the recent events at Netherfield, the extent of Miss Bingley's jealousy, and her extreme and irrational behaviour. Elizabeth listened to his strange tale in silence, white-faced and scarcely able to comprehend that she had unwittingly inspired such malice in her rival. Darcy quickly detailed the measures that had been taken by himself and Bingley, presenting a particularly lengthy and colourful depiction, based on the Colonel's letters, of the unhappy circumstances that would confront Miss Bingley on her arrival at Rosings; his Aunt's heightened irritability at the impending marriage, his cousin Anne's peevishness when ill, and the absence of Mrs Jenkinson, who was at the very least, an additional body upon which Lady Catherine might occasionally bear down with her gracious condescension. He was successful in his endeavours; Elizabeth had brightened considerably.

He concluded, "If my aunt's visit does not produce the desired result, we shall have to take alternative measures, but I have high hopes in our success. In the meantime I am sure my cousin will derive much entertainment from courting Miss Bingley's attention – as, I suspect, we all shall."

Elizabeth was delighted. "How fortunate then that Jane and I are joining you for dinner this evening; I can hardly wait!"

They passed through the gates and approached the house, discovering Mr Bennet taking a turn about the grounds. His wife's voice could be heard from the house, and it was evident without communication of any kind that his chosen occupation was not borne of desire for either fresh air or exercise.

He greeted them with satisfaction; his spirits were in need of lifting, but with Mrs Bennet in her current state of oblivion, attempts to poke fun at her were utterly wasted. Instead he was presented with two prime candidates for teasing who had the sadly rare distinction of offering him a challenge, Mr Darcy especially so, since in a character so reserved, to measure one's success was difficult, and to achieve a clear result whilst still eluding detection required all of his skills. Outright success was rare, but the ensuing triumph was considerably enhanced.

"Good afternoon, Mr Darcy! I see that you have avoided the recent showers. Mrs Bennet will be sorely disappointed; I believe she is even now preparing to nurse you both through a bout of pneumonia."

"We found shelter under some trees, father." Elizabeth answered rather too quickly, and berated herself inwardly.

"Good, good…rather gusty however, if the disarray of your hair is to be a guide Lizzy. Did you happen to see Mary while you were out? She came rushing into the house a short time ago, as if she were being chased by a regiment of officers."

"No, we did not see her." Elizabeth fared better; her tone was easier, but she was unable to change the subject; all ideas eluded her, and her father tried again.

"That is a pleasant cologne you are wearing, Mr Darcy! It seems oddly familiar to me."

"Perhaps I have worn it on previous visits, sir." Mr Darcy met the older man's eye steadily.

"Yes, I suspect that you have. Still, it does remind me of something. Lizzy, what is that floral scent that you have been wearing of late?"

"Rose Geranium, Papa, by Floris of London," replied Elizabeth, in a small voice.

"Yes, that would be it; I can discern the fragrance of roses in particular. An unusual choice for a gentleman's cologne, but I am rather old fashioned I must admit."

Mr Darcy smiled politely and unblinkingly. This was evidence enough; Mr Bennet was delighted.

"Well, dusk is upon us, and it seems to be quiet in the house, so I shall leave you young people to your own devices, and retire to my sanctuary." And with a smile at his blushing daughter, he departed.

Stepping out from the crumpled heap at her feet, Mary trampled the drab oppression of her customary attire, and took up her white gown.

This shall be my secret, she whispered to herself, putting it on and fastening it up as best she could without assistance. Sitting down at her dressing table, she whisked away the cloth that had resided for so long over its mirror, shielding her from vanity and the discovery of pimples. When the cloud of dust had dispersed, she leant forward bravely and saw her own face for the first time in years. It was just as she had feared.
Unflinching, she set to work, and raised her voice in song. Who would true valour see, let him come hither. The drawer creaked stiffly as she pulled it open, and four small pots rattled dolefully around the space within. Never had they been opened. Their contents were ancient and partially congealed, but Mary was stout of heart; she would not be dismayed. One here will constant be, come wind, come weather.

"Shut-up Mary!" Kitty called out as she passed by Mary's door.

There's no discouragement shall make him once relent, she sang with head held high, his first avowed intent to*…- she hummed the rest.

As she worked, she calculated that her stay at Hunsford should be sufficient to attain an advanced level in coquetry. She could practise on Mr Collins, and simultaneously demonstrate to him the serious error of judgement he had made in choosing a wife. On her return to Hertfordshire, she would progress along the natural course towards the second accomplishment she did not yet possess – a husband.

At this point she paused in the application of powder to make notes – it was important, after all, to plan ahead, and she knew not which of the gentlemen of her acquaintance would be the receiving her attentions. She listed the names in alphabetical order, for ease of reference:

A – Allen, Henry: an unknown quantity
B – Bingley, Mr: excessively cheerful and gregarious, spoken for.
C - Collins, Mr: blind fool, married.
D – Darcy, Mr: would have been first choice, but obviously depraved – utterly, completely, and with wild abandon. No. But he is excessively handsome, and well educated, and has considerable patronage in the church, and owns an exceedingly large library – but no. NO! Besides, also spoken for.
H – Hurst, Mr: Rife with gluttony and slothfulness, and has rarely been seen without a glass in hand. Breaks wind when he believes no one is listening. Married.
I to S – none? Must socialise more.
T – Taylor, Mr: conversed with quite pleasantly on subject of music at Netherfield Ball, but was offended by unexplainable smirking during my performance at the pianoforte. Have forgiven (as is Christian duty), but not yet forgotten.
W – Wickham, Mr: devil incarnate, fit only for everlasting torment in bottomless pit, not as handsome as Mr Darcy (although he thinks he is), married.

She resumed her toilette, concentrating on the more troubled areas of her face, and discovered with some satisfaction that the generous application of rouge could considerably lessen the contrast between dingy complexion and angry blemish.

At length her task was completed, and she sat back in contemplation. Yes, it will do very well, she whispered. A few moments later she began, painstakingly, to remove the evidence, and busied her mind with thoughts of Henry Allen.

* From The Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan, published in 1678.

Chapter Eight: The Awakening

In which:

-Mr Darcy wishes he were not such a sexy devil, and ponders his status as chick magnet
- Kitty has an excessively pleasant daydream
- Fun and games are planned at Netherfield
- Colonel Fitzwilliam behaves wildly out of character
- Mary descends the slippery slope into sin and depravation

As Jane and Elizabeth made their way to Netherfield that evening, Elizabeth acquainted her sister with the latest intelligence on Miss Bingley.

Anticipating the dismay that her tale would provoke and in some hope of allaying it, she spoke light heartedly, and used more than a little dramatic embellishment. That her endeavours to cheer her sister also alleviated her own anxiety was a consequence of which she was only fleetingly conscious. Nevertheless, poor Jane could scarcely comprehend what she was hearing, and forgetting at once the pain that she had suffered from the actions of that same lady, was earnest in her attempts to exonerate her. Illness, a broken heart, a misunderstanding, all possibilities were offered in defence, but just as quickly refuted by Elizabeth with an account of the dispute overheard in the grounds of Netherfield. If Miss Bingley's attempts to prevent her brother's engagement had been from concern for his welfare, no equivalent excuse could exist in this case, and at last defeated, Jane was silent. She was not without comfort however, for before the carriage had rolled through the gates of Netherfield, she had united with her sister in curiosity to see how the evening would unfold.

The meal was served shortly after their arrival, and surprisingly, passed without incident. Miss Bingley, in a belated attempt to salvage her dignity, was dispensing her affections even-handedly between Jane, Mr Darcy and her brother, and, in the interest of visiting rights to Pemberley, after swift consumption of a glass of wine, found herself quite equal to constructing something resembling a smile and aiming it across the table at Elizabeth. She ensured, as would be expected of an attentive hostess, that more than one of the company observed this feat of civility; quite how it was received, she cared not.

The meal ended abruptly when, to Mr Hurst's disgust, the other gentleman decided, with suspicious unanimity, to forgo port in favour of withdrawing with the ladies for coffee. In addition, and even more preposterous, they intended to discuss the evening's plans for entertainment.

Plans? Entertainment? And not a word of warning!

Hurst glowered around the table, and noticed that Caroline was playing nervously with her pudding, thus rendering it unsuitable for consumption by another.

Damnably inconsiderate. And a diabolical waste!

In addition, he observed each of the three conspirators smiling in turn at Miss Eliza Bennet.

Hmm.

When on form, Eliza Bennet could simultaneously talk the leg off a donkey and drive a man to drink - but she had been singularly quiet during the meal. Now however, she appeared to be much cheered. Clearly she had no desire for the company of Bingley's sisters, a laudable sentiment that left him only to wonder why a supposedly quick-witted girl had taken the best part of a year to see what a pair of scheming hags they were. He had discerned as much on the very first day of their acquaintance that he was neither drunk nor recovering from being drunk - shortly before noting that one of them had somehow become his wife.

He elected to have the decanter and glasses carried through, for whatever torture was in store, he did not intend to endure it while sober. He was then further disgruntled to find that the footman had anticipated him, and had already placed the things by his favourite couch.

Once removed to the drawing room, a heated debate arose, and Elizabeth and Mr Darcy had a brief opportunity for private conversation. He made his enquiries after Mary, to which she replied in a low voice, "I'm afraid that she is not quite herself. She kept to her room for most of the afternoon, and when she did come down, she sat in a corner and buried her nose in a book without a word for anyone. Then after only a few minutes, for no apparent reason, she gasped aloud, dropped her book and hurried from the room. As she closed the door, I was struck by the blotchiness of her complexion; her cheeks were mottled – an odd effect on her pale skin. We were certain that she must be ill, but when Jane followed, Mary assured her that all was well. Then I became curious. With a mind to her clandestine behaviour this afternoon…" Elizabeth smiled mischievously. "- I could hardly be expected to waste such an opportunity!"

Mr Darcy looked rather apprehensive.

"Have you no confidence in me? I merely took the liberty, during her absence, of returning the missing page of her book!"

Elizabeth was really quite pleased with herself.

"But on opening it, I was astonished to find that in fact, poor Mary was not applying her mind to the study of all that is holy, as she would have us think. Concealed within was a pamphlet, one of those patronising publications for the enlightenment of young ladies, which, over the years, our mother has persistently threatened to discuss with us all. She keeps them hidden in the drawer of her bedside table - we all giggled over them years ago except Mary; that is, until this afternoon!"

Mr Darcy was now sitting up attentively.

"On Mary's return I studied the patchiness of her complexion more closely and concluded that it was rouge, either poorly applied or unskilfully removed."

"Mm." replied Mr Darcy, with a slight frown. "Tell me more about those pamphlets."

"When we are married. For the moment, I think you should be concerning yourself with the changes we - perhaps I should say, you, have provoked in my sister!"

"Of course," he nodded vacantly. "But your mother cannot be always doling out advice without occasionally stumbling across something of value. And a woman's reading should certainly extend to the practical intricacies of marriage." He paused, and looked troubled. "Might I ask what in particular you found amusing in their content; in what respect you thought them patronising? Did you feel that instruction on the subject was uncalled for? I assure you," he smiled, "I have no objection to hearing."

"Fitzwilliam, I believe that for the first time in her life, my sister is entertaining romantic notions!"

"Were they illustrated?" His eyes were alight with boyish curiosity. "In colour, or black and white?"

Elizabeth was now completely exasperated, and scolded him as severely as a hushed voice would allow.

"Mr Darcy! I am trying to tell you that you have been responsible for the carnal awakening of Mary!"

She had succeeded, his attention had been won, and he was crushed, emphatically so, sinking backwards as one who has been struck forcibly in the stomach after a substantial meal.

"Good God, Darcy!" exclaimed Mr Bingley, who had approached them unseen. "I let you out unsupervised for one afternoon, and you go gallivanting about the country willy-nilly, stirring up young ladies, with not a thought for the consequences!"

Bingley's spirits were very high indeed. Having successfully chastised his sister that afternoon, he was instilled with a heady feeling of empowerment, and felt quite equal to teasing his dignified friend. Mr Darcy observed this, but was too depressed to retaliate. He could only rub distractedly at the goose pimples on the back of his neck, his mind awash with distressing images of animals in heat.

The others then joined them, and made an announcement that did nothing for Darcy's morale - they had elected to play charades.

"Never fear, Darcy!" Colonel Fitzwilliam murmured in a conspiratorial fashion. "I come to Hertfordshire armed with a fresh batch of mother-in-law jokes with which to rally your spirits!"

Fortunately Darcy's response, which was arguably unbefitting of a gentleman, and most certainly less than civil, went unheard, as Bingley called for order, and invited Colonel Fitzwilliam to choose his first team member for the game.

"Ah, thank you, Bingley; the choice will be easily made, I assure you! Will you do me the honour, Miss Bingley, of joining me?" He extended his hand to Miss Bingley in invitation, accompanied by smile so thickly plastered with charm, that she involuntarily stepped backwards and cracked her head on a candelabrum.

Kitty closed the door behind her quietly, and stepped out into the night. She walked gracefully through the shafts of moonlight that caressed the lawn, and her shawl slipped from her shoulders to the ground. There it remained, for the air was warm (for December) and she had no need of it. From all around her came the fragrance of roses, blooming full (in December) and red (she could see in the dark).

A footstep fell behind her, and startled, she turned to see a mysterious man on the path. She ran away, but did not move. She tried again and again, but always remained rooted, helplessly, to the spot. She was at the mercy of his will.

The man was tall, and dark, and very, very handsome (although she could see in the dark, she could not yet see his face – he was still mysterious. But she just knew that he was handsome. – And much more handsome than Mr Wickham).

She ceased her attempts to run. A thrill ran up her spine, and she trembled in anticipation, with every breath her bosoms pressed against the confines of her bodice. – She was wearing a beautiful, elegant nightgown, and against the moonlight (it was a full moon) it was slightly transparent (only very slightly - she did not look like a floozy, but beautiful and virtuous).

The man approached her slowly. Was it Mr Bingley? No, this stranger was more masterful than Mr Bingley. - Masterful and intense. Mr Darcy? No, for where Mr Darcy was favoured with a fine, tall person, handsome features and noble mien, then so also was the man before her, in twofold (although he was not twice as tall). He had twenty thousand a year, and very likely more. Who, oh, who could it be? But no matter - his hands were now reaching out for hers, and he was drawing her closer, with a look of longing….

"Kitty! Don't keep sighing so, for heaven's sake! Have a little compassion on my nerves." Mrs Bennet whisked a lace doily from the table and flapped it at herself by way of a fan. "Now, stop staring into nothing and tell me who you saw in Meryton today."

Kitty's reply was muffled, as she foraged under the chair for her fallen novel, "The Villainous Viking" , the denouement of which she had read, breathlessly, some three quarters of an hour ago.

"…And he asked me if I would dance with him at the ball at Netherfield on Friday."

"Who did?"

"Mr Allen."

"Which Mr Allen? There are three of them, for goodness sake!"

"Henry. Mr Henry Allen."

Mary, who had been sitting in the corner, rose suddenly from her seat and regarded her sister with a cold steely eye. Her shoulders were hunched, her arms rigid at her sides, her fists clenched.

"You!" she hissed, and pointed her finger. "You will be sorry for this!" And with a last look of foreboding, she quickly left the room.

"Heavens above!" said Mrs Bennet. "What a temper!" She thought for a moment, or slightly less. "Perhaps you might ask Henry's younger brother to dance with Mary. He is a most agreeable young man. And tell him I'll give him a few shillings for his trouble. That will do very well indeed."

The party at Netherfield was soon divided and Mr Bingley's team retreated to a far corner of the room, leaving Colonel Fitzwilliam, Miss Bingley, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth to confer. Mr Darcy furtively opened a book, and then, encountering Elizabeth's eye, closed it again.

"My friends, suggestions, if you will!" The team captain approached Miss Bingley's couch, and after thoughtfully rearranging its cushions, he found with satisfaction that there was space just sufficient for him to seat himself, betwixt the fair Miss Bingley and his aesthetically pleasing arrangement.

"A Greek myth, perhaps?" suggested Elizabeth. "Echo and Narcissus might make for a charming tableau." Seeing a blank face, she elaborated. "Echo was a nymph of great beauty, cursed by Juno to forfeit the use of her tongue, except for one purpose, to repeat the last words of others. She fell in love with Narcissus, who was beautiful, but also vain and selfish. Upon his cruel rejection, she pined away until only her voice remained. For his scornful treatment of others, Narcissus was also cursed, to know for himself what it was to love and meet no return of affection. He fell in love with his own reflection in a pool, fascinated by its beauty. When he smiled at it, it did the same in return, but when he reached out to touch it, it vanished. There by the water he remained, waiting and grieving, neither eating nor drinking, until he wasted away and died, leaving behind the flower which is named after him."

"I shall take on the role of Echo," intoned a tragic Miss Bingley, "and Mr Darcy must, of course, be Narcissus." She gazed listlessly at his feet.

"Yes Caroline," laughed Mrs Hurst, "You will be well cast as Mr Darcy's Echo. I believe you are fated to play that part for all eternity!"

"Cheat!" cried Colonel Fitzwilliam, charging boisterously to Miss Bingley's defence. "Eavesdropping is not allowed!"

"Perhaps we should adjourn to the dining room?" suggested Mr Bingley, and rising abruptly from his seat, he led his team-mates from the room.

"It is fortunate that our plans have been exposed, and that we are therefore compelled to change them," Mr Darcy finally exerted himself to speak, "for I must admit to feeling no great desire to play the part of Narcissus. He is hardly an estimable character."

"Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed," said Elizabeth with a smile.

Mr Darcy was aware that a man of his character should be peeved at this remark, but his pride had long since abandoned him where Elizabeth was concerned, and this evening he felt little but bewilderment. Aside from the negligence of igniting in the breast of Miss Mary Bennet a flame of unknown but possibly dangerous proportions, he was this evening enduring an unprecedented level of disrespect from several quarters, and was quite unable to account for it. Had he somehow rendered himself ridiculous, or exposed himself to such mockery? A sudden panic gripped him, and he surreptitiously checked the fastenings at the front of his trousers. No, on the contrary, the area was quite secure – as indeed, he observed, Elizabeth could also testify, having followed the movements of his hand. She was now staring at him, her expression fluctuating wildly between amusement and alarm.

He cleared his throat uneasily, and was greatly relieved when she raised an eyebrow at him in playful, feigned disapproval. Then she looked him up and down, slowly and disdainfully, and he began to feel much better. It was curiously arousing to be frowned at – he began to comprehend why his own popularity with ladies exceeded that of most other men of rank and fortune. Perhaps if he smiled more they would leave him in peace that he might better appraise their charms from a distance, from a comfortable seat by the fire, or a secluded spot by a window, without the irritation of inane conversation.
But what was Elizabeth looking at? He glanced at his cousin, and at Miss Bingley, but they were occupied, discussing some other idea for a tableau, probably outrageously impractical. Then he looked back at Elizabeth. She no longer appeared to be attending to him, her fingers absently stroking the arm of her chair, and her eyes, unknowingly perhaps, gazing at that part of a gentleman that a lady ought not to gaze at while in company. Perhaps this was unconscious curiosity - she had a very inquiring mind, and he decided to say so.

"You have a very inquiring mind."

She blushed furiously and glared at him.

"There is no need to blush, for it does you great credit," he added, with such overt and unembarrassed complacency that despite herself, she smiled in return.

Miss Bingley meanwhile, was precluding further discussion of the Arabian Nights with a flat refusal. She was fiercely protective of her fine silks, and declared that she would on no account donate them to the wardrobe. Colonel Fitzwilliam parried by expressing a fervent desire to examine her fine silks, and declared that they would improve his performance immeasurably.

The Colonel, though increasingly aware of what passed between his other team mates, was an officer of unrelenting discipline, and did not so much as waver with his plan of attack. He leaned closer to Miss Bingley, who was now observing Mr Darcy and Elizabeth with some alarm, her mouth hanging open in a most unbecoming fashion. He pronounced her name as if it were honey on his lips.

She gave no answer.

"Miss Bingley, " he repeated, delivering the words in an unctuous baritone. "Have you any suggestive – I beg your pardon - suggestions for me?"

There followed another brief pause, as Miss Bingley's attention darted with increasing dismay between the slow, luxuriant path Mr Darcy's eyes were tracing around Elizabeth's form, and the almost imperceptible gravitation of the Colonel's leg towards her own.

"No!" she squawked. "No, - Yes! " She jumped to her feet, and stood, swaying above them. "I do have a suggestion!" She clutched the mantelpiece. "Les Liaisons Dangereuses! I shall be the beautiful and virtuous Madame de Tourvel, who falls tragically in love with the undeserving Vicomte de Valmont! Mr Darcy shall play Valmont, who perishes by the sword of Chevalier Danceny," she waved a hand dismissively at Colonel Fitzwilliam, "on realising the stupidity of his infatuation for the scheming Marquise de Merteuil – Miss Bennet, " she fairly spat the name, as if poison from her lips, "and his love for Madame de Tourvel."

"Why Miss Bingley, little did I know that you had a taste for such provocative and controversial literature!" smiled Colonel Fitzwilliam, before frowning concernedly. "But I must beg to alter your plans. I should much better play the part of Valmont, for the fencing scene would appear much more convincingly enacted if Darcy should win it – he is more skilful than I, in that particular regard!" He winked brazenly at Miss Bingley and caused that lady to relapse into dizziness.

"I must agree," said Mr Darcy. "I really cannot envision myself as Valmont. He is a stranger to me. As an actor, I must find a means of making his character specific to my own - where is my motivation?"

"Please!" implored Miss Bingley, weakly. "Let us choose something else. Anything! But do not trouble me any further! I am quite exhausted!"

Mr Bingley now stuck his head impatiently around the door for the second time, and urged them to hurry. A rapid exchange followed between the Colonel and Elizabeth (a sullen Mr Darcy had returned to his book) a decision was finally announced, and Mr Darcy's misery was complete.

"Shakespeare? Again?"

Mary crept into her father's library and softly closed the door behind her. Walking directly to one of the bookshelves, she located a volume and quickly flicked through its pages. She knew exactly what she was seeking.

This book had been a gift from a distant, and very eccentric, relative of her father, brought back from his travels in distant, exotic lands. Its subject matter might be considered by many to be of a sensitive nature, but Mary had always found it oddly intriguing, and she firmly believed that in the battle against Evil, one should have a thorough knowledge of one's enemy.

Finding the required page, she carefully placed upon it a few strands of hair and a locket, which Lydia had once brought from London. These things belonged to Kitty. Then she closed the book carefully, and tiptoed from the room.

A few minutes later, in the safety of her own room, Mary sat down, took a deep breath, and began to read:
Chapter XIII, West African Dahomean Voodou.

* Colin Firth, speaking of his anxiety in accepting the role of Darcy in the BBC adaptation: "I did not know how to make it specific to me as an actor" (from the book "The Making of Pride and Prejudice"). Firth also played the title role in Valmont, the 1989 film version of "Les Liaisons Dangereuses".

Continued in the next section