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Prologue

Posted on Monday, 8 July 2002

Once upon a time, in the land of Derbyshire, there was a house so large and so happily situated that it might have been a palace. And like all large and happily situated houses, and many that are not, this house had a name, and that name was Pemberley. The Master of Pemberley was the most revered gentleman in Derbyshire, and its Mistress the most beloved lady. The Master and Mistress of Pemberley loved each other dearly, and their happiness was a byword in all of Derbyshire. But like all great love affairs, theirs ran its course all too soon, for what is fifteen years of perfect happiness? And it so came to pass that being delivered of a daughter, Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley said goodbye to those she loved best, and breathed her last. The daughter of whom she was delivered was the loveliest creature the midwife had ever set eyes upon, with hair as black as ebony, skin as white as snow, and the flashing eyes that ran in the family. But tales of lovely young ladies who trigger momentous events by the circumstances of their birth have too often been recounted, so it falls upon me now to assure you that this is not another such story.

For more than ten years before this birth, Mrs. Darcy had been delivered of another child, a firstborn son, as handsome in his own way as his sister would ever be. And it is this lad, the noble son and heir of the Master of Pemberley, with whose destiny we shall concern ourselves eventually. But for the moment, we will return to his father's tale. Mr. Darcy, who was left heart-broken at his bereavement, attempted to console himself with his son and newborn daughter, and all his loyal friends and tenants. But tragedy rarely strikes singly, and it so happened that the dearest friend of the Master of Pemberley, and the father of his son's most intimate playmate, was stricken with a deadly fever and died within a six-month of Mrs. Darcy's passing. For those of my delicate readers who look askance at the precipitously rising death toll, I hasten to assure you that I shall have done with just one more such calamity within the entirety of this tale. But to return to our tale, what could have been more natural that the grieving widower should find solace with the widow, and seek to link their two lonely lots, making brothers of the two young friends? At such a time, it hardly signified to old Mr. Darcy that the widow Wickham had always been a conniving creature whose ambition for herself and her son overshadowed all other human feeling, for he was brought too believe that she would be the mother he needed for his infant daughter and growing son. And so it was that Fitzwilliam Darcy acquired a stepmother.

For some years the family lived as one at Pemberley, and old Mr. Darcy doted on George as he did on Georgiana and Fitzwilliam. But George grew jealous in his heart and wanton in his ways, for Fitzwilliam was to have Pemberley, and Georgiana was to have her fortune, but despite his mother's conniving schemes to establish him as a gentleman of leisure, Mr. Darcy intended George for the church, and granted him a handsome allowance, but not an independence. And soon the day came when the friendship between the boys was replaced by a bitter hostility, and only Fitzwilliam's consideration for his father's feelings prevented him from exposing George for what he was. The two boys left for University together, not expecting to see much of each other. Six months later, old Mr. Darcy was dead. The terms of the will were very much what might have been expected. George received the living at Kympton. Georgiana received a fortune of thirty thousand pounds, which would be hers upon her marriage. And Fitzwilliam would receive Pemberley, the surrounding estates and the rents accruing therefrom, the house in town, and all other investments upon the death of his stepmother, who held them all independently for her lifetime.

The sequel was inevitable, for the widow acted as any evil stepmother worthy of the name might be expected to do. The administration of the estate was handed over to her son, who disavowed any intention of taking holy orders. George Wickham was a cruel task-master, raising rents astronomically where he could, invoking obscure legislation to evict tenants with ancient claims where he could not, and enclosing the common land to farm using underpaid wage labor for his own benefit. The legitimate heir was left with no recourse against these breaches of the feudal contract. Neither he nor his sister had an allowance or any independence beyond what their stepmother saw fit to allow them, and it need hardly be said that she was ungenerous. She did not banish them from Pemberley, but here was the end of her liberality, for Fitzwilliam and Georgiana were banished to the nether regions of the house and expected to earn their keep by working as servants. Georgiana slaved all day in the kitchens, while Fitzwilliam worked as a gardener on the grounds, and often doubled as footman at night. They might have sought recourse among their other more liberal relatives, but Fitzwilliam was too proud to solicit help, and both siblings were too attached to the family manor to wish to leave. The servants who had been with the family for years regarded them with pity and attempted to lessen their load, but the siblings were too proud to allow such partiality. And thus it was that Georgiana came of age amid the cinders, under the watchful eyes of her loving brother.

But her brother's were not the only eyes watching her, for there came the day when George Wickham looked up and took notice of the rare beauty that was blooming in that unlikely place. And, as the returns of the once-bounteous estate were decreasing year after year under his management, he remembered the fortune that would be Georgiana's on her marriage. At sixteen, Georgiana was persuaded to believe herself in love with one who had once been as a brother to her, and had her brother not intercepted one of the secret communiqués that passed between her and her would-be lover then George's scheme might have succeeded. As it was, Fitzwilliam was able to convince his sister of George's unscrupulous intentions, and quench her affections. But for Georgiana to remain at Pemberley, where George might have his way with her, was no longer tenable, and that very evening the siblings fled to Lambton, and from there took the first coach south. It was on the way that they learnt that they would be traveling post as far as Meryton, a small town in Hertfordshire.

Chapter 1

Posted on Monday, 8 July 2002

"Not a mile down yonder road's Netherfield. Two weeks ago 'twas let to Mr. Bingley. Shouldn't wonder if 'e still needs 'elp 'round the grounds and stables. An' they can always use another lass in the kitchen. Aye, that's your best bet 'round 'ere. All the other families been settled for years. The las' place that came up was full two year ago, when the Longs took in a ladies' maid for them young ladies."

Darcy thanked the baker in his best dialect, paid for the two dry rolls that were all he could afford to buy for breakfast, and went out to tell Georgiana what he had learnt. The baker looked on, trying to decide what he made of them. It wasn't terribly rare for itinerant workers to pass through Meryton, looking for jobs to accumulate some money before moving on, but this young man was quite well dressed, and then, he was traveling with a girl. Until he had spoken, the baker had taken him for one of the quality, and even now he wondered if there were not a more romantic explanation for their sudden appearance. Eloping together, perhaps, because the young lady had certainly not reached her majority -- no, it was an absurd notion, for who would elope southward from the northern counties? Thievery, more likely, would explain their finery, and their flight, he decided pessimistically. Mr. Bingley had better be careful before he let the likes of these into his house.

The Darcys ate their meager breakfast before starting out in the direction indicated to them. The path was muddy, and as he handed his sister over a puddle, Darcy wondered whether the baker had indicated the right direction. Certainly at the moment the path did not give the appearance of being much travelled.

"You'll save a clear half mile if you walk across the meadows."

"I beg your pardon, miss?"

Darcy turned around at the unexpected address. Until this moment he had assumed that he and Georgiana were alone on the path, but now he took in the sprightly form of the young lady who appeared to have emerged out of the woods some little distance away. She had evidently been walking some distance, but appeared more stimulated than otherwise by the exercise. She wore a sensible linen dress with few frills, but it was apparent that she was a gentlewoman, and for some reason, Darcy was gratified to realize that she had taken them as likewise of the quality. She blushed at Darcy's obvious astonishment at her addressing them, but continued in her friendly manner.

"Netherfield is the only house in that direction for seven miles, and I'm sure you're not walking that far. And, as it happens, I'm heading for Netherfield myself, and I happen to know a path that'll save you a good half a mile."

"I thank you, Miss. May I inquire if you happen to reside there yourself?"

Darcy found that it had become paramount for him to ascertain this. He intended, for reasons he was unwilling to admit even to himself, to preserve this lady's perception of him, and even if it made him unemployable in the entire vicinity, he would not serve in a menial capacity in any household to which she happened to belong.

"No, I mean, I don't live there. I didn't mean to imply that I had any objection to your inquiring." She smiled wryly, "I'm beginning to see why people don't speak to each other without being introduced. It prevents this sort of confusion."

"I could not imagine a better excuse for whatever little breach of etiquette your intervention constitutes, and I must thank you for it. I'm sure my sister appreciates the gesture. She is not a hardy walker, and we have travelled some distance already."

Georgiana smiled at the stranger at the reference to her, but did not otherwise attempt to contribute to the discussion.

"Thanks are hardly necessary in such a case. I think I already mentioned that I was heading that way myself, and I am not so fond of my solitude that I would be reluctant to have company after having walked some two miles alone already."

"So far?"

"As you see. These woods and fields are hardly the haunting grounds of highwaymen and other sundry desperadoes. I've known them all my life. And then, I am glad of the exercise."

She smiled disarmingly, taking the sting of her words, if indeed she had intended any in the first place. All the same, she did not protest when Darcy offered her his free arm. They walked some distance in silence, and then she started again.

"I take it, then, that you are not acquainted with all the family?"

"No. I've only met Mr. Bingley."

This was not a complete falsehood, or at least Darcy did not think so. He faintly remembered a cheerful and obliging young man several years his junior at University who answered to the baker's general description. Darcy hoped that Bingley did not remember him, but other than that faint concern he felt that the household of such a man would be as agreeable as any he could find.

"Do you come from the north as well, then?"

"Yes, we do."

"From where, if I may ask?"

"From Derbyshire."

"I didn't know Mr. Bingley was from Derbyshire."

"He isn't. We met at Cambridge."

"I have an aunt who hails from Derbyshire. She tells me it is the most beautiful of all counties, but I must uphold the claims of that in which I make my home."

"I'm afraid I must take your aunt's part in the quarrel. I'll grant you that it is my home, but I haven't seen a land to equal it."

"Have you travelled widely then?"

"I must protest that I have, or else the lady should have no reason to take my word above her own."

"And since I cannot doubt the gentleman's assertions, may I ask where my humble Hertfordshire ranks among the many lands in which he has travelled so widely?"

I have but recently come to Hertfordshire, but I must confess that I have found it already to have one or two attractions for any traveller of discernment."

"I must ask you for a catalogue of them sometime, when you have travelled in the vicinity more widely."

"You may depend on it."

"Will you be staying long, then?"

"We are, that is to say, I am not certain how long we will remain in the county. But it is probable that our stay shall be of some duration."

"You come on an indefinite visit, then?"

"You may say that. Mr. Bingley and I have business to transact together."

"Yes, he did mention that he depended on his friends to help him accustom himself to the administration of the manor."

"Has he not family to assist him?"

"I imagine Mr. Bingley's sisters have other interests, although Miss Bingley appears to be a very... competent mistress in her brother's home. I do not imagine Mr. Hurst offers him much assistance in anything other than the consumption of the fruits of his estate. But there I go again, letting my tongue run away with me."

"I assure you, the portrait is most instructive."

"Instructive perhaps, but hardly charitable. I ought not prejudice you against your friend's relations, especially since they have been all kindness to mine."

"And what brings you to Netherfield, if not to visit Bingley's sisters?"

"Depend on it, I would visit them, for all that I could say against them. When one moves among only four and twenty families, one does not easily tolerate a decrease in that number. But today I come to visit my sister. She came to for dinner last night to Netherfield, and was taken ill. The Bingleys have summoned the doctor for her, and insist that she must not be moved until she is quite recovered. It was to her I alluded when I said the Bingleys had been very kind."

"I am sorry to learn of your sister's illness. I hope you will find her somewhat recovered."

"Thank you. I hope at any rate that I will be able to effect some recovery to her spirits."

"I am sure you will."

It was not the words so much as the intonation that prompted her to turn towards Darcy -- a certain heightened sincerity that seemed to endow them with particular meaning. Perhaps he realized this as well, for he cleared his throat and continued in a manner more like his usual.

"And the very fact of your making the journey..."

"If you knew Jane, you would know that for her I could do no less. And besides, the journey is not so very long. It is almost at an end, for there is Netherfield."

"We have come upon it from the back, I see."

"Yes, we saved a goodly distance by not following the long way around to the front. And Mr. Bingley is too good natured to object to our coming in this way."

"I am sure he would not mind your coming thus, but my sister and I must go around. Mr. Bingley does not expect us."

"Very well, sir. I hope we shall meet again while you are in the neighbourhood."

"Thank you. I shall look forward to it."

As she went in through the French windows into the morning room, the Darcys went around the front of the house, and located the tradesmen's entrance.

"Now, Georgiana, are you ready for this?"

"William, I think I know what I'm doing. It's been years..."

"I know, but that was Pemberley. Everyone knew who you were. This is going to be different. Are you sure you want to do this? We could go to Aunt Catherine's, you know. I have no doubt that she'd take you in."

"And spend my days cosseted with cousin Anne in her sick-room, and my evenings being criticized for my lack of proficiency in music and conversation? I think not. And besides, I don't think I could bear the way she'd go on about your ingratitude, in refusing to marry that sickly thing. No, William, I'd do anything before I become a poor relation."

"That's alright for now, Georgiana, but I do warn you that you may not always have the option. I'll not see you brought up like this. You must be presented at court, and have a proper debut. You are hardly a pauper, and you need to become accustomed to your true station."

"And what about you?"

"I am a pauper, Georgiana, and will remain one for some time to come. Perhaps I will seek my fortune in the colonies. I hardly know. I'm not leaving before I see you properly settled though. And I'm afraid that I have no better ideas than Rosings or Matlock for you."

"I'll not leave you, William."

"Not right now, anyway. I do think it's best that we lie low for a time. I know Wickham will seek you, perhaps even among our relations. He will not suffer the loss of thirty thousand pounds so easily."

"Oh, William, I've been so foolish."

"No, Georgiana. We could hardly have stayed there much longer, anyway. We'll figure something out. Ready, then?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

When they presented themselves at the entrance, the Darcys found the household in some slight tumult owing to Miss Bennet's illness. Notwithstanding the upheaval, they were able to secure satisfactory positions. Darcy, with his fine bearing and polished diction, was engaged as a footman, and supplied with his livery and wig. Georgiana was hired as an additional maid, and assigned for the moment to assist the Misses Bennet, both of whom would be staying at Netherfield for some little time.

Chapter 2

Posted on Monday, 8 July 2002

Elizabeth Bennet, who was mistaken neither in her notions of Bingley's kindness nor his sisters' less charitable intentions, was not surprised when she was asked to stay to give her sister company nor that his sisters were less overwhelming in their welcome. They were, however, if not amiable, nevertheless extremely sociable when they did not perceive more worthy recipients of their notice, and Elizabeth and Jane passed a very tolerable afternoon in the sickroom with their companions, who kept up a very diverting stream of small talk and town gossip. Jane was too sick to join them downstairs for dinner, much to the disappointment of their host, but he recovered himself admirably after enquiring after her most particularly, and was as pleasant a dinner companion as his sisters. Elizabeth was asked to join them in a game of cards after they were done, but she excused herself to rejoin her sister upstairs. She did note in passing that Mr. Bingley's friend did not appear to be staying at Netherfield after all, and wondered whether he would be returning shortly. It is to be doubted whether she had even regarded the liveried footman who directed her to the drawing room.

Jane was recuperating very well under the circumstances, and whether or not Elizabeth assisted her in her cure by her numerous references to her Mr. Bingley, she did induce her sister to blush and smile a great deal. While Elizabeth had been downstairs she had remained with the shy young creature Mr. Bingley had assigned as chambermaid to them. The poor child could scarcely speak two words together when she entered the room, but Jane's kind and unassuming manner had coaxed her so far as to reveal that her name was Anna, and that she had but recently come from the north country with her brother. Jane was touched to learn that Anna had been so unfortunate as to have lost both her parents before she was ten years of age, and that, moreover, she and her brother had been put out from their cottage by their step-mother. When Elizabeth entered the room Anna fell silent once again, and looked as though she had said too much. Elizabeth, for her part, was convinced that she knew Anna from somewhere, and put the question to her, but when Anna stammered in fright that it was impossible, she let the matter drop. Both Jane and Elizabeth found their chambermaid to be a sweet and obliging girl, though Elizabeth remarked that she had never seen a girl so shy. Jane gently chided her sister, and reminded her that this was the girl's first position in service.

The following night, Miss Bennet was able to join her hosts for dinner downstairs, and Mr. Bingley could not have been more solicitous. It was hard to say which sister was happier to observe this, for Elizabeth truly rejoiced that Jane was in a fair way to falling in love with such an eligible gentleman. His sisters were less enthusiastic to find their brother thus monopolized, but though they determined to make their objections known in private, they could not object while they were in company. They were forced to devote their attentions to Elizabeth, and though she continued to find them witty and agreeable when they chose to exert themselves, Elizabeth remained convinced that they would have as little compunction in ridiculing her when her back was turned as they did with the town acquaintances they decried for her benefit. The day after, Mrs. Bennet visited, and Elizabeth was mortified at her mother's behaviour. Despite the broad hints she dropped about Jane's continued poor health, however, the sisters determined to remove from Netherfield the following day. The one redeeming merit of Mrs. Bennet's morning visit, however, was that Mr. Bingley was made to commit to the date of a ball. When Jane and Elizabeth returned to Longbourn, they had the twenty-ninth of November to look forward to.

Mr. Bingley was sad to see his fair visitors depart, for he was by this time quite convinced that his partiality for the elder had strengthened into an attachment. His sisters discouraged him, but since they could only point out the evils of her situation, and did not question whether she returned his affection, he could stand strong against them. Miss Bingley and Miss Hurst, then, were not unhappy when the carriage departed, and the danger to their brother diminished perhaps a little. There was, however, another in the house whose feelings could not be so simply expressed. Though he had spoken to her only once on that first day, Darcy found that he could not put the second Miss Bennet from his mind. Every opportunity he had to observe her increased his opinion of her wit and good sense. Though he discerned the imperfections of her form and visage, he could not dismiss the wholesome impression of vitality, enlivened particularly by her mobile and expressive eyes. From his sister he had reports of her kindness, which was in direct and striking contrast to the manners of the mistress of the household, for Miss Bingley spared no gentleness in the administration of her brother's home. Her open and pleasing manners had attracted him from the beginning, for he had seen too clearly the fickleness of the attentions of those he had once considered friends when they dropped him from their acquaintance. His heart told him that here was the woman who would neither disdain his present poverty nor fawn over his prospects.

But in his current situation he found himself paralysed. He could not in all honour present himself to a gentlewoman without being able to offer her even the most rudimentary home. In his present situation it was inconceivable that he even attempt to court her company, for he could not present himself as a gentleman of means, and she could hardly think of keeping company with him as he was. He took a perverse pleasure that she should not know him when she saw him time and time again around the house, for he would not have her thinking of him as less than a gentleman, and yet he found himself angry at her for failing to look beyond the footman she was confronted with. In short, he knew not his own mind, although it was already a grave admission to himself that he was relieved to see her go.

Despite his preoccupation, however, there was much at hand to keep him occupied. His duties were taxing, of course, but there were additional burdens. He had undertaken the responsibility of Georgiana's education, for he did not want her to suffer for her unorthodox upbringing. Thus late at night he would converse with his sister in Italian and French, and read to her out of what few worthwhile books he discovered in the library at Netherfield. He did what he could as well to ensure her future, writing to their attorneys in London to notify them that they were alive and well, and in Hertfordshire, for he feared that the Wickhams would rush to make it known that they were dead, and lay claim to the Darcy fortune outright. He wrote also to his cousin, a Colonel in the regulars, who was also guardian to Georgiana along with him and their stepmother. And he thought long and hard on Georgiana's future, and determined that he could not keep her to himself forever. Eventually he would have to entrust her to her aunts and leave her to find his own way in the world, but for the moment he allowed them to persist as they were, that he might have her company a little longer. If there was any other reason for him to tarry in the neighbourhood, he did not admit even to himself, and certainly not to his sister.

Darcy could not, of course, remain entirely aloof of the gossip beneath the stairs, and perhaps did not wish to remain so when it involved the ladies of Longbourn. He learnt shortly, therefore, that the Bennets were being visited by their cousin, a clergyman the heir to that property, that he intended to choose a bride among his cousins, and that he appeared to have lighted upon Miss Elizabeth as his choice. Darcy could not pretend to himself that he was indifferent to this prospect, but he supposed himself relieved. Elizabeth had found herself a respectable situation, with the prospect of succeeding her mother as mistress of Longbourn. It was hardly plausible that that she would have rejected such a favourable situation to share in his abject misery.

Chapter 3

Posted on Monday, 8 July 2002

Longbourn was chaotic on the eve of the Netherfield ball, as ever before any occasion where the ladies of the house wished to appear to best advantage. Hill and the maids scurried around the upper floor, first tending to one Miss Bennet and then another, as the misses themselves and their mother frantically arrayed themselves in their finest dresses and baubles. One of the gentlemen was equally assiduous in his toilette, for Mr. Collins was determined to recommend himself to his cousin, and perhaps one of them in particular, though he intended to dance with them all. That the lady in question did not quite fall in with his view of the matter he did not quite comprehend, for it must be admitted that he had never quite considered the question. Mr. Bennet, who for once had determined to be in attendance, was more punctual, and awaited his family in the library. When finally the ladies did descend there was a further delay as their mother fussed over their appearance and her own, and their father did everything he could to vex her, and provoke Mr. Collins into ever more extravagant compliments, which he was very prompt to supply, leading Mr. Bennet and at least one of his daughters to presume that since the time of his arrival at Longbourn he had devoted some time to their preparation.

Finally the carriage was readied, the ladies were handed in, and the three mile journey undertaken. Mrs. Bennet was full of effusions, for she intended for this evening to further her ambitions for two of her daughters. Jane was too radiant to object to her mother's pointed hints, but Elizabeth, who could hardly be satisfied with her mother's intentions, was less contented. Already her expectations of pleasure from the evening were diminished by the knowledge that she would be dancing the first two with her cousin. Acceptance had been mandatory, for she could not resign herself to forgo the whole evening's enjoyment, but she had little expectation of pleasure except that which might be had in discovering further follies and inconsistencies in a character riddled with them. But Elizabeth did hope to secure more agreeable partners for the remainder of the evening, and it occurred to her to wonder whether Mr. Bingley's friend, who had declared his intention of remaining in the vicinity, planned to attend.

Truth be spoken, the gentleman in question had had no such intention except as it might be required in his official capacity, and despite the festivities he had managed to secure the evening off. But Georgiana, the romantic soul, had never seen a ball, and seemed quite heartbroken not to attend. It was more than her brother could do to deny her, though it was with many misgivings that he readied the only suitable clothes they had for such an occasion, and reflected that Miss Darcy of Pemberley deserved much finer. They dressed and lay waiting in the back quarters of the house, waiting until the ball was crowded enough that they might sneak in without being remarked upon. Wait they did until the music for the first dance was well underway, and reflecting that Mr. Bingley and his sisters must necessarily be occupied they decided that this was as good a time as any.

They entered the ballroom through the doors at the back end, and Georgiana quite drew her breath in at the splendour, for it had been a good while since she had seen a room so large and well appointed prepared for such festivity. Feeling quite out of her depth she hovered near her brother, as they made their way through the crowd to where they could see the dancing. They drew a few glances, for if their clothes were a few years out of fashion, none but the Bingleys would have known it, and brother and sister made quite a striking pair. It was assumed naturally that they were friends of the Bingleys come down from London for the ball, as that gentleman had made it known that he was expecting some guests. Darcy was not unhappy that he could not claim any acquaintances here, for he had never been quite comfortable at the balls where he had been noticed as young Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. As for his sister, for all her eagerness to come, it is doubtful if she could now have said a word had she tried. They neither of them had intended to stay long, and as the first set drew to a close, Darcy was about to suggest to his sister that they start making their way out.

It was then that he spotted her. She had been dancing the set, and he could read quite vividly in her expression that her partner had failed to impress her. Even from a distance it was evident from his manner what exactly she might object to, though it is doubtful that he would have thought any man quite good enough for her. He knew it was all the more urgent that he leave, but he could hardly stir himself to motion, and the next instant she had caught his eye in friendly recognition, and he was both elated and flabbergasted to realize that he could not now disappear without properly acknowledging her.

Georgiana noticed what had passed and her apprehension grew, for she could not imagine what would happen if Miss Bennet recognized her as the maid Anna. Without warning she quitted her brother's side, and before he thought of glancing over at her she had retreated to a back corner. When Darcy did notice her absence from his side he admonished himself that he could not afford to linger, but he was too honest to deny that he looked forward to the encounter. Cutting through the crowd each advanced towards the other, and Darcy was pleased to see that her former partner had been dispatched to the opposite corner of the room. Finally they met, and in that first requisite pause of bow and curtsey he reflected that his recollection had hardly done her justice.

"I wondered if you might be coming to the ball." She blushed, knowing how forwardly her greeting could be interpreted.

"I had the advantage of you then, for I knew you would be in attendance." He parlayed easily, gratified more than he knew he ought to be by her comment.

"I stayed a few days at Netherfield after we met that day. I was surprised not to see you here."

"I could not impose on Bingley when he was occupied with your sister and yourself. He was not expecting us." He found himself wondering if he would ever admit to her that he had had many occasions to see her on the visit.

"He must be pleased that you were able to return for the ball."

"He has not shown his displeasure, at any rate." Not yet, anyway, he amended to himself.

"I am sure you are too modest."

"That, Madam, is not a fault I have often been accused of."

"Then you must take my word for it, for I have often been told that I am quite the proficient in discerning a character."

"I would not venture to contest your word, especially when it is so much to my advantage."

"Perhaps you assume too much in assuming that I mean it to your advantage."

"Then I would be guilty of unpardonable immodesty, and that, Madam, would go against your word."

"Then we must both assume that you interpret my meaning correctly."

"I have already declared that I should never contradict your opinion."

"Which, as even someone as modest as yourself could hardly have failed to notice, is once again to your advantage."

"Exactly."

They both laughed, pleased with each other and with themselves, and Darcy wondered once again what exactly it was about her that made her so easy to talk to. He had never before imagined enjoying a ball so much as this. Then he saw her smile fade a little as she glanced across the room, and, following her gaze, noticed that her previous partner was advancing in their direction. He did not even attempt to convince himself that this would be a perfect opportunity to take leave of her.

"I have been most remiss in failing to inquire whether you are engaged for the next set. Might I have the honour?"

"You may indeed. Thank you."

The musicians struck up again, as if on cue. and taking her hand, he led her to the floor. They went through the opening motions of the dance in silence, with him content just to observe her animation. He hardly noticed the moment prolong when he was roused from his contemplation by her address.

"I believe we must have some conversation. A very little will suffice. I might admire the size of the ballroom, and you could comment on the number of couples."

"Do you converse by rule, then, when you are dancing?"

"Some times it is best that as little as possible may be spoken. It would look odd to stand up for half an hour together and say nothing at all."

"No, I cannot imagine that that would suit your inclination, but forgive me for remarking that the alternative is not much more attractive."

"Perhaps we had better not talk by rule then. I leave it up to you to choose our subject."

"That is simply done, but I do not know how well it will please you, for I can think of no subject more engrossing than yourself."

"You may consider me very vain, but I will allow you to expand upon the subject. Are you a student of character, then, as I am?"

"This will not do, Madam. I thought you were to be our subject, not I."

"No, if you will speak of me I must be allowed to speak of you. We have already established that you have the advantage of me, knowing more than I do."

"I do have the advantage, in knowing the most charming and obliging young lady in the land, and, to return to the subject of one of our previous discussions, the foremost attraction afforded by the county of Hertfordshire."

Darcy knew he was flirting outrageously, but he was perfectly sincere in his compliments, and she was not the lady to fawn at them. He had never expected to enjoy this ritual, but it now seemed perfectly natural to mix flattery in this exchange of wit.

"I see you have not traveled as widely in Hertfordshire as you promised to do."

"What need had I to travel further when what I had seen already placed Hertfordshire in the foremost rank?"

"I see. And what are my faults, by this calculation?"

"Only this, that by your very existence you contradict my assertion that Derbyshire is the most beautiful of all the counties."

"A most grievous offence. And how mean you to address it?"

"I have one or two ideas on the subject."

He stopped, suddenly realizing that he could go no further without definitely committing himself. Already he had in all probability given rise to expectations he had no means of fulfilling. But how was he to control himself when such expectations corresponded exactly with his own hopes? He resolved to torture himself no further; when these dances were completed, he would retreat. But for the moment, he would defer all thoughts of the future that must be and enjoy himself in her company.

"I must ask you about them some time."

"And what shall we speak of now?"

"Why, of yourself."

"What would you know of me?"

"Of your travels, of your friends, of your interests."

"My travels have most notably been to Hertfordshire, my friends are the Bingleys for having me at their ball, and interests center around a certain young lady whom we have discussed at length already."

She smiled archly, not quite able to disapprove of his answer.

"Your name, then. My mother would think it quite the scandal that I dance with a gentleman to whom I have not been introduced."

"I must beg to defer the introduction. What is a ball without scandal?"

"Every ball I have ever been to, I'm afraid. You must think me a very dull conventional sort of creature."

"An intriguing characterisation, I must say, for that would allow me to bring a bit of colour into your drab little life."

"A bit of colour, you call it? I'll be lucky if I'm not the talk of Meryton tomorrow. You are fortunate, sir, that no one knows your name!"

"If they did, it would not be half the scandal it is."

"True, for now they may speculate whether 'twas Mr. Tilney, or Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Wickham..."

"Mr. Wickham?"

"Yes, do you know the gentleman? I believe he is also from Derbyshire."

"I am acquainted with that family. I did not realize he was expected to attend. Do you know if he has arrived yet?"

"I believe not. Mr. Bingley mentioned that several of the gentlemen were delayed on the journey."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet."

"You do know my name!"

"I could hardly not, given Bingley's rather persistent choice of subject lately."

"My sister, unfortunately, is not equally informative on the subject of all of Mr. Bingley's friends. But there, I believe our dance is at an end. Will you not give me your name?"

Darcy smiled and began to demur again, when the flutter at the opposite end of the room caught his attention. The awaited guests from London appeared to have arrived. He wouldn't have a better diversion than this to disappear into the house, and it was imperative now that Georgiana leave the ballroom. He turned back again to his fair companion to make his apologies, and found her still looking at him expectantly, with that mixture of archness and sweetness that was so unfailingly endearing.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy at your service, madam."

He lifted the hand he was still holding from the dance for a kiss, and with another earnest parting look at her, turned around and disappeared into the crowd. Elizabeth looked on after him, oblivious to the commotion as Mr. Bingley guided his guests through.

Darcy cut through the crowd quickly, and was relieved to find his sister waiting near the door. Sneaking out of the ballroom, they hurried to their rooms below the stairs. Georgiana turned to her brother, eager to share her impressions of her first ball, and to tease him about Miss Elizabeth, but stopped short, seeing his expression. She waited expectantly, wondering what had happened to make him so earnest.

"Georgiana, we are for Kent tomorrow. We cannot stay here anymore."

Chapter 4

Posted on Monday, 8 July 2002

Whatever scandal might have been provoked in other circumstances by Miss Elizabeth's dancing with a mysterious gentleman with whom she could barely claim an introduction, under the circumstances, more momentous events dismissed it from prolonged consideration. Mr. Bingley was not too occupied with his friends from London to neglect to monopolize the young lady whom he had come to believe the personification of everything that was admirable, and over the course of the evening, he found the opportunity to enquire of her whether she would consider becoming hereafter his own. It need hardly be said that the lady's answer was gratifying to her admirer, and when, the subsequent morning, Mr. Bingley arrived to break with her father, while Jane apprised her mother upstairs, and was yet unable to prevent that lady's effusions from being audible to her nervous suitor, complete satisfaction reigned at Longbourn, only slightly marred by the fact that the second Miss Bennet had refused flatly to entertain the suit of her cousin, who though intending originally to defer his proposal for a day or two to further single out his fair cousin by the compliment of his attentions, decided to follow Mr. Bingley's example and propose that very morning. Mrs. Bennet, with her nervous concerns about the future, could hardly be contented to learn that Longbourn would not remain securely within the family circle, but when the Master of Netherfield, with his five thousand a year, was in a position to provide for her, she could almost wish Mr. Collins enjoyment of her current home.

Mr. Collins' resilience was, however, perhaps unexpected by his hosts, and certainly unwelcome to his hostess. For within a day of his refusal he had secured the good will of another young lady, Miss Charlotte Lucas, of Lucas Lodge. Miss Lucas was a favourite of the Longbourn ladies, who were quick to congratulate her, although Miss Elizabeth could hardly accept her friend's choice and her mother was frankly hysterical. Miss Lucas chose an early wedding date and invited her friend to join her in Hunsford shortly thereafter. Mrs. Bennet would have no such rushed affair for her eldest, and the wedding was deferred until late April so that suitably lavish arrangements might be made. Mr. Bingley's disappointment at this pronouncement was somewhat mitigated, however, when he learnt that Miss Bennet would be spending the some part of the winter in London with her aunt and uncle, and that they would be able to court peaceably and take in the pleasures of the season without her mother's interference.

In the midst of so many engagements and schemes, it would perhaps be unsurprising if Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been able to put her own mysterious suitor quite from her mind. As it happens, however, I am able to preserve the romantic sensibilities of my readers by asserting that she was not so forgetful. But she did refrain from discussing him with anyone, much less disclosing the extent to which he was occupying her attentions. She was disappointed not to find him at the small party celebrating her sister's engagement, but Mr. Bingley had already informed them that several of his friends would not be able to stay that long, so she was not entirely surprised. Under other circumstances she might have inquired of him, or confided of him to her sister or her best friend, but Mr. Bingley and Jane were too preoccupied in their own happiness, and Charlotte might be supposed to be equally occupied, and she, in addition, had forfeited some degree of Elizabeth's trust in acquiescing to a marriage of unequal minds. She did find relief in writing to her Aunt Gardiner, for now she had a name of which to inquire, and she though it was unlikely that her aunt would know the gentleman, being from Derbyshire she might be informed of some particulars about the family. Her aunt replied, but she was able to assuage Elizabeth's curiosity only a little, since she had not been in Derbyshire many years, and remembered only that the old Mr. Darcy, a very well regarded gentleman in the county, had tragically lost a beloved wife in childbirth, and subsequently had remarried. Of the heir she knew nothing, and she warned Elizabeth against encouraging a fancy created in so short an acquaintance.

Elizabeth did not believe herself to be in love, but she was sufficiently partial to the mysterious Mr. Darcy that she actively discouraged the other gentleman from Derbyshire who claimed friendship with Mr. Bingley. Mr. Wickham, she learnt, had a substantial property in that county which he was eager that his friend should lease. Endlessly did he extol the virtues of Pemberley over Netherfield, causing Elizabeth to wonder at his eagerness to rid himself of that estate. At the very least she was able to infer that Mr. Wickham's finances were unstable, and without speculating as to personal habits that might have brought about his relatively impecunious state, it was a sufficient reason to guard against forming an attachment, and despite his open air and pleasing address, it cost Elizabeth no effort to rebuff his efforts in particularly singling her out. If Mr. Wickham were disappointed at this failure he did not express it, simply turning his attentions where they were better received. Miss Bingley was flattered to be singled out by him, and overcame some of her disappointment at her brother's choice of wife at the opportunity to attach a gentleman who obviously had a large estate at his disposal. Her brother was equally pleased with Mr. Wickham, and did commit to at least consider Pemberley as a possible home after his lease at Netherfield ended the following summer, when he and Jane would be returning from the projected wedding trip.

Mr. Bingley called at Longbourn everyday, sometimes accompanied by his friend. Miss Bennet was more than pleased with her suitor's assiduousness in attending to her, but none of the young people were particularly inclined to remain indoors, where Mrs. Bennet would monopolize the conversation and speak of nothing but the white soup and the partridges that her cooks specially prepared for Mr. Bingley, or the ruffles and lace that she deemed quite essential for the trimming of Jane's wedding dress. Thus it was that Jane and Bingley developed a fondness for the woods and groves between Longbourn and Netherfield quite equal to Lizzy's, and were out of doors whenever the weather permitted. Elizabeth was naturally called upon to keep them company, and it happened more often than not that she was thrown into the society of Mr. Wickham, since Jane and Bingley preferred naturally to keep each other company. She found herself able to tolerate his company well enough, but was perhaps not dissatisfied that Jane's determination to preserve the proprieties meant that they were hardly ever unaccompanied.

In this pleasant manner December passed quickly by. In early January Elizabeth had the privilege of standing up with her friend Miss Lucas at her wedding, though the pleasure she might have received in such a circumstance was probably significantly reduced by the awkward circumstances connecting her to the bridegroom. Mr. Collins, fortunately, was very much inclined to put the past behind him, and was very solicitous in assuring her of his happiness in linking his lot to her friend. Elizabeth, it must be said, thought that he certainly ought to regard it a privilege, since Miss Lucas was so far superior to what he might be deemed to deserve, but happily for all concerned she was far too circumspect to make such an opinion known to the world. The wedding was thought to be a great success, and before Elizabeth knew it Charlotte was gone, and Elizabeth was left with the prospect of visiting her at Hunsford come spring.

It was very shortly afterward that Jane departed for London, accompanied by her beloved Bingley. Elizabeth was now her father's sole support, and they kept each other company. Mr. Bingley's removal to town was certainly a loss to their restricted society, but frequent letters from London and Kent went a long way towards easing Elizabeth's loneliness. More than once did it occur to her to wonder whether her sister might have encountered Mr. Darcy in town, but much as she desired to solicit Jane's opinion of him she remained firm in the opinion that such inquiries would be best conducted in person. She knew that had she wished it her aunt and uncle would have been happy to have had her to visit in London as well as her sister, but she did not wish to abandon her father just yet, and reminded herself that she had Kent to look forward to, however dubious the pleasures afforded by the company of Mr. Collins and his revered Lady Catherine de Bourgh's celebrated chimneypiece might prove. In this quiet way did the winter months pass in Longbourn, and when Elizabeth found herself in a coach bound for Kent, with Sir William and young Maria Lucas to keep her company, she found herself anticipating the visit more eagerly than she might have expected.

Chapter 5

Posted on Friday, 25 July 2003

Elizabeth's journey to Kent was pleasant, and Sir William and Maria Lucas were sufficiently amiable company for one of Elizabeth's disposition who was eager to be pleased and find for herself what sources of amusement she may. She was amused rather than offended when Sir William started to point out the extent of the Rosings landholdings well before they were arrived in Kent, and to comment on what a fortunate alliance his daughter had made. Though she was reluctant to condone Charlotte's choice she reflected that it was probably better so, since her own father could not have exulted in such simple pleasures. When they did reach Rosings she was well pleased with the parsonage, a comfortably sized house separated by a lane from the very extensive parks and wildernesses of Lady Catherine's home. She was truly pleased to be reunited with her friend, and bore the husband's absurdities better than may have been expected.

Soon enough they were invited to wait upon Mr. Collins's patroness, and the entire party endured his admonitions and advice on the niceties of dress and deportment required to preserve the subtle distinctions of rank that Lady Catherine insisted on. The establishment of Rosings, presided over by its mistress, Lady Catherine, was exactly what might have been expected from all of Mr. Collins's praise. The staircases were truly imposing, and the chimneypiece may very possibly have cost eight hundred pounds, but Elizabeth liked it no better for all that. Lady Catherine was direct and entirely lacking in tact, and she subjected Elizabeth to an inquisition on her age, prospects, and her family situation that may have daunted less brave a person. Her daughter Miss de Bourgh was insipid and mouse-like, and coddled by her governess though she was a grown woman. Her cousin Elizabeth liked rather better, for though she was equally as shy, she seemed as though she at least wished to join the conversation. Elizabeth had thought on entering that she looked rather familiar, and the familiarity was quickly explained once the introductions were carried out, for surely this was the very same Miss Darcy whose acquaintance, along with her brother's, she had made many months ago on the path to Netherfield. Elizabeth had thought often of the brother, and had wondered when they might meet again, but she could not bring herself to now importune the sister when she was so clearly hesitant to speak. She consoled herself that there would be other occasions, and that perhaps she might encounter the man himself while she was here.

Though her reaction to the company she found herself in was mixed at best, Elizabeth did truly delight in the woods and groves around Rosings. Always an active-spirited creature, she was especially so in the spring after the enforced hibernation of the winter, and she was truly happy to find herself in close proximity to such a splendid wilderness. She relished her walks, as opportunities for reflection and amusement. On her long walks she could truly be herself, without needing to school her behaviour. Often she would carry some reading with her, books borrowed from Charlotte, or letters from Jane in London or her mother or sisters in Longbourn. She was happy to know that Jane and Bingley were blissfully courting, and preparations for the wedding continued apace in Hertfordshire. She had never found her solitude interrupted in these woods. Sir William and his daughters were not as active as she, and none of the inhabitants of the Rosings were inclined to walk out beyond the ordered lawns. Thus it came as a complete surprise, though not an unpleasant one, to find herself politely interrupted one day in the course of writing a letter.

"I thought I might find you here."

"Mr. Darcy! This is a very unexpected pleasure."

"As long as it is a pleasure I am satisfied. May I join you?"

"Indeed, I would enjoy the company. What brings you to Kent?"

"My sister is staying with some family here."

"Yes, I met her the other day at Rosings Park. Is that how you knew to find me?"

"You might say so."

"And are you staying as well?"

He hesitated a moment before answering, "No, not exactly. I have some business nearby, and I try to come up as often as I may to see Georgiana, but I'm not staying with my aunt."

He was staying at Rosings, of course, and although he regretted the necessity of lying to her he could not regret the fact that he had not imposed himself as a guest at his aunt's home. He was already beginning to regret Georgiana's position, though he did believe that he had few options with a girl in her position. Georgiana could only secure her independence through marriage, and she would hardly be in a position to make a suitable match if she were to remain with him. Rosings, perhaps, was not the best option, but his uncle the earl was in Derbyshire, and he did not wish to risk her being too near the Wickhams just yet. Nevertheless, he had written to his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam, Georgiana's other guardian, to come down to Kent to consult with him.

He had also sought his uncle's advice and assistance on the matter of his own future, for he knew that he could not persist for long in this matter. He did not know how long he would have to wait for Pemberley, and he knew well that if his step-mother and his son had their rapacious way they would turn Pemberley's bounty into a sorry inheritance indeed. It was imperative for him to find a way to make his own way in the world, not only for his own sake, but also so that Georgiana might have someone to rely on. In the meantime he had taken up a position in service at Rosings, for though he could have found more profitable employment at Hunsford it would have been difficult for him to maintain comings and goings from the house, and he did not mean to abandon Georgiana just yet.

"I wonder that you should be wandering the woods rather than remaining up at the house with her in that case."

"When I heard that you were in the vicinity I could hardly leave without paying my compliments."

"I am very happy that you thought to stop by, but I wonder how you knew to find me."

"It was not so difficult. I know you are a great walker, and I am well acquainted with these woods."

"If I didn't know better I would think you had been spying on me. You must know me well to find me so easily."

Darcy had in fact been keeping a somewhat attentive eye on her comings and goings, ever since he had known her to be in the vicinity. He had known of her presence in Kent for many days now, and he had resisted the urge to renew his acquaintance with her, although he had known than he would eventually succumb to the urge. Now that he had done so, he wondered how he had resisted. Nevertheless he was nevertheless able to answer her with a straight face.

"I flatter myself I do know you."

"And what is your business in this part of the country, Mr. Darcy? I might be tempted to believe that you were following me around."

"Tempting as the prospect may be, I must protest that I have been in Kent these several months before your arrival."

"What is it, then, that keeps you from Derbyshire?"

"What is it ever, that keeps a man from home?"

"Some leave pleasure-bent; the rest, I imagine, have serious business. Which is the case with you?"

"I suppose I have been trying to secure my future."

"Serious business, in that case."

"It has its pleasurable aspects. Surely my future is not all business."

"You are aiming for a well-rounded future, in that case."

"One can certainly hope."

"I take it your business has kept you too far occupied to enjoy the natural beauties of Kent."

"On the contrary, I intend to take every opportunity to enjoy them."

"And how do you find they compare with those of Hertfordshire?"

"You have a very strong local attachment. You cannot intend always to remain at Longbourn?"

Though it was nothing more than a flirtatious implication, Darcy was not a man to be casual about such an overture. He knew precisely what he was suggesting, and though he knew himself to be imprudent, he hardly even wished to resist.

"And what might induce me to leave?"

Elizabeth could hardly believe that she would say such a thing. She had known herself to have been bold since the commencement of their acquaintance, and she knew of course that he had flirted with her before nearly as outrageously as he was now doing, but she had hardly expected that she would encourage him in such a way. Nevertheless, though she knew she had a great deal yet to learn about this man, from what she knew already she had no desire to discourage him.

"Why, you have said it yourself, either business or pleasure, possibly both."

"I spoke for a man, Mr. Darcy. Is it business or pleasure that induces a woman to leave her home?"

"Both, I imagine. A sensible woman could hardly afford to neglect either any more than a sensible man could."

"You are very pragmatic, Mr. Darcy."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No, I wouldn't say so. I used to think I was very pragmatic myself."

"And you do not any longer?"

"I have made some choices which would not be called so."

"I have as well. I sometimes think it is a matter of perspective."

"How do you mean?"

"I would not say that a choice which is not conducive to one's happiness is terribly pragmatic. One does have to live with the consequences of one's choices."

"From that perspective, Mr. Darcy, one may rationalize a great many imprudent choices."

"I suppose one may. But if it is a lasting happiness, then the choices are not so imprudent."

"It is difficult to know what constitutes a lasting happiness."

"Perhaps it is easier to know what would constitute a lasting unhappiness, and then take the opposite path."

"You make it sound very rational, Mr. Darcy."

"I should hope so, Miss Bennet, if I am to attempt to live my life by it."

"It is an elegant philosophy to live by, but I suppose it is no easier than any other."

"And what is your philosophy?"

"To think only of the past as its remembrance gives me pleasure. It is not so dissimilar to yours."

"No indeed, I believe it is equally as pragmatic, and far more elegantly phrased."

They shared a quiet retrospective laugh, neither of them quite sure how they had found themselves in so earnest a discussion. It was quite a change from the sort of flirtatious banter they had earlier indulged in and enjoyed so much, but they were both pleased to learn that they could delve easily into matters of gravity as well. There was now in Darcy a very strong feeling in the lady's favour, and perhaps she felt the same. He could hardly recall his arguments against offering himself to her, and he resisted only because he had nothing to offer. He knew at this point that his own resistance was entirely overcome. He could not remember his arguments against marrying at such an unsettled time in his life. About the merits of the lady herself he could not summon one single doubt. Though her family was not the equal of his she was a gentleman's daughter, and she was beyond anything he had a right to expect in his current state of poverty. Her manners were impeccable and utterly charming, her wit sparkling and her beauty undeniable. And he knew enough of her essential worth to believe that she would not scorn his humble state. He knew that for him it was only a matter of time before he proposed. Though he wished that he might offer her Pemberley, he knew that the lack of it would not prevent him now for offering for her regardless.

Chapter 6

Posted on Thursday, 21 August 2003

Elizabeth had hoped that she would run into Darcy more often in the woods of Rosings Park, but she was disappointed not to meet him in the days following her first meeting. She did take tea at Rosings several more times, and was even invited for cards and dinner, but though she thus had opportunities to better acquaint herself with Miss Darcy, of her brother, there was never a trace. Miss Darcy was amiable, though she was very shy, and though she seemed grateful for the attention she was hardly a promising conversationalist, and to draw notice to this fact could only attract Lady Catherine's disapproval. In truth, Georgiana was so concerned that she might be recognized as the maid Anna that she was even more reticent than her usual self. Thus she endured her aunt's continual admonishments about her lack of conversation and her very vexing unwillingness to amuse her aunt at the pianoforte while Anne sat by her mother's side smothered in furs, completely apathetic to the general conversation, and far more lacking in accomplishment. Under these circumstances Elizabeth was forced to give relief, and happily played the pianoforte to draw Lady Catherine's disdain towards her own lack of accomplishment rather than Miss Darcy's. She did attempt to raise the question of Miss Darcy's brother with her once, but unfortunately Lady Catherine overheard the reference, and started off on a tirade about Darcy's recalcitrance and lack of gratitude that Elizabeth, not being aware of the particulars of their family relationship, did not quite comprehend, and was sorry to find herself in the middle of, especially when Lady Catherine, realizing partway through that she was airing family troubles before a public audience, abruptly halted and stared at Elizabeth, as if holding her in contempt for having provoked such an outburst.

Though her knowledge of Lady Catherine was such that she could take the nephew's part over the aunt's without a second thought, yet parts of what she had heard did trouble Elizabeth, if only because she realized that she was beginning to form an attachment to this gentleman knowing nothing of his family situation or his circumstances. Of course she was ignorant also about whether or not he had any serious intentions towards her; though they had always enjoyed each other's company, and she felt that he had, in his bold flirtations, intended to convey something of his regard, she was wise enough to remember that they had only met three times, and they hardly knew enough of each other to form any serious attachment. Yet feeling as she did towards him she found it imperative to know more, if only so that she might know how she ought to feel. Lady Catherine and Miss Darcy she had to dismiss as possible sources of information, the former would hardly be forthcoming, and the latter, placed as she was, could not. Aunt Gardiner had already shared what little she was able to. At this point, her sole dependence was on Jane. She had not burdened her sister when she had been in her first glowing joy of requited love, but surely now it was time for Jane to resume her role as confidante, and certainly Mr. Bingley would be able to give her some information about his friend. So she wrote to Jane, and waited, in ardent expectation of some reply.

Elizabeth's daily habits were little altered by her recent awareness of this new sensibility. She was of an active temperament, and her nature did not allow her to be anything less than cheerful and animated. Her friends delighted by her company, and even Lady Catherine took some faint pleasure in having her own predominance challenged by her impertinence. Yet she did spend a good deal of time by herself, continuing to acquaint herself with the woods and groves of the extensive parkland. In so doing she certainly retained her interest in again encountering the gentleman to whom her thoughts so often turned these days, and she would return slightly vexed not to have met him. But though this nephew of Lady Catherine's would be contrary and refrained from visiting, another nephew soon appeared, and, in his cousin Darcy's absence, provided Elizabeth with at least some companionship, for unlike his cousins Anne and Georgiana, the Colonel had no inclination to suffer his aunt's views in silence, and had every expectation of pleasure in the company of the handsome and personable young lady who was so conveniently situated in the vicinity during his visit.

Elizabeth and the Colonel spoke on many subjects, and she found him to be engaging and well-informed, and always inclined to flatter and charm. Perhaps he might have taken some partiality towards her, but he was too prudent to allow his heart to be touched where his pocketbook could not be satisfied. And perhaps she might have been more incautious in that regard, were her heart not pretty well spoken for already. It was only to be expected, given their burgeoning friendship and her warmer regard for a man she knew he must know far better than she, that she would attempt to learn something of Darcy from his cousin.

Yet what she learnt was hardly more satisfactory than what she had gleaned from Lady Catherine, and more than a little confusing, for the Colonel perhaps imprudently admitted that he was in the neighbourhood primarily to consult with his cousin, but then could not vouch for his cousin's presence in the vicinity. Not aware of Elizabeth's acquaintance with the gentleman he spoke generally of great evils that had befallen that branch of the family without alluding to any of the specifics of the matter. He admitted that he was joined with his cousin in the guardianship of the latter's sister, but could not satisfactorily account for her present situation of being abandoned to the care of an aunt who clearly oppressed her. Elizabeth was able to glean from something furtive in the Colonel's manner that there had been some trouble around Georgiana, but this hardly tallied with her own estimation of Miss Darcy as a quiet and shy creature reluctant to draw any attention to herself. All in all she knew not what to make of the man she had previously been so inclined to regard with favour, and could only hope that Jane would convey some more concrete information.

She waited in expectation of a letter from Jane, which came long after Elizabeth might have expected it, demonstrating that perhaps Jane had acquired something of her beloved's impetuosity of manner, for she had written the direction very ill indeed. The contents of the letter were such that Elizabeth hardly knew what to make of them, and perhaps revealed the reason for Jane's own agitation. Bingley had flatly refuted the notion that Darcy had been one of his invited guests at the ball. He vaguely remembered having encountered a Mr. Darcy from a prominent estate in Derbyshire during his university days, but he had lost track of the man entirely, and knew nothing of him. He could not imagine who might have imposed on Elizabeth under that name. He and Jane had, however, placed the inquiry before their other friend from Derbyshire, Mr. Wickham, and he had very disturbing tidings to offer, for it seemed that he was connected to that family in a very particular way, being the son of the current mistress of the estate from a previous marriage. He recounted that he knew this Darcy to be a wastrel who had squandered his own inheritance, and would have done the same with the estate had he had access to it. He had apparently broken with his step-mother when she had prevented him from having his own way with the estate in order to preserve it, and had induced his younger sister, a mere child of sixteen years of age, to leave her step-mother's protection so that he might find some way of gaining access to her fortune of thirty thousand pounds. Wickham himself had been intended for the church by the late Mr. Darcy, may he rest in peace, but when the heir had washed his hands of the legitimate administration of the estate, he had been forced to step in to assist his mother, and was now responsible for preserving an estate that he would never inherit.

Poor Jane could hardly believe that such callousness and neglect as this Mr. Darcy seemed to have evinced could exist in the world. She hoped fervently that he had seen the error of his ways and would return soon with his sister to reconcile with his family and assume his legitimate responsibilities to the estate. She could not imagine what his intention might have been in having imposed on her sister in that manner, nor could she imagine how he could have appeared at Bingley's ball without a proper invitation. Indeed, Mr. Wickham had been vexed to learn that he had ever been in that part of the country without his knowing it, for even though he felt that Darcy was beyond redemption he would have hoped to have returned Georgiana to the security of her childhood home and the care of her step-mother.

Elizabeth knew not what to make of her sister's information. Her every instinct protested against it, reminding her not only of the truth in Darcy's countenance but also of her previous distrust of Wickham. However, she could not but concede that whatever the truth of the recent revelations, her previous information about Darcy was indeed utterly scant, and no basis upon which to form any sort of partiality. Moreover, inclined as she was to acquit him of actual irresponsibility, she could not deny that she had long felt that Miss Darcy was being oppressed in her present environment. She could not imagine how a brother could choose such a situation for his sister, especially when she realized that he himself was neatly avoiding his aunt's company when he was clearly ensconced close by in the neighbourhood. His cousin's visit for the express purpose of consulting with him, and the facility with which he had located her both pointed towards this fact, for though he had said that he had come from calling on his sister, she had certainly gathered from Lady Catherine's account of his lack of gratitude that she had not seen him in several years. To have abandoned his sister to such a gorgon of an aunt when he could easily have kept her with himself clearly bespoke of a lack of seriousness towards his responsibilities.

She remembered too what he had said of the pleasurable aspects of securing his future, and the words took on a more sinister connotation than she had originally ascribed to them. Indeed, his entire philosophy of self-gratifying pragmatism now struck her as self-indulgent in the extreme, for if indeed he followed it without heeding his conscience he would always be able to justify doing precisely what he pleased without regard to anyone at all. And she wondered what he had been about in dallying with her, when he was clearly in no position to offer himself or form a legitimate attachment, and she could only imagine that it was another example of his thoughtlessness, that perhaps she had in some way caught his fancy, and that he thought nothing of soliciting her regard and encouraging hopes that he had no intention or ability to fulfill. Of all the sins for which he was being brought to account in her mind this was perhaps the least significant, but it must be admitted that it was on this that Elizabeth brooded the longest.

Chapter 7

Posted on Saturday, 4 September 2004

Though she did her best to conceal her loss of spirits from her friends, Elizabeth was sufficiently disturbed by her sister's tidings to be less than convincingly at ease. And while Mr. Collins was blithely unaware that his cousin might have any sources of discomfort beyond her realisation that in rejecting him she had forsaken an eminently suitable position, and in any case would have been quite willing to overlook her dismal demeanor in the interest of offering her as company to his patroness, his wife was both more perceptive and more considerate. Over her husband's objections, therefore, she insisted that if Elizabeth were unwell, she would do better to absent herself from that evening's gathering at Rosings Park. Accordingly, at the Parsonage she remained, while the others hurried away, so as not to offend Lady Catherine through any tardiness on their part. Yet the peace and solitude did little to alleviate Elizabeth's spirits, and as though deliberately determined to exasperate herself further, she once again threw herself into the scrutiny of her sister's letter, when she was interrupted by the wholly unexpected visit of the last person she had expected to see.

"Pardon me, I believe you are unwell. I hope you may soon recover."

Elizabeth had managed to convince herself that it would be unreasonable to think that she might ever see Darcy again. Indeed, she had convinced herself that it would be better were it so, and thus to have him appear so suddenly on her doorstep was all the more difficult. Despite all the time she had spent contemplating his actions, she had not for a moment considered what she might want to say to him, and hence was utterly unprepared to see him. Yet something about her self-possession carried her through. She did not know yet what if anything she intended to tell him, but she did not intend to make it apparent to him how she was injured.

"Thank you. It is simply a sudden headache. I do not believe it signifies."

"You have not had bad news from home, I hope."

This was too much, that he should so casually make conversation as though he had her absolute confidence as a friendly confidant. She tried to press him, to force him to react in some way to his own lies.

"No, indeed, it is simply a letter from my sister Jane in London. She and Mr. Bingley are enjoying the winter in town. Have you had a chance to visit him recently?"

He looked a little startled at this, as though something of her misgivings had filtered through to him, but responded naturally enough.

"No, I have not had that pleasure."

He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up, walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes, he came towards her in an agitated manner, and thus began,

"God knows this isn't the right time for this, and for that I apologize. But it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. Though perhaps in the recesses of her imagination she had once hoped for such a thing, knowing what she now did she knew not how to respond, or even what he might intend by such a declaration. But the gentleman was not done speaking, and taking her reaction as sufficient encouragement, he continued.

"I have little enough to offer you today, but that cannot be helped, though it must be overcome. I have a gentleman's education, and I am sure I do not lack the ability to establish myself in a profession. I only regret that it is not in my power to establish you in the home I should wish to offer, but you may be assured that I will do my utmost to ensure that you lack for nothing. But I get ahead of myself. I need to explain to you what my circumstances are before I can reasonably hope that you might accept my proposal."

"Am I to understand, sir, that you intend to make me an offer of marriage?"

"Yes. I thought I..."

"Yes, you did touch upon that point. I was simply wondering how you reached such a decision. We hardly practically strangers to one another."

"I know our acquaintance has not been long, and I am aware that you cannot be wholly informed about my situation. But you must know that from the first I have held you in the utmost regard. Was I wrong to believe that you did not discourage me?"

"I do not even know who you are!"

"I beg your pardon, madam; you know me well; you know some of my closest relations. I should be happy to acquaint you with the entirety of my circumstances should you only allow me the opportunity."

"I thought I was getting to know you. I tried to know you. I have had such reports that I do not know what to make of you."

In quick steps he moved across the room, his agitation apparent. He was getting frustrated at her insistence upon this point. He had never known her to be recalcitrant before, and though perhaps it should have occurred to him to wonder what reports she had had to have brought her to this agitated state his mind was too full of his own lingering guilt for having misled her, and the disclosures he intended to make now to properly consider what she was saying.

"I will tell you whatever you need to know if you will only listen."

"I did listen, Mr. Darcy. I listened when you did not wish to tell me your name. I listened when you did not tell me where you were staying, either here or in Hertfordshire. I listened when you insinuated that my brother-to-be was a dear friend of yours, and I listened when you told me you were just somewhat acquainted with Mr. Wickham. I have listened, Mr. Darcy. When have you told me the truth? I only just know your name, and I cannot be sure even of that."

"I have not willfully lied to you, Miss Bennet. My circumstances are peculiar, and I have not wished to have them publicly known. I have my reasons."

Elizabeth's indignation was mounting. She had been injured, and she did not intend to expose herself further, but she knew herself to be still susceptible to this man, and it provoked her that he would continue to insist upon disclosures that she at this point could only find painful.

"Mr. Darcy, we need not continue this conversation. I thank you for your offer, but I cannot agree to marry you. You have imposed on my informality, you have attempted to attach me, as is now apparent, while misrepresenting yourself entirely and allowing me to believe that I knew something about you."

With the way in which the conversation had been proceeding, it would have been too much to say that Darcy was astonished to hear her say this, but nevertheless it did cost him a more than a pang. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips, till he believed himself to have attained it. Certainly he was too proud to insist any further, but neither was he able to accept her response for what it was worth, and though perhaps he knew that he would regret it he felt compelled to lash out and to injure her just a little.

"You speak so strongly of not knowing me that I might be tempted to ask why you reject me so unceremoniously without making the effort to know me. It is of no matter. But perhaps these scruples would not now be so apparent if I could come to you as a man of fortune and rank, and did not honestly confess to you that I need to make my way in the world. But disguise of every sort is my abhorrence. I come from better circumstances than are now my lot in life, but I have nothing of which to be ashamed. I would have offered you as much as any man could, Miss Bennet, had you seen fit to look past my current poverty."

Elizabeth felt herself growing more angry every moment; yet she tried to the utmost to speak with composure when she said,

"You are mistaken, Mr. Darcy, if you believe that your circumstances, on which you dwell so continuously, have anything to do with my rejection. I assure you that I am quite indifferent as to your wealth or poverty. Long before you mentioned anything of them my entire notion of your character was upset by the knowledge that you had lied in virtually everything you told me, that you had abandoned your home and responsibilities and induced your sister to do likewise, and that you are now abandoning her to an aunt who does little to make her feel welcome and whose society is such that you deliberately choose to absent yourself from it despite remaining in the neighbourhood. It was your utter callousness and disregard towards those to whom you ought to be attached that compelled me to reexamine my understanding of you. Your circumstances, which at any rate are of your own creation, are quite irrelevant to the matter."

His desolation was complete. In abject misery he gazed at her, little realising that she was unwilling even to meet his eyes. Attempting now to retrieve a shred of dignity as perhaps he should have done before, he bowed briefly, and turned towards the door.

"I see that my faults by this calculation are heavy indeed. I will not take up any more of your time. Please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. I assure you that they are sincerely meant."

And with these words he hastily left the room, and Elizabeth heard him the next moment open the front door and quit the house.

The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness sat down and cried for half an hour. Her astonishment, as she reflected on what had passed, was increased by every review of it. That after all that had passed she should receive an offer of marriage from Mr. Darcy! that he should believe himself to have any claim to her affection after imposing on her trust, and representing himself as the close confidant of her future brother, was almost incredible! She reflected that at one time she would have been gratified to have inspired so strong an affection. But his duplicity, which he had made no credible effort to deny, soon overcame the pity which the consideration of his attachment had for a moment excited. Perhaps she did wonder what circumstances he had attempted so adamantly to explain, but was no credible explanation she could conjure that might address his deceptions and his elusiveness.

She continued in very agitating reflections till the sound of Lady Catherine's carriage made her feel how unequal she was to encounter Charlotte's observation, and hurried her away to her room.

Chapter 8

Posted on Saturday, 16 October 2004

After the occurrences of that evening, Elizabeth's night could hardly have been called restful. She tossed and turned and never quite found a posture to suit her, which was hardly surprising given that her discomfort was not physical. She could not help hearing Darcy's words again and again in her mind, and though she tried and nearly succeeded in keeping her heart firm against him yet she could not help but wonder if he could possibly have been sincere. His behavior seemed incomprehensible. It was obvious that he could have nothing to gain from proposing to her. It was unlikely at best that he could possibly have been mistaken about her expectations; nothing he had seen or heard could have given him an exaggerated sense of her situation. It was only a genuine attachment that could have inspired a proposal, and though in talking to him Elizabeth had often thought that they might be building such an attachment she could not reconcile such a sentiment with his documented duplicity. If he had not been trifling with her why should he have lied on matters of such grave importance? What was it that he had been concealing? With such doubts as Jane's letter had awakened in her mind she could never for a moment believe that she ought to have accepted him, but she did wonder what those circumstances were that he had tried so many times this evening to acquaint her with. Elizabeth did not believe herself to be lacking in imagination, but in no way could she conjure a solution that would preserve both his honour and her sister's truthfulness, and since the latter could not be doubted the former must be suspect.

And yet she did wonder. Had she truly seen the last of him? Would he never appear again out of the nothingness, and make her life just a little less ordinary for a while? And was that ordinary life what she wanted, or was she truly tempted by his offer, of everything and nothing? It was no matter if she were, of course, because that chance now had disappeared. She had seen his resentment, and though she could not fathom what he could possibly believe he had to be resentful about, she knew that he would not suffer her lightly. Would she ever unravel this mystery of him, or would she wonder always what it was that she had decided she didn't need to know?

She rose early, not surprisingly, since she had hardly slept at all. She dressed quickly and simply, and left the house while the household was still abed. As she wandered through the woods and groves she felt more like herself. There was still something of restlessness and incomprehension, but the strange fancies of the night had no place in the fresh dewy morning. And it was more of a surprise perhaps than it ought to have been to see the man she had consciously been avoiding thinking of, pacing in her favourite grove. She thought to turn around and leave, but before she could properly consider it he turned around towards her and approached. Escape was now impossible, nor did she truly desire it, though she could not imagine what either of them might say. Perhaps he was having a similar difficulty, for certainly he did not say a great deal, but he did hand her a letter, and ask that she do him the honour of reading it. She nodded quickly, her curiosity again eagerly awakening at this most unexpected chance of being assuaged. And perhaps she would have spoken further had he seen fit to linger, but before she could gather herself so much as to utter a word he had bowed silently and left her. There was nothing further she could do but to turn to the missive in her hand.

Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of its containing any repetition of those sentiments which last night were so incomprehensible to you. I write without any intention of paining you or humbling myself by dwelling on wishes which, for the happiness of both, cannot be too soon forgotten. But I must take this opportunity to attempt to defend myself against the charges that last night were laid at my door. I realize, certainly, that I cannot demand that you read my account, but I appeal to your sense of justice on this score.

Two offences of a very different nature, and by no means of equal magnitude, you last night laid to my charge. The first mentioned was that I had willfully lied and misrepresented myself to you, and the other that I had abandoned my duties to my home and family and now intend to leave my sister to the care of an aunt whose company I cannot myself countenance. The reckless abandonment of all family responsibilities, if true, would be a breach so heinous that a few misrepresentations to a chance acquaintance cannot compare. Forgive me. I do not mean to belittle you in any regard, but since you were so insistent last night that we are relative strangers to one another, you must concede that this is true, and were this your only complaint I might not have taken the trouble of writing. But your other charge, that I have abandoned my family responsibilities, and even now am abandoning my sister, is one that I must address. I can only imagine that any information you have had on this subject comes from Mr. Wickham. I cannot conjecture as to your friendship with that gentleman, but it gives me yet another motive for writing. In doing so, I must trouble you with the explanation of my circumstances that you were so reluctant last night to hear.

Mr. Wickham is my step-brother, as you may perhaps have gathered. He is the son of a very respectable man, the former steward of my father's estate, Pemberley. His mother married my father not long after my mother died, when my sister was very young. My father, who was very fond of George Wickham, had long supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge. He intended for Wickham a very fine living, and every opportunity for preferment within the church. I was intended to assume the management of the estate, and my father had begun to guide me in this responsibility before his passing. My father, however, died shortly before I attained my majority, and being persuaded perhaps that I might yet be too young to assume the full responsibility, he left the estate in the care of my step-mother until such time as she saw fit to turn it over to me. This she has not done, and will never do. Within a month of my father's passing, she had ousted me and my sister from the family quarters at Pemberley. She did not compel us to leave the estate and so we remained below the stairs, being tied to closely to the land to contemplate leaving. Georgiana grew up working in the kitchens of her own home, and I was enlisted as a footman. It was not the most suitable circumstance in which to raise a young woman who must one day take her position in society, but I had little choice in the matter. I had been left as Georgiana's guardian, along with my cousin the Colonel, and as his active duties took him far afield, I was afraid to leave her with any of our other relatives. Having seen my aunt, you may guess the reason for my reluctance. My uncle might have provided a more congenial home, but I could hardly impose on him in that manner, and I could not leave her while she was so young. And though I intended to establish myself in some profession I knew I would not be able to provide her with a suitable home or have many opportunities to see her while I did so. Accordingly I deferred my own plan , and remained in the where we belonged, and could be together. I did not allow Georgiana's education to suffer, nor did I allow her fortune, which is secured until she marries, to be depleted.

Wickham, who was disappointed in his own bequest, disavowed any intention of taking orders, and assumed instead the management of the estate from his mother. He made a great many changes, which he called modernizations. And perhaps he increased the yield of the estate for a while, but today it is fast depleting. Many of our oldest, most loyal tenants no longer have a home. Rents are too high for small farmers to properly feed themselves after paying them, and people are leaving the estate to seek work in factories further north, leaving their homes and everything they know. There are not enough people left now to tend the land. And such profits as there might still accrue are hardly enough to feed Wickham's dissolute habits of gamesmanship and depravity. In order to sustain his habits somewhat longer, he needs another income, and he sought it in the fortune of a wife, remembering that my sister's 30,000l, remained untouched. She was persuaded, at the age of fifteen, to believe herself in love with a man who had once been a brother to her. Fortunately, I was able to discover their attachment before she had been compelled to marry him. It was at that time that my sister and I were finally compelled to leave Pemberley. To remain would have been to endanger her safety and happiness by exposing her to a marriage she would have been powerless to resist.

It was at this time that my sister and I came to Hertfordshire, and had the pleasure of making your acquaintance. Admittedly, at that time, I refrained from acquainting you with our true motives for seeking Netherfield. Mr. Bingley will have told you that I did not come with the intention of visiting him. I did not, however, lie to you in saying that I knew him from Cambridge, where he was several years my junior, nor when I told you that I intended to do business with him, for my sister and I had fled without any money, and we required employment in the neighbourhood. I doubt that you will remember my presence, but perhaps you may recall Anna, the upperstairs maid, as my sister. I should not, of course, under these circumstances, have attended the Netherfield ball, where I had the honour of dancing with you. Georgiana was insistent to see a real ball, and I had not the resolution to resist her. It was at that ball that I learnt from you that Mr. Wickham was expected in the neighbourhood. You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. It was impossible for us to remain at Netherfield a moment longer. At that point, I had no alternative but to take recourse with my relatives. You have noted, quite rightly, that my aunt is not the most sympathetic guardian, but for Georgiana's safety I have no alternative. My uncle's home in Derbyshire is too near Pemberley for my security, and my aunt, for all her faults, can be trusted to keep Wickham well away. You have noted also that I myself am not staying at the house. If you have heard my aunt's views on this subject you may well be familiar with the reason. My aunt has long disapproved of my choice of remaining at Pemberley with Georgiana, or indeed, of seeking my own profession. She intends for me to marry my cousin, and assume the responsibility of the Rosings estate. Even if I were not opposed to my aunt's choice by my own inclination, my cousin's preferences make a match between us impossible. In order to spare her the burden of my aunt's wrath, I have given my aunt to understand that the disinclination is all on my side. The other reason I have not availed of my aunt's hospitality is that I am not in fact staying in the immediate neighbourhood. I visit occasionally, to see my sister and consult with my cousin, but I have in fact been negotiating for a position as an agent of the East India trade with one of the directors of the Company who lives not far away. My uncle has agreed to fund me in this venture, and if we are able to reach some agreement I am likely to leave the country shortly hereafter.

This, madam, is a truthful narrative of every event concerning my motives for abandoning my sister, and for misrepresenting myself to you. Perhaps the motives which governed me may to you appear irrational. Certainly my choices have not always been the most pragmatic ones, but I have not yet learnt to condemn them. For the truth of everything here related I can appeal to the testimony of Colonel Fitzwilliam or my sister, who are both necessarily unavoidably acquainted with these circumstances. I shall endeavour to place this letter in your hands at some point tomorrow morning. Despite the vagaries of fortune that have so often thrown us together I cannot believe it to be likely that we shall meet again. I will only add, God bless you.

Fitzwilliam Darcy.