Section I, Next Section

Author's note - This story begins three months after "A Woman Worthy" ends. Elizabeth is expecting her third child, Georgiana is engaged to be married, Miss Bingley is now the wife of Darcy's cousin, Lord Fitzwilliam, and the seemingly happy occasion of Kitty's wedding quickly turns into something else.

Chapter One

Posted on Monday, 8 July 2002, at 7:30 p.m.

Although the air outdoors was inarguably cold, a bone-chilling mist causing it to feel even more so; the church, containing the assemblage of, perhaps, fifty persons, was almost stuffy by contrast.

In the midst of the attentive onlookers stood Elizabeth Bennet Darcy, concentrating now, not on witnessing her sister, Kitty's, vows of marriage to Mr. Phillip Martin; but on arresting the waves of nausea threatening to overtake her.

The date was Sunday, December the fifteenth, in the year of 1817. Elizabeth was well into her fifth month, yet the morning sickness (a misnomer as it was nearly two in the afternoon), refused to leave her; making the task of keeping this pregnancy a relative secret from the other guests, even more difficult. The fact of the matter was, that, such secrecy had only been deemed necessary by them both in order to appease that unbreakable social rule of a woman in a "delicate" condition not being out and about in public. She knew full well that her mother, aunt, and probably various other relations would be appalled if they even suspected her current situation.

Her husband, Fitzwilliam, she gratefully acknowledged, held a more liberal view of the whole business. If Elizabeth felt the need to attend her sister's wedding, than certainly, she should; regardless of senseless stipulations put forth by generations of far more self-conscious ladies.

Feeling the pressure of his arm against her own, temporarily diverted her from her present suffering. Had his mood improved since their leaving Longbourne house less than an hour before, she wondered? She could not blame him if it had not; for who should show up not fifteen minutes before they were to leave for the church, but Lydia, her one-month-old baby girl, Juliet, and her husband, the infamous Mr. George Wickham.

Up to that point the household, although crowded, had been amiable. The Bingleys had been there all week with their three children, Emily, Nathaniel and Nicholas; Georgiana had accompanied the Darcys along with their two sons, James and Ethan; and of course, already in residence were Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, Kitty, and Mary.

And now, here was Lydia, laughing at the surprise evident on all of their faces, and claiming that she "could not bear to miss the wedding of her dearest sister." Wickham had enough sense to remain silent, but simply having him appear was enough to set the Darcys' collective teeth on edge.

"It is no good," Elizabeth decided to herself unhappily, "We shall have to leave as soon as the ceremony is over. We cannot stay in that house with the Wickhams...I could not ask it of Georgiana or Fitzwilliam." Her thoughts were interrupted by the newly ordained young vicar, Mr. Chase, pronouncing that Kitty and Mr. Martin were now, in the eyes of God and the Holy Church of England, husband and wife.

As the crowd filed out to wish the bride and groom happiness and felicity, Elizabeth hung back, intending to speak to her husband privately before joining the throng.
"Fitzwilliam," she said, keeping her voice low as he turned to escort her out; "Do not feel that we must stay any longer than tonight."

He studied her face for a long moment before inquiring, "You are not feeling well, are you, Elizabeth?"

She shook her head impatiently, "What I am, has little to do with the problem facing us now."

"No," he replied, "It has very much to do with it. I cannot drag you out in poor weather over uneven roads, when you are already so uncomfortable."

His consideration was almost too much. Blinking back tears of self-pity, she argued, "Georgiana should not be obliged to remain under the same roof as that scoundrel."

"Georgiana, herself is engaged now, and I believe, has moved past that unfortunate episode of her life. He can hurt her no more."

"But, what of you, Fitzwilliam? Can you do the same? He has abused you in every imaginable manner since your childhood, yet, you can disregard his crimes?"

Giving her a rueful smile, he assured her, "His crimes, in the end, hurt himself far more than they did me. I believe, as two fairly civilised people, we ought to be able to share the same lodgings for a few days...Elizabeth," he continued sternly, as she opened her mouth to disagree further, "We shall remain until Wednesday, as planned. You will, therefore, have ample opportunity to visit with your family, and, we will not be forced out prematurely by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham."

Aware that once they were returned to Pemberley in the northern county of Derbyshire, she would not be venturing out again until after this child's birth, she was conscious of the generous gift he had just handed to her. "You are too good," she said, her voice still troubled, "And, you make me feel quite selfish in comparison."

Tilting her chin up, he kissed her lips lightly, "The offer was not intended as such. Just remember, Mrs. Darcy, I may expect a favour of similar import in return, one day."

"Lizzy, Mr. Darcy," It was Jane Bingley's hesitant voice behind them, "Are you not coming along?"

Smiling at her sister, Elizabeth answered quickly, "Yes. Jane, just one moment, please." As Jane retreated, Elizabeth met her husband's eyes, "Inasmuch as I dislike owing a debt, I must concede this to you, Mr. Darcy. Only, do recall, in three days time, that it was your idea."

Then, slipping her arm through his, they left the warmth of the church for the dreariness outdoors.

There was a small reception to attend at the house. The company barely fit into the efficiently appointed rooms, yet everyone was cheerful; toasting the newlyweds continuously until the time came for them to be on their way. They were to return to Meryton that night to Mr. Martin's lodgings above his shop; then, on the morrow, they would travel on to the Darcy summer home in Ramsgate.

"Heaven knows," Elizabeth had apologised when the offer was made, "The weather shall be just as dreary as in Hertfordshire, but at the very least, you may have some time away by yourselves."

Kitty had accepted happily, caring little at the irregularity of the season. For, her thoughts had been concentrating solely upon her beloved Mr. Martin over the past several months, and it was more of a honeymoon than they, otherwise, would have had.

"I hope, Kitty," Lydia spoke up, as the Martins made ready to depart, "That your marriage is as happy as my own has been to my dear Wickham."

Whatever Kitty's reply, Elizabeth did not hear, as she was exchanging a telling glance with her own husband, eyebrows aloft. The rumours of Mr. Wickham's infidelities had run rampant almost since the day of their enforced marriage in London. Still, if Lydia wished to remain ignorant, that was, of course, her own business. Yet, to call it a happy union seemed a bit of a stretch, to say the least.

With a shrug, Elizabeth turned from the ever more emotional scene to find her father's watchful eye upon her.

In a voice low enough so that only she could hear, he requested, "Lizzy, will you step into my study for a moment?" Then he smiled, holding the door open for her entry. Supposing that he wished to discuss the events of the day, or, the unexpected arrival of his youngest daughter, she complied readily; anxious now to escape the congestive mass of people around her.

His first words then, caught her unaware. "You are expecting again, are you not?"

Colouring, not so much by his candour as by how she might have given herself away, she stammered, "Is it so very obvious?"

"Only to one who knows you as well as I," he assured her, his eyes reflecting his fondness for her. "I believe you are probably secured from Mrs. Bennet finding it out...So, when is the happy occasion to take place?"

"In May, I think. I did not intend to keep it from you, Father," she explained as apology, "But we thought Mother might not understand my wishing to come to Longbourne, despite my condition."

"Yes, you are right, of course. She most probably would not. Well, do not fret, my child, your secret is quite safe with me." Still smiling, he took his favourite chair and indicated the one opposite for herself. "It seems that children do not wait for the social season to come to an end."

"No, I suppose not," she agreed, sinking thankfully into the proffered chair and emitting a deep sigh. "I truly felt that since we had attended Miss Bingley's marriage to Lord Fitzwilliam in October, that I had to make some effort to attend Kitty's, as well."

"Ah, yes...Mr. Darcy's cousin. How was the great occasion? Cartloads of nobility in attendance, I expect."
Smiling at his description, she answered, "I believe so; although they attempted to disguise their titles at much the same time in which they flaunted them...Rather entertaining, actually."

"And, poor Lizzy with nothing but Mrs. before your name. It did not put you out, I trust?"

"Not hardly," was her reply, "I am quite satisfied with my status, and would not wish it altered."

"As I suspected," he assented. Then, "I had heard, Lizzy, that Lady Catherine de Bourgh was in attendance. How did your reunion fare after the events of last summer?"

Recollecting Lady Catherine's unsuccessful attempt to gain custody of her children, Elizabeth answered ruefully, "Although our own relationship has not improved, Father, I was pleased at noticing her being somewhat warmer to my husband."

"Due to what, I wonder? Was it not through his very efforts that she was forced to admit defeat?"

"Due, no doubt, to the fact that he is her nephew, and after all, blood is far thicker than water,...or marriage in this case."

They exchanged a smile of understanding, even as Elizabeth recalled somewhat wryly, Lady Catherine's quite obvious, and blatantly public snub towards herself. What she had hoped to achieve by it was a mystery, but the fact that she had acknowledged Fitzwilliam was, at least, some appeasement to his wife. Later, while attending the elaborate reception following the ceremony, she could not help but notice Lady Catherine's newly acquired closeness with Lady Caroline Fitzwilliam; formerly Miss Bingley.

When Elizabeth had mentioned this observation to her sister, Jane, her response had been an earnest, "Perhaps, Lady Catherine is sharing some helpful advice in regards to Caroline's new status."

The answer, although reasonable, did not alleviate Elizabeth's concern that the two people in the world with motive to despise her, seemed to be now, the dearest of friends.

"How is your husband taking the reappearance of our Mr. Wickham?" Inquired Mr. Bennet, interrupting Elizabeth's musings. Through his daughter's confidences over time, he had been enlightened fully on their tumultuous history.

"Better than I, I am afraid," she replied, wrinkling her nose as she returned to the present. "He has concluded that since we are all here anyway, we have little choice but to live in peaceful coexistence."

"Ah, he is a wise man, I see. Surely Mr. Wickham did not come here with the intention of stirring up animosity...Perhaps he has reformed."

"Or, perhaps not," she disagreed calmly. "I have the distinct feeling that Mr. Wickham will remain the same as he always was. After all, he has no reason to change. Lydia still dotes on him, and so long as he claims some poor, trusting lady's undying affection, with as little effort on his part as possible, he cannot be wanting."

At this, Mr. Bennet's countenance darkened slightly, "I had hoped for better for her...for all of you, as a matter of fact. But, it appears any common sense passed onto our children ended with you, Lizzy. Well, I can only hope that he will not desert her outright, now that they have a child."

"Let us, indeed, hope," she agreed. Then, with the intent of lightening his mood, she asked, "Do you suppose Lydia actually read the whole play?" She did not have to elaborate as to what she was referring; her father comprehended her meaning perfectly.

"I expect," he reasoned, "The title, alone, was enough of an inspiration."

"Does this mean that any forthcoming son shall be named Romeo?" She laughed as she said this, the idea of two siblings bearing such frivolous appointments, diverting.

Her father, mirroring her reaction, said only, "With any luck, they shall have only daughters."

Their conversation was brought to an end when the servant knocked and entered, "Pardon me, Miss...I mean, Mrs. Darcy, but you're wanted by Miss Florence upstairs."

"Thank you, Hill," replied Elizabeth, rising immediately. Florence Mills, her children's nursemaid, who had accompanied them on this visit, would only have requested her presence in a real emergency. So, it was with some haste that she quit her father's study to climb the stairs all the way to the third floor nursery.

Calling it a nursery was probably slightly incongruous, as it consisted of several hurriedly assembled beds and toys, little forethought, and even less organisation. Neither Mrs. nor Mr. Bennet had expected such an influx of grandchildren so soon after their daughters had wed. Yet, here they were; six already present, and one more (although not commonly known) soon to join them.

Upon her entrance to the aforementioned room, Elizabeth beheld James, now two, being sick in a corner; Ethan, nearly one, tossing wooden blocks at some unseen target on one wall; Emily, three months James's elder, holding her dolls protectively away from her ailing cousin; and the twins, Nathaniel and Nicholas, aged nine months, tearing an old newspaper steadily into shreds between them. Lydia's Juliet was crying hopelessly in the cradle set against another wall, and Florence looked to be near the end of her patience.

At seeing Elizabeth, she exclaimed, "I am so sorry to call for you, Mrs. Darcy, but I seem to be at my wits end. I sent for Mrs. Wickham to see to her baby, but she has not come. What shall I do with her, do you think?"

After taking in the general uproar, Elizabeth picked the child up from the cradle and sat with her in the creaking rocker placed near it.

"Clean up poor Jamie, and see him to bed," she instructed Florence, "The rest I shall attempt to remedy myself." With that she began to rock, talking quietly all the while, "My dear little Juliet, would you like to hear the story of whom you were named after?...Well, let's see," shifting a bit, she lay the baby on her lap, so that her blue eyes gazed into Elizabeth's brown ones. "Once upon a time, there were two families who did not get on at all. One bore the name of Capulet and the other, Montague." As she talked, the infant quieted, seeming to concentrate on Elizabeth's face, as well as her voice. "The Capulets had a daughter, you see,...quite headstrong, named Juliet, and the Montagues a most handsome son, Romeo." The other children, meanwhile, had abandoned their previous pursuits to move nearer to the rocker and its occupants.

"I know this," claimed Emily, "But, tell it anyway, Aunt Darcy...I like it."

"Well, the Montagues were very well off, and because of it, were quite proud of their land and possessions. The Capulets, meanwhile, although not poor exactly, knew that Juliet and her sisters, as well, would have to marry advantageously."

"What is that?" Questioned Emily.

"Advantageously? Well it means, that they would have to marry men who would love them despite their lack of earthly goods. One evening, Romeo and his friend, Mercutio, attended a ball where the Capulets happened to be also. As soon as Romeo realised who they were, he wanted nothing more to do with them, but Mercutio had met Juliet's older sister and immediately fell in love with her."

"Older sister!" Emily cried, "Are you certain this is the right story, Aunt?"

"Perhaps a bit different then what you have heard, but still a good story. Do you wish to hear it, or not?" Elizabeth asked her calmly.

"Yes, please," replied the little girl, too curious to stop by then.

"Let me see," continued Elizabeth, pretending to think, "Oh yes,...Mercutio had fallen in love and danced every dance with Juliet's sister, Jane."

"Jane! But that is my mama's name!" Exclaimed Emily happily.

"Yes it is, isn't it? A coincidence, I'm sure. Anyway, Romeo would dance with no one, and even when Mercutio attempted to convince him to dance with Juliet, he refused. So that when the dance was all over, Juliet had been left with a very poor impression of his manners."

"He hurt her feelings?" Asked Emily sympathetically.

"In a way...although I think he hurt her pride far worse."

"But, when did he fall in love with her?" Persisted young Miss Bingley.

"Oh, quite a long time really. You see, he had to notice her as more than just the daughter of his enemy, and that took several months...but, finally he did. Next came the problem of convincing her to fall in love with him, for as I said, she was still inclined to dislike him, especially after that first ball."

"Was he not handsome?"

"Oh, very much so. But, we both know that unless a person's nature is pleasing, it does not signify how handsome he is." Elizabeth, while speaking, had become lost in some memory, so that Emily had to bring her back to the present.

"What made her love him, then?" She asked, looking doubtful that such a thing could ever have been brought about.

"When he let down his guard; his kindness, consideration, gentleness and understanding are what finally awakened her to his charms. In the end, I think, she decided that they were far too much alike to not be together."

"So they were married?"

"Yes, of course, and lived happily ever after, I believe," finished Elizabeth smiling around at her audience. "And, now, I think it is time for our own Juliet to be abed, and the rest of you to wash up for supper." With that, she rose and carefully lay the now sleeping infant in her cradle.

"But, Aunt," queried Emily, "What about Jane and Mercutio, did they marry, too?"

"I believe they did." It was Fitzwilliam; standing in the doorway, smiling at his niece.

Ethan took one look at his father and made a dash for his legs; a collision which might have been unavoidable but for that gentleman's swinging him up into his arms.

"So, you know this story?" Emily asked, still curious.

"As a matter of fact, I know it very well," was the reply, as his eyes met his wife's.

The look exchanged between them, lasted for so long, that Ethan impatiently began to search his father's pockets. "Papa, tandy?" He implored while doing so.

"Not just now, Ethan," was the promise, "Later, after your supper." The child seemed to accept this, and after being set down again, toddled off to be duly washed by Florence.

"Have the guests left, Mr. Darcy?" Inquired his wife, hoping that, indeed, they might have. As she spoke, she felt James's forehead, then, satisfied that there was no fever, kissed him where her hand had been. Straightening, she sighed aloud, for, venturing back downstairs to rejoin the noisy assemblage did not appeal to her.

"Many of them," he answered, his expression one of sympathy, "Are you still uneasy?"

"Better, I am glad to say...I would only wish for a few moments of peace and quiet."

"Well, I cannot promise that, of course," he said ruefully, for, both of them were aware that the guests most likely to irritate, would be staying on.

"No, of course not." Setting her face with resigned determination, she added, "Well, since I cannot put it off any longer, will you kindly escort me down, sir?"

"It would be my privilege, madam," he returned grandly while offering her his arm. Then, in a manner regal enough to impress Lady Catherine, herself, they descended the stairs together.

~ Chapter Two ~

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane met them at the bottom of the steps, "I was coming up to see the children. How are they?"

"Just now preparing to eat, Jane," assured her sister, "Jamie, I am afraid, was a bit ill, but most likely, from too much excitement."

At this, Jane looked anxious, asking, "He is all right, though?"

"Better, I believe."

"Perhaps I shall stop up anyway...I have not seen them since lunchtime." Without waiting for a reply, she hurried up the stairs, leaving Elizabeth to exchange a look of amusement with her husband.

"She shall fuss, I fear," she stated.

"She is happy to do so, I am sure," was his reply.

"Undoubtedly." Proceeding to the drawing room, where the hum of voices could be heard, she found herself taking a deep breath.

As they stepped in, Mrs. Bennet, seated nearest the door, spoke up, "There you are, Lizzy. We were just wondering where you had taken yourself off to."

"I was seeing to my children, Mama," she replied, trying not to glare at Lydia, who sat opposite her mother, continuing to chat blithely with Mr. Chase.

"Cannot that Miss Mills do so without you?" Mrs. Bennet inquired, loud enough so that everyone in the room stopped speaking for just a moment.

"She is quite competent, Mother. However, I believe children do require some attention from their parents...occasionally." Even this remark, aimed directly at her youngest sister, failed to reach its target.

As the company resumed its conversations, her eyes sought an empty chair, but the only one visible was near to Mr. Wickham, and she would sooner remain standing with her husband than to sit by him. Fitzwilliam, apparently, had other ideas, as after a moment, he led her firmly towards the aforementioned seat. Having few options which would not embarrass her husband, she complied, but as he remained by her, she whispered furiously, "I might have wished to remain where I was, you know."

"I felt that you should be seated," was his tempered reply.

Glaring at him, she said no more, until her Aunt Philips, seated on the other side of her, remarked, "Pray, Lizzy, you are looking pale today, I vow. Are you unwell, child?"

Colouring, she answered as calmly as was possible, "I am fine, ma'am; just the weather affecting my mood, I think."

"It is grim, to be sure. Yet, should be expected at this time of year. Is it much colder up North?"

"A little. I fear it is not the cold, but the rain which does in my spirits," she explained, wishing her aunt would venture onto a different subject.

"Oh well, there is nothing we can do about that. Am I right, Mr. Wickham?"

That gentleman, who had been studiously looking away from the Darcys, now turned his attention to their group.

"You were saying, madam?" He inquired, his face a study of reluctance, as well as unfazed self-confidence.

"Lizzy was complaining of how the weather has disaffected her spirits. I am certain that in your work, Mr. Wickham, you must have come across far worse."

"Oh, yes of course," he assured them, even as Elizabeth thought scornfully, "I doubt if the regiment even ventures out of Newcastle, where the climate would vary little from Pemberleys own."

"Our Colonel does not hesitate to take us into the most dire of conditions," he continued smoothly. "Yet, we do not falter. It is our duty, you know."

"And, one must always render one's duty," interjected Elizabeth, "Especially towards their country...Family then, must become a soldier's second obligation."

"Well,...yes, of course," he faltered, attempting to decipher her meaning, "However, now that we have dear little Julia, I may have to alter my priorities."

"Juliet," corrected Elizabeth, her eyes emitting a mischievous light, "I must say, Mr. Wickham, she does have the loveliest brown eyes, do not you agree?"

"Lovely eyes," he concurred, "Much as her mother's."

"Odd," she commented, "I thought Lydia's eyes were blue, but perhaps they have darkened over time...as I am sure your daughter's will, as well."

He had the grace then, to appear confused; closing his mouth, and barely opening it again even when Mrs. Bennet asked him if he should need his teacup refilled.
Savouring her moment of triumph, she whispered to her husband, "Just as I suspected, he has paid no attention to the child at all."

"You are not disappointed, I trust," was his smiling reply.

"Oh, no, indeed. Now, I have only to pity poor Lydia even further."

"As though you might require a reason."

At dinner, she was placed between Lydia and Mary; finding herself envying her husband's position across the table next to Mr. Bingley and Georgiana.

"So, Lydia," she asked, trying to discover some topic on which they might share a common interest, "Do you think Juliet favours Mr. Wickham or yourself?"

"Well, it must be me, of course," was the vehement reply, "It could hardly be him."

"And, why is that?" Asked Elizabeth, astonished by the tone of her answer.

"Because, Lizzy," she started to explain, then stopping herself, said only, "Because she is a girl, of course."

Watching her sister's secretive expression, Elizabeth found herself to be quite curious, but Lydia's attention had already been diverted by Mrs. Bennet asking her of the sort of shops available around Newcastle.

What did she mean? Was the baby not Wickham's, after all? Had she been dallying as carelessly as he, with Juliet being the ignominious outcome? Whether it was from Lydia's near confession, or simply her condition once again, Elizabeth felt suddenly overwhelmingly nauseated.

Rising from the table, she murmured, "Excuse me, please," and left the room without waiting for acknowledgement. Passing through the sitting room to the French doors opposite, she hastily pulled one open to take in huge gulps of cold, wet air. Until she felt his hands upon her shoulders, she was unaware of her husband's presence.

"Elizabeth," he asked, deeply concerned, "Are you all right?"

"Give me a moment, please," then, without warning, she turned and put her arms around him, unaware that tears were coursing down her cheeks.

"My love," he was clearly startled, "Tell me what is troubling you...is it Wickham still? For, if he has said or done anything...," He did not finish his threat, yet it hung in the air between them.

"No, no, it is not Wickham...but Lydia, herself, and I do not know why it has upset me so."

He stood silently, his arms around her, waiting for her to elaborate, yet, when she spoke again, it was not what he had been expecting.

"Fitzwilliam, I want to go home to Pemberley."

"Yes, of course," he said soothingly, all the while wondering at her change of heart. "You do not wish to remain with your family until Wednesday, as intended?"

"You are my family; you, Jamie, Ethan, and Georgiana. Yes, I would like to leave as soon as it is possible."

"Might we wait until morning, at least?" He suggested, his fingers stroking her hair.

"So long as we delay no longer than that. I am finding this visit to be rather...wearing upon my nerves." As she said this, she could not help but smile, the excuse sounding remarkably like her mother's most frequent complaint.

"What reason shall be given for our premature departure?" He asked, glad at her lightening of mood.

"Sudden homesickness," she replied, her eyes now laughing into his, "It would not be a falsehood."

"No, but perhaps not a plausible explanation either," he answered ruefully, "Well, I shall think of something."

"Father will understand, at any rate," she assured him.

After studying her face a moment he said, "Your father is a perceptive man."

"Yes,...he is."

Sliding her arm through his, they returned to the meal, Fitzwilliam ingeniously using the opportunity to invent a motive for their leaving on the following morning.

"I fear," he said to Mr. Bennet and to any within earshot, "That word has only just arrived of my need to return to Derbyshire on urgent business."

"But, that does not signify that Lizzy must leave as well," protested Mrs. Bennet unhappily.

"Oh, but I must, Mama," insisted Elizabeth, "For I could not ask my husband to send down a carriage only to fetch us later. It would be too inconsiderate."

"You are certain, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet inquired, studying his daughter, "I could probably manage to convey you back in our own coach, if you wished to stay on a bit longer."

"No, Papa," she protested, attempting to relate, through her expression, the truth of the matter to him, alone, "This shall be for the best all around, I am sure."

Georgiana, meanwhile, said nothing, although her surprise at this decision was apparent in her expression.

"Well, then," piped up Lydia, at length, "Perhaps we might stop on our way back to Newcastle, sometime within the next fortnight."

"I must insist, Lydia, that while you are in the neighbourhood, you must call upon us at Brindlewood, as well," Jane offered, unwittingly supplying Elizabeth a way out of this new and unexpected dilemma.

"That may be the best solution in any case, Lydia, as we are in the middle of remodelling...I am afraid the house is not fit for company."

"Remodelling?" Cried Mrs. Bennet, "Why, Lizzy, you have mentioned nothing of this! I wonder at your not coming to me for advice, for I have the names of all the best shops in town for purchasing materials."

"Yes, Mama, but I knew that you would be preoccupied with Kitty's wedding, and so did not want to distract you. Besides, our housekeeper has dealt with this sort of thing in the past and knows exactly what to do." As a matter of fact, they were merely redoing the nursery to accommodate another occupant, and that hardly affected the rest of the house. This, of course, she did not relay to the company at large.

"Oh, your housekeeper," Mrs. Bennet repeated, still miffed, "Yes, I suppose these great houses have their own ways of doing things...I should have realised."

"Come now, Mrs. Bennet," Mr. Bennet urged amiably, "Do not be put out. Perhaps Lizzy shall be anticipating your opinion when the work is, at last, completed."

"Yes, of course," agreed Elizabeth, glaring with little disguised exasperation at her father, "I look forward to that day, most impatiently."

After dinner, Georgiana took Elizabeth aside, her expression one of concern. "Elizabeth, is something wrong?"

"Why no, Georgiana, why do you ask?" All the while pondering as to what would incite such a question, Elizabeth studied her sister-in-law guardedly.

She looked embarrassed before she answered, "I have noticed that you have been feeling unwell,...I mean, perhaps more than usual, and I wondered if that were the real reason for our returning to Pemberley so soon."

Georgiana, of course, was aware of the pregnancy. Such a thing would be impossible to conceal while living in the same household, but she had promised to not breathe a word to anyone beyond herself. No, her concern must them pertain to Elizabeth's, somewhat, irratic behaviour of late.

Taking a breath, Elizabeth admitted, "Well, that is part of it, certainly. I hope you are not unhappy with this...I am sure that if you wished to stay longer, it could be arranged."

"There is little reason for me to do so. Kitty is gone, and I have some things I have been wishing to see to at home."

She blushed as she said this, causing Elizabeth to suspect that Georgiana was anxious to check the posts for any letters from Mr Michael Berrick, her betrothed.

"Then, Georgiana," Elizabeth suggested, "It really is a good idea to return sooner than later, is it not?"

"Yes, I suppose it is," she agreed, her cheeks still displaying a slight shade of crimson.

That night, as they lay in bed together; his arms around her comfortably, Elizabeth relayed Lydia's disquieting revelation. "At first when she intimated it, I was unclear as to her meaning, but the more I considered the matter, the more I believe that it must be so...Oh, Fitzwilliam, you shall yet rue the day that you married into such a family."

He had indicated little reaction while she spoke. Now he spoke reassuringly, "I shall not regret my marriage despite your convictions to the contrary, Elizabeth. No matter what your sister may do, it has little to do with your own character."

"I am relieved you feel so. There are some who shall judge us more harshly, I fear."

"You are afraid of this becoming public knowledge."

"I have little doubt of it. Lydia is unlikely to remain quiet on the subject for long; especially if Mr. Wickham does not change his ways...an unreliable transformation, in any case."

"Do you suppose he suspects?"

"I doubt if he even cares, considering his display of ignorance this afternoon."

After a moment of silence, he said, "There is nothing we can do, you know." His words, intended as a helpful reminder that her own disquiet would certainly not affect the parties involved, and only cause her further unneeded anxiety.

"I know that, but I cannot help but be concerned for their baby," she argued, "The poor child shall grow up branded and ostracised. It hardly seems fair."

"Life is unfair, as you well know, my love, and yet, who can tell? Perhaps she shall grow to be intelligent and accomplished; enough to separate herself from her unfortunate parents."

"That shall probably depend greatly on whomever the father truly is...I fear Lydia's influence would result in neither of these advantages."

"Well, she, herself, could be invited to Pemberley at times in future, where I am certain a far better influence might be attained for her."

"You would do that, knowing her parents?" She found herself touched by such an unselfish offer.

"If it will keep you from worrying about her, it would be an easy concession to make," he replied.

Raising herself upon her elbows, she contemplated her husband in the dimness of the room, "It is no wonder that I love you so, Fitzwilliam Darcy. You are generous to a fault."

"You are mistaken, madam," he assured her, "I am actually quite selfish; for my motive in this case is to keep your mind upon your husband and not on matters with which you have little control."

"Then, I would have to say, that your scheme has proven to be most successful." With that, her lips happily met his, with the intent to express her gratitude in a manner certain to be satisfying to them both.

~ Chapter Three ~

"Now, Lizzy, take care, and do write within the fortnight." Mr. Bennet's words served as both a concern, and a reminder that her mother should only be uninformed as to her condition, for so long.

"Yes, Papa," she assured him. "You know, that you are always welcome at Pemberley."

"Surely he can wait to desert us until you are finished with your remodelling," interjected her mother, still sounding a bit aggrieved by Elizabeth's lack of confidence.

"Which we hope," responded Elizabeth patiently, "To be very soon."

They were bidding their farewells outside of Longbourne house; Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Mary, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, to all of the Darcys. Mr. and Mrs. Wickham were nowhere in sight as it was not quite ten in the morning, and, Lydia, at least within the family's memory, had never appeared downstairs before eleven.

"We will see you when we return north," said Jane, studying her sister anxiously, "We shall talk then."
It was at that moment that Elizabeth suspected Jane was already aware of their secret, and would, when next they met, rightfully scold her for their deceit in the matter.

Returning her embrace, she acceded, "I shall be looking forward to it." It was not a falsehood. She did wish to confide everything to her elder sister, much as she had done since their childhood, and the events of the past few days were still weighing heavily on her mind.

Once all goodbyes had been said, and the carriage loaded, the family, themselves boarded; Georgiana and Florence Mills each holding a child upon their respective laps.

As they moved away from the house, Elizabeth waved; her heart recognising the familiar notice that another piece of her past was now permanently altered. Ever since her marriage three years earlier, she had felt thus. She was no longer simply one of the Bennet girls, Longbourne was no longer her one, true home; and although she loved her parents deeply ( despite their eccentricities), she could not return to who she used to be. The first time she had become aware of this, she had suffered a brief but significant period of mourning; for, unless that childhood is too painful to recall, what person would wish to leave it behind forever?

"Perhaps", she thought now, "All brides must bear such a passage. The realisation that she can never again be the daughter of the house must be an inevitable blow to any stability in life. Therefore, such a change in status must affect all in some similar manner, unless that status was somehow unusual to begin with...such as Miss Bingley."

Marriage, in her case, would have had to have been a welcome relief. To rely on her siblings for so long (she was easily eight and twenty by the time of her wedding) would have been burdensome in itself. Besides this, was the fact, that her only true home (outside of Netherfield which was not truly theirs, as it was leased), had been the Bingley house in London; acquired a mere three years earlier by her brother. Despite this concession, Elizabeth could not sympathise with that lady. She had never pretended friendship with any of the Bennets, save Jane, for which Elizabeth was ever thankful.

"For, her friendship," Elizabeth had decided soon after their introduction, "Would only remain sincere so long as there was something to be gained by it." Of this opinion she had never had cause to waver. The only surprise since becoming familiar with the former Miss Bingley, had been that Mr. Darcy had been among those to consider her a true friend.

Knowing him as she did now, she found it difficult to understand what common bond would have formed such a connection. He, even upon their earliest acquaintance, had prided himself on his straightforward manner and honesty. Miss Bingley, as did many young ladies of her class, chose to deal with others with deceit and underhandedness.

Granted, both, at that time, met the world with an unconcealed disdain and haughtiness intended to keep those less desirable at arms length. Until, upon falling in love with the previously unworthy Miss Elizabeth Bennet, Mr. Darcy had seen the error of his ways.

Miss Bingley, on the other hand, would have no such similar motive, especially now, to follow his example. She had married an Earl, after all, and what better way to feed one's sense of self-importance, than to add a title onto their name.

Elizabeth's fondness for Lord Fitzwilliam, himself, only caused her to wonder anew at Miss Bingley's well-disguised charms. That gentleman, however, restoring her faith in his common sense, had treated his wife with an irony which had surprised and delighted Mrs. Darcy. Even at the wedding reception, his manners had been such that he would not allow their own position to appear too pretentious.

When the new Lady Fitzwilliam grandly offered to host the next ball at the family home in Matlock, he countered the invitation with, "We shall have to block the draughts in the chimneys and cracks in the panes before then, of course." Likewise, when she described the countless generations of aristocracy who had graced the halls of the manor, he had remarked, "Oh yes, cut-throats and robbers, the lot of them. No doubt, the original title was acquired, not through the usual fashion of royal endowment, but by simple thievery...The Fitzwilliams were nothing if not clever." Then, she had glared at him, but he, refusing to be humbled; merely used the occasion to bow low, and request her as a partner for the next dance.

"No," Elizabeth decided, amused at these recollections, "He should keep his wife from becoming the true despot she might easily be, if left to her own devices.

A jarring rut in the road returned her to the present. James, becoming bored already with the journey, squirmed against Florence in an attempt to slide down onto the floor of the coach. Meeting Elizabeth's eyes for her opinion on the matter, Florence reluctantly let him go.

"I suppose he shall be all right there for a while," Elizabeth assented, "So long as he behaves." This provision was added for her elder son's benefit, for he had begun to play with Ethan's boot laces in a way which he knew to irritate. Hearing his mother's warning caused only a momentary delay in his purpose, for very soon he was walking his fingers up his brother's leg, bunching up his woollen stockings as he did so.

Just as Ethan had begun to protest, Fitzwilliam reached down, picked up the astonished James and set him firmly upon his lap. The whole company was silent for a time after that; Mr. Darcy's countenance being so intimidating that no one dared disturb the veneration he had evoked.

When they stopped for luncheon at an inn nearly halfway to the first night's stop, Elizabeth pulled him aside while the others entered the building, her eyes laughing into his, "I believe you caused poor Jamie's heart to stop beating momentarily, my love. Certainly you did my own."

Smiling ruefully, he replied, "Perhaps I was abrupt, but it is time for him to learn a lesson or two in the consideration of others."

"And, you are just the person to teach him," she agreed, "I am afraid that Florence and myself do not inspire such instant acquiescence as you. No doubt, it is your overwhelming stature in comparison with his own."

With a sigh, he conceded, "Do not worry, Elizabeth, I shall not become a tyrant. The problem is, that he has the means to be one, himself, if steps are not taken to correct his behaviour very soon."

"Ah, yes...Well, Mr. Darcy, you turned out fairly well despite your having similar means; which tells me that you were taught some rather valuable lessons along the way, yourself."

"I hope he does not have to go about learning some of those lessons in the same manner as I...I would not wish such a case on my worst enemy."

Something in the way he spoke caused her to blush. "To what, exactly are you referring, sir?" She asked haughtily, although she thought she knew.

"In attaining the regard of a certain lady, the lessons learnt were both painful and humiliating, as you well know, Mrs. Darcy."

"It is hardly my fault that these lessons were not completed long before your meeting this lady. Were you not already a gentleman of ample experience?"

"My experiences did nothing to prepare me for this lady's unrelenting standards."

"Yet, are you not a better man for it?"

"You know that I am." The playfulness had gone out of his manner, his eyes had become serious as they gazed into her own. "There was little which I would not have done to earn her love...your love, Elizabeth." At some time as he was speaking, his face had neared her own, until, of their own accord, her arms had stolen around him while her lips were drawn to his.

"And you have succeeded, most admirably," she breathed when their lips parted, "So, you see, there is hope for your son after all."

"Heaven help him, however," rejoined her husband wryly, "If he should happen to meet yet another Miss Bennet."

After lunch, the company in the carriage soon quieted as both children fell into untroubled slumber, and each adult drifted into their own private daydream.

Georgiana's thoughts, despite her serene countenance, were not still. Seeing Mr. Wickham again had, surprisingly, affected her very little.

"He is nothing to me," she realised then, "Why, he is less than nothing." In the end, she found herself pitying the unfortunate Lydia, who had alternated between proving to one and all how strong their union still was, to treating her husband with the same bored contempt which he displayed so frequently to her.

Their, somewhat unexpected, appearance before the wedding, acted only as a slight diversion, causing her less distress than, she suspected, even Elizabeth could claim.

While rejoicing in Kitty's, happiness, her impatience for her own nuptials had begun to arise without forethought or intent. Being at Longbourne over the past week had kept her from receiving Michael Berrick's letters; an almost daily reminder of his regard which she had come to rely on, and even, expect. To make matters worse, it had been three very long weeks since she had seen him. He had tried to make the trek from London to Pemberley at least once a month since their engagement, a commitment which he remained faithful to, despite the ever-increasing demands of business.

Through him, she had discovered that she could be clever and quick-witted, rather than shy and tongue-tied; although this transformation seemed to occur only when he was holding her close, teasing her, or otherwise bringing her out of herself.

She thought it amazing really,...that she, Georgiana Darcy; perfect daughter, sister, mistress, aunt, could be something beyond all of that. That she could be passionate, outspoken, fervent, and even feel ravishingly beautiful.

Deep down, however, she believed she was truly none of these things. It was through Michael that the illusion was complete, and without his presence, she was back to being dependable Georgiana, dull Georgiana, forgettable Georgiana.

Even now, the memory of his arms around her, his lips caressing her own, stirred such flutterings within her, that, if they were to be suspected by her family, it would surely mortify her deeply.

"Elizabeth cannot feel like this...she is far too sensible," she scolded herself, "As you should be, as well. He is only a man. Any power to alter my character should come from within myself, not from him." Still, her thoughts would wander where they should not; replaying their moments alone, and returning her mind to when she would next see him.

Chapter Four

Posted on Wednesday, 17 July 2002, at 8:51 p.m.

Three days before Christmas, there fell a proper snow of at least six inches, covering most of the northern counties.

That morning, Elizabeth bundled up her children and took them out to the courtyard to share with them this wondrous event. They were, as she had hoped, delighted; spending the first fifteen minutes simply becoming used to moving about without constantly falling.

Ethan, especially, seemed to pass as much time in lying down, as in walking; the brevity of his stride hindering his ability to clear the unbroken snow successfully. Finally, Elizabeth convinced him to follow in her own tracks, along with his brother, and as a result, she resembled nothing so much as a mother fox being trailed by her kittens.

When they were wearied of that exercise, she knelt to build a snow castle. Immediately they were beside her, their mittened hands attempting to scoop up as much as her larger ones. Very soon, Ethan lost interest; discovering instead, that if he lay in certain positions, he could make intriguing shapes upon the snows surface.
Just as the two remaining stone masons (or snow, in this case) had completed the highest turret, a shadow fell across them.

"You have no flag upon your tower," stated Mr. Darcy, who had been watching from his study window for some twenty minutes.

"Have you a suggestion?" Inquired his wife, squinting into the sunlight which gleamed over his shoulder.

Taking from his coat pocket an embroidered handkerchief, he suggested, "Perhaps a stick for the pole?"
Immediately, James sped off to seek an item of the correct length, kicking up powdery clouds of snow behind him.

He returned a moment later, proudly bearing a broken twig from a mulberry bush before him. "Here, Papa," he announced, "A pole for the flag."

Breaking it in half, for it was just a bit large, Fitzwilliam carefully tied the handkerchief around it, and handed it to James. "What is to be the name of your kingdom?" He questioned solemnly.

During this exchange, Elizabeth rose, brushing off her skirts, all the while keeping a watchful eye upon her younger son.

Bearing an expression of concentration, James considered. "London Bridge?" He suggested uncertainly; his familiarity with such structures still being, somewhat, limited.

"Perfect," pronounced his father as he handed the "flag" to the young monarch to be duly installed. James, matching the elder Mr. Darcy in tone and bearing, pushed the stick into the high tower, then stepped back to admire it.

"Lovely," commented Elizabeth, earning a frown from her son, and a glance of amusement from her husband.

"Madam," he reproached her even while a smile threatened to emerge; "A flag may be inspiring, grand, or proud, but never lovely."

"Pardon me," she apologised, "It is certainly all of this, and more. A fitting tribute to a good and kind king."

The handkerchief fluttered in the wind; the snow surrounding it already beginning to freeze hard by the combination of the sun setting and the rapidly dropping temperature.

By then, Ethan was beside them, his cheeks rosy, and his clothing quite damp. "Mama, told," he complained, tugging at her skirt.

"Yes, my love," she replied, picking him up, "I believe it is time that we all went in."

As they turned toward the house, however, James did not follow. He remained rooted, staring at the shadows widening around their castle, his face a study of concern and perplexity.

"Come along, James," urged Fitzwilliam, wondering at the boy's hesitation.

"Papa...," he responded unhappily, "I cannot go."

After meeting Elizabeth's glance of surprise, his father stooped beside him to whisper something into his ear which seemed to mollify him. Then, without further argument, he allowed himself to be carried inside.

Once the children had been bathed and given their "tea" of warm milk and toast, she asked her husband what, exactly, had transpired between them.

"Well, as any wise king, he was concerned for his kingdom. He did not wish to leave it unprotected."

"And, what did you tell him to ease his fears?" She asked, half-teasing.

"That all truly sound castles are surrounded by a wall, and that his, would boast the highest wall of all. He understood immediately."

"You are very good," she smiled fondly, "But, what shall you tell him when it melts?"

"I will have to consider that when the time comes," he admitted, "For now, I would say it is quite safe from that one, particular threat."

Meanwhile, there was Christmas to prepare for. As on the year before, evergreen boughs and holly were brought in and hung over doorway and mantle.

Mr. Berrick, with his sister, Mrs. Paquin, and her daughter, Bernadette, would be coming from London in time for Christmas Eve, while the Bingleys were to arrive Christmas morning and stay through the New Year.

Ethan's first birthday, which happened to be on Boxing Day (the day following Christmas), added another reason for celebration, as though one were going to be needed.

Christmas Eve day, Georgiana fluttered nervously from window to window, her eyes wide and anxious, her cheeks pale. Finally, Elizabeth set her to the task of counting the linen napkins simply to have her settled in one place. Even then, she recounted the same stack so many times that few actual results could be determined.

"I have never seen her so distraught," commented Elizabeth to Fitzwilliam at one point, when they were certain not to be overheard. "This must, indeed, be the proof of her regard."

"Is this, then, how a lady reveals her regard?" He asked, disbelieving, "I find it difficult to imagine you in such a state."

Raising her eyebrows, she retorted, "I have found that, when in love, a lady generally behaves directly opposite of her normal manner. Thus, I would not have been the same as your sister."

"No, you would not," he observed cryptically.

Trying to decide if he were being facetious or not, she studied him, but his countenance gave her little clue. Finally, lifting her chin a bit, she said, "Well, my response today would be very different from what it might have been three years ago, in any case.

"Am I to understand from this, that, your feelings are demonstrated more explicitly, or less?"

"Which would you suppose?" She asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

"I would suppose, that your behaviour when I am away, is different from when I am here," he replied noncommittally.

"At which assumption you would be correct," was all she intended to say as she turned to leave him; exhibiting every ounce of dignity possible. Before she had even reached the door, however, he was there, his arms around her.

"No, Elizabeth," he breathed into her hair, "You will not go with only that. Tell me that you love me as much...no, more than three years ago; that every moment apart is as agonising for you, as for myself. Tell me."

The fervour in his voice had a strange effect upon her. Without really meaning to, she felt herself leaning back against him, while she whispered heedlessly, "My love for you has multiplied a hundredfold, my darling, Fitzwilliam. Each moment away from you is, truly, time wasted. I cannot even compare what I feel now, to, then."

As she spoke he had begun kissing her neck, her shoulders, while his hands gently caressed her rounded stomach.

After several exhilarating moments of losing herself in his attentions, she was brought abruptly back to the present by his lowered voice near her ear. "There," he murmured, "Was that so very difficult, my love?"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy," she turned, still within his arms, to admonish him, "Woe be to the man who takes advantage of a helpless female; using trickery in order to hear what he desires."

"It is pitiful, is it not," he smiled into her eyes, "What some men must do, simply to have their wives confess all?"

"It is hardly necessary, you know," she responded tartly, "If I do not say it aloud, there are other ways with which I show my regard."

"There are," he agreed, the expression on his face much like a naughty child's.

As they were standing just within the doorway of the drawing room, the sound of a servant's step behind them caused her to move away from him suddenly. Still, the ardour in his countenance did not waver.

From this distance, her impertinence was quickly restored. "Mr. Darcy," she reproved him, "You forget where you are."

"Not a bit of it," he replied, calmly, "This is my house, you are my wife...You see, I have forgotten nothing."

"No,..." she smiled at last; "You have not, but this is hardly the time or the place."

"Perhaps not," he conceded at last, taking a breath, "You, see, madam, what power you hold over me. I might have made the ultimate mistake of allowing another to witness my regard for you."

The irony in his tone was difficult to miss, still she chose to ignore it. "Then, please, do not let it happen again." With that, she did withdraw from him, missing the regret left by her reply, in his eyes.

The arrival of Mr. Berrick and party at five o'clock in the afternoon, came as a welcome relief from the stress of the day.

As they were announced, Georgiana looked up from where she was reading aloud to James, her face becoming chalk-white in the process. It had, after all, been nearly five weeks since they had last met, and her mind was suddenly filled with questions, such as; "Whatever shall we talk about?" and, "What if his feelings have altered?"

Upon his entrance, however, Mr. Berrick's eyes met her own, putting an end to her fears; for, in their gaze was displayed his own unwavering attachment.

As soon as the whole company was seated, he said, "Miss Darcy, I must request your attention alone for just a moment, if you do not mind?" The others in the room made it a point of not noticing their departure, yet the object of his request hung meaningfully in the air.

He led her to the study, speaking not a word the whole way, until the door had closed behind them. Then, taking her into his arms, he kissed her deeply, his lips telling her what he had not. When he released her at last, he apologised, saying, "I fear that I cannot wait until tomorrow to give you your gift...Do you mind?"

Still feeling a bit unsteady from his kiss, she nodded, then shook her head, forgetting his question in the process.

Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, he took out a small box and placed it in her hand carefully, closing her fingers around it as though to keep it secure. "Georgiana," he said, his voice low, "I cannot afford much as yet, but accept this for now. Look at it when we are apart and know how much I love and miss you."

Almost afraid to do so now, she stared down at the box, her heart caught firmly in her throat so that she could not even manage a simple "thank you". When she hesitated from opening the lid, he did so for her, his eyes watching her face all the while. Inside was nestled a delicate silver ring; at its centre a glittering red stone surrounded by very tiny diamond chips.

"It is a garnet...your birthstone, you see?" He explained, appearing suddenly anxious, "Do you like it, Georgiana?"

"Yes...," she answered after finding her voice, "Yes, of course. Oh, Michael, it is lovely." Having not moved from gazing upon it, he finally took the box from her, lifted the ring from its place, and slid it onto her finger.

When she had begun to cry, she could not have said, nonetheless, tears were falling upon the ring with surprising regularity.

He was holding her closely against him then, his lips in her hair, momentarily as speechless as she. After regaining enough composure to meet his eyes, she stated, her voice shaky, "Thank you,...I shall not ever remove it."

Smiling, he kissed her once more; "I could not, of course, know if you do, yet, simply hearing such a promise is quite satisfying."

"Then," she replied happily, "I shall repeat it often."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Five

Upon their return to the drawing room, neither mentioned the ring, although Georgiana purposely draped her hand over the arm of her chair to place it in plain sight.

Thus, when they rose to go into supper, Elizabeth drew her aside, whispering, "It is beautiful, Georgiana, and, I must say, looks quite natural upon your hand."

"It is, isn't it?" Georgiana agreed, blushing and smiling, "I must admit that I was taken completely by surprise."

"I am very happy for you," declared her sister-in-law warmly, "Mr. Berrick is, indeed, most fortunate."

"I consider myself so, as well," was her heartfelt response.

"I am sure you shall be very content together."

"Thank you, I am certain that we shall."

During dinner, they were surprised by the arrival of Colonel Fitzwilliam, whose explanation for his unexpected appearance was that his horse had suddenly gone lame.

"I was on my way to Matlock for the holidays, of course," he related, as he was brought a place setting and a glass of wine, "When only a mile or so from Pemberley, Goldenrod began to falter, and then stopped outright. Couldn't make the beast move, no matter what I did. I finally decided to stop for the night, and check him out in the morning. You do not mind, I hope?"

"Of course not," assured Elizabeth, while Fitzwilliam silently studied his cousin, wondering if the lameness of his horse had anything to do with Mrs. Paquin being their guest for the week. If that same thought had occurred to anyone else at the table, there was no evidence of it. The addition of Colonel Fitzwilliam only added to the festive atmosphere, where even Bernadette emerged from her recently acquired timidity, with an offer to play for them after the meal.

After everyone had retired, Elizabeth carefully placed several small packages into her own children's and Bernadette's stockings, hung at the foot of their beds. Then, as quietly as possible, she retreated, lest they be disturbed by her presence. Fitzwilliam, who had watched her from the hall, did not venture into the nursery, and as she came out, he turned and entered their own room ahead of her, saying nothing.

As she lay beside him, she thought of each of their guests in turn. Finally, she asked, "Fitzwilliam, did you mention Georgiana's ring to her?"

"Yes, of course," he replied, his voice, perhaps a bit, short.

Surprised by his tone, she was silent for a moment. Then, "What is wrong?"

"There is nothing wrong, Elizabeth."

"Are you angry?" She found herself to be more surprised than anything else. He had appeared to be fine throughout the evening.

"I am not angry...only tired, I suppose."

"Oh." Carefully, she went over the events of the day, but could find nothing with which to reproach herself. "...May I have a kiss goodnight?" She did not generally have to ask, but his manner gave evidence that he was not feeling so inclined. As if obeying some command, he leaned over, kissed her on her cheek, then rolled away from her wordlessly. Bewildered, she waited for some moments before she spoke again, "Fitzwilliam?" But this time, he declined to answer at all, leaving her to assume that he must be asleep, and that his ill-humour actually was from being overtired.

When she awoke, she was alone. A grey light was shining through the windows, and gradually, she remembered that it was Christmas Day, and that the house was filled with company. Immediately, she rose, thankful that her bouts of morning sickness had finally passed the week before; to ring for her bath.

Downstairs, she lay gifts beside each breakfast plate, arranging each with a sprig of holly atop it. Then she stood back to admire the table. The thought occurred to her as it had several times that morning, that her husband had somehow made himself invisible. Considering his uncertain mood the night before, she was not sure what to think, yet, her prying would certainly only make the situation worse.

She had realised over time that some men prefer to speak aloud of their feelings; to sort them out and listen to various viewpoints, while others do not. Obviously, he was of the latter group, as he was just as likely to return to his normally placid self far sooner without her assistance, as with it.

Sighing at the thought of enduring his silence on this day above all, she turned to see him framed in the doorway. He must have been outdoors, as his boots were covered with snow, quickly melting into pools upon the rug.

Finding her voice, she greeted him, "Happy Christmas."Unsure yet, as to what response to expect.

But, "Happy Christmas," he returned, sounding almost normal.

He did not, however, move toward her, and in an effort to bolster her sinking spirits, she asked, "Were you out riding?"

"Yes," was his reply. Then, "The table looks very festive."

"Thank you." Taking a breath, she said, "Fitzwilliam, I do not know what I said or did yesterday to upset you, but, whatever it was, I do apologise."

He studied her, his countenance unreadable. Finally he observed, "It must be difficult to express regret when you have no idea what you are regretting."

Before she could respond, for he had taken her somewhat by surprise, Georgiana rushed in, holding several packages, her eyes on the table.

"I beg your pardon," she said to no one on particular, "I was so afraid that I had overslept, and I did so want these out before everyone was awake."

"I am sure you have plenty of time, Georgiana," Elizabeth answered absent-mindedly, all the while watching her husband's face. What did he mean? What had she done to hurt him so? For, there was no doubt in her mind now, that somehow, sometime, she had hurt him.

Then abruptly, he turned and was gone. Listening to his footsteps fading, she surmised that he must have gone upstairs to bathe and dress before the others should appear.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

"Thank you, Elizabeth, these are lovely," Georgiana exclaimed, holding the little tortoise-shell combs before her.

"You are most welcome, and thank you, as well, for the opera gloves, Georgiana," returned Elizabeth, thoroughly appreciating the lovely pair given her (Upon their return from Germany in the spring, she found that she had misplaced her former set).

From Mrs. Paquin, she had received the novel, A School for Scandal by Mr. Sheridan, which she had been most anxious to read, and from Mr. Berrick, a slim book of prose by Mr. Milton. To each of them, she had given a small gold bookmark, cleverly designed to slide onto the top of the page desired. Hers was made to resemble an orchid; his, the scales of justice.

Fitzwilliam, in his place at the head of the table; opened his own gifts while watching the others with their own, saying but little. When he picked up the package from her, she observed him from beneath her lashes, feeling unaccountably nervous. But, he did not untie the little string which bound it immediately. Instead, he balanced it in his hand, his face thoughtful.

When she thought that she might have to urge him to open it, he finally did so, carefully laying aside the paper so that the gift lay, revealed. Seeing it through his eyes, she thought it looked rather humble, but she had been determined to use only her allowance, and not request extra; even for this occasion.

It was a small book. Upon its soft blue cover, drawn by herself, was a bouquet of spring flowers. The title, which she had penned so painstakingly, read simply, Sonnets. Inside, she had copied several pages of prose from different authors, including Coleridge, Shakespeare and Wordsworth, alternating with a few composed by herself. She bore little illusion concerning her own pieces, but they were written with him in mind, and in that spirit she hoped he appreciated the anguish of presenting them to him; thus laying herself open to his scrutiny.

He said nothing for several moments. Finally, after what seemed an interminable wait, he murmured softly, "Elizabeth,...thank you." He appeared to wish to say something more, but meeting her eyes at last, he only shook his head slightly; a smile just touching his lips.

His gift to her was a cameo pendant. The background surrounding the ivory silhouette was of a delicate pink mother-of-pearl; the frame of gold filigree. On one side, there was set a tiny clasp which she pressed almost gingerly.

Instantly, the front snapped open, revealing a cavity only large enough to hold a gathered slip of paper. She took it out, now curious; unfolding and reading the words inscribed there, silently.

My love is boundless as the sea,
My love is deep.
The more I give to thee, the more I have,
For both are infinite.*

She recognised, at once, his handwriting and the source; her heart catching at the image in her mind of his choosing this particular passage.

Looking up at him, she smiled, her eyes becoming misty. "The quote, although beautiful, cannot pertain to us, for we could not be doomed to such a fate," she managed at length, keeping her voice low so as to not be overheard.

"I would, indeed, hope that to be the case. The sentiment, however, is expressed far more profoundly than anything, I might have contrived," he replied in the same tone, his eyes holding hers while he spoke. Whatever discontent he had been harbouring throughout the last evening and even this morning, appeared to be at an end; for his countenance was as clear and tender as it had ever been.

"Thank you," she breathed (to not only her husband).

Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice checked the length of their gaze. "I do not know to whom I owe my thanks, but to them, I do so from the bottom of my heart." He was holding a pair of fine riding gloves, while looking to be both pleased and puzzled.

"Why, Father Christmas, of course," answered Elizabeth with a smile. The gloves had been intended for her husband, but because she wished no one to be overlooked on this morning, it was the work of a moment to alter the name of their recipient.

As they rose from the table, Fitzwilliam touched her arm gently, saying, "Wait, Elizabeth." The others left the room without looking back to see if Mr. and Mrs. Darcy might be following, granting him the privacy desired.

"Thank you again," she said, still holding the pendant in her hand, "It is lovely."

"You are wondering why I was out of sorts earlier, are you not?" He asked as though she had not spoken.

"Yes," she admitted, "I confess I am at a loss to explain it...It seemed to come on so suddenly."

"Do you recollect our conversation yesterday afternoon?" He studied her face while he spoke, his expression troubled.

"Yesterday...," recalling the moment when she had forgotten herself in his arms, she blushed, but replied truthfully, "I hardly remember what we were talking of."

"It was not really what was said, but what was implied," he reminded her.

"Implied?" She looked at first surprised and then perplexed. "I surely did not mean to imply anything that would cause you such distress."

"Elizabeth," he spoke soberly, his eyes on her hands now being held within his own, "Then, you did not intend to refuse my attentions outright?"

"Fitzwilliam," she cried, astonished, "If I said or did anything at all of sense, it was surely not that!" Stepping back in the hope that he might see and believe her sincerity through her countenance, she continued, "Have you not known me long enough to recognise that I have little will or choice when it comes to the...stimulation you have always managed to incite? If I seemed to refuse you, it was only because I was so very near to losing control of myself entirely. I did not suppose that the servants should be privy to such shocking impropriety." Finishing with an expression of mocking self-derision, she waited for his reaction breathlessly.

He had, during her vehement denial, become quiet. At length, he said, "Then, I must apologise for misinterpreting you so excessively. It had seemed, of late, that you have been avoiding my attentions."

As he had not moved, she slid her arms around his neck, still feeling the need to reassure him; "Forgive me, my love. Perhaps my condition has altered my manner, but please, do not assume it is intended to drive you from me, or to discourage you in any way." Standing upon her toes, she kissed his lips; an action impulsively followed by several more, until he had no choice but to respond in kind.

When, at last, his arms were around her and she was being held close to him, she smiled, relieved by this satisfying turn of events, "Should we begin again, then?" At his expression of bewilderment, she reiterated, "Happy Christmas, my darling, Fitzwilliam."

Kissing her again more deeply, he returned, "Happy Christmas, my love."

*From "Romeo and Juliet" by W. Shakespeare
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Six

That afternoon, the Bingleys' arrived, their children as excited by the day as the Darcy's own. No sooner had the cousins been settled in the nursery with their newest acquisitions, while their parents were ensconced in the drawing room, when the Covingtons were announced.

Elizabeth was surprised; Fitzwilliam less so.

"I am sorry," he apologised to her in a low voice, as they rose to greet them, "I met Mr. Covington this morning while I was riding. He expressed an interest to call with the family, as Kathleen is home from her tour."

"Kathleen?"

"Their second daughter...twenty now, I believe."

The Covingtons, neighbours of the Darcys, had proven themselves invaluable friends in the three years since Elizabeth had come to Derbyshire. She liked and admired Mrs. Covington immensely for her common sense and forthrightness; both traits being a great comfort to her in the midst of last summers tribulations. They had four grown children. The older two, Patrick and Colleen, had long since married and moved away. Of the younger; their son, Ian, had only recently wed and returned to Greenmont: the Covington estate; while their daughter, Kathleen, had been absent for nearly two years on a grand tour of Europe.

Elizabeth said nothing more, as the family, by then, were entering; effusively wishing everyone "Happy Christmas" and apologising for disrupting the serenity of their afternoon.

"Nonsense," argued Elizabeth, embracing Mrs. Covington warmly, "We are most happy to see you."

"You dear girl," returned Mrs. Covington, "But, pray, allow us to introduce our youngest to you...Kathleen?"

The young woman who had come in with them, now stepped forward. "Good afternoon," she greeted them amiably, "I have been dying to meet you at last, Mrs. Darcy, for you are all I have heard about from my parents since my return."

She was, Elizabeth decided, very pretty. Her blonde hair was tied up into saucy ringlets by green ribbons, her figure was full, yet neat, and her blue eyes danced as though they knew some amusing secret.

"I am pleased to meet you, as well, Miss Covington," she replied, smiling at her newest acquaintance.

"Oh, that does sound so formal," aggrieved the younger lady, wrinkling her nose, "But, I suppose we must observe such protocol until we are truly friends...Which I hope shall occur very soon."

After that, Elizabeth introduced the Bingleys, Colonel Fitzwilliam (who had postponed his trip to Matlock yet another day, for some untold reason), Mr. Berrick and Mrs. Paquin. Then, they all settled for a visit while waiting for their tea to be served.

"Did you enjoy your travels, Miss Covington?" Inquired Elizabeth politely.

"Some I took great delight in, but there were situations, I am sorry to say, which were barely tolerable. There are many people in this world of whom school hardly prepares you."

"Kathleen," interrupted her mother as a warning, but the girl laughed, saying, "Don't worry, Mama, I shall not go into the gruesome details." Turning her attention to Georgiana, she continued blithely, "Miss Darcy, I hear that you are engaged."

Georgiana blushed, but as Mr. Berrick was deep in conversation with Mr. Covington, she recovered and explained, while indicating that gentleman, "Yes, Mr. Berrick and I are to be wed this coming May."

"Oh, pardon me!" Miss Covington exclaimed. Then, studying Mr. Berrick covertly, declared, "You are to be congratulated Miss Darcy. He looks to be quite favourable...I am positive that you shall be extremely happy."

"Thank you," replied Georgiana, too embarrassed to look at anything but the pattern in the rug.

"I must have been in Germany the same time as you, Mrs. Darcy, according to my mother," Miss Covington, continued, hardly taking a breath, "Pray, what region were you in?"

"Frankfurt," answered Elizabeth, steeling herself against the question sure to follow.

"Frankfurt? Why, my good friend, Miss Sarah Brougham, has family from there. But, what could entice you to such a place? It is hardly part of the tour, and has few attractions." She wrinkled her nose again as she thought of it, unaware that Mrs. Darcy had visibly stiffened upon mention of the subject.

Mrs. Covington, however, did notice, and, without blinking an eye, smoothly took charge of the conversation. "Pray, Mrs. Bingley, how are you liking the North country?"

"Very much, thank you," replied Jane, "The scenery is so beautiful, I am amazed every day all over again."

"You have three children?"

"Yes, a girl and two boys...twins." She said this last rather proudly, a fact her listener took notice of.

"Twins? But then you shall always have twice the joy, I daresay."

"And, twice the headaches," put in Miss Covington with a laugh. "Mama cannot wait to have Greenmont simply overflowing with grandchildren. I cannot think why Patty and Col don't oblige her sooner, rather than later."

"Ah," announced Elizabeth, glad for a reason to change the subject once again, "The tea has arrived."

~~~~~~~~~~~

"She is rather...outspoken." Elizabeth relayed to her husband after the Covingtons had departed, but before rejoining their other guests.

"Yes, she is," he agreed, "But refreshingly so, don't you think?" With that, he left her to gape stupidly after him. Refreshing? Was this the same Fitzwilliam Darcy who cringed whenever he was near enough to Mrs. Bennet to hear her speak? Who avoided direct conversation with Mrs. Philips wherever possible? Refreshing? Well, he had known Kathleen Covington nearly all of his life, perhaps he was simply accustomed to her, whereas he was still adjusting, somewhat, to his in-laws.

The subject of Miss Covington arose again at dinner when Jane mentioned the afternoon. "She seems a very lively girl," she said, after exchanging a look with Elizabeth.

"An excellent horsewoman," put in Fitzwilliam, surprising his wife.

"Is she?" Inquired Colonel Fitzwilliam with some interest.

"Oh yes. She used to follow me about when I rode...became skilled herself out of pure necessity."

"I am amazed you tolerated her company," remarked Elizabeth under her breath, tiring of the subject, and wishing that her husband did not admire the lady's horsemanship quite so much.

"I always thought her to be somewhat thoughtless," commented Georgiana, who had noticed Elizabeth's growing irritation.

"Perhaps she was," conceded Fitzwilliam, "I confess I usually did not listen to her words, as such."

"Was this before, or after, you went to Cambridge?" Inquired Mr. Berrick, simply out of curiosity.

"Both, actually," was the reply, "Although, after, she was good enough to keep up quite adequately."

"I have no doubt of it," said Elizabeth, her voice cool. Then, deliberately turning to Mrs. Paquin, she asked, "Pray, are there any interesting concerts or plays in town?"

"I am not sure. I attend so rarely," answered Mrs. Paquin, startled by the unexpected question. "I had heard of there being one theatre troupe performing Love's Labours Lost. It is supposed to be very well done, I understand."

"Not one of Shakespeare's best works, I believe," Elizabeth observed airily while avoiding Fitzwilliam's eye, "I much prefer his tragedies, such as Romeo and Juliet."

"I have found," put in Mr. Berrick genially, "That the type of entertainment preferred, has much to do with my mood at the time. Romeo and Juliet is certainly appropriate if my spirits are low, but for when I am content, then I favour something like, A Midsummer Night's Dream or As you Like It."

"Oh, I adore A Midsummer Night's Dream," sighed Georgiana wistfully, "Although I have not had the chance to see it performed, as yet."

"When we are married, you shall go to the theatre as often as you wish," he promised, meeting her eyes. After a moment, she seemed to recall that they were not alone, coloured, and quickly looked down at her napkin.

"I recollect one of his plays in particular...I believe I saw it, perhaps five, six years ago; The Taming of the Shrew. Perhaps you have read it." This question, coming from Mr. Darcy, appeared to be directed solely at his wife, but it was Mr. Bingley who responded with great enthusiasm.

"We attended that together, did we not? Excellent cast, as I recall, especially the gentleman playing Petruchio. His methods of dealing with Katherine were most amusing."

"Yet, you would not think of treating a woman in such a fashion," retorted Elizabeth, her eyes locked with her husband's.

"Well, no, of course not," stammered Mr. Bingley, taken aback by her rebuke.

"Then why is it so amusing on stage?"

Mr. Bingley, now speechless, looked to his friend for support, whereas that gentleman, studying his wife, replied coolly, "Perhaps a man might consider undertaking such actions, yet never actually attempt them. Maybe that is what causes it to be amusing."

"In that case, such a man might be better off without a wife at all."

"Perhaps he might."

Silence ensued around the table, while the company attempted to ignore the tension between Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, whose gaze had, at last, separated.

Still, no one could think of anything to say, until Georgiana observed brightly, "Why, we have not yet toasted Christmas."

Mr. Berrick, taking her cue, rose, and holding aloft his glass, pronounced, "To this gathering; to family, friends, and to those absent, I wish a healthful and happy Christmastide."

All of them, even a belated Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, raised their glasses in reply, although their own enthusiasm was still obviously lacking.

The atmosphere in the Darcy's bedroom that night was decidedly chilly. Elizabeth could not remember when she had been so vexed with him, and she, herself, did not entirely understand the reason for it. Seated before her mirror, she brushed her hair so fiercely that her eyes watered from the pain inflicted.

For his part, Fitzwilliam had remained silent since dinner. He had not understood her mood, nor was he inclined to. He thought she was behaving illogically, thus childishly, and his patience was at an end. If she wished to pout, then so be it. He had been broad-minded far too long, he thought, and it was time she behaved as a wife and not as some spoiled schoolgirl.

And, so it went. Lying in bed, not saying a word to one another, they remained wrapped in their own sorry musings; neither willing to broach the idea of making up, just yet.

Chapter Seven

Posted on Thursday, 18 July 2002, at 5:28 p.m.

Awakening suddenly, Elizabeth sat up. Taking a deep breath, she recalled reluctantly the dream which had disturbed her so; vague, somehow haunting images of Miss Covington riding alongside Fitzwilliam. What exactly such a vision alleged was unclear, but even this did not alleviate her distress. Easing herself from the bed, she slipped on her dressing gown and let herself out of the room.

The house was dark except for a single wall sconce lit at the foot of the stairs. Cautiously she made her way to the drawing room. Lighting a candle inside the door, she peered around the dim room. Only a few embers burned on the hearth, and the chilled air soon crept up her gown and down her collar.

"Where is it?" She pondered aloud, "Where could I have left it?" The various tables set around the room appeared to contain only the items normally left there, and nothing more. "Perhaps one of the servants picked it up," she thought. "Perhaps they took it to my room and it is lying on my dressing table even as I am seeking it." Yet, in a way, she wanted it with her now.

She had a strong desire to read his words again; to reassure herself of the truth of those words, and the disappointment of not finding it caused her to sink down upon the sofa in despair.

Closing her eyes, she wondered dejectedly if maybe he, himself, had taken it back. Had he decided that the pledge contained therein, no longer meant what it had? Did he regret writing it to her? In her mind, she was holding the little pendent, the paper held safely between her fingers.

Yet, they were only words.

What if they meant nothing to him now? Perhaps he wished to write them to someone else instead of to her. She had little desire to suspect such a thing, yet, the admiration in his eyes when he spoke of Kathleen Covington was undeniable...unavoidable. Lord, how her heart ached.

How long she remained awake was an uncertainty. Somewhere in her dream, she heard her name being spoken. Forcing her eyes open, she saw him standing in the doorway in his dressing gown. Although it was still dark, objects in the room were now discernible. In her present state of being only half-awake, she could not even form his name.

Yet, she watched him as he moved toward her, his lips asking a question which she could not understand. There was a strange roaring in her ears, as waves pounding against a shore, causing her to feel as if she were wrapped in a thick cloth.

Am I dreaming still? She wondered, but no, she must be awake, for he had seated himself beside her, his eyes watching her face quizzically. At last, the noise faded, and she heard him repeating her name.

"Elizabeth, why are you here?"

"I...," she began, trying to recall what her reason had been, until the memory of the night before came flooding back; "I wished to find it, but I did not."

"Find what?"

"My pendant...the one you gave me. I must have mislaid it yesterday," she pulled herself up into a sitting position and looked around the room as though it might appear before her now.

"You had to do so at such an hour?"

"Yes. I had a dream...," but, meeting his eyes, she found herself reluctant to explain further. Instead she asked, "Fitzwilliam, do you love me?"

He did not hesitate, "You know that I do."

"Do I? Of late, I feel less certain of everything." She sighed, "I must beg your pardon for my behaviour yesterday. I fear that I was overreacting."

"To what, exactly?" His undisguised curiosity gave proof of his innocence. This alone relieved her mind greatly, but with such an awareness, there followed shame and embarrassment. How could she rationalise such distrust? How could she explain her irrational fears concerning he and Miss Covington?

"To...it is so silly, that I am ashamed to even admit it." Biting her lip, she stared down at his hand which had closed over her own. "Your deference to Miss Covington, I'm afraid, sent my imagination into places it had no business venturing."

"Elizabeth," he said softly, "Look at me."

Reluctantly, she complied, and was relieved to see that he was neither laughing nor angry.

"Do you believe that I love you?" He asked, his face quite serious.

"Yes...sometimes. The thing is, that I know you love me when you say it, or...write it, but when we are apart it does not seem so real." Smiling weakly, she laced her fingers through his, stroking them with her other hand; "I had heard of women in my condition becoming unstable, but I would not have suspected myself to become one of them."

"You are not unstable," he declared, allowing a smile to reach his lips, "However, somehow, I fear I must be failing you."

"How could that be?" Glad of his lighter mood, she returned his smile.

"Apparently, I have not convinced you enough of my regard, that you should doubt me still. What must I do to persuade you at last?"

"It appears I am hopeless. I fear you shall either have to give it up entirely, or...,"

"Or?" He encouraged, his finger tracing her cheek lightly.

"Or, I hope, renew your efforts," she sighed as his lips replaced his hand.

Somehow they returned upstairs to their bed, where their lovemaking continued to its inevitable conclusion, and whereafter, they remained contentedly entertwined as though sedated.

To again know the dizzying fervour of his touch was like coming home, and Elizabeth, feeling as though she must have been truly lost, had revelled in the glory of it with utter abandon.

As she lay in his arms, hearing his heartbeat against her ear, she sighed, "How I have missed you."

"You only supposed me gone. I have not left you."

"Well,...imagination is a curious thing, is it not?"

"Active at least. How you could believe that I should be interested in Miss Covington..."

"Please, I feel foolish enough as it is. You did defend her most ardently last evening, you know."

"I complimented her skills upon a horse. That hardly qualifies as unrestrained desire."

"You have never complimented my skills upon a horse."

"Elizabeth, you, yourself, have admitted that you have few, if any."

"Well,...I can remain upright, at least."

"True."

"Perhaps, this summer, you might assist me on improving."

"We shall see...Perhaps I would rather my children retain their mother."

"Well, if you are unwilling, I could ask someone else."

"No,...if anyone is to teach you, it had better to be myself."

"Fitzwilliam?"

"Elizabeth."

"Tell me something at which I am skilled."

"Sorry?"

"Your opinion of Miss Covington's horsewomanship is so daunting, I simply wish to know what your opinion of myself might be."

"Well, you are very good at taxing my patience."

"Oh, good. That is a start."

"And, your skills at argument are unsurpassed."

"Thank you."

"I harbour great admiration for your stubborn determination in the face of all sense and logic."

"You are most generous."

"And, Elizabeth...,"

"Yes?"

"I could not survive without you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The pendant, even with the help of Clara, her personal maid, continued to remain missing the next day and the next, causing Elizabeth no end of aggravation. Somehow, it had come to represent that one, particular Christmas Day along with its odd moods and misunderstandings, and she could not help but feel the loss of it quite keenly. In part, of course, because it had been given to her by her husband, but also, because she wished to reread the little note as a constant reminder of his fidelity, and her own foolishness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter Eight

The week's festivities culminated with all of them, together, toasting in the New Year of 1818.

The following morning, Mr. Berrick, his sister and niece, prepared to depart for London. The leave-taking between he and Georgiana proved to be excruciatingly painful, yet, mercifully short. He could not promise a date of return to Derbyshire, as he was to begin a new case with his mentor, Mr. Rutherford Nelson of Holborn, who dealt with nobility and commoner alike. He was a gruff, short tempered barrister; not one to suffer fools gladly; still, he commanded the respect of even the King's court, and Berrick considered himself fortunate to be under his tutelage.

Soon after Mrs. Paquin's departure, Colonel Fitzwilliam rode off alone in the direction of Matlock, his horse apparently recovered from its mysterious ailment. How he would explain his extended delay to his brother and sister-in-law was anybody's guess.

The Bingley's were to leave, as well, that afternoon, but before lunch, Jane drew Elizabeth aside.

"Lizzy," she began at once, her face glowing in anticipation of her news.

"Jane," Elizabeth guessed upon noting her sister's obvious elation, "You are...?"

"Yes, I am with child again. Oh, Lizzy I am so happy. I was afraid after the twins...," but, she stopped herself, biting her lip before she might inadvertently divulge more.

"What? Was there a problem with the twins? Why, Jane, you never mentioned it!"

"Oh, well," she confessed after enduring her sister's stare of accusation for a moment, "It does not signify what the doctor said, for I know that all shall be well."

"Jane, what were you told?" Elizabeth asked, fighting a terrible feeling of growing dread.

"It is of little consequence. I am perfectly fine...it is just that, the doctor had told me that I should not...You see, the twins were nearly too much. But, all that is immaterial. I am fine, and this child shall be fine. Please, Lizzy, be happy for me," she practically begged at seeing the look of alarm on her sister's face.

Finally, Elizabeth managed, "When, Jane?"

"June, I hope. I have always wanted a June baby."

Swallowing, Elizabeth forced a smile, "Then I hope you are so blessed." She could say nothing more as her heart seemed to be blocking her throat. Now, there was something else to occupy her mind. Why is it, she thought helplessly, that life cannot remain free from misfortune, for long?

At their departure, Elizabeth studied Mr. Bingley. Did he know of Jane's danger? She thought that he seemed to be treating her with even more tenderness than usual, but could not be certain. Watching them, she said a silent prayer to herself, "Please, Lord, take care of Jane, for she is far too trusting to do so herself."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

With the house to themselves once again, Elizabeth and Georgiana began to make real plans for the wedding, set for the end of May.

Working on the guest list together, Georgiana spoke suddenly, "Elizabeth, what if you have not had the baby yet? I could not be married without you."

"Georgiana," she replied, amused, "You shall be married whether I am present or not. I expect that Mr. Berrick will not wish to postpone the event any more than you. Besides, the way that I am feeling right now, I should hope the child will be well into his or her, first month, by that day."

"Yes,...I hope so, as well."

"Georgiana, is something wrong?"

"It is nothing...I am just feeling a bit lost today, I suppose."

Indeed, she did look desolate, and in the hope of cheering her, Elizabeth suggested that they suspend their task for a time. "Would you like to come outdoors with the children and I? I feel we all could all use some fresh air."
Reluctantly, Georgiana agreed, for she was not fond of winter, and felt that she was better off bearing out the season before a warm fire.

And so, they ventured out. It had snowed again during the night, laying a glittering white blanket over everything. Happily, the children broke through the unblemished plane, the sight of their own tracks affording them much delight.

A helpful stablehand brought forth a sled, and the two ladies took turns pulling the boys about the courtyard; any sharp turns sure to send them tumbling off, haphazardly. Still, no one was hurt, and the four were soon warmed through by the exercise.

They were surprised, but not displeased, by the sudden appearance of Fitzwilliam, who unceremoniously took charge of the sled. Setting his sons upon it, he pulled it out of the courtyard towards the nearest open hillside, which happened to be to the rear of the house about a quarter mile. After exchanging a silent glance, Elizabeth and Georgiana followed him without dispute, the frosty air inhibiting much conversation.

At the top of the hill, he seated himself behind the two already aboard, and pushed off, his arms held around them protectively. They adored it, of course; their squeals of laughter echoing over the countryside in repeated outbursts. The spirit was contagious. The ladies, watching from below, soon joined in the gaiety, until Elizabeth mentioned that her boots would very soon become frozen onto the snow, and, that it was time to return indoors.

~~~~~~~~~~~

After so much company, it felt almost odd to have only the three of them at dinner. The conversation was desultory; their voices seeming to echo back to them in the immense environs of the hall. It was a relief then to retire to the music room where Georgiana immediately sat at the piano-forte and began to play moodily.

As soon as she was certain of their privacy, Elizabeth, her voice troubled as she recollected the subject, inquired, "Fitzwilliam, did Mr. Bingley tell you of their expecting another child?"

"He mentioned it, yes. Why do you ask, Elizabeth?"

Taking a breath, for she was uncertain if she were breaking Jane's confidence in doing so, she declared, "Because, she should not be."

Studying her, puzzled, he asked, "Do you mean...? What do you mean?"

But, talking almost to herself, she continued as though he had not spoken, "Well, after all, I suppose there is a certain amount of risk in every situation...It is only that, this time, she has been warned. Foolish, foolish Jane, to take such a chance. Yet, I cannot say I would not do the same. What woman would not? Still, if something awful should happen, what will become of us? It is too dreadful to consider, and yet, I must. I wish...oh, I wish she had not told me. But, that is selfish of me. What shall I do, Fitzwilliam?" Stopping as abruptly as she had begun, she met her husband's gaze unhappily.

Understanding, through her musings, what was distressing her, he loathed saying anything at all; as he felt highly unqualified to even venture an opinion. Apparently, her sister had been advised against having any more children, but had decided to do so anyway, thus risking her own, and possibly, her child's life. It was an impossible dilemma, and his sympathy was deeply stirred for all of the parties concerned.

Of course, Bingley had not mentioned this. Something so intimate would not have been discussed between them. He would bear it in private as Darcy, himself, would do, had the situation been reversed.

"I do not know, Elizabeth," he admitted helplessly, after a moment of expectant silence.

"No," she sighed, "I know you can do nothing...say nothing, to alter the matter. Still, it is so frustrating. How could she let this happen?" She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes as though concentrating. Opening them to stare unseeingly at the ceiling, she began to speak again, "But, the alternative cannot be agreeable either... Why is there so little choice? It hardly seems fair that such decisions have to be made...must always be made." Rising she began to pace in agitation, "If there is a threat to the institution of marriage in Britain, it must be caused by the ineptitude of our medicine. Why can a woman not have a child safely...twenty children if she so desires, and still remain in the same bed as her husband?"

"Elizabeth," interrupted her husband, wishing by now, to calm her, "You can do yourself no good by worrying so. You must keep a positive outlook. After all, she might come through this just fine, and your own anxiety will hardly help either of you."

"You are right, of course." She had stopped in her place as she answered, but he could see that this adversity was still causing her much torment. "It is just, that I cannot imagine my life without...," unable to voice her greatest fear aloud, she stood staring at nothing, until he rose, and despite Georgiana's presence, drew her into his arms.

"My love," he spoke very softly into her ear, "It has not happened, and very likely shall not. You cannot spend your time between now and this summer worrying over Jane. She would not wish you to. If she has accepted it, then you must do the same."

She did not answer for several moments, but at length she lifted her head from where she had lain it against his chest, and in a forced, yet somewhat calmer voice, stated, "Yes. Of course. It is out of my control, I realise. There is, truly, nothing that I can do."

"There is, however, something that you can do for me," he suggested, smoothing a curl from her cheek.

"And, what might that be?"

"You can take care of yourself and our own child. This may sound selfish of me, but right now you are my first priority. As far as Jane is concerned, I know that you will continue to be apprehensive for her. I would expect nothing else from you, but, please, not to the detriment of your own health. Elizabeth, will you promise me?"

"Yes," she whispered, her eyes focused upon his cravat, "But, Fitzwilliam, you shall not denounce me, if I should feel the need to rant and rave to you about it every now and again?"

"If such an exercise shall ease your fears, than I can hardly find fault in your doing so." He smiled at her then, to which she returned a rather tremulous one. Lifting her chin, he kissed her lips lightly, taking no notice that Georgiana had stopped playing, and had begun to look through her music as a means of disregarding them.

It was unusual for her brother to forget her presence, but in light of whatever quandary he and Elizabeth were dealing with (she had carefully played loud enough to not overhear their conversation), she found herself to be, not so much embarrassed, as intrigued.
Having witnessed the interactions of few married couples, except on a public basis, in her short nineteen years, she was discovering that she wished to know exactly how they dealt with one another.

Fitzwilliam, as private as he had always been, displayed little when Georgiana happened to be in their company. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was by turns, playful, tender, and somewhat unpredictable towards him, no matter who might be in attendance. She did not, by anyone's standards, behave in an unseemly fashion; but, only a bit impulsively, at times. Seeming to be quick to anger, she also forgave quite readily as well. And, in that forgiveness, was not adverse to expressing an open affection towards her husband, which, Georgiana suspected, had oftentimes caused him some little embarrassment.

At least, that was how the situation had been in the past. Of late, the roles appeared to have been reversed. Now, it was her brother embracing Elizabeth before his own sister, with not a thought to what might be the effect upon her innocent sensibilities.

Perhaps, she thought, it was because she was now engaged, and he presumed that she was old enough to witness such an intimate act; or, perhaps, he was only reacting impetuously to the woman he so obviously adored.

Either way, Georgiana did not excuse herself as she had so often in the past, although, neither did she boldly watch their every move. She simply continued to sort through her music, thinking dreamily of when she might rejoice in such similar, happy circumstances as the wife of Mr. Michael Berrick.

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