Regard and Regulation

Regard and Regulation ~ Section II

Nacie

Chapter Nine

Posted on Monday, 29 July 2002, at 6:47 p.m.

Within the first week of January, Elizabeth received a message from Jane that the Wickhams had arrived at Brindlewood; having only just left Longbourne two days earlier. The note included an invitation for the Darcys to dine with them and remain as their guests for a week, three days hence.

"After all, it would hardly be fair to expect Jane to entertain them by herself," Elizabeth conceded as she showed Fitzwilliam the missive.

"So," replied her husband, "It is a matter of family duty."

"Well, yes...I suppose it is. I understand how uncomfortable you are around Wickham, but Mr. Bingley shall be there as well."

"Elizabeth, I am not arguing. If we must be there, then we shall be."

"You are far more generous than myself, for I find the prospect unpleasant, to say the least. Still, it is better to have them at Brindlewood rather than Pemberley, and I suppose if we do not go to them, they shall insist on coming here."

"That would be infinitely more awkward."

"Yes," she sighed, resigned. Then, as the thought occurred to her, "I hope it is not a problem for Georgiana."

"If Georgiana does not wish to go, I suppose she could remain here," Fitzwilliam considered aloud. "She is not a particular friend to either, and is not obligated as we are."

"No," Elizabeth smiled ruefully, "How ironic to be obliged to such a pair."

As it turned out, Georgiana would, indeed, rather not accompany her brother and sister-in-law to Brindlewood, but promised to use the time constructively in undertaking further preparations for her wedding.

Since Jane had stressed, most especially, that the Darcy children be included in the party, Florence Mills rode with them to Brindlewood to assist the Bingleys' nursemaid in the care of the six children.

The reunion of the sisters did not languish upon proper decorum long, for Lydia, taking one look at Elizabeth's increasing size, exclaimed in triumph, "I guessed that you were expecting again, Lizzy, at Kitty's wedding, and now I am proven right!" This was spoken as if her sole recognition of this fact, would, somehow, put all of their minds to rest.

"I see that you have not lost your quick wit, Lydia," returned her sister tartly, even though a blush appeared upon her cheek. The image of Lydia and Wickham discussing her condition gave her a decidedly uncomfortable feeling, and she was grateful when Jane changed the subject to ply Lydia on any news from Longbourne.

"Mama is all up in arms over Mary, of course," was the response; the implication being that everyone must be privy to whatever situation she might be alluding to.

"What of Mary?" Inquired Elizabeth, hating herself for her curiosity.

"Why, she and Mr. Chase, the vicar, you remember; were discovered together, completely unchaperoned, in the church's vestry. Of course, everyone is talking of it."

"I am sure it was harmless," remarked Jane, glancing quickly at Elizabeth.

"They were, most probably, merely comparing famous, published sermons between them," agreed Elizabeth, the picture of Mary doing anything of impropriety, incongruous at best.

"Well it does not signify what they were doing," Lydia insisted, "For now the expectation is that Mr. Chase shall have to marry her, simply to protect her reputation."

"You are speaking of reputations?" Cried Elizabeth in disbelief, before Jane intervened soothingly, "And, what does Mama say of the matter?"

After looking only briefly surprised by Elizabeth's reaction, Lydia answered, "Why, Mama said, herself, that she did not believe anything improper occurred, but that it is the opinion of the neighbourhood, which must be considered."

"Does Mary even care for Mr. Chase?" This from Elizabeth, who was beginning to feel a real pity toward the hapless parties involved.

"Oh, who knows what Mary thinks. She will not talk of it...to me, at any rate."

"You mean, she shall not give in to your prying," surmised Elizabeth, feeling a certain satisfaction in this knowledge.

"Poor Mary...and poor Mr. Chase," sighed Jane unhappily, "To be forced into a marriage without regard. It is very sad."

"How do we know that there is no regard," argued Elizabeth, "Perhaps they do care for one another. We cannot know as we are not there. Perhaps the prospect of marriage between them is not so distasteful at all."

Lydia was staring at Elizabeth as though she doubted her sanity. "Mary in love? Why, I cannot even imagine such a thing. And, for Mr. Chase to return her affections seems to be even more improbable!"

"How could you possibly know?" Snapped Elizabeth, becoming impatient with Lydia's superior manner.

Lydia, for the first time in her life, appeared to be speechless, while Jane spoke fervently, "Oh, Lizzy, I hope you are right. Mary deserves far more than a loveless marriage."

"We simply must hope for the best," declared Elizabeth still glaring at her youngest sister, while daring her to venture any further dissension on the matter.

Dinner conversation consisted of Lydia prattling on, about how the militia must be long since lamenting the absence of Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, and how their return should certainly prove to be a merry one.

"And, when is that to be?" Inquired Elizabeth, ignoring Jane's look of caution.

"Oh, we thought a fortnight here would be most adequate, but then we must return to Newcastle; so, please, do not insist upon a longer stay," was the oblivious reply.

Silence met this statement until Mr. Bingley commented graciously, "Of course we shall certainly regret such an early departure, but we would not dream of having you postpone your plans for our sake."

"No, no, you shall not change our minds," Lydia declared, "Wickham must be sorely missed, and we are obligated to return to our friends in due time."

"Indeed," remarked Elizabeth under her breath, meeting her husband's eyes across the table. He had remained silent during the meal; his expression as unreadable as it had ever been. As they rose to retire to the salon, she murmured for his benefit alone, "I suppose only a month away from their friends must certainly seem bitterly short. I am sure if she had more sisters to call upon, they could manage another two, at least."

Fitzwilliam, although he smiled briefly at her words, did not comment, his countenance serious even when Bingley began to acquaint him of the excellent hunting to be found in the neighbourhood this year.

As they lay in bed together that night, Elizabeth finally asked him what had preoccupied him all evening. "You are nearly as withdrawn as when I first knew you," she teased, leaning upon one arm so that she could study his face.

"I had a rather curious conversation with Wickham before dinner," he answered at length, his eyes upon the canopy suspended above them.

"Oh? I am surprised he would even have the courage to approach you."

"He does not want for courage when the subject involves his income...or lack thereof."

"How can that concern you?" She asked in surprise, "Has his income been altered?"

"He complains that his wife runs through his meagre salary far too soon, and that they must frequently do without certain necessities entirely, in order to simply make ends meet."

"But why approach you, unless...?" As she realised the purpose of such a confession, she exclaimed, "Did he intend to apply to you, yet again? The man possesses infinite nerve, I'll grant him that!" Finally, in amused exasperation she asked, "What did you tell him, Fitzwilliam?"

"Well, I began by reminding him, that he had already received all of which he was allotted from my father's inheritance, plus the fact that his debts had been conveniently discharged following his elopement with your sister."

"You were far too generous," she remarked fondly. Then, "And, what did he have to say?"

"He acknowledged all of this of course, but actually hinted that he might be forced to leave her, and their child, in order to seek a position of more substance."

"Unless you continue to be forthcoming...," she finished for him, her eyes narrowing. "He is blackmailing you?"

"Why, Mrs. Darcy, I am shocked of your even being acquainted with such a term, but, yes, it does appear that he is attempting to blackmail me."

"But," she protested, ignoring the irony in his voice, "What would be your motivation for paying off such a demand? Lydia is nothing to you, personally."

"She is my wife's sister, and such a scandal would certainly be connected to my own family; even if by indirect means."

"Amazing," she said, at last, "Incredible. I am finding it increasingly difficult to believe you were both raised in the same household."

"The other inevitable outcome of his defection would be its tragic affect on her relations. They might, in fact, never recover their good name." As he continued to speak, he watched her almost visibly working through various stages of disgust, anger, and restraint.

"I hope you are not intending to pay him," she asserted when she found her voice; although she suspected he had already decided otherwise.

"He has made sure that I have little choice in the matter. He can do what he likes at any time, despite my agreement. Yet, I cannot help but think it might stay him a bit longer."

"He has loyalty to no one, not even his wife," she surmised with undisguised loathing.

"Especially his wife, it appears. He is now aware that the child is not his."

This news filled Elizabeth with a pity for her sister, felt little of late. "Then, there is nothing to bind him to her, is there?"

"So it would seem."

"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she sighed, resting her head upon his chest, "Is this to go on indefinitely then? Will he appear in Derbyshire every few years to demand further restitution, so that she might keep him as a sorry excuse for a husband?"

"Unfortunately, Elizabeth, even this may not detain him long. I suspect his knowledge of the child's true paternity has finally given him the inducement to leave. No court would find him at fault. An unfaithful wife is ample grounds for divorce."

"But, not an unfaithful husband," she finished ruefully. "As little as I can justify Lydia's behaviour, I cannot help but think that she was simply acting out of hurt pride and frustration for his many infidelities."

"That, unfortunately, will be of little help if he should apply for a divorce."

"No...How much is he requiring this time?"

"Five thousand pounds."

"Good Lord! And, you intend to give it to him?"

"If it means that your family, and especially you, are not hurt, then I have, as I have said, little choice in the matter. I shall pay him, but with no guarantee of anything because of it. A very sorry bargain, I might add."

"You are too good," she sighed in resignation. Then, thoughtfully, "Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes, my love."

"Is it truly worth it? My family, my name...it seems you are always being required to protect one or the other. It has certainly been more than you had expected."

"Have I complained?"

"No, and that is what causes me such guilt. I hardly deserve such generosity of spirit. Perhaps you should do something unforgivable once, so that I might feel a little less humble."

"Such as...?"

"Oh, I don't know...drink excessively, gamble, curse at the servants..."

"And, this would make you feel better?"

"Maybe...or maybe not." She smiled into his eyes, "So long as you continue to love me."

"That much I can promise."

"Despite worthless brothers-in-law and senseless sisters?"

"Despite them all."

"Well," she stated philosophically some time later; "Perhaps he shall do us all a very great favour and vanish from the face of the earth."
"Perhaps," he agreed, happy that the subject was now closed.

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

Chapter Ten

The week passed with merciful speed. Where Elizabeth had before suffered simply from speaking with Mr. Wickham, now she could hardly bare to remain in the same room with him. The knowledge of his selfishness and greed caused him to appear as even more of a mercenary in her eyes than he already had.

Lydia, she felt only pity for, which affected her manner towards her youngest sister so noticeably that one afternoon, Lydia exclaimed in annoyance, "For Heaven's sake, Lizzy, have I grown feeble or something? You are treating me like your poor old aunt!"

After that, Elizabeth returned to her senses. Lydia might be the injured party in Wickham's scheme, but she, herself was far from innocent.

On the morning of their return to Pemberley, Elizabeth drew Jane aside, "I am sorry for leaving you, Jane, but I am finding my patience being sorely tested these days." She had not confided to her elder sister of Wickham's avarice, deciding that Jane would only suffer needlessly, while unable to alter the situation.

Jane, as was her wont, smiled in understanding, although her affection for Lydia was far more expansive than Elizabeth's, and, despite their lack of sense, would continue to accept the couple graciously for as long as they should remain as her guests.

"Do not worry, Lizzy," she assured her, "I am certain that Lydia simply lacks maturity and experience. In a few years, I believe she shall be nearly as sensible as you are, yourself."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Yes. Well, take care of yourself, and do not let Wickham take advantage of your generosity. In other words, be sure to see them safely off to Newcastle by next week."

"They said that they would be gone by that time, and I doubt that their plans will change before then."

"We shall see," was her dubious reply.

As a matter of fact, they did not leave for Newcastle until another fortnight had come and gone, yet, neither Jane nor Mr. Bingley would hasten their departure.

"I cannot say that I am surprised," Elizabeth remarked to Georgiana upon hearing this, "I fear that Mr. and Mrs. Wickham shall live the whole of their lives preying upon the Bingleys of the world."

Georgiana, who was being instructed to remain as still as was possible, could not reply, so she only smiled at her sister-in-law's observation. She was being fitted for her wedding gown, and a more tedious task she could not recall. Mrs. Buckle, the seamstress, at all times businesslike and brusque, turned her this way and that; tucking and lifting until Georgiana wanted to flee the harshness of her voice.

The dress had been her mother's. A trailing affair of satin and lace, which, despite her own height, dwarfed her within its layers.

The alterations would be difficult, although not impossible, according to the indomitable Mrs. Buckle, but would take time and patience. "Fortunately," she declared after much critical perusal, "The material is fine and the workmanship, without fault, so the finished product should not be weakened by the changes involved."

For some reason (fate, forethought, or something else), she had not arranged this most crucial step while engaged to Mr. Eastman. Had she known even then that it was not to be? With him she had not felt the happy impatience she now endured for Mr. Berrick. Although she recalled being oftentimes anxious and jittery with that earlier betrothal, she did not remember it as a particularly pleasant period of her life.

So, now, here she was in her mother's gown, trying to keep her thoughts not on her wedding day itself, but on all the hours, days, and even the years to follow. "Mrs. Michael Berrick," she repeated to herself over and over. "Georgiana Berrick, Mrs. Berrick." How natural it sounded; how right. She would no longer be a Darcy, except by birth. Her future would be entertwined with her husband's; a prospect both pleasing and daunting.

"I shall be a barrister's wife," she realised then, "So, I must become comfortable with entertaining. I shall have to overcome my fears and face unpleasant people at all times...It will, no doubt, be quite difficult." Even as she recognised this, however, she did not dread it. "I shall have Michael to help me. He has more than enough strength and self-possession for the both of us. So long as I have his love, I can do this."

She became aware then, that Elizabeth had been staring out of the window for several moments, her figure stiffening at whatever she had been observing.

"Elizabeth," she asked, curiously, "What is it? What has caught your attention?"

At first, she did not answer, but remained where she was until Mrs. Buckle excused herself to fetch her tape and pins.

"Georgiana," she said at last, "I am cursed with a very active imagination which has misled me on more than one occasion." Sighing, she turned from the window. "How I wish that I could direct it toward a more useful pastime, but it is no use." Absent-mindedly, she laid her hand upon her stomach, and sank with a sudden weariness onto the sofa.

"Elizabeth, what is it?" Georgiana questioned again, now becoming concerned for her sister-in-law. "Are you unwell?"

But whatever the dilemma which had arrested her attention, it kept her from responding to the query; or from even, apparently, comprehending it. She remained transfixed until Mrs. Buckle's return, and thereafter through the completion of the fitting; sitting silently, her eyes staring at nothing. Not until the dress had been carefully lifted over Georgiana's head and taken by the seamstress's assistant to undergo its metamorphoses, did she seem to come out of her trance.

Georgiana had, by then, donned her own gown, her maid straightening her mussed hair, when Fitzwilliam knocked and entered. He greeted them warmly, not noticing his wife's troubled countenance.

Suddenly, she rose, and meeting his eyes, inquired, "Pray, how was your ride?"

"Fine," he replied, "A calm day; not even a breath of wind to stir the snow."

"Oh?" At his answer, she studied him, her expression painful, yet she said nothing more, only leaving the room with a swish of her skirts.

Georgiana looked at her brother in amazement, but, just as oddly, he did not meet her eyes, his own still upon the door through which his wife had exited.

At dinner that evening, both seemed to have been returned to normal. Elizabeth talked and smiled easily as though her behaviour that afternoon had not occurred at all.

Fitzwilliam, realising this as Georgiana had, appeared relieved, his own manner relaxing in the face of it. Towards the end of the meal, he mentioned casually that he must attend a meeting the following forenoon with some of the other landowners in the neighbourhood.

"Where is it to be held?" Asked Elizabeth, her teacup halfway to her mouth.

"Greenmont...Mr. Covington shall be hosting it. I expect it will take most of the day."

He did not notice that her cup had begun to shake and that she had set it down abruptly at his answer. "Greenmont," she repeated, "Why do you not offer to have it here?"

"Perhaps, next time," he assured her, still blind to the dramatic change in her demeanour.

They had only just retired to the music room, when Elizabeth stood, saying, her voice taut, "Would you both please excuse me. I fear I feel a headache coming on."

Standing as well, his expression one of genuine concern, he replied, "Would you like the apothecary sent for?"

"No," she answered quickly. "I simply need to lie down...I shall be fine."

After she had left them, Georgiana studying her brother's puzzled face, asked boldly, "Fitzwilliam, what is going on? She is not herself today."

"I...I don't know," was his bewildered reply, "Perhaps it is just a headache." This last was said more to himself than to her, and was followed by his striding from the room without further explanation.

Georgiana, left by herself, could only wonder at what she had just witnessed, but as no information was likely to be forthcoming, set her mind onto which music she might choose for her wedding.

The following morning Fitzwilliam rode off to Greenmont, Elizabeth watching his retreat from her place at the diningroom window in silence.

Her manner that whole day was restless and inattentive. Whenever a servant approached, she would arise in anticipation, her expression falling upon the realisation that it was not her husband's footstep. She had been working, rather half-heartedly, on a baby blanket, as the others were nearly worn through by James and Ethan. By evening, she set it aside, no longer willing to pretend attentiveness to the task.

"Georgiana," she said unexpectedly, "Tell me of Miss Covington. Do you believe her trustworthy?"

"I hardly know," stammered Georgiana, taken aback by the question, "We were not close as children. We were very...different."

"Yes, I am sure you were." Elizabeth studied her sister-in-law wryly, "I promised myself long ago that I would not be one of those suspicious wives, and yet, here I am." Rising, she added, "Do not concern yourself, Georgiana. Please forget that I even asked." With that she left; her footsteps echoing as she made her way up to the nursery.

Upon Fitzwilliam's return, Elizabeth greeted him lovingly, her expression carrying an air of something akin to embarrassment.

Although he seemed surprised by the unforeseen warmth of her welcome, he was not opposed to it; returning her kiss more than willingly.

Following this peculiar episode, the remainder of the month passed calmly enough. Elizabeth kept herself occupied, especially when Fitzwilliam happened to be absent, between sewing infant sized clothing and assisting with the wedding plans.

Yet, although she was greeted each morning with a smile, Georgiana doubted the validity of her sister-in-law's heightened spirits. For, occasionally, while bent over her work, or simply glancing outdoors, a shadow would cross Elizabeth's features, and, without being aware of it herself, she would frown as if something were distressing to her.

One day, Georgiana, who had tread ever-so-lightly around her of late, inquired with more courage than she thought herself in possession of, "Elizabeth, can you not tell me what is troubling you?"

Startled, Elizabeth had looked up from her embroidery, her eyes, for one second left unguarded. Then, as suddenly as she had responded, the veil was lowered, and she answered quickly, "Why, nothing, Georgiana. I am feeling perfectly fine...Now, what colour would you like for the trim on these napkins?"

Shaken by the obvious pain seen so briefly in Elizabeth's eyes, Georgiana did not press the matter further. Try as she might, however, she could not comprehend the source for such anguish. "She ought to be happy," she thought to herself in mystification, "She has two lovely children and is expecting a third. Her husband loves her dearly and still pays her every attention."

Here, she paused speculatively. Yes, he does pay her every attention when he is at home. Although, lately, he happened to be gone for longer periods each day. Granted, they were approaching the busier season for Pemberley and her surrounding properties; what with preparing for the spring planting and breeding. Still, when he was at home, he was as loving as always, was he not?

She considered the matter so intensely for some time, that a sharp pain began to make itself felt behind her eyes. Laying her sewing aside, she stood to stretch, strolling to the window as she did so. Her eyes, as she scanned the grey-white landscape, fell upon a rider silhouetted against the dull sky; his head turned as though he was speaking to someone behind him. Then, a second rider joined him. A lady, apparently, her skirts not quite touching the snow beneath her.

It is Miss Covington, she realised at length, but why is she here? We are not expecting her. She had opened her mouth to relay this information to Elizabeth, still seated behind her, when the words froze upon her lips; for, she could now identify the first rider. It was Fitzwilliam. Fitzwilliam, who was smiling in approval at Miss Covington's general disarray, and, who, seated beside her, did not seem to be in any hurry to return to the house.

Chapter Eleven

Posted on Friday, 2 August 2002, at 5:32 p.m.

"So, this is it," Georgiana understood, at last. "Elizabeth knows it as well, and is worried because of it. But,...should she be? He would not betray her...He could not. He loves her too deeply." Suddenly she felt confused, uncertain. If Fitzwilliam, her own, adored brother, would even consider being unfaithful, then could not anyone fall under the same temptation. "Is any marriage truly sacred? Shall my own be?"

"Are you weary, Georgiana?" Elizabeth's concerned voice sounded behind her, "Perhaps we should put this away until tomorrow."

"No...Do not..." But, it was too late, Elizabeth was beside her, her eyes taking in the scene on the hillside.

"Oh," was all she said, before she turned away to carefully place the material into a stack of precisely folded triangles.

"Elizabeth," Georgiana began, but she was stopped by her sister-in-law's hand, upraised as though to fend off a blow.

"Please, Georgiana, do not speak of this now," she said, her voice wavering, "I fear it shall reflect poorly upon all of us." With that, she hastened from the room, ignoring the sound of her husband's footstep in the hall.
His entrance a moment later, was greeted by a stare of both accusation and grief from his sister.

"What is it?" He asked after noting her expression, "What is the matter, Georgiana?"

"How could you?" She managed at last, "I would not have expected this of you, Fitzwilliam."

"Excuse me?" The bafflement in his manner appeared to be sincere.

"You and Miss Covington? This is so unlike you, I hardly know what to think."

"Miss Covington? What are you supposing, Georgiana?" His voice had sharpened as he realised with what she was accusing him.

"Not only myself, but Elizabeth as well. How could you?" By now, tears were coursing down her cheeks, leaving her unable to speak for several moments.

"What has Elizabeth to do with this?" He was beside her now, a sense of urgency causing him to take her arm firmly.

"She saw you as well..., and what is more, she must have many times before today, judging by the way she has been behaving. My God, Fitzwilliam, how can you break her heart so cruelly?"

"She saw...what do you think you witnessed, Georgiana? Do you believe that, if I were to have an affair it would be in sight of my own wife...my own home?"

"I don't know what to think. I feel as if I have never known you."

His face had grown pale beneath her condemnation, but releasing her arm, he said only, "Wait...Stay here until I return." Then he turned and left her, his footsteps heard taking the stairs two at a time to the second floor.

Sinking into a chair, she took a deep breath. Lord, what had she done? She had never spoken to him in such a way before, and it frightened her immeasurably.

Reaching their room, he paused, his heart hammering in his chest. What was she thinking? Why would she suspect such a thing and never mention it? Opening the door, he saw her standing by the window, her rounded profile outlined by the rapidly fading light outside.

"So," she said, her voice sounding far away, "You could not at least be circumspect?"

"Elizabeth, do not make this mistake."

"Mistake?" She turned on him then, her fury rising, "My mistake was in trusting you. Very well. If you prefer Miss Covington, then by all means, go to her. I shall not beg you to stay, Fitzwilliam. I shall not demean myself for her."

"Elizabeth, you do not realise what you are saying." His voice, treacherously breaking despite his efforts to remain calm, seemed to not affect her at all.

"I realise what a fool I have been. Do you think I am blind? Has it been going on since her return to Derbyshire last December?"

"Nothing is going on. Good God, Elizabeth, how can you believe this of me? Have I not given you everything?"

"I thought I must be overreacting again; that you would never...But, apparently I was wrong. I knew it was too perfect. Lord, I feel such a fool..." With this she began to weep; tears slipping down her cheeks, yet, not a sound emerging from her lips.

"Am I, at the very least, to receive a trial?" He asked, anger overcoming the hopelessness which had stifled him until now. "May I have the chance to defend myself, or am I to be judged and sentenced without the benefit of proving my own innocence?"

But she had stopped listening to him; closing her mouth to stare stubbornly out of the window, her arms crossed over her stomach.

Watching her from his place by the door, he felt at a loss. He was thankful for the rage which had surpassed any other emotion he might be feeling. It would act as a shield, of sorts. "Very well," he said at last, his voice icy, "Have it your way, Elizabeth. You think that you know me? Well, you know very little. If your intention was to drive me away, then you have succeeded admirably."

The door reverberated with the force of his closing it behind him; then, silence.

Downstairs, Georgiana, regretting her hasty words, met him at the drawing room door. Her face, troubled, drawn, and very worried, convinced him of her change of heart, but he could not speak of the matter as yet. So, touching her cheek silently, he left the house in the same way that he had arrived.

Returning to the stables, he ordered a surprised stablehand to saddle a horse, as he would be staying in Lambton tonight.

Then, he rode. With all of the frustrated fury within him, he rode hard, paying little attention to the black ice beneath the horse's hooves. There was a new moon, making the darkness around him seem infinite, yet he knew enough of the road to ride it by sense alone. The miles sped by swiftly, until the light from several cottages met his eyes as they appeared over the horizon.

His indignation at her misjudgement was surpassed only by the dreadful feeling that his heart had been torn heedlessly and harshly into pieces. It was not until he felt himself going down that he was aware of his mount losing its footing, while the blackness engulfing him as he hit the ground, was the last thing he would later remember.

"I believe he is innocent, Elizabeth. I saw it in his countenance; heard it in his voice. I fear that I have committed a serious error in judgement." Georgiana, speaking earnestly, repressed the tears that wanted to rise to the surface. She had waited until the next morning to broach the subject to her sister-in-law, but she could wait no longer. Having slept little, her emotions felt to be on edge, and the apparent disappearance this morning of her brother, did not help matters.

"I cannot truly blame him, Georgiana. I have been moody and out-of-sorts for so long, I hardly recognise myself. I am sure Miss Covington is far more entertaining company."

"Listen to me, Elizabeth. I do not believe that he has betrayed you. He loves you."

"Loved me, don't you mean?" Elizabeth, whose appearance was hardly better than Georgiana's, smiled ruefully, "He told me last evening that I have succeeded in driving him away. So, you see, it is now quite hopeless." This last was muffled by a catch in her voice, but she lifted her chin as though to replenish her strength.

"Oh," breathed Georgiana, frustrated. Then, leaning closer to Elizabeth, she asked, "Then, you no longer believe the words he wrote to you at Christmas?"

Staring at Georgiana in astonishment, she exclaimed, "How could you know of that?"

"He showed the pendant to me...and the paper. I realise how private such a gift is, but he wanted my opinion. Oh, Elizabeth, if you could have seen him then, you would not doubt him now. I shall not forget how anxious he was that you would like it..." She stopped as Elizabeth had begun to weep into her hands, making it useless to continue, for the moment at least, with her defence.

"Oh, Georgiana," she cried, "I lost it. No sooner had I received the pendant, then I lost it. How could I have been so careless?"

"It is not the pendant, don't you see? You are in great danger of losing all that the pendant represented. He loves you, Elizabeth. I know that he does, but, a love in doubt must surely fade and die."

"He has replaced that love with another."

"No, he has not. I cannot say what is in Miss Covington's heart, but I believe that I do know what is in my brother's."

"How can you be so sure?"

"How can you not? Has he not earned some loyalty from you over the past three years? Does he not deserve this, at least?"

"Then, why does he leave me every day to go to her? As much as I have wanted to deny it, my own eyes do not lie. They ride together, their stride perfectly matched. You saw them, yourself, Georgiana. Did they not look perfect together?"

Perhaps it was the absurdity of the idea of carrying on an affair upon a horse in the dead of winter, or perhaps it was that they were both so fatigued, but all of a sudden, Georgiana began to laugh. Softly at first, then building in intensity, until Elizabeth, who had been staring at her in disbelief, was compelled to join in.

"Listen to yourself, Elizabeth," insisted Georgiana, when she had composed herself, "If love is built on such a flimsy foundation, then should I not adore every riding instructor I have ever had? To say nothing of my music masters...I certainly felt something for them, but I doubt if it was love; mindless fear, perhaps."

At this, Elizabeth quieted, her expression becoming still. After a long moment, she said, her tone hushed, "Georgiana, I have made a dreadful mistake."

After questioning several of the servants, it was determined that he must have ridden to Lambton to stay at the inn there. At this, Elizabeth felt not a small twinge of guilt. "I drove him out of his own house...I am no better than a shrew."

"At least he did not go far," Georgiana soothed her, "We shall have him fetched home in little time."

"But, what if he will not come? I said some awful things. I cannot bear to even recall them...Oh, Georgiana, how can I set this right?"

"He shall come."

"How can you know?"

"First, because he loves you, and, second, because this is his home. Everything that he holds dear is here, and he shall not leave it for long."

"I pray that you are right."

"He will come, Elizabeth, and then it shall be up to you to convince him to remain."

When a messenger was dispatched to Lambton, however, he returned with troubling news.

"He was not there, ma'am," he stated for the third time, standing nervously on the rug before her.

"You are certain? But, where...? Did you inquire with anyone else there?" She was finding it difficult to keep her voice at an even register. Where could he have gone? London, perhaps? But that was much further away, and he had taken nothing with him.

"I asked some of the gentlemen at the inn, and nobody has seen him yesterday nor today."

"All right...thank you." Dismissing him, she sat for only a moment longer, then rising, she pulled the cord with new determination.

At the appearance of the servant, she said briskly, "Have the carriage brought around. I am going to Greenmont."

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

Chapter Twelve

She had no idea what to expect at Greenmont. She did not anticipate finding Fitzwilliam, himself, there, but she hoped...no, prayed that someone might have seen him; might know where he would have gone.

Mrs. Covington greeted her cordially, if not with some astonishment, and as they were seated, started the conversation with, "I hardly expected a call from you today, Mrs. Darcy. It being such a bitterly, cold day."

"Is it?" She asked, glancing out of the window abstractedly. Then, "Mrs. Covington, this is most awkward for me, but I hope you will forgive my abruptness. Have you, perchance, seen my husband recently?"

If the lady was surprised, she did not show it, answering only, "Not since a week or so ago. He was here with several other men. Have you mislaid him, then?"

"I seem to have done just that," Elizabeth admitted weakly, her heart dropping as she relinquished this small bit of hope.

Mrs. Covington studied her knowingly, "Ah, yes...Let me order some tea, my dear. You look as if you could use it." Ringing for the servant, she tactfully ignored Elizabeth's quick swipe at an escaping tear. "So tell me," she said, after the servant had brought in the tea tray and left them. "You had an argument, yes?"

"Far more than just an argument, I am afraid," was Elizabeth's unhappy reply.

"Of course." Handing her guest her tea, Mrs. Covington leaned back in her chair, her spoon stirring the contents of her own cup in thoughtful silence. "He left you while upset?"

Managing a weak smile, she answered, "You might say that."

"Tell me, my child, why should you seek him here?"

"I...would rather not say just now, if you don't mind. I am feeling rather foolish about the whole sorry mess."

"Ah...," Then, surprisingly, she asked, "Would you care to talk to my daughter, Kathleen?" Without waiting for an answer, she rose, went to the door, and speaking to some unseen servant, requested, "Could you please tell Miss Kathleen that her mother wishes to see her in the salon?" Then she returned, seating herself in a chair at a closer proximity to Elizabeth's own.

"A woman in your condition tends to become...uneasy. It is perfectly natural, but I am sure you have discovered this for yourself."

"I would wish above all things to be able to blame my behaviour on my condition, as you call it. No, there is no excuse for what I have done. I only wish that I could reverse the clock to yesterday afternoon, before all of this..."

"Tsk, child, as that is an impossibility, let us, instead search for a more practical solution."

"Yes, Mama?" Miss Covington entered breezily, and as she noticed Elizabeth added with a sly smile, "Good morning, Mrs. Darcy."

"Good morning," replied Elizabeth, her voice controlled.

"Kathleen," her mother said, "Mrs. Darcy has an urgent need of speaking with her husband."

Miss Covington responded by looking, at first surprised, and then wary, "And, why, pray, should she suppose him to be here?"

"Exactly my question," replied Mrs. Covington, "What possible reason could Mrs. Darcy have in coming all the way to Greenmont? Could someone in this household have given her cause for such an action? I would not think Mr. Darcy should come to seek an audience with my husband without notice or announcement. He would have no call to see me, as I have no business with him...Perhaps he might be here to seek legal counsel with my son, Ian; yet, he has his own attorney for such matters if the need should arise. That, then leaves yourself, Kathleen."

"Me, Mama?"

"Might you have misled Mrs. Darcy into surmising that her husband may have come to see you?"

"I do not know how."

"Do you not?" Mrs. Covington rose and moved to an ornately carved lady's desk set into one corner. Opening the top drawer, she removed a small object wrapped in a handkerchief. By this time, Miss Covington's cheek's had begun to blaze, but she said nothing as her mother returned to her chair with the object firmly in hand. Once she was again seated, she unfolded the handkerchief to reveal its contents.

"My pendant!" Exclaimed Elizabeth, "But, how...?"

"How did Mrs. Darcy's pendant come to be here, Kathleen?"

"I could not say," Miss Covington answered tautly, staring straight ahead of her.

"Perhaps you wished to admire it at your leisure, was that it?"

At this, Miss Covington had no response, and she stared at a point in the rug in stubborn silence.

"You shall have to forgive my daughter, Mrs. Darcy, I fear her time in Europe has given her quite a different perspective on proper decorum and appropriate behaviour when invited into the home of a friend."

Elizabeth had said nothing through all of this, but watched the two of them with an entranced fascination.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Covington continued to speak. "Now, why, I must ask myself, would my youngest desire this pendant? And, so greatly that she felt the need to take it? It is rather simple in design, although unquestionably quite elegant. Its value must be far less than, say, the emerald bracelet she, herself received two years ago. Could it be because she knew that it was a gift from Mr. Darcy to his wife? Yet, if this were the case, why should she care of that? Such a gift must carry only true significance to the parties directly involved. The only theory, then, which I could imagine would be that my dear Kathleen has some interest in the couple, themselves." Mrs. Covington, apparently enjoying her daughter's discomfort, proceeded to muse aloud, "Mrs. Darcy, although a fine person, herself, is not so intriguing that theft must be necessary in order to discover her character. Mr. Darcy, however,...I wonder if my daughter might not be nurturing some interest in Mr. Darcy, after all of this time."

"Mother, stop," Miss Covington spoke up at last, her face revealing her outrage.

"Oh? Am I mistaken, my dear?" Mrs Covington inquired, her voice taking on an edge.

"You don't understand." Miss Covington stood, her hands clenched at her sides, "You cannot possibly understand. Mr. Darcy should have waited for me...for me to finish school. I thought that he might. The signs were all there that he had cared for me as more than simply a childhood friend."

"What signs? Had he promised you anything? Speak, child."

"No," was the resigned reply, "Nothing of substance, yet, I had hoped so very much..."

"And, what did you hope to gain by stealing Mrs. Darcy's gift?"

"I wished to...I wanted to see if he truly loved her, or if their affection had waned, as it does so often in marriages."

"What, pray, would you have done if you had proven that which you sought?" Mrs. Covington's tone had taken on a definite frigidity by this time.

Miss Covington faltered, "Well, really, Mama, it is nothing in Rome and Paris for a man to take a mistress. No, nor even in London, you know. I simply thought that if Mrs. Darcy was no longer...that I might, instead."

"You thought you might comfort him in his loneliness?" Silence met this query, but Mrs. Covington had heard enough, "And, this is how you were raised? Good Lord, child, I am ready to send you off to a convent as we speak. Mrs. Darcy, pray accept my most heartfelt apologies. I cannot imagine what has come over the girl of late."

"You do not have to apologise for me, Mama," Miss Covington interrupted angrily, "It has all come to naught, anyway."

"It has?" This from Elizabeth, her eyes on the younger girl as she waited for what she had hoped to hear from the first.

Shaking her head, Miss Covington admitted ruefully, "I tried, I truly tried. I had successfully captured the hearts of countless men while touring Europe; really, it was almost a game, but, for the one I actually desired..."

"You have been seeing him over the past weeks." It was a statement rather than a question.

"If you choose to call it that. I saw him infrequently when he was riding, and would rush to meet him before he could reach Pemberley. It did me little good. He was always polite, but the conversation never went beyond good evening or good afternoon."

"So, you see, Mrs. Darcy, there is some satisfaction to be gained from this," intervened Mrs. Covington, "You have been reassured of your husband's loyalty."

"Yet, again," sighed Elizabeth under her breath. Then, as she recalled the purpose of this visit, she looked up at Miss Covington's face, "You have no idea where he might have gone, then?"

"If he has left Pemberley, it is not to come to me...unfortunately. No, I'm sorry, Mrs. Darcy, I cannot help you."
Taking the pendant, Elizabeth toyed with the little clasp, unsure of what she would find.

"Do not worry," Miss Covington said with a toss of her curls, "The note is still inside. I suppose when I wished to punish myself, I would read it over. I...do envy you, Mrs. Darcy."

This last was spoken far more humbly than anything before, but Elizabeth, wondering about something else, inquired of Mrs. Covington, "How did you know that it was mine?"

"I did not for certain, until you identified it," replied the lady with some satisfaction, "I found it lying upon a table one day, and could not imagine whose it might be. I did not recall Kathleen mentioning it, and my son's wife denied ownership, when I questioned her. One day, I overheard one of the servants mentioning that Pemberley was being turned upside down in search of Mrs. Darcy's Christmas gift. It was not until you appeared this morning that I was able to put two and two together. Again, Mrs. Darcy, do accept my apology on behalf of my daughter and our whole family."

This time Miss Covington did not interrupt, but remained silent as Elizabeth rose to leave while saying, "I thank you for everything, Mrs Covington. I only wish..."

"He shall be back, Mrs. Darcy," assured Mrs. Covington kindly, "But if you will search for him, please know that you may rely on the Covingtons for any assistance you may need."

"Thank you," Elizabeth repeated gratefully, taking Mrs. Covington's hand into her own, then turning to Miss Covington, she added, "And, thank you, as well."

"For what?" Asked she, nonplussed by the unexpectedly civil gesture.

"For showing me that I have no reason to doubt him." A trace of a smile touched her lips as she continued, "For, after all, if you, with all of your resources, could not touch him, then I should be feeling very secure, should I not?"
Returning the smile, albeit ruefully, she replied, "I suppose you should. Yes, Mrs. Darcy, you should be the most secure woman in all of Derbyshire."