Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Part 6-‘…the Great Lady herself…’

Posted on Wednesday, 30 November 2005

Harry sat impatiently awaiting his stars; they were late and he had much to thank them for. Their antics last night at the charity ball had earned him a restless night’s sleep. Marcie had been a nightmare, and he had been forced to listen as she ranted and raved, screaming like a banshee, and even occasionally throwing things. Plates and cutlery he only narrowly managed to avoid; he had always managed to move surprisingly quickly, when the need arose, for such a large man.

She swore and cursed at him, and banished him to the sofa for the night. He was not to get any peace there, for she followed him and berated him for his poor choice in actors, a highly reprehensible act of poor judgment that was no doubt going to cost her a lot of money. Marcie hated losing money.

That was almost as much as she hated journalists. Darcy’s behaviour last night had proved gold dust, and Marcie had to divide her time between cursing him and cursing the many journalists who persisted in calling her.

Throughout the night she had to take numerous, probing calls, always with the same questions, until Marcie eventually became so fed up that Harry watched in growing horror as she threw the phone on the floor and proceeded to jump all over it, smashing it to pieces in a show of rage reminiscent of a demented rain dance!

Consequently, he had suffered. The sofa had been far from comfortable, and he rubbed his sore back. He wearily watched both Lizzy and Darcy arrive late, too tired to be angry…and too dejected to care.

Darcy appeared sheepish, and looking more than a little afraid, but Lizzy bounded in with a surprising energy. A flurry of activity met their arrival, and as the techs milled around them Lizzy and Darcy took their places on the set. They took up their positions; Darcy shuffled his feet, visibly nervous, and it took a few deep breaths before he was finally ready to speak.

‘Miss Bennet…about last night, I wish to…’ she interrupted him. He could not fathom the reason for her smile.

‘Mr Darcy, you stated last night that my opinions and words mattered little to you…well, I believe I may safely state that the feeling is entirely mutual. There, now we have made clear our little regard for each other…however, I, for one, am not prepared to allow our differences to hamper this production in any way. I have too high a regard for this book, Harry and everybody else who works so hard here everyday to jeopardize it by our petty quarrels.’

Darcy looked at her slightly bemused; he had been expecting to be kneed in the crotch at least, not to be confronted with the very voice of reason.

She continued, as calm and as resolute as ever. ‘I am willing to be wholly professional about this, Mr Darcy, and aim to ensure this film’s success…’

Darcy smiled, ‘You’re right, of course…as always, so no more disagreements, then…?’

Lizzy laughed quietly, ‘Well, I can’t very well promise the impossible…let us at least endeavour to get along…however awful we may prove to be at it...’

Darcy had been about to utter words to a similar effect, when Harry called out, ‘Alright, people…places…’ he trailed off unenthusiastically, ‘…Oh, who bloody well cares, anyway…let’s just get it over with…’ He slumped off to his chair, and fell into it with a plop.

The scene they were about to film was an intense one, Rupert is angry with Celia for what he considers to be the games she continues to play with him.

Encouraging him one moment and then coolly dismissing him another…he could not understand it, nor did he care for it.

She had done it again last night, spent the entire evening ignoring him when only the morning before she had declared she was not entirely indifferent to him. She had held his hands in her own then, and smiled lovingly…yet, he could not understand how quickly the changes were wrought in her, and he must owe it to her impetuous youth; not for the first time, he berated himself for ever falling in love with her as if such a thing can ever be helped.

They had agreed early that morning to meet by the little grove, sheltered away to one side of the house, underneath a hidden arch set in the recess of the wall, built, it seemed, exactly for the secrecy of lovers.

It was a cold morning, and Celia seemed all the more beautiful for it. The weather was bringing a rosy red glow to her cheeks, and the cloak she wore, trimmed with fur around the neck, offered a beautiful contrast with its whiteness.

She had come down with hurried steps and, shivering against the cold, had wrapped her body close around him for added warmth. He was still angry with her even as his heart melted in her warm embrace.

‘Celia, you cannot play these games with me…I will not tolerate it…’

‘You cannot still be angry with me…? Come, Rupert, it will not do, how could you expect me to act otherwise in front of father…really, you’re being silly.’

He pushed her away angrily, ‘I am nearly twice your age…if we are to talk about silliness, it is these games of yours that must stop…’

‘Games…? That I do not hang about your neck and coo pretty words…I am not that sort of young woman…perhaps I feel more than I care to display…what does it signify…?’

‘It signifies a great deal…you have long been aware of my feelings, perhaps I do not care for your engaging my heart for your own amusement…’

‘You think I consider your heart...your feelings a plaything…I assure if you knew me at all you would not accuse me of such callousness…’

‘How am I to know what to feel or think, Celia? You have not spoken, and if you do not do so now, I swear to you I will walk away forever…’

She stayed resolutely silent. Rupert waited expectant and growing steadily despondent, and still she could not speak. Rupert despaired of her ever doing so and with a heavy heart turned to leave, until he felt a cool hand on his arm that stopped his heart.

She turned him around to face her, reaching up she pulled him close. She kissed him so longingly and deeply; Rupert was pleasantly surprised. He pressed her close and she placed a hand on the nape of his neck, reaching up slowly till her hand was in his hair.

Darcy’s surprise at the yearning Lizzy displayed matched that of Rupert, though the surprise was quickly matched with a passion of his own. He responded forcefully; the arm encircling her waist tightened, and he brought his hand to caress her cheek.

The chemistry was unmistakable; the whole crew watched on, fascinated. Lizzy was certainly giving the commanding performance she had promised; as for Darcy, it was hard to discern whether he was still only acting.

Harry was wide awake, flustered and excited all over again; at last, yes, this was the girl he recognized, with all the passion and intensity he had the foresight to recognize at the auditions.

The kiss proved to be a lingering one; though exactly the length dictated in the book, everybody recognized it was hardly textbook!

Rupert was amazed at the intensity of her embrace, and wondered how she could understand the longings of the flesh, of the loins and the heart so well… at so young an age.

She broke the kiss off at length; breathless, she locked foreheads with him. ‘Will that persuade you to stay…?’

He returned her smile with a dazzling one of his own. ‘You know very well I could never leave you…’

‘Good. I would be very sorry to part with you now…especially as I’ve fallen in love with you…’ She laughed, delighted with his reaction to these words as he caught her up in his arms and twirled her around and around.

Harry called out, ‘Cut and print!’ to end the scene; he joined in with the spontaneous applause that greeted his words and, rushing on set, began to gush,
‘That was marvelous, simply magnificent…fabulous, Lizzy I knew you had it in you…’ Only then did he remember her co-star, ‘And Darcy…well that was…fine.’

Lizzy smiled as she watched Harry scurry off as fast as his fat legs could carry him to call Marcie. Amidst the congratulations and praise from the others, she spied an evidently dumbstruck Darcy, looking on, amazed. She could tell he was impressed, his mouth agape, and an expression of bemusement across his face.

She turned to him, smiling deviously; reaching up, she cupped his chin in her hand and closed his mouth. ‘You had best close your mouth, Mr Darcy, it appears as if you are catching flies…’

He beamed at her, ‘Well that was…um, it was…’ he struggled to find the words.

‘A commanding performance, Miss Bennet…’ Another voice found the words for him. They both turned to see a severe, older woman peeking out over a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. Her hair, which was now slowly greying, was worn up, pinned tightly in a bun. She wore a long, knee-length tweed skirt, and a suit jacket over what appeared to be a high collar blouse, and all in grey. In fact, the only colour on this woman was a necklace of black pearls around her neck.

Even her slight smile was grey, concealing much and offering nothing. Everything about her was neat and tidy and pressed; not a crease or stray hair was in sight. Lizzy recognized her instantly; though she had never before met Darcy’s aunt, she had heard much of Lady Catherine, who was the patron of his theatre and head of the committee that ran its affairs.

She was by all accounts a truly formidable woman; she was very rich, very grand and very possessive of Darcy. There had been rumours of her intending to visit her nephew on the set, but Lizzy had heard nothing that allowed her to be daunted at the sight of this woman. Wickham had also delighted her with tales of what she might expect, and he had been entirely accurate.

Lizzy smiled sweetly and boldly, ‘Thank you…and may I take the liberty to presume that you are Lady Catherine de Bourgh…?’

‘You may, and I am…’ she replied coldly.

Lizzy smiled further yet, ‘Your reputation precedes you, ma’am…’

‘Really…’ Lady Catherine did not care for the brash tone in Lizzy’s voice, ‘and how do I rate, Miss Bennet…tell me, do I come up short..?’

‘Not at all, your Ladyship…I am happy to say in this instance general report has been entirely accurate…you are exactly how I would have pictured you…’

The smile playing on Lizzy’s face made it difficult to determine if that remark was to be received as a compliment or dismissed as an insult.

The tone between the two ladies was barbed to say the least, and Darcy, as the poor unfortunate soul caught in the middle, was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Still he could not help but admire Lizzy for the fearlessness she was showing.

Lady Catherine had decided she’d had enough of Lizzy’s suspect tone and words and turned to her nephew, ‘Darcy, I wish to speak to you…alone…’ And so saying, she took Darcy by the arm and dragged him away without another word.

Lizzy smiled and shook her head; she was almost beginning to feel sorry for poor Darcy.

Bingley burst into the room and started speaking before Darcy had a chance to warn him. ‘Now this doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you, but I’ve come to offer my support. I’ve heard the grand old lady was coming to see you…’ he paused to catch a breath, ‘and nobody deserves that…that old bat would chase the very hounds out of hell…’

He blathered on, entirely failing to notice Darcy rolling his eyes emphatically at him, desperately trying to draw his attention to something behind him.

Not something, someone…Bingley finally understood much too late; he gulped loudly and asked in a barely audible voice, ‘She’s right behind me isn’t she…?’

Darcy smiled and nodded.

Bingley turned to see Lady Catherine standing behind him, menacingly tapping her foot and pushing her glasses further up her nose. He beamed disarmingly at her, ‘Lady Catherine…what a pleasant surprise…!’

She was unmoved, ‘Mr Bingley…well, I would like to say it is good to see you again, but that would be a lie…’

Bingley looked back at Darcy, and seeing him mutter the words, ‘Run, man…save yourself…,’ wisely decided to heed his advice and beat a hasty retreat.

Darcy smiled, amused; Lady Catherine’s face remained as unaffected as ever. She took up one of the papers Bingley had left that morning.

‘Interesting headlines, Darcy…’

‘Tabloid fodder…it doesn’t mean anything…’ he replied quietly.

Lady Catherine chose a different approach. ‘Miss Bennet is a talented actress and a prettyish sort of girl…I’m sure you’ve noticed….’

‘Aunt…’ he tried in vain to stop her, he already knew where this discussion was leading.

She persisted, ‘And nothing more, of course…?’

‘No…nothing more…’ Lie. Darcy resigned himself to the inevitably of it all. It was impossible to tell his aunt that he had long come to think of Elizabeth Bennet as being much more than just a talented actress.

But Lady Catherine was not so easily fooled; she did not trust the smile Darcy wore at the mention of Lizzy’s name.

‘I am sure I need not remind you of what you owe to the family name, and Pemberley Theatre…your father entrusted you with its safekeeping…I know you will not let him down…’

‘I do not see how…?’ Darcy was angry; it always seemed to be the same argument.

‘Your past misdemeanours I have endeavoured to keep from the rest of the board…the committee know little of it, due to no small effort on my part.’ Lady Catherine’s familiar tone returned, smiling but always underlined with the faintest hint of menace.

‘I am sure you are aware of the debt you owe me, Darcy…’

Darcy endeavoured to keep his bitterness in check, through gritted teeth, ‘Of course, Aunt…you know I am eternally grateful…for all that you did on my behalf…’

She smiled and he was repulsed. ‘Good… I am glad we understand each other…’

Part 7-‘…What the heart desires…’

Posted on Sunday, 4 December 2005

‘Oh, I met Lady Catherine yesterday!’ Lizzy suddenly declared. It was still early, and though winter had not yet arrived, there was still a noticeable chill in the air. But Wickham had volunteered they brave the weather and take a walk in the park. Lizzy had not put up much reluctance.

Lizzy had a busy day of filming ahead of her; their walk had to be very early. Lizzy was not sorry for it. Bundled in her many layers of coat, scarf and woolly hat, she talked with Wickham with an easiness that marked how close they had become.

Their mutual dislike of Darcy was a significant factor.

They sat down together on a bench. ‘Really…and what did you think of her?’ Wickham was amused and seemed to know already what her answer would be.

Lizzy laughed, ‘She was exactly as you described her…’

‘In that infamous grey suit…?’

She nodded enthusiastically, ‘Yes, and that severe hairstyle with the bun…and I could almost swear that thing had a life of its own. I’m sure it had eyes that followed me as she left the room…!’

They both laughed heartily at the picture she painted. Wickham looked longingly at her. ‘You have a beautiful smile…’

Lizzy blushed. ‘You know, you’ve said that before…’

Wickham smiled charmingly. ‘And no doubt I’ll say it again…because it’s true…’

Lizzy thought he was going to kiss her. She would not be sorry for it if he was; she believed herself to be in a fair way of falling in love with the ever-delightful Mr Wickham. But it was strange; even as he leaned in, Lizzy pulled back at the last moment, confused, as he obviously was, about her reluctance.

‘We missed you at the charity ball…’ she quickly turned the conversation, ‘I would have liked the opportunity to introduce you to my family…’

Wickham sighed and nodded sorrowfully, ‘Yes, I am sorry for it, but I realized I had already made prior commitments…’ He trailed off when he realized she was not buying a word of it.

‘No…no, you are quite right, I must be entirely honest with you…I had prepared myself and was all ready to come, but as it got closer…I probably couldn’t have met Darcy with any semblance of rationality. And I was afraid of my temper…he probably would have provoked me and then…well, I daresay unpleasant scenes would have arisen.’

Lizzy replied angrily, ‘I would not have minded seeing you knock him to the floor…!’

‘No, but it would have caused no end of embarrassment to those who did not deserve it, Marcie and others…I wouldn’t want that…’

Lizzy pouted. ‘Well, it’s a shame others don’t share your scruples. There would have been no need for you to cause embarrassment…Darcy managed remarkably well on his own…’

Wickham smiled sympathetically. ‘Yes, I know. I read the papers…and I must say Darcy is a fool…I would never have…’

Lizzy cut him off by rising to leave, ‘I think it’s time we got back…’ He agreed reluctantly.

They walked slowly and silently until Lizzy began again, ‘Do you know, I think Lady Catherine is the only character Darcy is afraid of? I’ve never seen him more cowed before by anyone…’

‘Yes, I can well believe it. Lady Catherine is a formidable woman, and she holds the highest position on the committee board, and is a patron of Pemberley Theatre. Consequently, she holds considerable influence over Darcy’s life…’

Lizzy nodded, understanding perfectly. ‘And we all know how much Darcy likes to be the one in control…’

‘Lady Catherine has a daughter, Anne…’ Wickham continued, ‘I think she has long held hopes of the cousins marrying…’

Lizzy was astounded. ‘But wouldn’t that make their relationship positively incestuous…!’

‘Perhaps, but with the combined wealth and influence their union will render, I think Lady Catherine has long considered that to outweigh any inconvenience of the incestuous kind…’

Lizzy smiled. ‘I do not know who to feel most sorry for: Darcy with the prospect of having Lady Catherine as a mother-in-law as well as an aunt, or Anne de Bourgh…!’

Wickham laughed, replying emphatically, ‘Oh, Anne de Bourgh, to be sure…for facing the prospect of life with such a man as Darcy…’

Lizzy returned from her walk refreshed and energized to find Jane sitting in her trailer, sad and despondent. Her face was fallen and she held her phone tightly in her shaking hands.

‘Jane, whatever’s the matter…what’s wrong…?’

Jane was quiet and struggled to speak, ‘Oh, it’s nothing…only Bingley has left, Lizzy…’

‘What…?’ Lizzy refused to believe it.

‘Yes it’s true. I just called his office, because I haven’t been able to get hold of him…they told me he has gone to London; Darcy went with him, I believe, but has since returned. Lizzy, I had to hear it from his secretary…she told me she has no idea when or… even if he will return…’

Lizzy placed a comforting arm around her sister. ‘But why…?’

‘I don’t know…they said it was business…he has business there…apparently.’ Jane shook her head sadly.

‘Well then, there is no reason to disbelieve him, surely …?’

‘No, but why didn’t he tell me himself, Lizzy?’

Lizzy smiled. ‘Jane, men are hardly the most considerate of creatures… Perhaps the business was urgent and sudden and he did not have time to tell you…’

‘No, but I thought Bingley was different…’

‘I don’t doubt that he is…Look, Jane, it’s obviously affecting you, this sudden departure of his, so why don’t you go and find out the reason for it yourself?’

Jane looked at her sister strangely. ‘What…No, I couldn’t possibly…’

Lizzy was adamant, ‘Yes, go down to London!’

‘After him? Doesn’t that seem a little….desperate...?’

Lizzy’s smile broadened. ‘I don’t see why…You’re an agent, aren’t you, Jane? And as far as I can remember, I’m not your only client…Surely you have one or two in London. You’ll be going down on business as well, and who knows… perhaps you may just bump into each other down there…’ She nudged Jane slyly.

Jane smiled at her cunning. ‘Maybe…’

‘Oh, come on, Jane…as mother would say, there’s nothing desperate where money or marriage is concerned…’

Jane appeared shocked. ‘Marriage…?’

Lizzy was not to be fooled. ‘Oh, Jane, you’re not going to lie to me and tell me you’re not madly in love with him…?’

‘No, but I would never marry for money….’

‘Of course not, it is entirely a matter of convenience that he is so rich….!’

They both laughed heartily together. Jane hugged Lizzy for her encouragement.

‘But will you be okay if I leave? I know I promised to stay on set during your filming…’

‘I’ll be fine…’ Lizzy reassured her. ‘Besides we’re traveling to Hunsford for the final few scenes…and by some twisted, divine humour, Lady Catherine’s residence of Rosings Park is situated only a few miles away…so I will no doubt have the pleasure of her company….!’

Lizzy helped Jane pack for her trip, safe in the knowledge that when her sister returned and had cleared up this misunderstanding, she was sure to have a ring on her finger and Bingley on her arm as her fiancé.

Part 8-‘…those dreaded uncomfortable silences…’

Posted on Tuesday, 6 December 2005

The removal to Hunsford of the film crew and actors was amazingly smooth; the only point Harry had insisted upon was Lizzy’s family staying behind. Lizzy was far from making any objections.

It was by some strange coincidence that Darcy’s cousin, Robert Fitzwilliam, was to play the role of Celia’s husband. Lizzy had been inclined to think it a touch of nepotism at first, a sign of Darcy casting his influence, but as soon as she met Robert, Lizzy was ashamed of ever thinking such a thing.

He was tall, and though not as handsome as his cousin, was infinitely superior when it came to manners. He was easygoing, affectionate and humorous. Lizzy wondered at their ever being related.

The two cousins were to stay at the stately Rosings Park with their aunt, whilst Lizzy opted for a quiet bed-and-breakfast as her accommodation.

It was close enough to the set for her convenience and far enough from Rosings to be free from the threat of any visits from any of that quarter. She did not doubt Robert would be willing and more than welcome to visit her, but she was sure of the other two, Lady Catherine and Darcy, being such snobs that descending on a place as lowly as a bed-and-breakfast would be beneath them.

She loved the place. It was a sizable old stone building, complete with leaded latticed windows and heavy oak doors.

Lizzy’s renewed commitment to the filming proved a godsend to Harry; they were working through the scenes so well and at such a pace that they were almost up to date with the schedule. Scenes now only took one or two takes to complete, and by all appearances it seemed as if the ice between Lizzy and Darcy was beginning to thaw.

Harry watched them both now, a pleasant smile playing on his chubby face. The scene was by no means a happy one; Celia had found Rupert again, after almost twenty years, only to discover that he was dying.

Celia knelt by his chair. She looked at Rupert’s gnawed and calloused hand and wondered at her being here again. What a strange few months it had been; of all things, the search for Rupert had been instigated by her husband.

He had found the letters she had kept so carefully hidden high in the back of the drawer. She had always intended to burn them, but always failed at the last moment to do so.

He had not been angry as she had expected; instead, surprisingly, Henry had volunteered to help her find him again, if only so they could meet as friends once more.

She suspected he had wished to see her reaction at seeing her former lover again. He had no doubt expected to meet a rival, but what they had both found, to their shock, was a fast-fading man.

It pained her to see him so weak, so tired and ill. The way he had changed, she could not look him in the eye. He cupped her chin in his hand and raised her bowed head.

‘You won’t look at me, Celia? Have I changed so much…?’ he whispered coarsely.

She raised her eyes to him, eyes that stung and overflowed with tears. ‘No, but I fear I have…’

‘Impossible! The only change is that you have grown more beautiful, if such a thing was possible…’ He brushed away her tears. ‘Oh, hush, Celia… please…’

She kissed his hands. ‘Rupert…I can’t bear to lose you again…not twice in one lifetime…’

He pressed her hands with all the strength he could muster; it was pitiful. ‘Don’t, Celia…going over the past is unfair…to all of us, including Henry. He cares for you deeply…what other man would bring his wife back to a man she once loved…’

He descended into a fit of coughing. Celia rushed to get him a glass of water. The handkerchief he had held over his mouth was now spotted with blood; the sight alarmed him, and he tucked it out of sight as Celia returned.

‘We must take you away from here…’ She held the glass as he sipped. ‘Come back with us…’

Lizzy sat in the window seat reading a letter from Jane. It was the first she had written since going to London. With regards to Bingley, there was nothing to report; Jane had not met him…yet. But Lizzy saw no reason to be worried.

She was startled by a knock on the door. She had not expected visitors, but was pleased at the thought it might be Robert, who had promised to see her charming room. Her surprise was entirely genuine then on perceiving not Robert to be standing at the door, but his cousin.

‘Mr Darcy…!’ She looked at him, bemused; it was such a strange sight to her, him being there.

‘I’m sorry…I hope I’m not disturbing you…?’ He looked sheepishly at her.

She thought it only polite to invite him in, and with no expectation of enjoyment from this visit, holding the door ajar, gestured inwards. He looked around briefly, as if regretting his decision to come, but stepped in nonetheless.

Her room was long and rectangular, and seemed to be divided into two; a sofa pushed to one side of the wall and a small round table and chairs indicated they were standing in the sitting room. It was only a short step from there to her bed, neatly made up with its chintz coverings which perfectly matched the curtains.

The sight of her bed made Darcy lose all composure completely. He seemed embarrassed to be in her private chamber, and stood stupidly by the window where she had been sitting. She took up a seat at the table and waited patiently for him to begin.

He had come to visit her; it was up to him to make conversation, however painful he found it. He took up the hint and began accordingly, commenting on the seclusion of the place.

She took up the dialogue eagerly, dreading lest they slip into that uncomfortable silence again, ‘Yes…yes, it’s nice and quiet…peaceful…’

‘You like the peace and quiet, then? I don’t suppose you get much of that, what with your family…’

‘I’m sorry…?’

He quickly perceived her to be offended, and sought to explain himself. ‘I only meant, with your family being such a large one…so, you like being alone, then…?’ In his nervousness he was repeating himself.

Lizzy laughed slightly, ‘Yes… at times it’s good to escape all the noise to be alone with the voices in your head…’

Darcy smiled strangely at her, ‘I suppose, though there’s no escaping the voice in your head…’

Lizzy wondered at his odd tone, ‘No…but it does not do to talk about the voices in your head…at the risk of a padded cell and all that…’

Darcy laughed at her joke. Try as he might, he could not tear his eyes away from her. Something…something about this woman was making him come undone…

‘So, how do you like Kent…?’

Lizzy shook her head. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen much of it yet…with filming, there’s barely been time…’

‘I’d be happy to show you around…’ The words slipped out before he could stop them. His startled look met hers. Darcy quickly sought to backtrack, ‘…and I’m sure Lady Catherine will be inviting you to dinner sometime…’

Lizzy laughed merrily at the idea. ‘You will forgive me, Mr. Darcy, if I don’t hold my breath waiting on such an invitation…!’

The dreaded silence returned soon after this remark, and Darcy dithered only a few moments longer before finally taking his leave. Lizzy stood at the window, puzzled, watching him go. It was clear he found it awkward talking to her, so why bother to visit? It could not be simply to make them both excruciatingly uncomfortable.

She shook her head, shaking away all thoughts of the unsocial, taciturn and strange Mr Darcy, and instead set about composing a reply to Jane’s letter.

Part 9- ‘…to town on business…?’

Posted on Thursday, 8 December 2005

Rupert was dying. Celia had hoped that removing him to her own house, amongst the fresh, clean air, would work the miracle she had been praying for, but it was not to be. He had seemed to be getting better. The change had probably bought him some precious extra few months, but the fact still remained…

He was dying here, in her arms. The last few days had been terrible. He had deteriorated horribly and now as she was nursing him Rupert seemed to sense the end was near.

He looked up at her, smiling. ‘It was the biggest mistake of my life…giving you up. I was wrong, Celia…it is not a regret I have learned to live with…’

Celia was tearful. ‘Hush…you must save your energy…’

He took hold of both her hands. ‘It always seemed so contrite of me to ask for relief from a God I had long sought to abandon, but I am thankful at least that…providence has sought to unite us…to have these last few months with you…I could only have dreamt of such a blessing…’ He gasped painfully. It proved to be his last breath.

Celia felt the life ebb away from him. The tears flowed freely now. She kissed his hands; they were already beginning to go cold. She kissed his face, his eyes and his lips. ‘Oh, my darling Rupert...not yet…! Wait for me…you promised you would wait for me…’

The whole scene was thick with emotion; the crew, everyone looking on could not help but be affected. Even Harry’s eyes were streaming when he called, ‘Cut and print…’ in a shaky voice. It marked the last scene between Celia and Rupert, and the last between Lizzy and Darcy. She could not help but be pleased by the fact, whilst Darcy just stared at her soulfully from his deathbed.

Lizzy was worried about Jane. It had been almost two months since her departure to London, and since then Lizzy had received only two letters. The last one had been sent a few weeks ago. Lizzy poured over it again.

Jane talked about her trip. Her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner had been kind enough to offer her a place to stay, saving her a costly hotel bill. Everything with her clients had been sorted in the first few weeks of her arrival and she had been at leisure since then, though from what Lizzy read she knew Jane found no pleasance in the fact. She stated she did not know what she was still staying in London for. Lizzy knew: Bingley.

As for ‘bumping’ into Bingley, Jane wrote,

‘…it was easier said than done. We have not met, nor have I heard from him. I know you will say London is a big place and that I ought to be patient, but I have left numerous messages with his office. He knows I’m here if he wanted to see me. I must conclude, therefore, Lizzy, that he doesn’t. I was wrong. He doesn’t love me.

Jane finished the letter with, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine’, ironically, exactly the words to ensure her sister worried more than ever. Lizzy knew that Jane’s statement was not true; she loved him deeply and would not be ‘fine’. She was also angry with herself for sending Jane after him, guilty for sending her to pursue nothing but pain. The majority of her fury was reserved for Bingley, though, for being so utterly inconsistent. He didn’t know what he was missing in giving up a soul as perfect as Jane.

Lizzy hurried to her last scene, her black gown billowing around her. Celia buries Rupert in the closing frames of the film, and Lizzy was required to do nothing more than stand around looking solemn as his coffin is lowered into the ground. But musings over Jane had left her oblivious to the time, and consequently late to the set.

She rushed blindly on and was surprised to be joined by Robert. He hurried along with her.

‘Confess, Miss Bennet, when you heard that I had gotten the role of Henry, and that I was Darcy’s cousin, you were sure there was a touch of nepotism about the whole. I bet you hated me.’

Lizzy laughed uneasily; he could not know how close to the truth he had gotten. ‘No…not at all…’

Robert smiled. ‘Well, perhaps Darcy did play some part in it. He is a loyal cousin and good friend…’

Lizzy was unconvinced. ‘You think highly of him, no doubt, precisely because you are related.’

‘No, it’s not only that…You have not seen Darcy in the best light, Miss Bennet.’

She laughed slightly. ‘There is a better light to Mr Darcy…?’

‘Yes, of course.’ He nodded emphatically. ‘I know he seems haughty and reserved; it’s because he’s quiet…but I assure you he’s lively enough in other places.’

Lizzy could not believe it. ‘Really?’

‘And as I said before, he is a loyal friend. He has proved as much with his friend Bingley.’

Lizzy was sincerely interested now. ‘Do you know Mr Bingley?’

‘A little. He is the perfect example of Darcy’s loyalty; Darcy is remarkably kind to him…’

Lizzy cut in sarcastically, ‘Yes Darcy is, he takes prodigious deal of care of Mr Bingley...’

Robert agreed, ‘I would say he does…He lately saved Bingley from what would have proved to be a most imprudent marriage.’

Lizzy stopped in her tracks. Jane! ‘He did what…?’

‘Yes, he boasted of it to me only a few days ago.’

Lizzy made a conscious effort to contain her growing anger in an effort to elicit further information from Robert.

‘And did he tell you the reasons for this interference? I suppose it is because of money…?’

He was confused. ‘No…what do you mean?’

Lizzy sought to backtrack quickly; he of course knew nothing about Jane. ‘Mr Bingley has wealth, it is well known; perhaps the fortune of the lady in question was left wanting…?’

Robert disagreed with her. ‘No...Darcy is indifferent to that sort of thing, I’m sure. No, I believe there were some objections to the girl’s family. The way Darcy described the mother…he had me in stitches…’ As if to prove his point, Robert even laughed at the memory of it. ‘And the rest of the family, he told me, are not much better…’

Lizzy was mortified. ‘And what did that have to do with Darcy? Bingley was to marry the girl, not the mother.’

‘Oh, come, Miss Bennet, we all know when one marries, it is inevitably into a family.’

‘Still, it is Bingley who would have married. If he could not have any objections, I do not see where Darcy’s reservations come into it.’

‘But Darcy and Bingley are close friends and he would still have had to spend some time with them…and Darcy has assured me that even that little would prove to be too much…’ He laughed, no doubt recalling Darcy’s words regarding her mother.

‘And so he separated them…?’ Lizzy asked quietly.

‘I do not know the particulars, but Bingley went to London and Darcy after him. Darcy has since returned, of course…’

Robert Fitzwilliam carried on talking, wholly oblivious to the fact that his companion was shaking from head to foot in barely suppressed anger.

Part 10- ‘…The not so humble proposal…’

Posted on Monday, 12 December 2005

It’s strange, and perhaps rather sadistic, how fate contrives to bring together two people in the same equation, exactly at that inopportune moment when they hold such polar opposite views of each other.

At the precise moment Lizzy was re-reading Jane’s letters and renewing her hate against Mr Darcy, he was pacing in his stately room at Rosings, vainly trying to work out exactly what was to be done.

A few short, sharp shots of scotch later and he felt he was able to take on the world, or at least tell Miss Bennet exactly how he felt about her, which to him pretty much amounted to the same thing.

Consequently, when he had worked up enough Dutch courage to eventually knock on her door, they had very different ideas as to how the conversation would go.

‘Mr Darcy…!’ she exclaimed as she opened the door. She stood holding it ajar for a while, but as it soon became clear he was not going anywhere, she muttered, ‘Fine,’ under her breath and moved aside to let him in.

There was no other man in the world she would have liked less to have in her room, and hurriedly putting away the letters, she sat down at the table, determined not to say a word.

Darcy seemed in no hurry to talk either; he paced up and down the length of the room, carefully avoiding looking at her bed and often staring at nothing more than the ground.

Lizzy sighed; no doubt this was going to prove another one of their illuminating conversations, she thought. She watched him curiously and was about to rejoice when it appeared he was about to leave without saying a word, but he turned around to face her.

‘Harry told me you were unwell…I came to see how you were…’ Lizzy had hurried off the set after filming her scene that morning; Roberts’s words about Jane, Bingley and Darcy had sent her head spinning and aching.

Lizzy’s reply was deliberately stern and quiet, ‘I’m fine. It’s only a headache.’

Darcy seemed distracted. ‘Good I’m glad…that it’s only a headache…’

‘Yes, it’ll soon pass…’ She despaired as he began to pace again. He approached her a few times as if to say something…but no, he would only begin pacing again.

He headed once more towards the door and this time he was actually turning the handle, when he turned back with a determined look on his face.

‘I can’t do it...’ he began, ‘…I can’t fight it anymore…I have to tell you that I…I admire, and…and I love you…’

There, it was out.

Lizzy was shocked. She blushed a thousand shades of red and was silent. He took that to be by no means a discouraging sign.

‘I know by stating something so wholly incomprehensible I’ll be opening myself up to all sorts of speculation, gossip and ridicule…’ he laughed, ‘I mean who falls in love with their co-star, it’s so corny and clichéd…the papers are going to have a field day…not to mention what my family will say and think…’ He seemed to reflect on that for a moment, before barreling on.

‘But I’ve struggled against it and failed, so against my better judgment…against sense and reason…I have to ask you to end my suffering and agree to…marry me!’

Lizzy was shocked, but never wavering in her reply, she answered him as calmly as she could possibly manage. ‘I suppose I should thank you…but I can’t. I’ve never desired or cared for your good opinion and you’ve certainly offered it most unwillingly…I’m sorry if you’ve been misled, but I’m sure the feelings you’ve described will soon pass, given the scruples you’ve had in declaring them in the first place…’

She saw his expression change as he heard her carefully worded reply; he turned first red and then an ill-looking pale shade. He was having trouble forming words, and Lizzy quickly discerned that he had been expecting an entirely different reply. However much he may have wished to appear the cautious courtier, Lizzy was sure he had anticipated her reply to be much more positive.

He spoke at last, ‘And that’s your answer, is it…? I should wonder at your lack of civility, but then again I really shouldn’t expect better… given your background…’

He was clearly angry and hurt; he wished her to feel some of it, too.

‘Civility…?’ Lizzy exclaimed incredulity, ‘…you want to talk about civility? I suppose it was ‘civil’ of you to tell me that you loved me against your better judgment, against reason and sense…Wouldn’t that be an excuse, if I was uncivil...?’ She was practically shouting at him now, breathless, angry and passionate.

‘But there are other reasons for my objections, and ‘uncivil’ words, you know there are…Even if I did like you, enough to marry you, do you think any temptation would allow me to accept the one man who has probably ruined the happiness of a much-loved sister…?’

She saw him stare wide-eyed at this. ‘I know what you did, how you worked to separate Jane and Bingley…you cannot deny it…’

Darcy grew calm again, and to her infuriation Lizzy thought she saw him smile ruefully. ‘I have no wish to deny it…I did everything humanly possible to part them…and I’m glad I did…I ought to have been as kind to myself…’

Lizzy wanted to slap him. ‘And long before this…even if this had never happened, I know exactly what you are…I heard it all from Mr Wickham!’

Darcy hurried up to her in a few sudden steps; she retreated, suddenly afraid of him. He glared at her. ‘Oh, and the well being of that man is of the utmost importance to you…’

Lizzy refused to be intimidated. ‘What you did to him, ensuring his current state of poverty… why wouldn’t it be, to anyone with an ounce of compassion and humanity… exactly the things you are devoid of…’

He offered no reply to the accusation, and instead passed a hand over his face. ‘Finally, it’s all out, exactly what you think of me…Well, according to you, my character is greatly flawed; thank you for your very thorough explanation.

‘But perhaps there would not have been much fault to find had I hidden my reservations about you and a connection with your family. I’m not about to make any apologies for what I said. I don’t lie, Miss Bennet. You couldn’t expect me to be happy and overjoyed at the prospective connection with a family of nothing more than bit-part actors…!’

Now it was Lizzy’s turn to rush up to him, she stood only inches away; she had done away with trying to contain her anger. ‘You’re wrong…completely wrong if you think that the way you have declared yourself has affected me in any other way than simply to spare me any feelings of compassion or pity I might have felt had you been more kindly and gentlemanly in your choice of words.’

He seemed amazed at her anger and listened, dumbfounded.

‘From the moment I overheard your conversation, when I rightly slapped you in reply, and then onwards, I have not thought of you except as being the most arrogant, conceited and cruel man I have ever had the displeasure and misfortune to meet. I had not known you a month before I felt you were the last man in the world I would ever marry…and it was even sooner than that when I realized I hated you….!’

Darcy appeared horrified at the idea, and refused to believe her. He shook his head vigorously. ‘No…no, this year we’ve spent together filming, I watched you…I looked in your eyes, there was something there…You’re not that good an actress…’

She smiled at him cruelly, ‘And how would you know? Believe me, the only thing you could have seen was my disgust….!’

She saw him reel at this, and Lizzy briefly thought she may have been too harsh, but it was said and the words could not be taken back, nor did Lizzy wish to take them back. He turned on his heel and left without another word. Lizzy heard the heavy slam of the entrance door behind him.

Lizzy, amazed and shocked at what had just passed, collapsed in the chair, exhausted.

Part 11- ‘…dinner and detailed explanations…’

Posted on Friday, 16 December 2005

Lizzy did eventually get that invite from Lady Catherine that Darcy had promised, and what a time to get it! Robert Fitzwilliam appeared at her door, barely a half-hour after Darcy had left. He explained his aunt had extended a dinner invitation which included her, seeing as she was to leave in the morning now that all her filming in Kent was complete.

He asked her if she was feeling well. She looked pale and seemed distracted; it took her a while to form a reply. ‘Yes…I’m fine. There’s nothing the matter…nothing at all, nothing…’ she replied a little too emphatically while shaking her head. He looked at her strangely.

He thought it best to leave and, stating that a car would be sent round to pick her up, promptly did so.

Lizzy spent the next few hours in a daze, thinking over what Darcy had said and what she had said. It took longer than usual to prepare for Lady Catherine’s dinner. On the one hand, she didn’t want to give Lady Catherine an excuse to find fault with her, but on the other, she equally didn’t wish it to appear as if she were rubbing Darcy’s nose in it. She dreaded seeing him again so soon and was glad she would be leaving tomorrow, returning to the set and Herrington Estate. She would not have to see him there. Darcy and Robert still had scenes to finish here in Kent.

Dinner was going to prove an uncomfortable affair, to say the least. The dining room was one long rectangle with the grand dining table stretching to the entire length of the space. The whole room and the table itself were spectacularly furnished, with huge paintings, flickering candles and gleaming cutlery.

The guest list was a pathetically short one, consisting entirely of Lizzy herself. Harry had been invited but had cried off with some excuse Lady Catherine had not cared to listen to or relay to the others. The party, therefore, was a meager five persons altogether: Lizzy, Lady Catherine, her daughter Anne, Robert and Darcy. They took up residence at one end of the table, and the rest stretched away from them, a disused and redundant sea of polished walnut.

Despite the scant number of guests, the dinner was still by all means going to be a grand affair. Servants milled about the place, bringing and removing plates with a wondrous flair. Lizzy tried to appear her normal self but being seated with Darcy on one side and Anne de Bourgh on the other left her flustered. He was more grave and quiet than she, so Lizzy took the opportunity to survey the appearance of Anne. She was a thin, pale and sickly looking girl, with dark rings under her eyes and what Lizzy was sure was a slight tic above her lip on the left side. She did not appear to be the sort of girl Darcy could even feign an interest in, but what did she know, she thought only this morning that Darcy hated her as much as she did him.

Lady Catherine had entirely manipulated the situation so that Lizzy would find herself between the two cousins; she was still suspicious despite Darcy’s continued declarations that he felt nothing for Miss Bennet. She carefully watched the interaction between them and was pleased to note there was little to see. Darcy did not look at Lizzy once.

Lady Catherine smiled. She could afford to be more pleasant to Miss Bennet now. ‘You are very quiet this evening, Miss Bennet. Not unwell, are you?’

Lizzy looked up, surprised. ‘No, not at all…I’m very well, I thank you…’ She felt Darcy shift uneasily.

Lady Catherine continued, ‘Well, I suspect it’s because you have to leave a place as beautiful as Kent…you ought to have petitioned Harry to do more filming here.’

Lizzy smiled painfully, ‘I don’t think that would have been possible, only the last few scenes of the film are set here…’

Lady Catherine was not really listening. She watched for a reaction from Darcy, a betrayal of his disappointment at her departure, and was satisfied there was none. ‘Well, it’s a shame…but at least I’ll still have my two nephews. They will still be here…’

There was a sharp clang that made Lizzy jump. She realized Darcy had dropped his fork. He stood up abruptly. Everyone was surprised; only Lizzy did not turn to look up at him, and he glanced briefly at her instead. ‘Please…excuse me…’

Lady Catherine was clearly annoyed at his apparent rudeness. ‘Darcy…are you alright? Where are you going..?’

‘I’ve…it’s nothing…’ he mumbled, almost running to the door, ‘I wish you all a good night…’

Gone! Nobody knew where to look; this was a strange dinner party indeed, where it was either impossible to talk or impossible to care enough to make the effort. The whole evening was strange. Robert attempted to spark a conversation with Lizzy, with his usual characteristic easiness, but she seemed so preoccupied that he could not get more than a few sentences out of her.

Never could a group of people have been happier to see the dessert and wine finally finished. Lizzy was relieved to be going at last. As she made her way across the gravel walk, her heels purposefully scrunching against the stones, she pulled her coat tighter around her. The chill in the air was more noticeable than ever.

She had almost reached the car waiting for her when the sound of a second pair of footsteps startled her. In another moment Darcy was standing before her. Even in the dark she could see he wore an angry expression. He thrust an envelope at her…a letter, thick and heavy. She took it almost instinctively.

‘Read it…’ he angrily snarled at her, ‘read it… and then tell me I don’t have every reason in the world to hate him.’ He was still in his dinner suit. She realized he must have been writing it whilst they were all sitting downstairs; it must have been the reason for his abrupt departure. He turned to leave but stopped. His expression changed and his voice softened.

‘It is unlikely we should meet again, Miss Bennet… I know the thought does not make you unhappy, only …I…I wish you all the happiness in the world, Miss Bennet. I don’t think I’ve ever met, or am likely to meet, anyone who deserves such a sentiment more…’ He sighed deeply and left.

Lizzy was left shocked by it all. At that moment the moon appeared out of its shadows, and as she turned over the letter in her hand she noted her initials on the front. She folded it over, thrust it deep into her coat pocket and hurried to the car, anxious to be home, far away from Rosings and anyone remotely connected with it.

Lizzy rubbed her aching head as she got ready for bed. She was tired. It had been an amazingly long day, and she doubted she was going to get much sleep tonight.

Her bags were already packed and placed close to the door; she had made arrangements to leave early. She picked up her coat, and as she was about to drape it over a chair, it fell to the floor and she bent down wearily to retrieve it. The letter had fallen out of her pocket, the same letter Darcy had given to her in his aunt’s driveway.

With no other expectation than a burning curiosity, she sat down cross-legged on her bed and opened it. It was three pages, closely written.

Don’t worry; this letter doesn’t contain any repeat of those sentiments or of the offer you found so disgusting this morning. Rest assured you have made your feelings perfectly clear on that point. It would be best for us both to forget the whole thing.

But I cannot forget the accusations you made against my character with regards to Jane and Bingley, and the weightier one where Wickham is concerned.

Let us deal with what I consider to be the lesser of the two evils first: your sister and my friend. As I have already stated, I did separate them and make no apologies for having done so. I wished to save my friend from disappointment.

I watched you sister, Miss Bennet, her behaviour on the set and at the charity ball, and I can honestly say I saw no particular regard from her for my friend.

Perhaps I was wrong, you know your sister better, of course, but even though she was open and cheerful I soon concluded her to be that way with everyone. It may surprise you to know that she was even nice to me!

She did not reject his attentions but from what I perceived she did nothing to encourage them, either. I was concerned for Bingley; it was easy to see, from what he said and the way he behaved, that he was very much in the way of falling in love with Jane Bennet.

And so I acted. I proposed that we go to London on business. He agreed, a little reluctantly at first. There I put all this before him, beginning with the embarrassment a connection with a family such as yours would entail. I doubt this would have worked very much at all, had I not further persuaded him of your sister’s indifference. He had hitherto believed her to return his affections, but Bingley is uniquely modest, more reliant on the judgment of others than his own and particularly reliant on mine.

If I was wrong and have caused your sister unnecessary pain then I apologize, but I did everything with only the very best of intentions. There is only one part of the whole affair that I have to be ashamed of, a small deception of my own.

I knew of your sister’s stay in London. I did not think Bingley’s regard done away enough quite yet for him to meet her in relative safety; thus, I instructed his secretary, through a little misplaced flattery, to ensure that any messages he received were screened through me first. This way I was able to make sure he heard and thought nothing of Jane Bennet.

There is nothing more to be said on the subject and I find no reason to apologize further.

Next: to George Wickham. You accused me, Miss Bennet, of a lack of compassion and humanity there; let us see if we can engage yours in a true vein.

Have you ever felt so low, Miss Bennet, that every movement, the simplest, a raising of the arm, a turning of the head or even the soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, proved to require a tremendous, concerted effort? And that effort required was becoming more laborious and painful every day?

I have. Should I describe it to you? It is as awful as falling into the deepest, darkest waters, where the dark and the cold are all-consuming, where all hope and prayer must be given up, because you cannot even begin to see the surface, let alone break through it.

I don’t write these words in an effort to engage your pity, Miss Bennet. From your words this morning I have long come to conclude that I should not hope to ever receive so generous a sentiment from you.

I write them because the very cause for such despondency lies with the actions of your friend, George Wickham. I do not know what he has told you, though given the strength with which you sought to chastise me I will not wonder at the success he has had in imposing his views on you.

Mr Wickham and I were brought up together and, yes, my father did love him as a son, perhaps more than his natural one, but he also trusted the wrong son, and that is where my bitterness and resentment lie.

Whereas my father bound me to Pemberley Theatre for eternity, he offered Wickham a release in the form of a sizeable amount of money and a share in the theatre. But Wickham, and here I really cannot blame him, sought to make good his release; he had surmised – rather foolishly, as it turned out – that a career in the film industry would be more profitable, and no doubt it would have been had he the patience or resolve to undertake proper training.

He took the money, sold his share to me and was gone. I cannot pretend to be sorry; his tendency to chase and then abandon the chorus girls was a dubious charm that was beginning to wear thin. He was never any good with money. He did very well spending it but was not the type to be forward-thinking enough to save for a rainy day. He was soon back.

He told me his plans had not worked out. He had the nerve to ask for more money and for the return of his share in the theatre. That would have been impossible. Had I complied then I believe I would have been taking care of Wickham’s finances for the rest of his life. It was not a prospect I would have relished. He was angry and abusive, to say the least. I thought I had seen the last of him. How wrong could I have been?

I must now relate an incident to you, Miss Bennet, that I wish to God I could forget. It is a secret I have been at pains to keep from the world. I have every faith in your confidentiality and do not fear it traveling further through your means.

A couple of years ago Wickham reappeared, a blot on the horizon. He enticed Georgiana into a secret relationship. She had only just turned sixteen. You ought to have seen what she was then, Miss Bennet. All our lives have been spent at the theatre. Georgiana had grown up watching Prima Donnas sing to standing ovations, seeing inspiring thespians die a dramatic Shakespearean death, and it was all she ever aspired to.

But he came and wrought a change in her so profound, so complete that she suffers from it still. Wickham had made many unsavoury friends during his stint as a would-be actor and it was in this way that he introduced various vices to my impressionable sister.

I cannot help but think that it was all in the name of revenge against me. He took pictures of her drinking heavily one evening and passed out on the floor of some seedy nightclub. He showed them to me and said that he would have no scruple in selling them to the papers. The story of a young, rising star like my sister having a supposed drinking problem would have been like dynamite for us all.

He demanded a payment of twenty thousand pounds for the pictures, a sum not easily obtained. You see, my father sought to save his children from the temptations of this world. He perhaps had not counted on his adopted son introducing them to his only daughter. My father tied up all our wealth in the theatre, and set up a committee to ensure it was spent well. Our money is not our own. We are held accountable for every penny to the committee. It is perhaps the reason why I am so resentful towards my father.

I could not raise twenty thousand pounds so easily. The project I was working on had a contract to be completed before payment, and Wickham showed no inclination to patience.

I was forced, I am ashamed to say, to steal the money. I knew of a sizeable donation that was to be made. I siphoned off the amount I needed, fully intending to repay the money before it could be discovered. But it was discovered, by the one person in the world from whom I ought to have nothing to fear: my aunt, Lady Catherine.

Ever since, she has held the discovery over me, influencing every decision I make and analyzing every step, and always with that menacing reminder that I face losing everything if the dreaded committee ever found out.

She assumed my theft to be attributed to some addiction, gambling or otherwise. I allowed the assumption to stand; better that I should bear the brunt of Lady Catherine’s disapproval than Georgiana suffer it. I can stand it better than my sister. She must already live with the pain that because of a moment of youthful trust placed in the wrong man, her brother has been tied up in pitiful straits.

I hope now you will finally acquit me of a lack of humanity and compassion, and understand why I can never forgive George Wickham for all the misery my sister and I have suffered and continue to suffer.

One last word: Miss Bennet, my wealth, my whole life has never been my own. I always appear to be at the mercy of others. Perhaps in proposing to you, unknowingly, deep within my subconscious, I wished to claim you as a possession; if that is the case my proposal ought to invoke shame. But I cannot blame myself for wanting something truly for my own, wanting someone…you.

If a repulsion of my character leads you to disbelieve still all that I have written, you may ask my cousin Robert to verify the details. He is the only other soul in this world apart from you who knows anything of the whole sorry affair.

Goodbye, Miss Bennet. I will make sure you have this letter in your hands before you leave this evening.

FitzwilliamDarcy

Lizzy read the letter with a growing disbelief. What he had said about his efforts concerning Jane and Bingley infuriated her and in a fit of anger she threw the letter to the floor, determined not to look at it.

But the things he had said against Wickham…surely they couldn’t be true. Well, they must be, she thought, or why else would he cite Robert as a reference if he were not certain of his cousin corroborating the story? She read and re-read the whole thing a number of times before it truly sank in: Wickham had lied to her!

Part 12- ‘…how could I have been so wrong…?’

Posted on Tuesday, 20 December 2005

Lizzy was right; she didn’t get much sleep that night. She doubted she would ever sleep well again. She was glad she had packed the night before as it allowed her to leave mercifully early. The last thing she wanted was to have to talk to anyone.

Her head was aching and swirling in equal measures. She must have read Darcy’s letter a dozen times over, yet every line offered a fresh revelation. She was disgusted with the first half, where he had described his actions regarding Jane and Bingley, and further stating he had no case to answer only infuriated her.

But at least there was now some hope that Bingley was not entirely indifferent to Jane, considering the lengths to which Darcy went to hide Jane’s presence from him in London. There was still the matter of her family, though, and whatever the truth of it, the fact still remained that their actions were partly to blame for Jane’s current unhappiness. The thought saddened her.

But when the letter came to mention Wickham…My God, she thought…what revelations were to be had there. Considering it contained such intimate truths with regard to his sister, Lizzy could not help but acknowledge the genuineness of it. He wouldn’t make up such lies…such damning lies. She had tears in her eyes when she read over what Wickham had done, and what he had tried to do, to that poor girl…and all as revenge against Darcy? It was despicable.

And she could not help but feel sorry for Darcy. His words describing his depression, the worry for his sister and the stranglehold Lady Catherine had over him made her heart ache at the thought of how she herself had spoken to him only yesterday…how cruel she had been.

No wonder Wickham had kept away. Darcy may have just killed him, and justifiably so. All those lies he had told her, and she had fallen for every single one of them…how? She had always been a cynic, never taken anything at face value…but Wickham, she had wholly trusted him within a matter of hours.

Why? She could not help but think vanity had played a major part in it. Wickham had flattered and charmed her upon their first meeting, whereas Darcy had immediately dismissed her. It could be the only reason she had fallen in love with one and developed so pointed a hatred for the other. She knew nothing about either man in truth.

And all the time, on the long drive back the same thought preyed on her mind. How could she have been so wrong?

Darcy attempted, at breakfast that morning, to appear as if he were listening as his aunt chastised him on his rudeness last night. He seemed to be doing a good enough job; she had not yet ceased talking. He stole a quick glance at the antique grandfather clock at the far end of the room. It had just gone nine, but he knew with a curious certainty that Elizabeth Bennet was already halfway home by now, driving out of Kent… and driving out of his life, for good.

The past year, all that time he had worked with her, watched her, all the time thinking her barbed comments and fencing of wits with him had been just that. He had thought she was tempting him, flirting with him…encouraging him.

And in truth…her words haunted him…throughout it all she actually hated him. How could he have been so wrong?

‘And he was in love with you…all that time… Poor Mr Darcy…’ Jane had returned only a few days before Lizzy, and it was only now that Lizzy had the courage to relate to her sister what had taken place between her and Mr Darcy in Kent. She had been careful to avoid mentioning anything about Bingley. She did not think even Jane was forgiving enough to pardon the part her family had played in bringing about her separation from the man she loved.

‘Yes…poor Mr Darcy…’ Lizzy sighed alongside her.

‘No…I did not mean that anyone who falls in love with you ought to be pitied…quite the contrary, of course….’

Lizzy smiled. ‘I know what you meant Jane…it’s quite alright…’

But Jane had another thought on the matter, one that despite all her attempts she could not shake off. ‘Lizzy…forgive me for asking, but I cannot help but think…Lizzy, is this… what you meant…?’

Lizzy was genuinely puzzled as to what her sister was alluding. ‘I don’t understand, Jane…?’

‘When you said that Darcy would regret it…that he would be sorry for what he did to you at the ball…was this your revenge?’

Lizzy still shook her head. ‘Jane, what do you mean…?’

Jane took Lizzy’s hand in her own. ‘Did you mean to make him fall in love with you…so that you may have the pleasure of rejecting him…?’

Lizzy snatched her hand away from her sister, shocked. ‘No…I had no idea he was in love with me…I thought he disliked me as much as I did him…I never dreamt… When I said I would make him sorry, I meant through acting. I intended to act him off the screen…that is all. Jane, how could you think such a thing of me, to think that I could be so cruel…?’

Jane was at once repentant. ‘Lizzy…I’m sorry. Of course I know you’re not cruel, I know you would never hurt anyone deliberately…not even Mr Darcy.’

‘Well I’m glad you think so…’ Lizzy sighed and sat down next to her sister again. ‘I know you feel sorry for him, but I think he has other feelings…they’ll soon drive away any regard he might have had for me.’

Jane pressed her hand once more. ‘Lizzy, considering what’s happened and what we now know, what are you going to do about Wickham?’

‘I don’t know…I feel such a fool, Jane, trusting him so blindly…I cannot think of it without shame…’

‘You have nothing to be ashamed of; it was not you who was deceitful.’

Lizzy bit her bottom lip in anxiety. ‘I know…should we tell anyone what he is, what he truly is…?’

Jane was undecided. ‘He has only a small part in the film. I’m sure he’ll be gone soon, and with any luck that’ll be the last we see or hear of him. What do you think?’

‘I think…we had better not try. Nobody would believe us anyhow. You know how well Wickham is liked around here, and Mr Darcy has not given me permission to tell the world of his grievance with Wickham, especially as it concerns his sister…’

Jane nodded, ‘Yes, of course. We’ll keep it to ourselves, then, but Lizzy, I’m worried for you. How are you ever going to face Wickham? What will you say to him…?’

Lizzy’s face at once became stern. ‘I don’t know, but whatever it is, I know I won’t make it pleasant.’

Lizzy had secretly been wishing that she would not have to confront Wickham. She had very much hoped that he would leave quietly and that she would never see him again.

But Wickham knew nothing of Mr Darcy’s proposal or his letter and he thought himself as much liked by Lizzy as ever. He caught up with her as she hurried along to her trailer. ‘Hey…’

Lizzy stopped and turned, even though she recognised the voice; she said nothing.

‘I’m glad you’re back. How was Kent…?’ Wickham was unruffled and smiling, as always.

Lizzy smiled slightly in return. ‘Illuminating…’

The peculiar smile had him slightly worried. ‘Oh…?’ he asked in trepidation.

‘I didn’t see much of Kent, but I did learn quite a bit about it, about the people connected with it in particular…’

Wickham laughed. ‘Yes I’m sure Darcy was as insufferable as ever…’ Wickham attempted to disguise his suspicion at the tone of her voice.

She looked him directly in the eyes. ‘I think we have been a great deal too harsh on Mr Darcy in general. He improves, you know, on closer acquaintance…’

‘Really…? I’m glad if he has improved. Are we speaking of his manners or of a broader improvement…?’

Lizzy smiled widely now. ‘No…no, in manners he is as he ever was, as rude and obnoxious, but I feel the more one learns about the man, the better one’s understanding of him… of what he is and why he takes such pains to be so unpleasant. One may even begin to understand the reasons behind it…’

‘What have you learnt…?’ Wickham replied quietly, knowing full well what she knew.

Lizzy was in no mood to talk to him any longer. ‘I don’t care for playing games, Mr Wickham. I care even less for the one you have played with me…’

Wickham smiled slyly. ‘Games…? I only told you what you wanted to hear…it’s hardly my fault that you didn’t think to question me on details…’

Lizzy was disgusted. How could she not have seen the deviousness and sheer gall of this man before?

‘What you did…what you almost did to that poor girl…You’re despicable!’

In her anger Lizzy failed to notice her voice was rising, and she was beginning to attract a crowd. ‘You’re a liar and a thief, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever let you take me for a fool again!’

He laughed at her; she shook her head. ‘I can’t believe I ever…Darcy is ten times the man you are. I’m going to make sure I don’t ever even have to breathe the same air as you again. I’ve spoken to Harry. He’s more than happy to rework the scenes. I won’t be surprised if you’re edited from the film altogether.’

It was Lizzy’s turn to smile triumphantly as she watched his face fall.

‘Nobody does that to me,’ he shouted angrily. ‘You’re making a big mistake…’ he threatened her.

She wasn’t the least bit unnerved. ‘Yes I can, and I already have. As for making a mistake, I’ve made so many this past year…by far the biggest being trusting you, but believe me, that won’t happen again.’

As he grabbed her wrist menacingly and twisted her arm painfully, a few of the onlookers sought to intervene, but they need not have worried. Lizzy was more than capable of handling the likes of George Wickham.

Stepping close to him and shifting all her weight on one leg, she suddenly lifted the other and, drawing it back, kneed Wickham directly in the crotch! He went down like a sack of potatoes, releasing his grip on her arm and placing both hands over his aching manhood.

She walked away from him, turning a deaf ear to the threats he uttered that she would regret what she had done and to the profanities that he screamed at her.

She sat trembling, Darcy’s letter literally shaking in her hand. The confrontation with Wickham had left her drained. She did not regret her actions toward him, but, God, did she rue the mistakes of the past year.

Lizzy kept going back to that letter. The depression…he had said he was drowning, but he had hidden it so well behind that cool and calm façade. He had been falling apart and she had done nothing, suspected nothing.

More than likely she had made it worse, forcing him to explain himself to her, to recall all those bitter memories about his sister and his blackmailing aunt. Lizzy had never been more inclined to think better of Darcy than now, when it was too late, when he would no doubt be likely to reject her help if she at all offered it.

She could never forgive him for Jane, but she could learn to be kinder.

For the first time in her life, Lizzy wanted nothing more than to be at home, surrounded by familiar things. Even the incessant chatter of her mother could prove a welcome distraction. Surely that was where meager comfort would now lie. She carefully folded over the letter and placed it in her bag, then hurried out of the trailer. Swinging the door wide open, she was surprised to hear a dull crunch and then a muffled moan.

This had happened before, but surely not to the same person twice. Sure enough, peeking behind the door Lizzy found poor Mr Collins, this time holding his nose.

‘Mr Collins, my God, are you alright?’ She looked him up and down regretfully. His nose was beginning to bleed. Lizzy hurried him into the trailer and handed him a box full of tissues.

He took a few and, rolling them up lengthwise, tilted his head back and stuffed them up his nostrils. She placed a cold compress over the bridge of his nose; it was beginning to swell dreadfully.

‘Mr Collins, I’m so sorry, but what are you doing here…?’ She sat opposite him.

‘It’s been six months, Miss Bennet; surely you can’t have forgotten…You gave me that little hope, Miss Bennet. I’ve come to ask again.’

This could only happen to Mr Collins. The first time he had come to propose she had almost given him a concussion; now she was sure to have broken his nose.

Of course, she recalled his proposal, but had it really been six months already? How much had happened since then. Perhaps it was because her head was swimming with the recent encounter with Wickham, the way he had laughed at her, or the fact that she had been so wrong about Darcy. But whatever it was, in that insane moment Lizzy’s answer surprised them both.

‘Yes…’ Mr Collins wasn’t sure he had heard her correctly. He had begun to recite once more his ardent feelings for her. Lizzy could stand it no longer.

‘What…?’ He looked ridiculous, speaking in that nasal voice and with tissues stuffed up his nose. But she was certain in her reply.

‘Yes…I’ll marry you…Mr Collins…’ The shock and excitement sent his nose bleeding again, and Lizzy had to listen to his exclamations of delight and felicitation in between changing bloodied tissues.

More than once, Lizzy disbelieved her own answer. ‘Have I really just said yes to Mr Collins?’

Part 13- ‘A very public engagement…’

Posted on Friday, 23 December 2005

He knew he was drinking too much, far too much. But it helped. Solace really could be found in the bottom of a glass, or, in his case, a bottle. The pressure and bitterness over the past month were building everyday in his chest, getting heavier and heavier, weighing him down. And all the time he knew that any minute it could all fall apart. He could fall apart.

The drink made him forget, made him lighter so that he could at least breathe again. And Darcy needed to breathe, needed huge gulps of refreshing, cleansing air; he needed to be free, free to forget Elizabeth Bennet had ever existed.

It was impossible; every waking moment, even the ones where he was half-dead with drink, all he saw was her, her through the haze, hating him, accusing him. He was sincere in his letter to her about his depression. It had plagued him most of his life, due in no small part to his father’s expectations of him. But it had been at its worst these past few years. Wickham and Lady Catherine could be thanked for that.

He had avoided prescription drugs where he could; Darcy knew that once he turned to them, fighting the disease on his own would prove a near impossibility. And he thought himself a great deal too young to roll into the Betty Ford clinic just yet.

Bingley eyed his friend wearily. Darcy looked very much the worse for wear and it was only ten in the morning. He had been struggling to keep stories of Darcy’s erratic behaviour and drinking to a minimum, but today there was a full-spread feature on the contrasting fortunes of the two co-stars. Elizabeth Bennet’s story was an altogether different one to that of Darcy’s.

He strode up purposefully and snatched the bottle away from him. Darcy barely stirred. Bingley noticed the same paper he was holding strewn around Darcy’s feet; Lizzy’s face stared up at him from the scattered pages.

‘What are you doing to yourself, Darcy…? I don’t understand it. What the hell’s the matter with you? This past month you’ve been like a ghost. And you’re drinking too much…’ He waved the bottle in front of him reproachfully.

‘Not nearly enough…’ Darcy’s muttered reply was barely audible over the sound of Bingley pouring the whisky down the sink. Darcy didn’t try to stop him; he merely twirled the shot he had already poured around and around in its glass.

Bingley leaned against the sink watching him. ‘I see you’ve read the papers, then…quite a shock, don’t you think…?’

Darcy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why…?’

‘Oh, come on, we all know how slimy Collins is. The fact that Lizzy agreed to marry him doesn’t surprise you…?’

‘No…she’s allowed to marry who she wants… I’m sure they’ll be very happy together…’ Darcy raised his glass in a mock salute. ‘To the new Mrs Collins: may we all learn to move on as quickly as she has …’ He threw the drink down his neck in one swift slug.

Bingley couldn’t understand the latter part of his sentence. ‘Well, it surprised me, at least. Jane always said…’ he stopped himself on the familiarity of her name, ‘that is, Miss Bennet always said that Lizzy didn’t care for Collins…’

‘Well, maybe she changed her mind…’ Darcy snapped angrily.

Bingley was annoyed with him. ‘I don’t understand you, Darcy…You’ve worked with this girl for nearly a year. Are you telling me in all that time, that you haven’t put your petty differences aside enough to even feign an interest…’

‘I’m sorry…by all means, tell all…’ He waved the empty glass in the air fancifully. Bingley began to read from the paper.

‘The longstanding rumours of an engagement on the set of The Framed Rose were confirmed yesterday by the announcement by Miss Elizabeth Bennet’s sister and agent, Jane Bennet. The young star of the film is set to marry a Mr Edward Collins. He is a relative unknown and is widely thought to be the history expert drafted in to assist in the authenticity of the film. The engagement has prompted wild speculation into the nature of the relationship as it is believed that the affair has come as a surprise even to the family of the prospective bride.
Mr Collins is believed to be delighted with the engagement, and who can blame him? He is by all accounts not the most handsome of men, and when standing next to his fiancée, the very beautiful Elizabeth Bennet, has rather cruelly inspired such headlines as ‘The Beauty and the Beast’.
Their engagement is to be formally celebrated tonight at an engagement party to be held on the grounds of Herrington Estate, the location of the forthcoming film…’

‘You should go…’ Darcy suddenly turned around and looked him directly in the eye.

‘What…?’ Bingley was shocked Darcy would even suggest such a thing.

But Darcy was determined. ‘If you leave now, you should be there in plenty of time…One of us should go, and seeing as I’m still busy filming…’

‘No…I can’t go, you know that…’

‘Why not…?’

Bingley was amazed he even had to ask. ‘Jane will be there…and you know I can’t face her alone, knowing she doesn’t care for me as I do her…I’m surprised you’d even suggest such a thing. I’m afraid if I see her again, Darcy, I won’t be able to help myself and I’ll end up proposing…’

Darcy smiled slightly at this. ‘That’s exactly what I’m counting on…there’s no point in both of us being miserable…’ Seeing Bingley look suitably puzzled, he sighed deeply. ‘Bingley, I have a confession to make…’

He turned back to the glass wishing it was full again. ‘You have to know, Bingley, that I think of you as more than just a friend. You’re almost like a brother to me…What I’ve done…I had only your best interests in mind…’

‘Darcy…now you’re scaring me, what’s this big confession…?’

After a lengthy pause, Darcy told Bingley all, how he had known of Jane’s being in London the same time as he was, and he had kept the knowledge of it to himself. And how he had intercepted all his messages to make sure he never found out about Jane’s presence.

Darcy watched Bingley’s expression change from shock and disbelief to contempt and he was not surprised by it. ‘But I was wrong, Bingley. I have to tell you that now. I was wrong to interfere and I was certainly wrong about how Jane feels about you. You have to believe me when I tell you that I have lately come to know exactly how she feels…Bingley, she loves you, as much as you do her…’

Bingley was unsure how to react. ‘You lied to me, Darcy…I can’t believe you did that…’

‘I know, and I’m truly sorry. It was despicable of me…’ Darcy trailed off; it was clear Bingley was not listening. He approached him with a hopeful expression.

‘You’re sure she loves me…how do you know…are you sure…?’

Darcy smiled. ‘I’m sure…just something somebody said to me; I’m more than certain of it. So, perhaps you should go to that party…?’

Bingley’s expression was one of such relieved joy that it did not surprise Darcy when he tore out of the room at such a pace that Darcy was sure there was a cloud of dust kicked up behind him.

‘I wholly forgive you, Darcy….’ Bingley shouted back just before he was out of earshot as he raced down the corridor towards the exit.

Darcy smiled to himself quietly. No; no point in both of them being miserable.

Jane could not help but despair at the scene playing out in front of her. Mr Collins had just made the big announcement, and now both he and Lizzy were busy receiving congratulations from the multitude of well-wishers thronging forward.

Only Jane did not press forward. She knew as clearly as she knew night from day that this was not what Lizzy wanted. She stood at the back of the grand hall and could not dispel the sad tears that crept into her eyes.

She did not notice the man who came to stand next to her until she felt his arm around her waist. Bingley! He wore such an expression on his face that Jane was certain of his question before he could even ask it.

Later, after they had slipped quietly away and Bingley had slipped a ring onto Jane’s finger, he asked about the curious engagement between Lizzy and Mr Collins.

‘I was sure she hadn’t encouraged him. We all saw his obvious intentions as soon as he arrived on set, but Lizzy…’

Jane nodded. ‘I know…it was such a shock to us as well. Do you know they have been engaged almost a month already? But I know this is not what she wants, it can’t be…’ Jane felt the tears coming on again despite her own happiness.

Bingley comforted her. ‘What are you going to do…? Have you talked to her about it…?’

‘No, I haven’t had the courage yet…but I have a feeling she won’t listen to me anyway…’

So what will you do..?’

‘Well, if she doesn’t like what I have to say, I know there’s one person whose opinion she’ll have to take into account…I’ll call father…’

Jane was right to be anxious; Lizzy would not listen. Not wishing to usurp her sister’s moment Jane had pulled her away from the crowd, and in a bid to escape it they now wandered through the Herrington maze. She had told Lizzy of her own good news: Bingley had returned and they were to be married.

Lizzy was overjoyed. It was obvious; the twinkle on Jane’s ring shone as bright as the one in her eye. But the merriment did not last long. Jane could not stay silent any longer, and after the pleasantries and simpering were done, Jane began directly.

‘Lizzy what are you doing…you can’t marry Mr Collins, you can’t marry this man…!’

Lizzy remained remarkably calm, in spite of all her sister’s impassioned pleas. ‘And why not? Why shouldn’t I marry the one man who has not lied to me, who has never made a fool out of me, or never made me feel so depressed and doubting of my own ability…why should I not marry this man…?’

‘Because you do not love him!’ Jane’s reply was emphatic. ‘You once told me, Lizzy, that only the deepest love would ever induce you into matrimony…I can’t believe you’ve found that with Mr Collins…’

Lizzy laughed oddly. ‘Why not? Everyone else seems to believe it…’

‘That’s because…’ Jane pressed her arm, ‘…they don’t know you like I do…’

‘And maybe it’s you who do not know me, Jane…’ She quietly shrugged off Jane’s arm and walked away. Jane was left stunned and silent until she became aware of her surroundings.

‘Lizzy…’ she called out, ‘you know I don’t like mazes…you know I’m not very good at them…’

‘Don’t worry…’ Jane could only barely make out Lizzy’s voice, ‘I’ll be sure to send a prince out to rescue you… or at least Bingley…!’

‘Lizzy…!’

Continued in Next Section