1

Posted on Monday, 8 August 2005

“Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet,” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet, her voice pitched to the shrillest resonance she could register. “Mr. Bingley is to come to the next assembly! And he brings a party with him! Too many ladies to be sure, but men enough for our daughters I tell you!”

Mr. Bennet eyed his wife over the edge of the periodical he read daily. “Really my dear? For I heard he brought no gentlemen but his self.” Mr. Bennet returned his eyes to the daily news.

Mr. Bennet’s five daughters, however (the very ones who were all soon to wed Mr. Bingley’s eligible bachelor friends), were much more excited over their mother’s news than either their parents could guess. The youngest and most brazen Lydia sat contemplating the exact gentlemanliness of said gentlemen. Looking towards Kitty, her elder sister of one mere year, she wonderingly inquired, “Is it at all gentlemanly to kiss a girl on the first acquaintance?” The inquiry was made as a mumble under her breath, and Kitty was quite sure that a negative answer would not be acceptable to her younger sister, and therefore, not acceptable to herself. She contemplated the various outcomes of putting such a question to the test.

Mary, the middle daughter on whom all decorum and Christian morality fell heavy upon, was tempted but to a single ten second thought on the matter of gentlemen at all. Her conclusions were thus: it is not at all proper to contemplate gentlemen, and that if she did not squash the inclination that very second, it was very likely to overcome her. She glared disapprovingly at Kitty and Lydia, as if they were the quite confirmed proof of such a matter.

Jane and Elizabeth Bennet’s thoughts were at that moment, as consumed with gentlemen as were those of their younger sisters. The twin blushes that occupied space on both Jane’s pale cheeks and Elizabeth’s tan ones might have indicated as much if anyone had been paying much heed to them. However, as they were most sensible of all five Bennet girls, and truly, of the entire Bennet clan, no one worried themselves over their fates (unless Mr. Bennet was worrying over their matrimonial fates, which happened quite often).

At twenty-one and twenty-three, Jane the eldest and Elizabeth the second eldest, were considered just short of hopeless in the matrimonial arena. And while this fact was most grievously apparent to Mrs. Bennet, Jane and Elizabeth hardly heeded it. For they did not care to be married, unless, that is, if it were to be for love. They were quite content in their relative spinsterhood.

Or they were.

No more than one month ago, the previously mentioned Mr. Bingley had taken up residence in Hertfordshire. Being a single man in possession of a large fortune, all local mamas in possession of unwed daughters naturally considered Mr. Bingley as their rightful property. And none thought more so than Mrs. Bennet, to the chagrin of daughters Jane and Elizabeth, the pious reflection of Mary, and the utter excitement of Lydia and Kitty. And to the amusement of Mr. Bennet.

Another man had also come into town with Mr. Bingley; another single man in possession of a large fortune. Mr. Darcy’s fortune was twice that of Mr. Bingley’s. Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy’s obvious distaste for the local inhabitants and their matchmaking mamas was quite evident from his very first introduction. In fact, he very vocally made it known that he was indeed a bachelor for life. And while this simple, dispassionate fact was all they knew of Darcy, his friend had often been subjected to long tirades on the subject.

“I shall see you before I die look pale with love, Darcy,”* would laugh the always jolly Bingley.

“With anger, with sickness, or with hunger, Bingley,” his brooding friend would reply vehemently, “Not with love. I will live a bachelor.”* And on this point, Darcy was quiet adamant.

In result, whilst Bingley was invited to dinners and generally thought of as quite a capitol fellow, Darcy was omitted completely from conversation. A man who did not intend to marry, was not a man Hertfordshire wished to recognize.

It was on these two men and a very large secret on which Elizabeth and Jane now dwelled. “It is a lovely day, is it not Jane?” inquired Elizabeth of her sweet tempered sister, giving her a very distinct look.

“It is,” was Jane’s reply as both girls stood to leave the confines of the family sitting room. No one questioned their exit. Elizabeth was relentlessly active, with an overly abundant source of energy. Her mother hoped she would walk it all out of her before she completely surpassed the marriageable age. She still had time, but it did not look hopeful. Mrs. Bennet shook her head with a sigh as she watched her two eldest daughters strolling away from Longbourn, heads bent confidentially together. She did not wonder what they whispered. They were always whispering.

“Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy return, Elizabeth,” whispered Jane excitedly, the color rising charmingly in her cheeks.

“That Mr. Bingley returns, I rejoice, that Mr. Darcy returns, I could certainly care less. I hope, instead, that Bingley leaves him in town.”

Jane did not answer her, but after a brief pause, changed the topic of discussion. “You do not think anyone has guessed, do you Lizzy?” Jane’s pale cheeks, all too easy at developing rosy hues, actually paled further with this question. “What we did, I do not think, was wholly proper.”

Elizabeth laughed and patted her sister’s arm companionably. “We had no choice in the matter Jane, rain was eminent.” Elizabeth was quite sure in her conclusions. Rain had been eminent. In fact, the sky which had started out blue and clear, soon darkened and opened up to drench the poor unsuspecting girls. Elizabeth had been quite irritated that her daily jaunt had been interrupted, but her fear for her sister’s health had repressed her own selfish emotions, and she had been quite glad to see and hear the coach rumbling down the quickly muddying road.

The coach had stopped, the window curtain lifted, to reveal the presence of two distinctly handsome and richly dressed personages of the male persuasion.

Jane and Elizabeth Bennet had been the very first in Hertfordshire to meet the amiable Mr. Bingley, and his dark friend Mr. Darcy. Mrs. Bennet would have been overjoyed, and Elizabeth had giggled once to her sister that it was almost cruel of them as daughters to keep such information to themselves. Though it was a joke only, for the knowledge that her two eldest and most sensible daughters had shared a coach and a completely empty Netherfield Park with two strange men, there would quite likely be a scandal. Neither girl was fond of scandal.

And so it seemed, was neither unknown man fond of letting unknown ladies stand helpless in torrential downpours. Mr. Bingley insisted on their riding to his newly let residence and taking shelter until the worst of the storm was over. For lack of more appealing options, the Bennet sisters accepted.

Elizabeth had come to regret that decision, while Jane secretly considered it the most wonderful, if slightly shady, afternoon of her entire life.

Mr. Bingley had quite bravely bared his arm to the rain as he escorted Jane into the conveyance. Jane, as was her nature, alighted into the carriage as gracefully as she did everything else. Elizabeth, who had grace, but usually found it overpowered by sheer delight and exuberance tripped on the slippery step and banged her kneed on the edge of the carriage, a whispered oath escaping her lips as she realized her head would be the next to connect with that damned edge.

But it did not. The next thing to connect with anything of hers was a set of substantially strong arms. Where Bingley had but proffered his arm to the rain to help his lady, Darcy had sent his entire person sprawling out into the deluge to save the lady of dark hair who rather looked, at the moment like a drowned rat. He might not have sacrificed so much had he not caught the angered and frightened glint in Elizabeth’s dark eyes as she fell. Seeing them widen, fall from eye level and close tightly sent him jumping from the protection of the carriage in valiant attempt to save the falling lady.

No, it was not the lady’s eyes that propelled him thusly. He was a gentleman; there had been nothing else to do. Or so he told himself.

Elizabeth, on raising her glinting eyes and rain soaked lashes to her rescuer, was cognizant of a rather unnatural jolt to her stomach and chest. He pulled her inside and set her across from him. “Are you alright, madam?” he had inquired politely.

“Yes, quite,” she assured him.

Those had been the very last polite words either had said to each over the entire course of their short acquaintance.

Jane woke Elizabeth from her musings. “Truly, he should not have mocked you for your literary preferences. Tragedies are not for everyone you know.”

“Yes, I know. But it was not his abuses of my literary preferences that annoyed me Jane, it was his utter refusal to believe in the goodness of women. He sees us all as Lady Macbeths, Queen Gertrudes, Regans and Gonereals! No woman could ever be a Cordelia!”

“And are you a Cordelia, Lizzy?” laughed Jane.

“Not at all! I refuse to die tragically in the end! If anything… I’m Shakespeare’s shrew… though not quiet as abrasive or angry as she! She is independently minded. I admire such things.”

“Come Lizzy, do not say such things. You will wish to be married when you find a man who will take you as you are.” She recognized the defiant look on her sister’s face and frowned, turning from her to survey the road ahead, the road leading to London, the road Mr. Bingley would once again be traveling soon, the road she had first met him on. “You will be married Lizzy,” she almost whispered.

“No,” said Elizabeth, forcing a sigh from her voice and a distant expression from her face, “Thus goes everyone to the world but I… and I am sunburnt.”*

Jane did not attempt to decipher her sister’s speech; Lizzy often talked such ways.

* all asterisked lines are direct or slightly modified quotes from William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing

2

Posted on Wednesday, 10 August 2005

“They are come Lizzy!” exclaimed Jane to her sister from a slightly shadowed corner of the Hertfordshire assembly rooms.

“And is the party as full of ladies as all the town fears?” asked Elizabeth, a hint of humor in her voice.

“Not at all,” informed Jane. “Mr. Bingley brought but two ladies, both his sisters, one married.”

“And tell me, is the brooding Hamlet returned with him or no?”

“Who, Lizzy?” Jane wished her sister did not so often talk in riddles. “I see no possible connection to Shakespeare. What could you be talking about?”

“Why, Mr. Darcy of course.” Elizabeth’s best friend Charlotte Lucas made her presence known. She had been the sister’s sole conspirator and keeper of the truth of what had happened on that rainy day Mr. Bingley first came to town. “She has been rather vocal about her dislike of the man. Really Lizzy, he could not have so completely offended you in the short span of time you were in each others company!”

“It was not so much that he offended me, but that he is simply an unlikable being; all heavy dark looks and imperious, serious opinions,” replied Elizabeth, looking over the heads of the dancers in the small ballroom to the doorway where Mr. Bingley and his small party stood. Mr. Bingley’s look was one of utter delight while his entire entourage seemed to be attempting not to touch anything or anyone. Elizabeth sniffed indignantly, but could not keep at bay the amusement she found in their disdainful gazes.

Bingley’s first object of order as he entered the ball, was to seek out a proper introduction to the Bennet sisters. His eyes fought through the groups of girls, soldiers, excited mamas, and bored looking papas, seeking a glimpse of the blonde beauty. She was not hard to find, and he found that by attaching himself to Sir William Lucas (whom he had met before his trip to London) he was soon able to meet, very quickly, anyone of any importance in the small country town. The Bennets, apparently, were of much importance. The Bennet girls were known as local beauties, making them both admired and despised. They were the first family on Sir William’s list for introductions. Before even Mr. Hurst (Bingley’s over imbibing brother in law) could swig his first glass of port, Bingley was shaking Mr. Bennet’s hand.

Mr. Bennet, thinking of his wife’s pleasure and his own pleasure when she was not suffering an attack of nerves, was quick to suggest an introduction to his two most sensible and beautiful daughters.

He did not notice the mirth in Lizzy’s countenance as he introduced a man she already knew, nor did he notice the guilt in Jane’s.

“Come,” confided Mr. Bingley as Mr. Bennet took his leave of the young people, “We must find Darcy and make all formalities complete.”

Jane and Elizabeth waited as Bingley set out to find and deliver Mr. Darcy to their corner for proper introductions. When Bingley did not quickly return, they decided (or rather Jane did) to follow in his wake. Jane spotted Mr. Bingley’s fair head across the room, close to the fireplace, and directed her steps toward it.

“Is not she beautiful, Darcy?” Bingley asked. Mr. Darcy leaned against the mantle of the fireplace; his head resting in his open palm, a bored yet faintly amused expressing dressing his face.

“Would you have me speak the truth; or would you have me speak after my custom, as being a professed tyrant to all females?” Darcy’s sarcasm completely eluded his friend, who had not a clue to what he referred. For Darcy, however, the memory was blazed into his mind.

Elizabeth Bennet had been beautiful sitting in front of the roaring fire of the very empty Netherfield Hall. She had also been intelligent, witty, and her eyes practically danced with merriment. The dancing eyes had not been a trick of the fire, as Darcy had at first surmised. No, he had studied them long and hard, and their sparkling quality owed no thanks to any outside entity. Because of his prolonged ruminations on the subject of her eyes, Darcy did not completely understand the hostility she quickly gained toward him. He had thought to win her over by evoking her obviously sharp intellect, but his choice of topic did nothing to help his situation. Literature, it seemed, was an area in which he and the lady did not agree. He preferred sober, more dramatic works, while she was delighted to read anything with a happy ending.

If their literary disagreement had not been enough, the topic soon turned an even more dangerous corner when they began to discuss the role of women in literature, specifically Shakespearean drama. Darcy, having just had a monstrous experience with a country party, a blushing debutante of sixteen, and a mama so determined to secure a wealthy match for her daughter that she was quite adept at maneuvering compromising situations, was not keen at all on the subject of womanhood, a fact that Miss. Elizabeth Bennet found rather offensive. The dreadful conversation, however, ended with an agreement. Neither Mr. Darcy, nor Miss. Bennet was inclined to wed. Ever.

Darcy was jogged from his reverie by Bingley’s insistent demands. “Please Darcy, nothing but the truth.”

Darcy sighed. “Well, she is too pretty to be called ugly, but not pretty enough to be beautiful.”

“Do not joke with me, Darcy. I am deadly serious you know.”

“Why is it so important, Bingley?” As if Darcy had not seen his friend fall heavily time after time.

“She is the sweetest angel I have ever seen.”

Darcy scoffed. “My sight has not yet faded and I see no such thing. Now her sister, she is spring to your Miss. Bennet’s winter. If Miss. Elizabeth Bennet were not so… disdainful, she would be quite lovely.”

“Oh really, Mr. Darcy? Perhaps I would not be so disdainful without you here to inspire me to new heights.”

Darcy lifted his head abruptly and found himself peering into the scorching eyes of the very topic of his musings.

“Elizabeth!” hissed Jane, appalled at her sister’s daring.

“Oh, Miss. Bennet, Miss. Bennet!” exclaimed Bingley, swinging around to face the two ladies behind him. “Let me have the great honor of introducing you to my dearest friend. Mr. Darcy, meet Miss. Jane Bennet and Miss. Elizabeth Bennet.” Bingley attempted to use a playful grin to lighten the pressing tension that hung in the air between his friend and the dark haired Bennet sister. It did not work.

“Yes,” replied Elizabeth, “I know him of old.”

Bingley colored at her words, aghast that she would make such public mention of their secret introduction a month ago. Looking around, he sighed a sigh of relief; no one had seemed to hear her.

Darcy did naught but stare stonily at Elizabeth.

Disconcerted, Elizabeth spoke. “Tis a wonder you came tonight, sir. Balls are usually prime places for matchmaking, and I understood you were not agreeable to this at all. It truly would be no loss if you did not make an appearance.” She hesitated, shocked at her own words. Why did this man evoke the worst in her? Opening her mouth to speak once more, she found nothing but stutters on her tongue. His steady, dark eyed gaze disarmed her. Forcing her stutters downward, she determined he should not stare at her so any longer. “Surely no lady is attracted to a man who glares so gloomily at all surrounding him.”

Darcy had been trying to keep his silence and his temper. But as one grew stronger, it became quite clear that the other one would disappear all together. He did not know what he spoke before he spoke it. “It is certain I am loved of all ladies, only you excepted.” He almost flinched at the arrogance her heard in his own voice. When would he ever have made such a comment before? Never! But he just had. Damn the bewitching and befuddling woman! “I wish I could say my heart was not so hardened towards the fairer sex, Miss. Bennet. For truly, I love none.”

“A dear happiness to women! They would else be troubled by a pernicious suitor.” Elizabeth was now as lost in the fierce argument as Darcy was. “I thank God I am of your humor for that. I wish never to hear a man swear he loves me.”

Bingley and Jane, who had been standing dumbly by, shocked by the words flying from their companions’ lips, blushed furiously. “Jane,” asked Mr. Bingley loudly, “would you dance?”

“Yes, I would,” she replied softly, grateful for the escape he offered her.

Darcy and Elizabeth glared equally at each other for several heated seconds before each turned swiftly and neatly on their heels and stomped in the opposite direction.

***A considerable amount of dialogue (some paraphrase, some not) is taken from Much Ado About Nothing in this chapter. I could never hope to aspire to such witty depths as Mr. Shakespeare or Mrs. Austen.

3

Posted on Monday, 22 August 2005

Mr. Hurst, Bingley’s brother in law, loved his drink. He had not always been so enamored of spirits. However, a year of marriage to a Bingley sister could, and did, have disastrous effects on his constitution. No, Mr. Hurst had once been a very astute man, sharp in all his senses, witty when he deigned to talk.

Despite the respite he took in alcohol and food, he had been surprised to find comfort in the company and conversation of his always cheerful brother in law. Mr. Darcy, also, had added much amusement to his life. The usually somber man’s life was constantly being turned upside down by various fortune hunting brides and mothers. He had very viable reasons to wish to avoid marriage.

A week had passed since the ball at the assembly halls, and Mr. Hurst, Mr. Bingley, and Mr. Darcy lounged in the study at Netherfield Park. They were all dressed quite strangely and had locked the door firmly with hopes that Mrs. Bingley would no longer seek them out to perform menial duties to ready the house for the mask ball.

It is not quite clear who it was precisely that suggested Bingley’s ball be a mask, but the idea had so enchanted the man, that he had insisted on it. Mr. Bingley himself was dressed quite ostentatiously, claiming himself King Henry V. Mr. Hurst had declined to dress for the evening, his only acknowledgment to that night’s event being the full-faced mask of a baby. He had found the mask rather amusing; his wife had not. Mr. Darcy was dressed all in black. His mask, the black face of a leopard, lay forgotten for the moment on the couch cushion beside him. He joined Mr. Hurst in sipping an amicable wine. Bingley, it seemed, needed nothing to whet his thirst, for he was quite drunk already. Miss. Jane Bennet’s beauty was the only thing Bingley wished to drink in. Mr. Darcy also drank because of a Bennet woman, though he kept his intake to a minimum, knowing he might very well have to deal later with a drunken Hurst and a love besieged Bingley.

“I’m going to marry her Hurst,” sighed Bingley. Darcy scowled and Hurst rolled his head groggily towards his brother in law.

“Who,” he asked.

“Why, the beauteous Jane Bennet of course!” exclaimed Darcy.

“I see you do not approve of the match,” answered Hurst.

“Hmph,” was Darcy’s reply. “I do not understand how he can love her so completely when he has truly only just laid eyes on her.”

“But I feel I do love her!” said Bingley emphatically.

“She is worthy of it!” said Hurst rousingly, remembering the blonde woman with nice figure from the ball a week ago. Nice figures were always worthy.

“And I can neither feel how she should be loved, nor know how she is worthy. Look at her mother, her sisters!” Darcy, feeling that his presence was no longer needed in this room, that the two men would agree with each other, with or without his presence, stood to make his departure. The sounds of the first guests were becoming apparent even in their little hiding spot. He wondered if the Bennets had arrived yet… shaking such thoughts from his mind, he turned one last time to the other two men in the room. “I humbly recognize and acknowledge the role of women in the world, however, that it should induce me to leave behind the enviably independent station of singleness is absurd. I shall die a bachelor!” He swept from the room, black cloaks billowing.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Hurst broke into unrestrained peals of laughter. “He is an obstinate one isn’t he?”

“He always has been in the face of love. But Hurst, I have more pressing matters than Darcy’s non existent marriage impulse.”

“Ah, yes, Jane Bennet,” said Hurst. Bingley sighed at the sound of her name.

“I wish to marry her, Hurst. But… but I do not know if she will accept my advances.” The hesitancy in Bingley’s voice was unusual for him. He usually abounded with cheerful enthusiasm and self-confidence.

“You have just only met. She might not know her true feelings as quickly as you do. Let me suggest this, Bingley my boy; I will discover her true feelings for you.” Hurst sat back in his leather chair, smug satisfaction writ all over his red-cheeked countenance.

Bingley looked thoughtful, reluctant, hesitant once more. “How could you do this?”

“Easily, quite easily! Polite society, in my experience, is always a bit less polite when hidden behind the confines of masks. I assure you, very inappropriate and even scandalous activity will be happening tonight!” Hurst looked gleeful, Bingley looked quite sick. “Do not worry, Bingley, it will allow me to question the young lady of your heart quite profusely, revealing her true heart to your true mind.” At this, Hurst rose. “It is time we joined the crowd Bingley. Your sister has got excellent wine for tonight, excellent indeed.”

“Mr. Darcy is too gloomy, Charlotte,” answered Elizabeth in reply to the question 'How can you not find Mr. Darcy handsome?'

“Then you much prefer a man with Mr. Bingley’s disposition,” countered Charlotte, casting a playful glance in Jane’s blushing direction.

“No, I think not. He is an excellent man that is made exactly midway between he and Mr. Darcy. Mr. Bingley is too the boy, Darcy too much the brooding man.” Elizabeth paused a moment, considering her own words. “Yes, such a man would be nice indeed.”

“Then you wish for perfection, Elizabeth? You will never get a husband with such expectations.”

“And that is fine with me,” exclaimed Elizabeth.

“Surely you have more sense, Jane,” queried Miss. Lucas.

“Oh,” interrupted Elizabeth for her sister, “Yes, she has much more sense than I. Jane truly understands and appreciates the Bennet girls’ dire circumstances. She will fall in love to please our father and secure a steady and worthy happiness for herself. But a bit of advice sister, let him be Mr. Bingley who you trust your heart too, or else give father your grave condolences.”

Jane blushed prettily once more and Elizabeth wondered how her sister managed to pull off charming and flustered at once. “I will Lizzy,” was all she could say before a masked figure tapped her on the shoulder.

“May I have a dance, my lady?” he asked.

Jane laughed. “And who may you be sir?”

“Sire,” he corrected gravely. “King Henry V.”

“Ah, then I do not know if I wish to dance with such a man. You might cast me aside midway for a more suitable partner.”

“But you cannot refuse a king, lady.”

No, Jane supposed one could not refuse a king, and so she followed him onto the floor with the other couples.

Mr. Darcy had seen the Bennet girls come in, but had not dwelled long on the various guises of the younger sisters. He vaguely realized that Jane’s white dress and white feathery mask with a rim of pearls, most likely meant she had come as an angel. His eyes naturally followed the Bennet girl in black. Black… he thought, disregarding his own shadowy clothing, was a strange color for a young woman to wear to a ball. The half mask she wore was also black. It was simple, gracefully cut, and accentuated the glossy blackness of her hair. Her curls were particularly wild tonight, the smile on her face practically brimming with mirth.

He found himself pulled to her through the small crowd of newly arrived guests. She was, he realized, with her sister and her friend, the eldest Lucas girl. They were laughing as Elizabeth talked animatedly. Circling closer, as a bird to prey, he checked to make sure his mask hid the whole of his face tightly. He found himself hoping that if she did not realize who he was, she might talk to him with more enjoyment than she had previously.

Her rich deep voice, finally made available to his straining ears, quickly changed such thoughts.

“No, Charlotte, you cannot convince me to think well of Mr. Darcy. But you need not do so. For he is as much of an obstinate bachelor as I am,” she paused, thinking. “As I am obstinate,” she finished, laughing at her own inadequacy at vocalizing her thoughts.

Darcy snorted as Charlotte patted her friend on the arm and left her to stand alone in the growing throngs of masked people.

“Hello, lady,” he said to her from behind, adopting a thick accent so as not to reveal his identity to her.

She spun around, gasping in shocked surprise, her black skirts swirling about her legs. “My!” She looked the masked man in black up and down and let out a mirthful laugh. “A black leopard, I see. What is your devious intent in lurking in the shadows behind young ladies?”

Darcy wondered momentarily if she did recognize him, then decided she did not. She would not be smiling so brilliantly and mischievously if she had. No, she was more likely to affect a glare when talking to him.

“I have but two attempts. I must know. Why does such a lovely young lady don the color of death and mourning?”

“Death and mourning? Is that why you yourself chose to garb yourself all in black? What about mystery, Mr. Leopard? Shakespeare’s dark lady is a mystery to us all.”

“Ah, is that who I speak to then? The object of a Shakespearean sonnet?”

“Indeed,” she laughed.

Then with my curiosity satisfied, I fear I must tell you of a grievous wrong I heard bespoken of your person,” he said gravely, accent and mask firmly in place.

“Oh? And what would these remarks be?”

Darcy leaned close to her, inhaling her scent. He almost shuddered at the delight and contentment it sent through his body. He pushed his body’s traitorous shudderings aside, and focusing instead on her earlier words about him, he whispered deep and low into her ear. He hovered momentarily, his lips close to the nape of her neck, a dark silky curl tickling his nose, before he drug himself from their intimate pose. He smiled under his mask as her fine eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly.

“Tell me who told you this!” she demanded.

He liked the angry fire that made her eyes come alive. “No, I am sorry lady,” he answered; glad she could not see his ever broadening smile.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes from behind her black mask. “Will you then tell me who you are?”

“No again Lady.”

Elizabeth pouted, her eyebrows drawing together over her mask and her lips pursing in frustration. “That I was disdainful? That I had my good humor from a child’s joke book? Well, it is obvious. It was Mr. Darcy who told you thus.” She crossed her arms resolutely over her chest.

“Who is he?” asked Darcy. He was surprised in the joy he felt that she would recognize that is was he who was teasing her, and that she was very willing to play along.

“Surely you know Mr. Darcy,” she asserted. “He is constantly harping on the evils of women, the joys of bachelorhood, and has a constant look of pained gloominess about his face. He is,” she said sharply, “Mr. Bingley’s fool of a friend, kept around, I am quite sure, for amusement purposes only. Though it grows clear that all who know him grow quickly weary of his antics and ravings.”

Darcy’s smile evaporate as his own brow pulled low undetected beneath the leopard mask. “I shall tell him you said so, if I see him,” he said, attempting to keep his anger and disappointment from his voice, to keep his tone light and playful.

“Do, do,” she said, smiling lightly at him, more with her eyes than with her mouth, though the corners of her lips tilted slightly upward bewitchingly. “But come, they are beginning the dance. Shall we follow the leaders?”

“In every good thing,” he answered after a heavy pause, taking her hand in his.

“No, I shall turn away if they try to lead me ill.”

“I will not do so lady. Dance with me.”

And she did.

Darcy left the crowded ballroom after his dance with Elizabeth, his mind a storm of thoughts and contradictions. “How could my Elizabeth know me but not know me?” he asked angrily out loud to no one in particular, completely unaware he had come to think of her in the possessive. “Bingley’s fool of a friend? I am not perceived as thus! Gloomy perhaps, brooding most likely,” he added thoughtfully. “But a fool? No! It is only her view that casts me such a light. Surely society does not perceive me as such.”

“What are you raving about Darcy, old boy?” Mr. Hurst strolled lazily into the abandoned hallway Darcy had appropriated as his own. He smiled wryly. “Another spat with the lovely dark lady? I have just talked with her sister. It seems the gentleman who just danced with her told her you have wronged her severely.”

Darcy, who had ripped his mask off after exiting the ballroom, scowled viciously at Mr. Hurst. “Not as much as she has wronged me! Or been wrong about me. She told me, thinking I was not myself, that I was a fool! That I was gloomy and brooding!”

Hurst laughed. “You are Darce! You’ve been brooding since I first laid eyes on you; obstinately casting off a gloomy air even in the presence of the most amusing and charming people.

“But I am no fool!”

Hurst did not get a chance to answer Darcy’s exclamation for the ballroom door once again swung open, admitting Mr. Bennet, his two eldest daughters, and Mr. Bingley. The once deserted hallway was fast becoming more popular than Mr. Darcy preferred.

“Surely you are in need of another Drink, Hurst! You look parched.

Mr. Hurst, in fact, was not in need of another drink. He was quite certainly foxed already, and only the dire duty he still had yet to complete kept him from falling asleep peacefully in the hard tile hallway. “Ah, here comes your lady now,” smiled the elder man.

“Send me on some purposeful errand, Hurst. By the grace of God, give me some task to occupy my thoughts and to take me as far from her as you can get me. I would rather roam across the darkest regions at the world’s in search of a wine made by cannibalistic pigmies than hold three words conference with that harpy!” Darcy’s visage raged as he whispered vehemently to his older friend; his arms flailed about in the air as if he were being attacked by a flock of angry birds.

Mr. Hurst smothered a giggle and smiled commonly at Mr. Darcy. “I find I do not desire drink at the moment. All I wish for, Darce old boy, is your company.”

Darcy watched as Elizabeth and the others approached and glowered back at Hurst. “I think not Hurst. I cannot endure my lady’s tongue!”

Hurst did giggle as the encroaching group looked to him stupefied as Darcy stormed off and out another door at the end of the hallway. “Come Miss. Bennet, you have lost the heart of Mr. Darcy,” he said, realizing that perhaps he had had too much to drink. He did not seem to have control of what thoughts popped from his head and out his mouth. He decided that he had not erred too much when the rest of the group, including Elizabeth’s father smiled in amusement at his comment.

“Indeed, Mr. Hurst,” was her only amiable reply.

“You have hurt him, Miss. Bennet; you have put him down.”

“Only so that he should not do the same to me. I would rather make him a fool than be one myself.”

Hurst knitted his brows together as he tried to figure her out her thoughts. And while he might have done this in a trice in his quick minded days before marriage, the alcohol that so clouded his senses convinced him quite quickly to give up the effort.

“I have brought Mr. Bingley to you,” she told him. “As you asked me to, though why you have asked me to, I’m afraid I have no clue.

“Ah, but you soon will. Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Hurst said, turning his attention to head of the Bennet clan, “what are you doing here?” He realized as soon as he said it, that it was a very blunt thing to say.

“Why should I not follow when I see my daughters come into a deserted hallway with a single young man?”

“Brilliant point!” exclaimed Hurst. “And a brilliant stroke of luck as well! Things can progress so much quicker this way.”

Everyone exchanged confused looks at Mr. Hurst’s smug countenance.

“Bingley, my boy,” he said jovially, “I have ascertained your lady’s true affections. The lovely Miss. Jane Bennet is quickly on her way to being quite as in love with you are you are with her!”

Jane, looking quite embarrassed as she stared mortified at her father before dropping her gaze to the floor, blushed redder than Elizabeth had ever seen her blush.

“What say you ask her father now, and have this settled?” declared Mr. Hurst, quite confidently.

Silence enveloped the room. Though Bingley was rather overjoyed at Hurst’s revelations, he did not know at all what to say. Neither it seemed, did anyone else in the room.

It was finally Mr. Bennet who broke the silence. “I believe, that if this is truly the way of things, then that is a capitol idea Mr. Hurst.” Both older men looked toward Mr. Bingley and Jane, who were both now staring at their shoes.

“Well?” they said simultaneously.

Jane and Bingley looked up at each other, their constantly cheerful smiles now radiating, brightening the room. “Will you, Jane? Will you marry me?”

Her answer, had they been alone, might have been to throw her arms around his neck, however, due to the presence of both Mr. Hurst, and her father, she sweetly answered, “Yes.”

Elizabeth beamed and flung her own arms around her sister’s neck. “Oh Jane! How wonderful! I wish you all the happiness God can give a woman!” The sister’s held each other’s hands and smiled warmly. “Good Lord for alliance,” said Elizabeth. “Thus goes everyone to the world but I!” The last was an exclamation, a challenge, and as she turned her back and traipsed back into the ballroom, Mr. Hurst could not help but think that it would be quite amusing to accept such a challenge.

“She cannot endure to talk of a husband!” exclaimed Hurst.

“No,” laughed Jane, “She is rather obstinate in that regard.”

“She is the perfect wife for Mr. Darcy,” stated Hurst plainly.

Bingley gasped. “They would slay each other with their words in a week, Hurst!”

Hurst looked thoughtful, and then shared a conspiratorial glance with Mr. Bennet.

“Do you dare play matchmaker with my daughter, Hurst?”

“I do indeed. Bingley, when will you travel to London to secure the marriage license?”

“Tomorrow!” he exclaimed.

“No, Bingley, wait but a week. No,” said Hurst seeing a protest on Bingley’s lips, “Do not protest. The week will not pass dully. For we will play cupid, and bring these two spouting mules to a common understanding, shall we not?”

The group thought it over. Mr. Bennet was the first to pass judgment on Mr. Hurst’s plan. “Though I do not wish to play with my daughter’s affections, I have a feeling about this Darcy fellow. He amuses me. Is he a good man? Truly?”

“The best!” assured Bingley.

“A capitol fellow,” agreed Hurst.

“He’s quite a respectable and responsible gentleman, papa,” spoke Jane softly.

“Then I will play your game Hurst, as long as my Lizzy does not suffer.”

“I am in,” said Bingley. “I have the feeling he is already half in love with her, and simply refuses to acknowledge his feelings.”

“And you Miss. Bennet?” asked Mr. Hurst. “Are you in?”

Jane thought momentarily, and then did something she never did, listened to her impulsive instinct. “Yes,” she said with a sly smile.

4

Posted on Wednesday, 31 August 2005

Jane’s usual grace failed her as Bingley handed her into the waiting carriage full of Bennets. Her foot slipped on the first step, twisting at an unusual angle. It was lucky for her that her new fiancé was handing her in (though perhaps it was due to his distracting presence that she fell at all) or she might have fallen as hard as Elizabeth might have fallen on that rainy day one month earlier.

A doctor was summoned. Jane’s ankle was broken and she could not be moved. Bingley paced outside the bedroom door the sick Jane lay behind, listening to the sounds of retching from within when Elizabeth lighted through the sick room. When Mr. Bennet had coerced the rest of his family back home, Elizabeth had refused to leave her sister behind. She must chaperone, she insisted; she must nurse, she defiantly stated. No one had challenged her.

“She is sick from the pain,” Elizabeth explained to Mr. Bingley’s worried countenance. She has never taken pain well, but the doctor has given her laudanum. She will sleep now.”

“Thank God!” sighed Mr. Bingley before giving Elizabeth an examining look. “You are weary yourself Miss. Bennet, I will have someone show you to a room.”

“One close to Jane’s?” inquired Elizabeth.

“Of course, if that is your desire.”

“Thank you Mr. Bingley, you have been a wonder tonight. You must know how happy I am that you are soon to be my brother.” She gave him a genuine smile that soon turned into a yawn. And Bingley, ever the conscientious gentlemen, had her behind her own chamber door (right next to Jane’s) before she could even finish.

“It’s rather convenient, do not you think Bingley, that we should have both Bennet sisters so wonderfully and closely situated,” reflected Mr. Hurst at breakfast the morning after the masked ball at Netherfield.

“I should say not! I would not have Jane sick for the world!” His face turned white. “You should have heard her… last night…” Bingley pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and placing a hand over his abdomen.

“It is hard that poor Jane Bennet should be hurt to bring them here, but it is quite advantageous for our matchmaking plans.” Hurst looked quite satisfied, as if Jane’s broken ankle had been just the first successful part of his plan. “Join me in the garden? I saw Darcy escape out there not more than ten minutes ago. What do you say we put our plan into practice?”

“I do not think it’ll work, Hurst. But I’ll give it a try,” answered Bingley dubiously, rising from the table with Hurst, who stuffed a muffin in his jacket pocket.

The garden was rather dry. There had been a draught and the leaves of the trees were dry and dull. Darcy, however, did not seem to notice. He was seeking solitude, and the garden had seemed the perfect place for such a quest. Which is why he hid when he heard Bingley and Hurst approaching.

“Do you see him, behind the rose bushes?” asked Bingley.

“Yes. It seems he does not wish to be disturbed. Well, he will not have to worry about that. We’ll simply continue our conversation,” replied Hurst with a laugh. “You can not be serious, Bingley!” he said in a rather loud voice. “I would not believe you were it not that you have found out about it from a very reliable source.”

“Oh yes, Jane and her Miss. Elizabeth share everything,” said Bingley, assuming Hurst’s rather dramatic tone.

“But to say that Miss. Elizabeth Bennet is so distraught for love of Darcy is incredible! I cannot believe it! I will not!” He laughed boisterously.

“Oh, do not make fun, Hurst. My dear Jane says her sister is miserable in her love. She daily and nightly admonishes herself for falling in love with such a professed woman hater as Darcy.”

“Indeed, indeed. If this is the case, then her plight is hard.” Both men nodded solemnly at each other. “I believe you tell the truth. I see it all now. She fights him because she is fighting an affection that will only cause her pain. For Darcy, with all his pride and arrogance will never find her fit enough to consider for marriage. Even if she is the most strikingly beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Such fine eyes.”

“Gorgeous! Not more so than my own dear Jane, but then they are sisters!”

Hurst laughed. “Too true my friend. But it is a lost cause, Bingley, a lost cause.”

“But no! Something must be done! Jane says she is afraid Elizabeth will hurt herself with her grief. She sobs and gnashes her teeth and cries out, ‘Requite my love Darcy!’ though she knows he never will. We must tell Darcy.”

Hurst rolled his eyes at Bingley’s over dramatic sentiment and said, “No, Darcy must not know. He will but tease her, make her life a living hell. You know that Bingley. You have heard how he rails against love and marriage. No, he must not know.” Both men looked thoughtful, walking together in reflective silence.

“You are right, Hurst,” Bingley finally replied. “We will not tell Darcy, we will pray for Miss. Elizabeth, and we will go for a ride… shall we not?”

“Yes, we shall, I feel like a bit of sport myself.”

Once they were out of the garden and out of earshot of Darcy, both men broke into peals of laughter. “If Darcy does not start to rethink his own position on marriage after this, he is a fool,” said Hurst.

“And if he does take the bait, then we are the only Gods of Love!”

Hurst rolled his eyes.

Darcy could not speak for several seconds. His mind was a confused mess of words and phrases. “Distraught with love for…me?!” he finally exclaimed. “I would not believe it but that Bingley has it straight from the mouth of Jane, and neither Jane nor Bingley seem capable of deception. Elizabeth, dearest, loveliest… I will return your love! There is truly no reason not to. That Bingley would think his fiancée more beautiful than Elizabeth is insane! It is not so. And she is all that a man of my standing would want in a wife. She is intelligent… except for loving me… but that is no detraction either.” A small smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. “I will not be proud,” he spoke, tempering his smile into a serious thin line. “She is, after all, a gentleman’s daughter, a virtuous, beautiful, wise gentleman’s daughter.” He frowned. “But I will be teased for jumping into something I have for so long railed against. But does that matter? No! I would not touch food as a child that I delight in now. Will I keep Bingley’s and Hurst’s vain quips keep me from the next stage in my life? No… the world must be peopled!” And, he thought, Elizabeth was just perfect for such an occupation. “When I said I’d die a bachelor… I did not think I would live till I were married,” Darcy said quite convincingly with a serious nod of his head.

A flash of bright clothing in an upstairs window attracted his attention. Elizabeth looked out, her hair a mess of curls around her face, her face blank with exhaustion and reflection. She looked outward, towards Longbourn, towards her home.

“She is a vision,” said Darcy breathily “Does she think of me? Is that why she looks so sad?” Darcy shook his head, tore his gaze from her face, and left the garden.

Bingley could not even be persuaded to bathe before seeking the bedside of his injured Jane. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, he saw Elizabeth enter the room ahead of him, and realized that this interruption of his visit might prove valuable in Hurst’s plan. Entering the room and smiling wide at his fiancée, he noticed that Elizabeth was rummaging in the water closet on the other side of the room. Winking atrociously at Jane, he knelt by her bedside and smiled.

“I’m so glad to have found you alone, dearest,” he said, hoping the words would keep Elizabeth busy where she was hidden, but in clear earshot of the conversation. “Are you in much pain?”

Jane was confused. Bingley’s winking had become quite rapid and over exaggerated. “No. But… are you alright, Mr. Bingley?”

“Why whatever do you mean?”

“Your eye… is there something in it? Perhaps you’ve scratched it.”

“My eye? Oh!” Bingley laughed heartily and stilled his twitching lids. “My eyes are fine now that they rest on you.” Jane blushed and took her hand in his, with one more wink for good measure. “I must tell you the most remarkable news.” Jane smiled and shook her head in compliance, realizing finally that the matchmaking scheme devised by Mr. Hurst was being put into play. “I have just heard, from my valet, that Mr. Darcy is in love with your sister!”

“He’s… he’s… in love?! With Elizabeth? I have seen no signs. He appears to… he appears to hate her so.”

“Oh yes, I know, I know. But, both Darcy and I have had the same valets since our university days. And you can’t expect them not to at least talk with each other now and then. Of course they do,” answered Bingley, not even waiting for Jane’s reply to his statement. “Chilvers, my own man, had quite an interesting discussion with Baxter, Darcy’s valet. It seems that Darcy mumbles when dressing. And bathing… and shaving.” This was truth. For Bingley knew two things. One, Darcy did have a tendency to mumble all the time, and second, that and tiny truth that can be given to a lie gives it more credibility.

“What does he mumble about?” asked Jane.

“Elizabeth,” was Bingley’s one word answer before continuing. “He mumbles of brown curls and sparkling eyes, a teasing manner and an adventurous spirit. He whispers of a witty, intelligent woman for a wife. He mumbles Elizabeth Darcy over and over, a mantra almost. Baxter has become quite disturbed.

“Elizabeth? My Elizabeth… and Mr. Darcy?” Jane had been pretending to be asleep when her sister had entered her room, and knew that Elizabeth did not know her she knew she was there. Elizabeth was very still in the wash closet, not a movement could be distinguished, not a breath could be heard.

“Do not tell her of it,” said Jane.

“But I have to. I’ve discussed this with Hurst, and we both agree it is the only thing to do. Darcy is a good man, is he not? Does he not deserve as good a bride and your sister would make him?”

“Oh indeed Mr. Bingley! Mr. Darcy is a very fine man indeed, else you would not be friends with him.”

“Very true, dearest. He is the noblest of gentlemen, the most intelligent. Women throw themselves at them and men vie to hold one minutes conversation with him. We must tell your sister, Jane. You do not think she will scorn him do you?!”

Jane bit her lip. “Yes, Mr. Bingley, I do believe she will scorn him. You have seen her incessant teasing of the man. There is not a man she has met that did not escape her contemptible tongue. Every good nature is turned inside out with her mocking words. Do spare Mr. Darcy her teasing. It would be better that he expire from longing for her hand than to have his love tempered in the fires of her wit.” It was difficult for Jane to speak so of her favorite sister, but knew that a condemnation of her manners might be the only way to get Elizabeth to take stock of her own judgmental nature. Jane looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “Rather, Mr. Bingley,” she said seriously, “advise your friend against such a fatal mistake as declaring himself. She will never do the man justice.”

“And then… are these your true feelings in the matter, Jane?” asked Bingley.

“Indeed, they are.”

“Well, then, I will council him against his heart, to save it.” Jane smiled at him and he confounded her with his next question. “Will you marry me next week, Jane? I’ve spoken to your father. He wishes to be done with this bridal to do as quickly as possible, and you know I am not opposed to it if you are not.”

Jane flushed a bright hue of red, vibrant against the porcelain pale of her slip neck and the light golden braid that laid limp over her shoulder. “If that is what you and father wish, then I am content and overjoyed to be your bride as soon as tomorrow!”

Overcome with joy, Bingley kissed her full on the lips before running to the door. “I’ve much to do! There must be a special license obtained you know.” Bingley turned thoughtfully before leaving the room. “Jane, love, would you like to leave the room for a bit? Come to the library for afternoon tea with Elizabeth, Caroline, and Louisa?”

“Very much so! But I cannot get there I’m afraid,” she said, her face downcast.

“I will take you! I’ll call your maid to dress you. I’ll be right outside to bring you downstairs when you’re ready. Is that acceptable?”

“Very much so, Mr. Bingley,” Jane replied, flushing once more.

“Charles, love, call me Charles,” he said before turning swiftly and departing the room with a decisive thud of the door.

Elizabeth, who did not wish to be discovered in what she thought was her hiding spot, stayed silent and still until Bingley had come to take Jane downstairs. She was happy for her sister’s imminent matrimonial bliss, but was rather distracted from this familial joy by other, more confusing matters.

Mr. Darcy loved her! She had always thought him handsome. And he was obviously a sharp, intelligent man, even if he was annoying at times. But things had not added up before. That jolt of something pressing and thunderous that had struck her entire being when Mr. Darcy had saved her from falling to the muddy ground on their first meeting had never entirely left her. It was always there at the edge of her consciousness, flaming into full awareness whenever he was near, aching horribly whenever they fought. And though he aggravated her, their verbal sparing were always stimulating, leaving her breathless and mentally enlivened after he or she had stalked off.

She had known the man in the leopard mask at the ball had been her adversary. Not until he had stooped low to whisper in her ear, but then she had known with no doubt whatsoever. That jolt, that bit of thunder he had first left inside her with a single glance had immediately blazed to life.

She… she quite believed she was in love with the man.

The man whom her future brother in law was at this moment most likely warning against her waspish tongue and woman’s pride.

“Am I truly as bad as Jane describes,” she wondered to herself, leaving the water closet to sit on the rumpled end of Jane’s bed. “Do I truly care more for my wit than for the heart of a good man? Will I thusly deny myself the matrimonial happiness that awaits my sister because… because why? What real reasoning do I have to submit? None!” She jumped from the bed and went to stand at the window where she had seen Mr. Darcy in the garden earlier that morning. “Love on Mr. Darcy,” she whispered to the window pain, her breath a hint of fog on its surface. “I see no reason to censure you when I should be censured myself. Love on… and I will love you too.”

5

Posted on Sunday, 4 September 2005

Caroline Bingley frowned at her reflection in the looking glass. She looked rather pale today, washed out. Her lips were pressed firmly together in a line and her eyes shot daggers at her own image.

How could her fool of brother marry that Bennet girl?! It was insupportable. She simply would not have it. She turned her scowling gaze from the mirror to the window. The country view was horribly wild, she thought. She could not imagine how a view of trees and grass could be preferred to that of rooftops and expensive brick houses packed tightly together in the city. She would leave the country as soon as possible. And she would bring her brother with her, without a wife.

She turned her dissatisfied scowl on her ladies’ maid who was standing stiffly in the corner of her room; quiet as if she were there, but close at hand to instantly do her lady’s bidding.

“Sarah,” crooned Caroline, forcing her lips into a smile. “I am in a horrid mood.”

“Your brother’s approaching wedding,” answered the perceptive Sarah.

“Exaclty. It must not take place. It would be unseemly to have him marry a woman so beneath him.”

“Yes ma’am,” agreed Sarah without even a shake of her head, a bat of her lids.

Caroline sighed. “He will not give her up easily. I fear he is completely besotted.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I fear I shall have to stoop to trickery, deceptiveness.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Your assistance will be necessary unfortunately. So will the assistance of your…” Caroline was quite aware of the fact that her ladies’ maid was in the midst of a rather intimate affair with a young, strapping footman. She eyed the girl. Right height, right hair color… that’s all that would matter. “I will pay your intimate friend and you enough money to marry if that is what you wish.”

Sarah understood her mistress, though not completely, as the scheme that was forming in Miss. Bingley’s mind was not yet clear to her. “What is it you wish me and Jos to do, Miss. Bingley?”

Miss. Bingley’s grin was vicious. “Only what you are already doing already.”

Elizabeth peeked into the drawing room, hoping Mr. Darcy would not be in there with his friend and her sister. She did not wish him. She did not think she could face him, knowing what she did.

But she was being silly. And she always counted on herself to be the last to act silly. It was simply not one of her traits. Laughing at herself and steeling her spine, she confidently pushed the door open and smiled at the room’s occupants. Of which Mr. Darcy was not one. Strangely, she felt more disappointment that relief, but she ignored the compulsion to mull over her own feelings in favor of focusing on the couple with golden heads bent close together, sitting close to the window.

“Jane,” she said happily. “Mr. Bingley, what have you done with my sister? She should be upstairs in bed, but I find her ensconced up on a couch in here? How, pray tell, did she come to be so?”

Bingley flushed and pulled himself upright in his chair, further from Jane who was reclining on a nearby couch, her ankle propped on a stack of pillows and covered modestly by a thin white blanket. “I carried her here Miss. Bennet. She admitted to being tired with her sick room, and I thought the library would be a nice change.”

“How very attentive of you Mr. Bingley.”

“Elizabeth,” spoke Jane, “Father has agreed to let Mr. Bingley and me marry by the weeks end!”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Elizabeth, feigning surprise. “But… however will you manage that, sister?” Jane and Bingley gave her confused looks. “You cannot stand in front of a church to be married if you cannot stand at all!” Both Jane’s and Bingley’s faces fell, their bodies draining of their joy before Elizabeth’s very eyes.

“Oh, Mr. Bingley!” exclaimed a distressed Jane. “How did we not consider such a thing! How could we, I especially, have forgotten my own infirmity?”

“Surely there is something we can do to fix this matter. Though… I would wish to do nothing to impede your healing.” Bingley, frowned and scratched his head at the base of his neck, deep in thought. “We must simply wait until your ankle is healed, and you are well again.”

Jane looked crestfallen, having been the own downfall to her impetuous wedding plans. Seeing the pained expression on his fiancée’s face, Bingley quickly assured her that a slight delay would be nothing whatsoever. They could endure it.

“No,” spoke Elizabeth defiantly. There shall be no delay. A happiness as great as yours should not have to wait for complete fulfillment! Come Jane,” she said, moving closer to the couch and extending a hand. “Put your good foot on the floor and keep your injured foot raised. Lean on me for support.” Jane did as she was told, never once wincing in pain. Elizabeth and Bingley both searched her face for signs of distress and were rewarded by the complete lack of them. “Is there pain, Jane, any pain at all?”

Jane hesitated before answering. “It… feels funny,” she replied, “But there is no pain.”

“It feels funny?” questioned Bingley. “Then you should lie down again at once.”

“Yes, yes,” agreed Elizabeth, “But… perhaps if you rest for the entire week, until the day of the wedding, then even that funny feeling shall pass when you stand. You could stand on one foot, and use a wooden crutch. Or if you prefer, Mr. Bingley or I could be your crutch. We can hem your dress so that no one sees you standing on one foot alone. What do you say,” she asked, smiling at the both of them. “Is it a plan that could save your impetuously laid wedding plans?” Her smiled turned gentler and her gaze rested on her sister. “Will you do this Jane, or do you think it is not a wise plane. We will not implement it without your approval.” She knew Bingley would approve of anything that aided him in marrying Jane as soon as possible.”

Jane smiled tentatively. “Yes, that appears to be a wonderful plan indeed!”

“Capitol!” exclaimed Bingley. “Simply marvelous! You are a wonder Miss. Bennet. For saving our wedding, I am yours forever.” His smile was warm and lighthearted and Elizabeth returned his smile in like.

I wish only, Mr. Bingley, she thought, that you would not warn Mr. Darcy against me. Her eyes darkened as her smile continued, but then, buoyed by the thought of her sister’s happiness, sparkled quickly once again as she turned and left the happy couple to their own whispers and musings on love.

Darcy had managed to avoid Elizabeth all day, and had been grateful that Jane had decided to take her dinner in her room and that Elizabeth had elected to join her. He had needed to avoid her, to think out his overwhelming attraction for her. He had at first doubted his feelings, believing them to be only because of Bingley and Hurst’s revelations in the garden. But no, they had been there before. They had been there before even his annoyance with her. He knew now, after long deliberation, that he had antagonized her and steeled himself against her simply because he was drawn to her. And he had been sure she had not felt the same. He had not yet been rejected by any woman of his acquaintance, and shied away from being rejected from the one woman with whom acceptance would mean all to him.

Truly, he had done a miserable job of convincing himself of his own dislike, for he could not keep himself away from Elizabeth the night before at the masquerade. He had not been able to stop himself from leaning close to whisper in her ear when it quite simply had not been necessary.

He smiled at his reflection in the full-length mirror. “Baxter,” he inquired of his valet, “The green jacket, or the blue?” His dark coloring favored the green, which he wore, but he knew the blue would emphasize the strength of his shoulders. Baxter brought forth the blue jacket as Darcy began to hum. He had never heard his master hummed before. But he also had never seen Darcy plan out his wardrobe the night before he would be wearing it. It was most unusual behavior for the young man, but Baxter did not question it. Darcy held the blue coat up next to him, considering both suits in the mirror’s reflection.

“Darcy?”

Mr. Darcy jumped and turned to stare at Bingley and Hurst who stood in his open doorway, grinning stupidly. “That,” cried Mr. Hurst, “Sounds like the song of a man in love!”

“Could it be?” questioned Bingley. “Surely love has not made the stern Mr. Darcy his fool!”

“Be gone! The both of you,” exclaimed Mr. Darcy. “I am no fool! And certainly not for love!” He realized that he would have to tame his mouth to his heart before he could reveal his heart through his words.

“Perhaps not a fool for love, but a fool for a certain lady,” prompted Bingley. Darcy would have answered him scathingly had not their teasing banter been interrupted.

“Brother, Mr. Hurst,” spoke Caroline from down the hall. I wish to speak with you.” As she approached the door, she glimpsed Darcy as he removed his green jacket, tossing it onto him bed. She stopped dead in her tracks to admire the man in his shirtsleeves.

“Caroline. Caroline! Caroline!” yelled Bingley. “What is it you wish to speak of?”

“It is a matter of grave importance. You must all drop your current occupations and follow me.” She included Darcy in this sentiment, hoping he would not pull on the blue jacket his valet held before following her and her brothers. Indeed, she almost wished her brothers would not follow at all. Just Mr. Darcy…

But this train of thought was not conducive to her current ends, though they might be conducive to a very desirable end.

“Is it that terribly important, Caroline,” asked Hurst.

“Do you still intend to marry Miss. Bennet, Brother,” she asked of Bingley.

“Of course!”

“Then you will all want to follow me post haste.” With these words, she turned on the spot and flounced down the hallway. Hurst and Bingley exchanged looks of acquiescence. And began to follow Caroline.

“Will you come, Darcy,” asked Bingley over his shoulder.

“Hm?” said Darcy whose mind had already flitted to other thoughts, “Oh, no, I do not believe I will.”

The moon was high and full and cast a bright glow over the garden. Hurst and Bingley trotted to keep up with Caroline, running into her as she came to a sudden stop behind a tree. The bows hung low and concealed them from sight.

“What are we doing out here, Caroline?” Hurst had no patience for his sister in law’s foolishness.

She turned her gaze from house and stared stonily at the two men close to her. “Bingley, brother, you will not like what I have to show you, but I fear you should know this, if you are to marry Miss. Jane.”

Bingley looked at his sister in confusion. “Know what?”

“My ladies’ maid confided in me this morning that the footman who she had been seeing… shall we say… intimately has spurned her affections of late.”

“What,” boomed Hurst, interrupting, “does a maid’s love life have to do with Bingley’s wedding?”

“Patience, Hurst,” snapped Caroline, “I am coming to that. There is a reason the footman in question has turned from my maid. He has found another. He has found a lady he believes will marry him and elevate his status; make him a great country gentleman.”

“What are you saying, Caroline?” growled Bingley, not knowing quite where this was going, but feeling acutely that he did not like it.

“I am sorry, Charles. But the lady is Miss. Jane. And I am afraid that the footman’s dreams of social elevation are quite possible. For if Miss. Jane is carrying his child, she will have to marry him. Unless,” Caroline hesitated, noticing the almost lethal glint in her brother’s eyes, the way his fists were clenched tightly against his sides. “Unless she meant to marry you, and raise the footman’s child as your own.” She fell as silent as the rest of the garden, casting an immovable stoniness over her features, awaiting Bingley’s reaction.

“You go too far Caroline. I know you believe the Bennets to be beneath us, but I thought you liked Jane.” His voice was cold and emotionless, his face impassive.

“I did, poor brother. And I would not have believed my maid had I not seen… had I not seen that.” She pointed through the tree’s low hanging branches and towards a small rectangular window on the second floor of the house. Jane’s window.

Caroline wasted but a minute on the tableau above her. From the back, the woman being passionately kissed in the window was most certainly Jane. If she had not known better herself, she would have been fooled. The scene would be believed. She did not doubt it in the least. She turned her gaze quickly towards Bingley, and was quite delighted by the reaction that suffused his features. Anger, disbelief, confusion, and hurt all played about his eyes and lips, emotions fighting for prominence in his face.

Jane was cheating on him with another man. Jane… was a… a loose woman. A whore.

His heart was crushed, ground under the hard heels of Caroline’s shoes.

Wearing the blue jacket, Darcy exited his bedroom that morning in nervous anticipation. He would not be able to avoid Elizabeth this day. He would see her at breakfast in a minute or two, and he looked forward to smiling at her brilliant eyes instead of scowling at them.

“Mr. Darcy,” spoke a shy voice from behind him. It was Elizabeth’s voice. He had never thought her shy before, but her tone of voice could not be mistaken. He knew the reason for it, and rejoiced.

“Yes, Miss. Bennet?” he asked, turning to face her. She peeked out from her sister’s room, her hair pulled back, but messy. Her eyes still held signs of sleep, but he knew their groggy depths held sparks waiting to be rekindled.

“I was wondering if you would do me a great favor.” She bit her bottom lip and looked at him pleadingly.

“Anything you ask, I will do.”

She smiled shyly and him, and he realized the smile wakened her eyes, and he exulted at being able to produce such a phenomena. “My sister would like to join us downstairs for breakfast. I was going to get Mr. Bingley when I saw you and thought that… perhaps… you could carry her down.” Elizabeth bit her lip once more, and pulled on a curl at the nape of her neck.

“I will,” answered Darcy, wishing it were Elizabeth and not her sister he would be holding in his arms. If Bingley saw, he might very well call him out! But if Elizabeth wished it, he would do it.

Jane was light, and blushed prettily while thanking him profusely for his help and conveyance. But he barely heard a word, for his mind was on the lady who walked beside him, not the one he held. He set the eldest Miss. Bennet down on a settee in the breakfast room and chose a seat close to Elizabeth’s. However, he was not able to inquire of her sleep before Bingley came into the room, followed closely by Mr. Hurst and Caroline.

“The carriage is ready to take you home. Maids are packing your belongings this very instant.” he spoke coldly, looking at first Jane then Elizabeth. His back was as straight as steel and his shoulders were set defiantly. All of the amiable charm was gone from his face. The Bennet sisters look startled, and it was Darcy who spoke first.

“What is this about, Bingley? Miss. Bennet is in no condition to be moved. You know the doctor said not to put her in a carriage!”

A muscle in Bingley’s jaw twitched as he shifted his gaze to his friend. “She will stay under my roof no longer. If you wish Miss. Elizabeth to stay, then let her, but her sister will leave immediately.”

“What is the meaning of this Bingley! That is no way to treat a woman you wish to make you wife in a few days time!” Darcy was incensed for the Bennet girls. As soon as he had made up his mind to liking them, Bingley had to completely change his. In his mind, Bingley’s was the greater sin, for he was mistreating the woman he intended marriage after he had already professed his love. Darcy had only mistreated the object of his affection before.

“You would not marry a lady who was not a maid, Darcy, do not think that I will!”

“What!” exclaimed Elizabeth and Jane together. “You dare to slander her honor!” Elizabeth stood and stalked toward Bingley. “Speak plainly Mr. Bingley, for I would know why you speak so meanly!” She was yelling now, and Darcy rose and pulled her away from the man she was glaring daggers at.

“Look how she blushes at my accusations! You do seem the innocent bride! But you are not!” Jane could not speak, she could not speak, she was sure the words spilling from her intended’s mouth must be part of some horrid nightmare. Bingley turned his rage on Darcy and Elizabeth. “She knows the heat of a luxurious bed!”* His eyes were wild and spit flew from the corner of his mouth as he threw the accusation forth.

“What do you mean, Bingley,” spoke Mr. Darcy sternly, holding tight to Elizabeth’s arm when she moved to throw herself at the offending gentleman before her.

“I will not marry an approved wonton!”*

“What have you done, Bingley! How could you yourself defile a woman before marriage and then refuse to marry her? Indeed, to ruin her yourself and then cast her aside!” Darcy was furious now, and pushed Elizabeth behind him to confront Bingley himself.

“Not me! I did not touch her! I never thought of betraying her maidenhood with temptation!”

Jane finally found words, saying, “Did I ever tempt you sir? I did naught but love you with my eyes and heart!”

“Oh, Miss. Bennet! You seemed the very epitome of innocence! But your betrayal is in your false appearance. You have been found out!”

“Hurst,” said Darcy, “Why do you let the boy speak so? Still his tongue!”

“I do not trust my own voice and judgment. I, who helped bring about the connection of my brother in law to a common strumpet!” Hurst remained in the doorway, impassive, silent.

“Proof!” demanded Elizabeth. “What proof do you have of these hateful, damning words?”

“Answer me this question, Miss. Bennet,” replied Bingley, focusing his gaze on Jane. “Who was the man you were with last night in your room?”

“What man?” asked Jane in distress, tears spilling from her eyes. “I do not know of any man! I was with Elizabeth while I ate, and then alone. I was alone last night!”

“No, you were not! Mr. Hurst, Caroline and I saw you. YOU! With a man, in the window of the empty bedroom next to your own.” He spat out the words, hurt and anger emblazoned on each one.

“No, no Charles, it was not me, I swear it, I swear it!” She could not stop her tears now, and Elizabeth clung to her while she sobbed unheeded in front of all.

“Do not address me so informal, madam.”~ Bingley turned his back, glad she was hurting as much as he, but not able to look upon her pain. “If all love is as yours, I will never give my heart again. Beauty is naught to me now but falsehoods and betrayals. Your supposed virtue and goodness the biggest trick of all.” He fell silent as he placed his hand on the door handle. “Leave my house,” he said.

The door opened and Bingley left with Hurst and Caroline in tow. Mrs. Hurst looked shocked and confused as she stiltedly lifted herself from her chair and left after few failed attempts at speaking. Darcy turned to the Bennet sisters behind him to see that Jane had fainted. Elizabeth held her closely.

“Jane, Jane. You must wake up. All will be well. I promise. Wake up, Jane, please wake up.” She was holding back tears and knew she had to get her sister away from this house and back home before word spread quickly to her parents on the gossip line of servants.

“Slap her,” ordered Darcy, kneeling down near the settee.

“What?”

“Slap her. We must wake her and get her in the carriage. It is the only way.”

Elizabeth saw the truth in this and bit her lip lightly before pulling back her hand and hitting her sister on the cheek. She had never hit her sister before. Not even when they were children. Jane awoke with a startled cry and wild, darting eyes. When they fell on Elizabeth and Darcy, new tears began to spill.

“I will take you to the carriage, Miss. Bennet,” explained Darcy softly. I will escort you home.” Both girls assented to Darcy’s plan, and Elizabeth went upstairs to check on the maid’s progress in packing their belongings as Mr. Darcy carried her sister to the waiting carriage. The packing was not done, and Elizabeth sent the maids from the room in a sharp voice that was obeyed immediately. She pulled a shawl from the window seat and turned to drop it into her bag but could not move her legs. They buckled beneath her and she fell to her knees in front of her window, dropping her numbed face into her palms and taking deeps draws of breath. Large drops spilled out between her fingers and dampened the cushion on the window seat she had laid her head on.

She felt a soft touch on her shoulder. “Elizabeth,” came Darcy’s deep voice, “Have you cried all this time?”

Elizabeth lifted her head and stared out the window, barely registering that Darcy’s hand still rested on her shoulder. “Yes. And I do not believe I will stop just yet.”

“Please…do. I do not wish to see you weep.”

“It does not matter.”

“Elizabeth, I do not believe your sister guilty of the crimes that have been flung at her. She is innocent.”

“Thank you for your confidence, sir.” She laughed a laugh devoid of happiness and humor. “But it is not confidence I need. I need only a man who will right this wrong. Such a man would have my eternal gratitude.”

“What can I do Elizabeth? Is there a way I can show you friendship in this matter?” His fingers flinched on her still shoulder, and he kept himself from pulling his fingertips higher and into her hair.

“There is a way, but I fear there is no friend.”

“There is me.”

“It is not your problem, Mr. Darcy. You have no reason to pull my good Jane’s name from the depths of filth it has been thrown in.” She still stared out the window, her body motionless and cold beneath his hand.

“But it is, and I will. Elizabeth… dearest, loveliest Elizabeth… I do love nothing in the world so much as I love you. Is not that strange?” He did now move his hand to her cheek, pulling it up and down her smooth, tearstained skin.

“As strange as me saying that I love nothing so much as I love you. No, do not believe me… but I do not lie!” She stood abruptly and leaned in close to him, placing her forehead on his chest. “Oh! I do not know my feelings at this moment! I feel only hurt for Jane!”

“My Lord, Elizabeth! You do love me, I know it!” He wrapped his arms fiercely around her shaking body and thrust his face into her shoulder.

“Do not swear if you should be lying, Mr. Darcy,” she said softly into his jacket, putting her hands against his stomach and pushing away from him.

“But I do not fear of lying when I swear you love me, and I will kill the man who swears I am lying when I say I love you!” He reached after her turned back but she flinched out of his grasp.

“Then you do no lie?” she asked as she turned and faced him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“No. I protest from the depths of my heart, I love you!” His words were calm and gentle now, and he let a small satisfied smile grace his lips. It was freedom just to say it, to let her know, to assure her of his devotion.

“Then I am sorry, Mr. Darcy.”

“Sorry for what? You have done me no wrong, sweet Elizabeth.”

“I have questioned your words, your feelings, when I have been all morning on the verge of telling you the very same.” She now dropped her gaze to the floor, shuddering a deep breath.

But Darcy would not have it, lifting her chin to bring her gaze even with this own, he spoke. “Do, Elizabeth. Do tell me what your heart would say.”

“Only… only that it loves you so completely that there is no part of it left to protest.”

He pulled her into his arms and sighed the contented sigh of the loved. “I will do anything for you Elizabeth. That is what I thought when you asked me this morning if I would perform you a favor, that I would do whatever you asked of me. And I will, dearest. You have but to ask it of me.”

Elizabeth remained silent, horrible thoughts churning through her head. When her voice finally gave voice to thought, they caused Darcy to pull away from her. “Call Bingley out. Challenge him.” Her voice was steady, her body calm for the first time since she’d collapsed to her knees in front of the window.

“A duel? With my friend? No, Elizabeth, not for you, not for the wide world.” He turned his gaze from her to the window. Clouds had gathered low over Netherfield, blocking the late morning sun. Rain would come. He could hear the faint grumblings of thunder in the distance.

“Then you deny me.” She turned towards the bed and stuffed the shawl she still clutched in her hand into the bag there. She pulled the bag closed and strode towards the door. “Goodbye Mr. Darcy.”

“Elizabeth! Wait!”

“No, I must leave and get Jane to Longbourn.”

“Do not leave upset with me,” he pleaded, holding onto her upper arm and pulling her towards him.

She pulled her arm from his grasp. “You lied, Mr. Darcy. You said you would do anything I asked of you. But you refuse. I must assume you lie also when you say you love me.”

“He is my friend, Elizabeth,” he argued with her, dropping both arms dejectedly to his sides.

“And he has wronged my sister most grievously! My father will not be able to force the man to marry Jane, and Bingley would surely kill him in a duel, leaving us all out in the cold, passed over by a cousin we’ve never met! Who is there to defend Jane’s honor but I? And I am not a man! I am not allowed to do what men are, what you are! If I were a man, I would defend her.” Her words rose louder and louder as she talked, her face red with rage until her words died suddenly. The next she spoke, her voice was calm and cold with defeat. “But I am not a man. I do not have a man’s facilities and privileges. And there will be no one to defend poor Jane.” She opened the door to the room and stepped one foot out before Darcy stopped her.

“Wait,” he said softly. “I do love you. I do.”

“Do not tell me. Show me.” She did not look at him. In truth, she did not feel completely as if she were being fair to Mr. Darcy. But the anger in her heart overrode the feelings for the man she loved. In the heat of rage, she did not care how much it might hurt Darcy to have to run his friend through with a sword.

“You are quite sure this is what you want? There is no other way?”

“None whatsoever. There is nothing else I want.” But you, added her heart, but she ignored it.

Darcy sighed deeply and turned away from her. “Then I will challenge him. I will go to him once you and Jane have left, and tell him I am leaving Netherfield for an inn in the village. And… and that he must pay for the slanders he has spoken, the young girl he has hurt beyond repair.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, lingering longer on his soft skin than he should have. “Go to your sister, comfort her. If you have left anything, I will bring it by on my way to the village today. Everything will be all right. I swear it. When you think of me, know that I take your pain upon myself, and endeavor to lessen it.

Elizabeth, who had been staring down the hallway the entire time, pulled her eyes toward his and bit her lip. There was such confusion and pain in her glance that Darcy was almost glad when she pulled her hand from his and walked away without a single word.

* Asterisks are taken almost wholly or partially from the much ado text. However, I realized once I started writing the exchange between Darcy and Elizabeth, that this was so wonderful, I did not want to over change it at all. If it is not direct quotation in this part, then the conversation follows the same pattern. Everything there would have had an asterisk beside it, so I left off using them.

~ This line is taken from the movie Ever After. It was just screaming at me to go there. I had to use it.

6

Posted on Wednesday, 7 September 2005

Hurst and Bingley exchanged bemused looks as thy listened to Darcy mumbling within his open chamber.

“Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more…absolute rubbish! It will never do. Lets see… The God of Love, that sits above, and knows me… how pitiful I deserve.” Darcy pushed himself away from the table, throwing the pen down and blotting the paper he was writing on. “I am pitiful, aren’t I,” he spoke in a sigh, throwing his jacket on over his shirtsleeves and hastily straightening his cravat in the mirror. After a second’s contemplation, he strode back over to the desk, folded the paper he had been writing on, and placed it in his coat pocket.

“Pitiful in verse, good friend, but in no other way,” spoke Bingley from the doorway, making his presence known. Hurst came to stand beside him as Darcy, startled, twirled around to face them.

“I am leaving,” he said, his face as cold as his words.

“And so are we good friend,” said Bingley. “Caroline has already left for town, we came to see if you would come with us. And I see that you will. We will be in much better company in a short while.”

Darcy clenched and unclenched his fist and steeled his words to keep from losing his temper. “I do not leave with you sir, but I leave you to stay at the inn here.”

“Stay? Here? Why would you do that Darcy?”

“Why? Why would any gentleman play with a woman’s heart then throw it away at the first test of trust?! You have proven yourself faithless,” bellowed Darcy, the threat in his voice matching his menacing strides towards his friend. Darcy grabbed Bingley by his lapels and thrust him against the open door frame. Bingley’s eyes grew wide in shock and Hurst jumped backwards.

“Good God Darcy! Have you gone mad?!,” Hurst exclaimed, looking about for some strapping servant to overpower the man if it came to blows.

“Not mad, Hurst, but rather, I have come to my senses.” He spoke to Hurst, but his eyes did not stray from the silent man trapped in his hold. “You have hurt an innocent woman beyond repair. She was weak when she left this house, and will possibly by sick by the time she reaches her own. Her good name died with your words this morning and if her good self departs this world as well, then you are to blame. And I, a gentleman who looks first upon proof and lastly upon rumor, will revenge her. Bingley. Do you understand me?” His eyes glinted as he released Bingley with a final shove and strode calmly out of Netherfield.

With wondering eyes, Bingley straightened his jacket, the first hint of doubt as to his actions tugging as fiercely at his mind and heart as his friend had at his clothes.

Had Mr. and Mrs. Bennet known what troubles the day would bring, they most certainly would never have married, for that would have been the only sure way to keep such harrowing circumstances from developing.

“Mrs. Bennet,” called her husband from his study, “You must inform the cook to set one extra place at dinner tonight.”

Mrs. Bennet, who had been observing the rather fine coach that was even now pulling closer to Longbourn, exclaimed with glee “Oh, no, Mr. Bennet! We shall have to set three extra places, for Mr. Bingley has come to escort the girls home. A trifle early I must confess, but he must surely stay to dinner. Oh what a victory this is for Jane!”

Mr. Bennet joined his wife in the parlor to stare out the window at the slowly approaching coach, a neatly folded letter on thick, serviceable paper held lightly in his hand. “I see they are indeed finding their way back. Do you think it is safe for Jane’s ankle?” he pondered almost to himself. “Well, wife, I guess then that cook shall have to prepare spaces for four extra people tonight.”

“Four,” asked Mrs. Bennet, the thought clearly overpowering her. “Surely that odious Mr. Darcy does not come hither with them. He is a confirmed bachelor! He is useless to us!”

“Well, then if the useless Mr. Darcy does come, the number shall be five, and surely cook will quit her job.

“Mr. Bennet! Speak sense, please! What is that you hold in your hand?”

“A letter, my dear, from my brother’s son, who has apparently just secured the living at an estate by the name of Rosings, owned, it says here, by the “extremely wealthy and wonderfully condescending Lady Catherine De Bourgh.” Mr. William Collins is due to arrive today. He is terribly sorry for the late correspondence, but he had so many important duties to perform for the great Lady Catherine, that he was quite detained in his own personal matters.” A faint smile lingered about Mr. Bennet’s lips as his wife contemplated silently for a second or two.

“Does he say,” she asked hesitantly, “if he is married?”

“He does not. In fact, he explicitly states that he is in search of a wife.”

“He is! Of course he is!” Mrs. Bennet began to flutter happily as the slow moving coach finally stopped outside the front entrance of Longbourn. Elizabeth quickly alighted from the carriage, eliciting a footman’s help in carrying her sister into the house. She would not answer her mother’s “but where is Mr. Bingley?” until she had her sister comfortably settled onto a couch in the parlor.

“Damn Mr. Bingley to Hell!” she raged at her mother, who had been fervently insisting on the man’s whereabouts.

“Elizabeth!” admonished both parents at once. Such language was certainly not supposed to come from the mouth of such a proper lady as their daughter, even if that daughter was Elizabeth.

“I will not apologize for the man’s actions.”

“For what man’s actions?” came a quizzical and familiar voice from outside in the hallway.

“Charlotte?” inquired Elizabeth seeking her friend’s countenance as she entered the room. “Oh Charlotte, I am glad to see you! Perhaps you can help us determine a way to fix this mess.”

“What mess?” exclaimed Mr. Bennet, who was now as frustrated as his wife over his daughters’ evasiveness.

Sitting gently in a chair by Jane’s side, Elizabeth told of the morning dramatic events, excluding of course the scene, which included Darcy and herself alone in her bedroom.

“I cannot believe this of Jane,” concluded Charlotte, throwing Mr. Bennet a look that told him he should let off the fuming and look his eldest daughter in the eye. “There is surely some foul trick afoot.” Mrs. Bennet was not to benefit from Charlotte’s wise advice, for she had promptly fainted and was now being nursed in her room above stairs.

“The only foul trick is Bingley’s foul heart,” growled Elizabeth.

“Do not be so hateful, Lizzy,” admonished Jane silently, the first words she had spoken since entering her home.

“Lizzy has the right of it!” said Mr. Bennet. “He has ruined you dear girl. Every servant in Netherfield will have heard his accusations, and soon all of Derbyshire will be talking of your midnight assignations. The room fell silent at this ugly reminder.

As silent as the occupants of the parlor, a maid slipped through the door and announced, “Mr. Darcy is here. Shall I let him in?”

“Let in a friend of that fiend?” cried Mr. Bennet, I think not!

“No!” exclaimed Jane and Elizabeth at once.

“Send him in,” continued the younger sister, “he has promised to help, and is as astounded at Bingley’s words and actions as are we.” Mr. Bennet growled and pulled his brows together but the maid was quick to follow Miss. Elizabeth’s words, and Mr. Darcy was soon striding through the doorway, a scowl as stormy as Mr. Bennet’s upon his face.

“I came to see if there was anything I could do, before I go to the inn,” he said to the room as a whole, though his eyes lit longest on Elizabeth.

“We do not know yet ourselves what must be done, Mr. Darcy,” answered Mr. Bennet, waving for the younger man to take a seat.

“Though I believe it to be some sort of trick, Bingley insists that he saw Miss. Jane with another man. Miss. Bingley and Mr. Hurst were also witnesses,” spoke Mr. Darcy plainly. “And while the two men are usually the very bent of honor, the other has often proved to be a conniving manipulator.”

The room at large was surprised to hear such plain, ugly words spoken from the mouth of a gentleman, but the thought brought about revelations they had not seen before.

Mr. Bennet, however, was still not sure an eyewitness account of three people was not to be trusted. “Three people saw you daughter. Three. How do we account for this!” The words that had started calmly had ended in shouting and Jane’s face was flushed red.

“Elizabeth,” spoke Darcy, “was Jane your bedfellow last night? Can you account for her?”

“I cannot. For though we have shared a bed since I can remember, we have been separated since our visit at Netherfield.” Elizabeth sighed in regret that she could not give her worthy sister an alibi.

“Father,” spoke Jane weakly, her voice a mere whisper choked with tears, “Do you not believe in my innocence? Am I to be mistrusted by two men I love this day?”

“No,” he said, coming to kneel at her side, taking her hands in his own. “I trust you dearest. I merely know not what to think of this dreadful happening.”

“I’ve an idea.” Charlotte stood from the straight-backed chair she’d been sitting silently in, pacing the room, her face a study of thoughtfulness. “We must prove to Bingley that you are innocent, and in so doing, bring him as much pain as he brought you.”

“I don’t…” but Jane’s words were cut off.

“As he thinks your virtue dead,” continued Charlotte, waving Jane’s concerns away, “so must he think you dead. And in knowing that you died of the torment caused you by his distrust, so he will know his wrong.” She smiled calculatingly at all of them.

“I do not wish to trick him,” whispered Jane. “He has already been tricked, though we know not by whom.”

Darcy snorted; he was perfectly sure who had tricked daft Bingley.

“No, Jane,” spoke her father, “I wish this to be the route we take. No man will make my daughter suffer and not suffer himself. Has he yet left town, Mr. Darcy?”

“No. But he is quick to. As I understand it, he will spend the night at the same inn I have taken up residence at, and then depart in the morning.”

“Then will you, sir, take him news of my daughter’s death?”

“I will.”

“I thank you sir,” spoke Mr. Bennet gravely, shaking Mr. Darcy’s hand. Without another word, he left the room, seeking as he always did, the solitude from silly world he could only find within the walls of his library.

“Come Jane,” said Charlotte, “Lizzy looks about as tried as you. She should not be your nurse this day. I’ll keep you company. Mr. Darcy,” she inquired, turning towards the man, “Our Elizabeth is a peculiar creature who often needs fresh air and sunlight to be put right, would you mind accompanying her for a walk? I would greatly appreciate it.” She turned her back quickly on the man, not waiting for an answer, and began tending to Jane.

Darcy, whose answer was to walk to Elizabeth, take her hand and lead her from the room, out the front doors, and into the nearby garden, was only happy to oblige her. She did not follow him into the garden, but waited some feet from a rose bush that marked its entrance.

“Elizabeth, will you not come to me?” His head was tilted to the side and his shoulder leaned against a tall leafy tree, the bows throwing shadows over his dark head and eyes.

“Yes…” she said hesitantly, walking slowly to his side. When she was near enough to reach out and touch his shoulder with her fingers, she quickly melted into his chest. “…and I will leave when you wish me to as well.” She was unsure of herself, unsure as to whether the man would welcome her in such a position about his person, if she herself welcomed it.

“Stay, Elizabeth, until I bid you go.” Which he wouldn’t.

“No, I cannot stay out here with you. I will stay until you tell me what words were spoken with Mr. Bingley.” Her voice was hard with these words and she pulled as far away from Darcy as his arms would let her.

“Only foul words.” He stepped away from her, agitatedly, and paced a step or two before returning to her. “And now will you kiss me, Elizabeth?”

“Foul words are nothing, Mr. Darcy, but foul breath, and I do not desire a kiss from such a breath as that; I will not be kissed.” She crossed her arms over her chest, resolute in her anger with Bingley, but an uncontrollable sparkle lighted her eye with her effort to tease the poor Mr. Darcy.

“You are a sharp witted lady!” he exclaimed in mock disapproval. “But in truth, I’ll tell you that I have challenged Bingley, and when I see him to tell him of your sister’s demise, I will make sure he knows his fate lies in my hands. And though, dear Elizabeth, I do feel sorely for your sister, I cannot help but wonder how it is you fell in love with me. For which of my bad parts did you come to love first?” He smiled crookedly down at her.

Elizabeth was content with Darcy’s words of warning to Bingley, and felt herself like a bit of lightness for a day that had been so drenched in heavy illness. “Why! For all of them together! There is not a bad part that is not sufficiently evil as to let any good parts get through.” She laughed up at him, challenging him with her eyes. “But tell me, sir, for which of my good parts made you suffer love for me?”

“Suffer! I do suffer! It is almost as if I love you against my will!” He crossed his arms across his chest and pretended to pout, looking thoughtfully off into the distance.

“Why! Your poor heart, spited by the rest of you for its loving me?” exclaimed Elizabeth, putting both her hands on his forearm. “Well, if you spite it because of me, then I will spite it as well, for I cannot love what my friend hates.” She tipped her head up earnestly towards him and he gently ran his thumb down the length of her face.

“We are too stubborn and real to woo like befuddled lovers,” he admitted as she stifled a laugh.

“Not stubborn, Darcy, wise. Where will sickly sweet endearments get us that truth will not?” At this, Darcy lowered his head and perched a soft kiss atop her lips. With a sigh, he leaned once more against the tree, Elizabeth wrapped in a single arm at his side.

“How is your sister?”

“Very ill.”

“And how are you?”

“Very ill as well.”

With but a moment’s hesitation, he answered her. “Serve God, love me, and mend, dearest Elizabeth.” And with such words, and another soft, quick kiss atop her head, he stole from the garden as quickly as he had stolen into her heart.

*** Again, dialogue taken from Much Ado. But really? Who can improve on “Serve God, love me, and mend.” ???

7

Posted on Thursday, 6 April 2006,

“Excuse me, Miss?”

“Yes?” said the small pretty waitress, her curls bobbing as she turned around to face the inquiring man. Her smile slipped a little, but she pulled it up firmly. The greasy little man sitting before her was too close for comfort. His breath stank and she could see the pores of his skin.

“Yes, I was wondering about the man you just served dinner to. Did I hear you call him Mr. Darcy?” The man steepled his fingers together in front of his mouth and looked excitedly at the waitress.

“…It is,” she replied, glancing quickly at the tall, handsome man she had just served and then grudgingly back toward the slimy one addressing her now.

“Oh my, my dear dear girl, you do not know what an honor this will be for me. You can not know that that very gentleman is the nephew of my most wonderful patron, the Lady Catherine DeBourgh.”

The pretty blonde waitress smiled slightly and backed away as the man continued talking. “I must introduce myself. He will want to know if his aunt and fiancée are well, and all the news of Rosings. He will be much pleased to hear about the new shelves in all the closets at the parsonage!” He decided as he lifted himself from his seat and wove his way in between tables to the secluded, private table where Mr. Darcy sat alone.

“Mr. Darcy!” he exclaimed, sliding up behind the gentleman, “you do not know me of course, but that is something that shall quickly be remedied! Let me introduce myself. I am the parson recently hired by your magnanimous Aunt Catherine DeBourgh. Mr. Collins at your service.”

Mr. Darcy stared dumbfounded at the small man who had seated himself at his table, who had entered into his guarded solitude. “Mr…Collins…?” he asked, his lips pulled tightly, but he did not get to tell the man to leave as he wished to, for Mr. Collins kept right on talking. He was saying something about his cousin, Anne…

“You know Mr. Darcy, of course you know, that Anne is one of the most talented and lovely girls in all of England. Of course she cannot display her talents because she is so fragile, but we all know what potential she has. And such the lady, such gentile manners. Not at all like other young “ladies” of today. I do not like to speak of disagreeable things Mr. Darcy, but I feel I must tell you of the type of… low characters that run around in this town.”

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to say something scathing, but was stopped before he could utter one syllable.

“I had not been in town two minutes when I over heard two “ladies” speaking together. It is not, of course, a habit of mine to eavesdrop, but it is my duty as a man of the cloth to know what devils do evil wherever I am. Do you not agree?” He did not give Mr. Darcy a chance to. “I had just come into this very inn and heard these two voices as I made my way to my own private room for a rest. You see, I am here to see my uncle and his daughters- he has five of them you know- and to take a wife from the lot of them. It was Lady Catherine’s express wish that I marry suitably, and since my uncle’s estate is entailed to me, I find that it would be suitable (to use Lady Catherine’s word) for me to take one of them as a wife. I hear the two eldest are quite the beauties around here. And such extremes to choose from: a blonde angel and a dark gem I’m told. I’ve always preferred dark haired girls myself, so I’ll have to see how the second eldest suits me.”

“Mr. Collins!” broke in Darcy, bellowing silently so as not to make a scene. He knew instinctively and quite by Collins’ factual details, who the man spoke of, and would not have him pondering his Elizabeth. But he did not have time to tell Mr. Collins this, for the man started at his exclamation and quickly went on.

“Oh yes, yes, I have digressed have I not. One of the ladies I overheard speaking was certainly a gentlewoman, dressed quite extravagantly in a traveling dress of bright orange. She was handsomish but had such a look of disdain that she could not be attractive. The other woman was younger I presume and most certainly quite a bit poorer. Her maid, I gathered. But do you know what they spoke of Mr. Darcy?! No, surely you never would, for a man of your honor and degree would never sink to even think of such machinations and evil doings.”
Darcy’s interest had been piqued when Collins had described the wealthy woman in orange. Who else could it be? “What did this woman say?” prompted Darcy quickly, slipping his words in in an interruption.
“Ah, yes, these ‘ladies’ is they can be called such, were talking about the recent trick that they perpetrated upon some unknowing victim. Apparently, the maid had… ahem… let herself be seen with a man at a window, tricking this innocent woman’s fiancée to believe that he saw his beloved… ahem… ensconced with another man.” Collins looked obviously uncomfortable with relating this tale, though his desire to share the latest gossip with Lady Catherine’s nephew was more than he could resist.
“Do you think you could identify this maid?” asked Mr. Darcy excitedly. “Did you get a good look at her?”
Collins could by no reason account for the look in Mr. Darcy’s eyes, the excited irritation that seemed to come over him so quickly. “I… I suppose I could.”
“Good!” declared Darcy, rising from the table. “Find her and bring her to see me tomorrow morning. I’m sure my aunt would be quite happy to know that you had been of service to me.”
“Of service to… Mr. Darcy, of course Mr. Darcy! I shall set out to look for her this very instant! And do not believe that I shall fail you Mr. Darcy! I shall never fail my great patroness, nor her worthy nephew!”
“Yes, yes,” said Darcy, slowly leaving the side of the table. “Once you have found the maid, bring her with you to your uncle’s house. I will be waiting there for you.” And with that he left, quickly and determinedly, leaving Collins quite at a loss for how the man even knew whom his uncle was. But he did not wonder at it for long, for the answer was obvious. He was Lady Catherine’s nephew!

The day was cold, and Bingley pulled his collar up snug around his ears as he lighted into the carriage. Caroline already sat inside, a small frown upon her lips, though she wouldn’t say what had upset her so. Bingley didn’t wonder about it too hard, she was usually upset about something or other. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were traveling in a different carriage, but Hurst stood outside the one Bingley had just entered, finalizing traveling plans.

“Bingley, my boy, don’t look now, but trouble is bearing down upon us.”

“What?” asked Bingley, poking his golden head out the carriage window. Darcy stalked their way, his long black coats flying behind him, a devilish scowl crossing his face. He pulled the door to the carriage open violently and demanded of Bingley, “Get out here!” Bingley did not think to disobey.

“What is the meaning of this Darcy? I thought you had had your say yesterday?”

“No, I have not! I have just received word from Longbourn that the eldest daughter passed away in the night! What have you to say murderer!” Darcy said the word coldly, accusingly.

“I say that I have murdered no one, least of all the woman dear to your heart. I have simply laid bare the true form of her sister. It seems she could not live with truth.” The last was spoken softly, a strange gleam entering Bingley’s eyes. His shoulders slumped and he dropped his gaze from Darcy’s. He did indeed see himself as a murderer, the feelings he had so lately felt for the eldest Miss. Bennet had not yet lost their hold in the face of lies and deceits.

Darcy would play off this. “You think you can kill an innocent and suffer no consequences? I am a noble man if you are not. I will see her death avenged.”

Bingley shrunk from his former friend, guilt hanging about him, though he still believed the sight in the window two night before.

“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy!”

Darcy, Bingley, and Hurst were startled from their tense world by a high-pitched voice that cried out over the awakening din of the street. Darcy groaned as Mr. Collins came skidding to a halt beside him, the arm of a tearful girl held tightly in one hand. Bingley and Hurst both frowned, and Caroline, who had poked her head out of the carriage upon Darcy’s arrival, slowly attempted to melt back into the upholstery.

“Mr. Darcy, I’ve found her! I found her with her… with her… her inamorato.” Said Collins triumphantly if uncomfortably. “I could not believe my luck when I saw you standing here! I would not have to bring the girl to Longbourn after all!” He beamed with pride.

Darcy could not be upset, perhaps here was the very thing to convince Bingley of his wrong. “Tell us what truly happened,” Darcy said softly to the maid, sitting her calmly upon a nearby bench. He knew Bingley recognized the girl, as did Hurst, and he did not have to look toward their faces as she told her story, bringing to light what Darcy knew all along had to have been true: Caroline had orchestrated the entire calamitous event. Miss. Bennet was innocent.

By story’s end, Bingley had sat himself, collapsed almost, onto the street in front of the inn. “Jane,” he whispered pitifully, and Darcy felt a surge of pity for him. Hurst reached for the carriage door, but when he yanked it open, he found it empty. Caroline had escaped through the other side. Bingley did not notice, his eyes were wet, as were his cheeks, and he saw nothing in the distance.

“Bingley, you can make amends,” spoke Darcy, kneeling beside him, trying to see what his friend saw, or didn’t see, so far away.

“I can? I don’t think so. How?”

“You can help relieve the family you have hurt. You must marry one of their daughters.” Darcy stilled his face from contorting into a grin. He must remain serious. Bingley’s face however screwed up painfully.

“Marry a woman I do not love? Marry… one of the Bennet girls?” He knew Elizabeth, the only other girl worth mentioning was taken already by his friend. But then he figured he did owe penance for his harsh and hasty actions. “Will Mr. Bennet have me do so… do you think?”

“I do not know. We shall see. Come with me to Longbourn, bring with you the proof of Jane’s innocence, and in offering for the hand of one of his other daughters, you will bring Mr. Bennet two gifts. Will you come?”

“Yes… yes, I think I will.” Bingley allowed Darcy to help him from his seat and into the carriage. Darcy situated the maid in the carriage as well and changed the driver’s instructions. They were for Longbourn now, not London.

Mr. Bennet looked upon the grim visage of the young man with a soberly set mouth. It was a miracle he did not laugh aloud, because the desire to guffaw at the foolish boy was almost more than he could bare. “Tonight,” he spoke deeply, “You may mourn for my daughter.”

Mr. Bingley’s adam’s apple dipped then rose in his throat as his lids shut over his watery eyes. “Jane,” he whispered heart achingly.

“You will mourn for her tonight, and then, to honor the reputation you so shattered, to honor the good name of the family you so disgraced, you will marry another of my daughters tomorrow.” There was no room for disagreement in his voice, and Bingley brooked none. Slowly rising from the chair he occupied in Mr. Bennet’s study, Bingley left the room silently, turning in the doorway to face Jane’s father.

“I… I did- do- love your daughter sir. Simply apologizing cannot give her back to you, or to me, but I do so anyway. I am deeply, regretfully sorry.”

Mr. Bennet contained his laughter until he heard the front door swing silently shut.

However, behind a closed door and pulled curtain in a tidy room upstairs, tears were being shed instead of laughter. Elizabeth had sat on the bed and watched as Jane peeked from behind the curtains to watch her former fiancé ride off, and was waiting consolingly to take her sister into her arms as the sobs that had threatened all day began to wrack her body.

“Jane, it is alright. You will marry him tomorrow morning. Father already has the license.” Elizabeth, however, did not see why her sister would still want to marry the foolish boy. If he had such little trust in a woman who was completely innocent of any and all wrong doing, then he was sure to fall from grace again. She did not feel that Bingley could ever quite learn his lesson. He was too carefree. “Jane…” she ventured, “You do not have to marry him. What he did to you was abominable. We would all understand if you no longer loved him.”

“No longer love Charles! Oh Lizzy, if only it were that easy.” She said this all passionately, and then sobered, drying her face and looking reflectively at her sister. “I will marry Charles. I still love him. And he is sorry. You heard him when he was talking to Papa. He loves me still. And it was not his fault, really!”

“No,” said Elizabeth dryly. “And I suppose it was not Caroline’s fault either.” Jane looked as if she was about to say something incredibly nice, but Elizabeth stopped her. “No, Jane, no. I know you believe that Caroline had to be motivated by some evil beyond her means, for it could not be her that is evil!” Elizabeth smiled and hugged her sister. “You are too good by half. And you will be married tomorrow. Will you be happy, dear sister, when you are wed to your Mr. Bingley?”

“Yes. I will. And will you, Lizzy, be happy when you marry your Mr. Darcy?”

Elizabeth looked startled at her sister’s words and the small smile that accompanied them.

“Who says I am marrying Mr. Darcy?” she asked indignantly.

“No one. I just assumed. You are in love with him, are you not?”

“I… I, I don’t really know Jane. Or, I am rather shamed to admit that I might be, that I am.” Her face blushed sweetly and she turned her gaze to her hand.

“There is no need to be ashamed, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy is the greatest man in all of England.”

Elizabeth snorted at her sister’s exaggeration, but smiled proudly inside. The greatest man in all of England might very well end up being her husband.

The sun was setting quickly in the west and in the east, a soft dark blue sprinkled with twinkling specs of light was overtaking the sky. Bingley and Darcy stood silently under a huge oak tree, and Mr. Bennet and Elizabeth stood some distance away, watching.
Darcy had helped him find the perfect poem. Bingley would recite it under the oak tree some distance from Longbourn, beside a tiny, tidy cross, under which his beloved innocent Jane rested for all eternity. The hands that held the small leather bound book were shaking, and his eyes, filled with tears, could not decipher the small print on the starkly white pages. Clearing his throat, pushing back the tears, and stilling his hands with great effort, Bingley read the words aloud, the breeze picking them up and scattering them across the rolling green fields.

“Done to death by slanderous tongues
Was the Jane that here lies:
Death, in guerdon of her wrongs,
Gives her fame which never dies.
So the life that died with shame
Lives in death with glorious fame.”

He dropped to his knees on the grass-covered earth and hung his face in his hands. Darcy walked over silently and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder as it heaved mightily up and down. He was sobbing silently. “Oh Jane, oh Jane I am so sorry,” was all that could be heard. Darcy lifted his gaze and his comforting hand from Bingley’s shoulder and walked some feet to where some of the Bennet family stood watching. He wanted more than anything to wipe that amused glint from Elizabeth’s eyes with a kiss. But since she was standing next to her father, knew that he could not. Why the hell did she look so amused anyway? Only a few hours ago she had wanted his best friend eradicated, and by his hand no less! He glared at her before turning to face her father. “Shall we meet you at Longbourn tomorrow morning, sir?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Bennet. His face had remained gravely serious during the entire spectacle. He wanted the young Bingley to hurt as his daughter had. “Ten o’clock sharp, Mr. Darcy.” And then as an afterthought, “He does look as if he’s learned his lesson. I will gladly give my daughter to the young man, if only as a reminder of his stupidity all the days of his life.”

“Papa!” gasped Elizabeth. She colored and sneaked a shy glance at Darcy to see his reaction. He had colored as well, but was too courteous to say anything to her father. Mr. Bennet threw a heated look at his daughter and then swung around and stomped off towards Longbourn. Darcy turned towards Mr. Bingley, only to find that Mr. Bingley was already mounting his horse, was heading back to Netherfield.

So Darcy turned his attention to his love. “What put that wickedly amused glint in your eye?” he brazenly asked.

“I was amused. He did deserve to suffer, though I know that is intolerably cruel to say. But he hurt my sister intolerably.” She studied her hands once more, though her words were strong.

“And you are steadfastly protective of your older sister, are you not?” said Mr. Darcy approvingly. “I understand, Elizabeth, I understand all too well the protectiveness one can feel for a sister.”

“I know,” she replied, finally raising her gaze to look into his dark glowing eyes.

“Elizabeth, may I ask you for something. I must be going. I do not think it wise to leave Bingley alone for a lengthy amount of time. He’s too melancholy at present. But… but before I go, I would like… oh damnation!” he barked, forgetting his manners and grasping her by the waist to pull her close to him. “It is not something one should have to ask casually for!” and with such words, he lowered his lips to hers. This was not the chaste, simple kisses he had perched upon her lips before. No, this was something entirely different. With a curse, Darcy broke away and stomped off to mount his horse, leaving Elizabeth a little shocked, a little affronted, and so very much in love that she could barely breath.

“You do realize this is a tad unusual,” said the parson, bible enfolded tightly in his hands, resting on top of his rather rotund belly. “There has been no formal announcement of the engagement.”

“I have a special license,” spoke Jane’s father. “Will you not marry them?”

“Indeed, I will, if that is what you wish.”

“Good then, here comes Mr. Darcy and the groom, are my daughters placed in the garden then? Veiled and all?” He said this to a passing servant who nodded his ascent, leaving Mr. Bennet with a small smile perched in the corner of his mouth. “Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy, they are waiting for us in the garden.” Mr. Bingley, with a slow drag to his step and his head hung low, dark circles under his eyes, made his way in the direction Mr. Bennet had suggested, but Mr. Darcy held the father back.

“Mr. Bennet, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course, my boy, of course.” The matchmaking plans he had helped Hurst with were coming along splendidly, though he had to admit to some glitches. He was sure the young man was about to ask for his daughter’s hand, and so glad he would be to give it too! To such an amusing young man as this!

“I was… I was hoping that you would consent… that is that you would agree to-“ he stopped and collect his nerves before continuing. “I would like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” His face was stone and he drew up to his full height, towering over the older man.

“Oh really? Which daughter would that be?” teased Mr. Bennet.

“Elizabeth,” answered Mr. Darcy seriously.

“Oh, Elizabeth eh. Well, I don’t see why not, my boy.”

“Good, then we shall be married today! With Bingley and Jane!” There was an unruly glint to Darcy’s eye, one of excitement and nervousness.

“Wait, wait dear boy,” spoke Elizabeth’s father. “You must ask the preacher to perform such a service for you. I do not know if he will.” Both men turned to face the parson who was following close behind them.

“Will you do this for me sir?” asked Darcy, beginning to show his impatience.

“Do what?” asked the naturally oblivious parson.

“To bind me… or undo me. One of them.”

Mr. Bennet eyed his future son in law skeptically. What was all this talk then?

“Mr. Bennet, I believe your daughter does hold me in some high regard.”

“Tis most true, young man, most true.”

Darcy smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Then, good parson, now knowing my mind and heart, you will help to conjoin me and the good Miss. Bennet, today, in the state of honourable marriage?”

“Yes, sir, I do not see what could be wrong with that. We already have one hasty wedding. Why not two!?” The man was clearly flustered. “Do you have a license? You must have a license.”

“Oh yes, sir,” said Darcy patting his jacket, “it sits here above my heart,” and then to himself as Mr. Bennet and the parson made their way from him and into the garden, right next to words that speak my love, though not very well. I am not poet… but my Elizabeth will not mind.” And thus convinced and elated at the surprise he would doff upon his love within a few minutes time, he followed Mr. Bennet and the parson in the Longbourn’s garden.

Bingley stood alone at the head of a walk, bordered on each side by pink rose bushes. He didn’t see the preacher walking purposely toward him, nor the row of six veiled girls that followed behind him. Only when the six girls stood, in one long line before him, did he begin to acknowledge their presence. He looked questioningly towards Mr. Bennet. “Which… which one am I to wed?” he asked, wondering why six girls stood before him instead of the remaining four Bennet sisters.

Mr. Bennet stepped forward, taking the hand of one of the ladies and putting it into Bingley’s hand. It was pale and delicate and fit neatly in his own. Bingley looked once more toward Mr. Bennet. “May I see her face? May I know who it is that I marry?”

“Not till after you marry her. You had no faith in Jane, so now you must have faith in me.”

Bingley turned towards the woman who now stood close to him. “I do not know you, but I will love you. I give my word.” His voice trembled, his gaze dropped to the leaf-strewn walkway. The long tapered fingers of the pale delicate hand grazed against his chin, resting there and pushing his gaze back up to rest on the vague face-shaped form beneath the veil. The hand left his chin to pull back the covering, sympathy for her suitor finally overwhelming her.

“Jane…” chocked Bingley, unable to believe his own eyes. “Jane… but how?”

Her eyes searched his, both brimming with tears, both searching for answers. She spoke, softly, confidently. “When I lived, I was your wife, and when I died, I was your other wife. And surely as I stand here now, I am a maid.”

In one swift motion Bingley pulled Jane into his arms, holding her there tightly as he laughed, and she laughed, a joyous melody that swelled the hearts of all present.

He pulled back. “I’m so sorry Jane. So very sorry. I-“

But she would not hear it. “It’s over now. Caroline’s maid told us. You were deceived. It is not your fault. Now come, let us be married.” The assembled crowd cheered, shouted, whistled, smiled more than they had had right to in the last two days. Jane’s reputation was cleared, her honor restored, her heart full once more.

“Wait!” came a yell from the crowd. Everyone turned to stare at the man who had interrupted the celebration.

“Yes, Mr. Darcy,” inquired Mr. Bennet.

“Which… which of you is Miss. Elizabeth?” he asked heatedly of the veiled women. Two of the women pushed one figure forward.
“I answer to that name.” Elizabeth pulled off her veil and walked towards Darcy with unsure footing. What was the man up to? Why did he call her out in public? He had not proposed to her, he had not spoken to her about making their courtship public. Was the man so conceited?
“Do not you love me?” Darcy asked a bit hesitantly, noticing the stiff way in which she had answered him and her reluctance to step forward.
“No,” she said, pushing her nose in the air, “no more than reason.”
Affronted, Darcy replied, “then Hurst, Bingley, and your sister must be sorely amiss, for they swore you did!”
Elizabeth eyed him, unsure now as well. “Do you not love me?”
“No, no more than reason,” said Darcy, throwing her words back at her.
“Then Bingley and my dear sister must be much deceived, for I am quite sure they are incapable of creating their own deceptions; for they swore that you did.”
“They swore you were almost sick for me.”
“They swore you were well-nigh dead for me!”
“Of course not!” exclaimed Darcy. “… then… you do not love me?” He was confused; he was not sure anymore what was real and what was not. The only grounding reality, the growing restriction in his chest.
“No, no more than a friend.”
“Come daughter,” spoke Mr. Bennet, “I am sure you love the gentleman.”
“I know that the gentleman loves her!” assured Bingley. “Here,” he said, bounding forward to procure from Mr. Darcy’s pocket a note folded and raged, “is a poem, written in a very fine hand, which we all know only Mr. Darcy could have done, to Miss. Elizabeth Bennet.”
“And here,” said Jane, attacking her sister’s pocket, “is another, this in Lizzy’s abdominal scrawl she dares to call penmanship, written to Mr. Darcy, describing her undying love for Mr. Darcy.”
Both Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth looked certainly embarrassed, to be so caught out in so public a place! Well, there was nothing doing now.
“A miracle,” whispered Mr. Darcy to his heart’s affection. Then aloud, he addressed the crowd. “Our own hands against our hearts! I think I will marry you Elizabeth. But… by this light, I take you for pity.” His tone barely concealed a smirk and laugh. Elizabeth… pitied for her appearance… ha!
She looked, at first chagrined, but quickly accepted his verbal challenge. Living with him would not be dull. “I will accept your proposal, Mr. Darcy. But I yield only on the great persuasion of those around me… and partly to save your life, for I was told you were in a consumption.”
Laughing openly at his intended’s jab, he pulled her forward, heedless of the on looking family. Or perhaps because of them, hoping to compromise her into having to marry him. “I will stop your mouth, my lady.”
And he did. With a kiss.

The End