Beginning,Section II

Chapter Six

Posted on Sunday, 14 May 2006,

“I do not believe the green would become your complexion so well, Miss Bennet,” the modiste hinted. Although she remained properly deferential to her client, her manner made it perfectly clear that Madame Leclair knew far better what would suit Miss Bennet than Miss Bennet did herself.

Elizabeth had spent the better part of the day being measured and fitted and poked and prodded, and felt a nagging discomfort at the prospect of spending so much of her father’s money -- even if he had insisted upon it. She had been separated from Darcy for a good six hours; he had no inclination to join the ladies for their shopping expedition, and a great deal of business that had to be finished before the wedding. At present, she was not in the best of humours.

Most unpleasant were the curious gazes of Madame Leclair’s clientele. All were very fashionable, superior sort of creatures -- superior in their own minds, at least -- who could not have appeared any more startled if Jane, Elizabeth, and Mrs Gardiner had been dressed as gypsies.

It was only at that moment that the monotony was interrupted. Two ladies not far away were giving an attendant explicit directions as to what they wanted, but at Madame Leclair’s remark, both fell silent. The slighter of the two turned towards Elizabeth, pulling her reluctant companion.

“Miss Bennet? Are you really Miss Elizabeth Bennet?”

“I am,” Elizabeth said, somewhat bemused. Although quite certain she had never set eyes on the other girl in her life, there was something familiar about her. She was pretty, not excessively so, but handsomer than Elizabeth. The effect of her regular good looks, however, was rendered both less striking and rather more appealing by a turned-up nose and wide smile.

“Why Eleanor,” declared the girl, “this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet!”

The instant Elizabeth looked at the other lady, she knew that she must be a relation of Darcy’s. The elegant carriage, clear unwavering eyes, cold aristocratic beauty -- she was nearly more like Darcy than he was himself. Eleanor -- this must be Darcy’s “Ella.” She certainly looked as if she might have broken half the hearts of the ton, quite probably without even realizing it.

Eleanor said nothing, merely scrutinized her. The younger woman’s smile dimmed not in the slightest, and she said happily, “I am Cecilia Fitzwilliam, and this is my cousin, Lady Eleanor Fitzwilliam. I do hope you don’t mind my just introducing myself like this? As soon as I heard your name, I just had to see if it really was you.” She looked at Elizabeth with unabashed curiosity. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth was not certain whether to be amused or offended.

“Well, my aunt -- Lady Catherine -- wrote and said you were the worst sort of fortune-hunter,” Miss Fitzwilliam said cheerfully, “and then my uncle went and talked to *him*, and of course he defended you. I don’t think my uncle would have put any credence in what he said -- ”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you. What who said?”

“Fitzwilliam, of course -- my cousin.” Miss Fitzwilliam blinked owlishly, and Elizabeth hazarded,

“Mr Darcy?”

“Well, of course! Anyway, Uncle Edward surely would have dismissed it as just infatuation if it had been any of the others, but Fitzwilliam is different. He has this dreadful habit of being right nearly all the time -- *most vexing*.” The last remark was given in clear imitation of Lady Catherine, and Elizabeth smiled to herself. “And he, Fitzwilliam, I mean, must have been very angry because he has not come to see us yet, and he always does. But I am so happy to see you at last, Miss Bennet, and I hope you will be very happy.” She took a deep breath, and Lady Eleanor stiffly said,

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bennet.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth replied, quite certain that the lady was every bit as critical as she had ever thought Darcy to be. Nevertheless, there was intelligence as well as pride in that face, and Elizabeth instinctively knew that this woman could not be summarily dismissed as Lady Catherine had been. Impulsively, she added, “The honour is mine, Lady Eleanor; Mr Darcy has spoken very highly of you.”

At this, Lady Eleanor’s inscrutable expression softened, although she only said, “My cousin is very kind.”

“Oh yes -- most of the time,” Miss Fitzwilliam agreed. Her eyes fell on Jane. “You must be Miss Bennet’s sister. Are you the one Mr Bingley is marrying?”

As Jane, Mrs Gardiner, and Miss Fitzwilliam fell to talking, Elizabeth only joined in occasionally, mostly keeping her attention fixed on the silent Lady Eleanor. At the mention of Bingley’s name, her look had changed to one of haughty composure, but she looked on Jane with distinct approval. Certainly an enigma, Elizabeth thought, and determined to reserve judgment; if Darcy was so very fond of her, there must be more there than what appeared on the surface -- just as there had been with him. She could not help but wonder, though, if Lady Eleanor’s feelings for her cousin were quite as platonic as his for her.

“Miss Elizabeth, you must come,” Miss Fitzwilliam was saying. “Oh, and Miss Bennet too, if you would like.” There was a very slight trace of dismissal in her manner towards Jane, which was such a peculiar reversal of the usual way of things that Elizabeth could not help but find it as much amusing as galling.

“Perhaps the Miss Bennets are not entirely at our disposal, Cecily,” Lady Eleanor interjected coolly. “We should be honoured to receive all three of you, however, at your earliest convenience.”

There was no other possible response. With more civility than enthusiasm, Elizabeth accepted on behalf of all three, and the Fitzwilliam ladies took their leave.

“I am so sorry to have kept you waiting,” Elizabeth began, but Madame Leclair, her manner distinctly more conciliatory than before, shook her head.

“I understand perfectly,” she proclaimed. “Your fiancé, he is one of the Fitzwilliam gentlemen, and the ladies wish to know you.” She added matter-of-factly, “They are very nice people -- not like so many these days, only concerned with themselves; not even the young ones. And so tall and handsome -- you cannot find a handsomer family.”

Elizabeth smiled, thinking of Amelia. “Thank you, ma’am. I have not seen very many of them yet, but at least one is too handsome for his own good.”

With a shrewd look, Madame Leclair said, “You are to marry Mr Darcy then, Miss Bennet? Although perhaps Mr Henry -- but no. It must be Mr Darcy, for when Lady Fitzwilliam ordered Miss Darcy's new gown this morning, she said that she was to have a new sister.” With hardly a gap, she continued, “Perhaps, since you like green, this would be acceptable?”

Elizabeth examined the material, aided by Mrs Gardiner. “It is perfect, madam,” she pronounced, and when she left the Frenchwoman’s shop, it was with nearly all of her wedding clothes ordered to her satisfaction as well as Madame Leclair’s.

When Elizabeth returned home, she was startled to hear Darcy’s voice as she passed Mr Gardiner’s study. “-- It is not -- I am not yet at ease with him, sir.”

Mr Gardiner said something; although he was not speaking more quietly, he did not have Darcy’s clear carrying voice and she could not make out his words.

“It is perfectly unexceptional,” Darcy said, and Elizabeth, recollecting herself, continued past and joined the ladies. It was several minutes later when he alone entered the parlour, and Elizabeth smiled with pleasure at the sight of her betrothed. He was instantly at her side, and after apologizing to Jane on Bingley’s behalf, allowed his hand to brush hers.

“Mr Darcy,” Mrs Gardiner said, pouring him tea, “we met some relations of yours today.”

Darcy instantly stiffened, his expression wary, and Elizabeth said hastily, “It was at Madame Leclair’s -- where we ordered our wedding clothes.”

He relaxed slightly. “Oh, it must have been the girls then?”

Elizabeth thought it a rather odd turn of phrase, considering that Lady Eleanor could not be a day under twenty-five, but she nodded. “Miss Fitzwilliam seemed very . . . enthusiastic,” she said, smiling, and Darcy’s face lit up.

“Cecily was there? Excellent. I hope you will like her. She is -- ” he hesitated -- “she does not have many friends.”

Elizabeth stared. “I don’t really see how anyone could not like her, Fitzwilliam.”

“A delightful young lady,” Mrs Gardiner chimed in. Jane was busy looking out the window.

“Thank you. She has many acquaintances, but she is careful not to allow them to ripen into friendship,” he said, a little awkwardly. “She is . . . in some ways, very unlike the rest of us, so she is rather . . . lonely, although we are all very fond of her.”

“I am certain I shall be as well,” Elizabeth said confidently, then added, “Lady Eleanor was with her.”

“Ella? I hope she behaved herself,” he said. This struck her as a rather incongruous remark; although she found Miss Fitzwilliam’s warmth and openness infinitely preferable over Lady Eleanor’s elegant decorum, if there was any impropriety, it was certainly the former’s.

“Perfectly,” she said, and he winced. Elizabeth shook her head. Clearly she was missing some form of communication between the family members. “They invited us to call on them,” she added.

Darcy blinked. “All of you?”

“Yes, my aunt and Jane and I.” Hoping to reassure him, she said, “They were very civil, Fitzwilliam.”

He shook off whatever mood had come over him, and smiled. “Yes, I daresay they were. Did you get everything you need?--Jane, forgive me, but Bingley’s business will keep him occupied until at least four o’clock.”

Jane sighed.

“Not quite all,” said Mrs Gardiner, “but the majority of it is out of the way. I understand you had some business with Edward, Mr Darcy?”

“Not officially, but yes, I did wish to consult with him on some business matters, among -- other things. I have been settling a number of affairs in order to provide adequately for Elizabeth and any children we may have -- ” he nodded at her, and she could not help blushing happily at the idea of bearing his, *their*, children -- “My father invested several thousand pounds in what seems, to me, a rather uncertain enterprise, but as I am not very familiar with this type of commerce, I presumed to ask Mr Gardiner’s advice.”

Elizabeth knew, of course, that he esteemed her aunt and uncle, but this level of confidence was something else entirely. She beamed at him, and puzzled but by no means displeased, he smiled back.

“You look lovely, Lizzy,” Mrs Gardiner said.

“I am dreadfully silly,” Elizabeth said. “They are just -- people.”

“Of course,” said Jane, throwing their aunt a worried look. “Your hands are cold, Lizzy.”

“I am not frightened.” Mrs Gardiner’s composure was not quite equal to the task of hiding her skepticism, and Elizabeth conceded, “I am . . . perhaps apprehensive.”

“Lizzy, you are meeting the people who will be your family for the first time, people who do not know you and are not disposed to approve of you. It is perfectly natural to be a little frightened.”

“Oh, very well. A *little* frightened.”

Nevertheless, it was with the appearance of good humour that she entered the parlour, her back straight and her colour high. The room had only four occupants, Lady Eleanor, Miss Fitzwilliam, and two others. One was a very beautiful golden-haired woman of about Mrs Gardiner’s age, the other an elegant, elderly lady with a familiar pair of intense dark blue eyes.

“Grandmother, Alethea,” Lady Eleanor said coolly, “this is Fitzwilliam’s betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Bennet; her sister, Miss Bennet; and their aunt, Mrs Gardiner.”

The three curtseyed; although the elder of the two unfamiliar women inclined her head with gracious decorum in response, the lady Eleanor had called ‘Alethea’ scarcely deigned to reply at all, merely looking at them with a critical eye.

“Miss Elizabeth,” said Lady Eleanor, “this is my grandmother, and Fitzwilliam’s -- the dowager Lady Fitzwilliam. And my stepmother, Lady Fitzwilliam.” There was no overt disdain; but Elizabeth, after a year of studying Darcy’s ways, instantly recognized her dismissive contempt for what it was. The flash of her eyes, the tilt of her head, the set of her mouth; they all spoke of no very cordial feelings for her father’s wife, which good breeding would not permit to be openly displayed. Elizabeth suppressed a smile.

“Please, sit down,” the elder Lady Fitzwilliam said in a gentle voice, clearly addressing Elizabeth, “it is an honour, Miss Elizabeth. My grandson has spoken very highly of you.”

“Young men and their infatuations,” her daughter-in-law said lightly; “I hope for your sake, Miss Bennet, that his good opinion will last.”

The implication was clear, and Elizabeth, just reaching for the offered cup of tea, froze.

“Fortunately,” Lady Eleanor said icily, “Fitzwilliam is not whimsical or flighty in his opinions, like so many; he knows his own mind, and it is very rarely mistaken.”

Her stepmother’s lips tightened, and Lady Fitzwilliam said hastily, “I understand, Miss Bennet, that you are to marry my grandson’s friend, Mr Bingley?”

“Yes, madam, I am.” Jane was rather overawed by her surroundings, as much by the elegance of all four women as by the tense undercurrents she scarcely noticed.

“I hope you will be very happy. It is an excellent match for you both; he is a most amiable gentleman, and considering his origins, is fortunate to do so well as a respectable gentleman’s daughter.” Jane blinked, and the countess turned to Mrs Gardiner. “You, madam, are a native of Lambton?”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

“A charming town. You shall, I daresay, have more opportunities to visit.”

Mrs Gardiner smiled. “I hope so.”

There was only a moment of silence before Miss Fitzwilliam, with a nervous glance at her aunt, began, “My cousin was here this morning, Miss Elizabeth. He has been very busy, that must have been what kept him. I really had no idea how much dreadfully dull business there is to prepare for getting married. I hope it does not keep him too busy to attend to you properly.” She managed only a very slight curve of her lips, and Elizabeth’s brow furrowed to see the ebullient Cecilia so spiritless.

“Oh, no,” she replied cheerfully, “Mr Darcy is most attentive.” She thought of their affectionate farewell the evening before, and blushed fiercely.

“How fortunate for you,” murmured Alethea.

“How long have you known my cousin, Miss Elizabeth?” inquired Eleanor.

“About a year. We met last October.”

“I told you,” said Cecilia. “He would not have taken such a step without considering all the ramifications.”

This, considering the more than thorough explanation of the ‘ramifications’ which had taken place at Hunsford, was undoubtedly true. “Cecilia, mind your tongue,” Alethea said sharply. Cecilia lowered her eyes and demurely sipped at her tea, her pale cheeks flushed.

“It is good to know,” Lady Fitzwilliam said, “that it was a considered decision, not the impulse of the moment. And very like him.--Oh, you do look horrified. It is quite all right, we are all ladies here and we will be family.”

Elizabeth sat upright. “With all due respect, ma’am, I cannot feel myself at leave to discuss Mr Darcy’s attachment to me in any but the most general terms.”

Alethea’s eyes narrowed; but Eleanor’s lips curled into a faint smile, while the elderly countess looked on her with something like approval. Cecilia threw her a conspiratorial glance before attending to the tea once more.

When they left Fitzwilliam House, Elizabeth exhaled a sigh of relief. Darcy’s antipathy towards his aunt was now painfully clear. It was the young countess who had made the visit so painful; she could easily believe her a woman of vicious conduct, simply from the way she treated poor Cecilia. Elizabeth rather thought that Alethea was a woman who enjoyed having others under her power; which undoubtedly explained the tension between the lady and her stepdaughter. Eleanor Fitzwilliam, whatever faults she might have, possessed her cousin’s fierce, staunch will, and Elizabeth could not but approve of that. Her unswerving loyalty to Darcy -- for the countess’ allusions had been as much attacks against him as Elizabeth -- was perfectly admirable, and while she was clearly reserving judgment, there was no trace of jealousy or resentment in her manner. If convinced of their mutual attachment, she could be won over; Cecilia and Georgiana already were, and Lady Fitzwilliam seemed disposed to like her. The unknown quantity was the Earl; Elizabeth could only hope he was not greatly influenced by his wife.

“Well,” Jane said brightly, “what interesting people!”

“Indeed,” murmured Mrs Gardiner.

Chapter Seven

Posted on Tuesday, 20 June 2006

As they sat in Mrs Gardiner’s parlour, waiting for the gentlemen, Jane fidgeted so nervously that Elizabeth nearly feared for her dress. She could barely restrain her laughter; she had never seen her sister so distracted before, much less with such a conventional source. Jane’s anxiety after Lydia’s elopement was nothing to this; she had then been somewhat collected at least, while now, she scarcely seemed to have an idea of where she was. Mrs Gardiner hid her smiles, and Elizabeth resolved to tell Darcy about it later, when they were relatively alone. It would make him laugh.

“Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy, and Mr Bingley, ma’am.”

Elizabeth very nearly started with astonishment. Darcy had only said that his sister was at Pemberley, but would come down to Hertfordshire for the wedding, probably about a week before. She suspected — although it was not a matter she, or he, could speak of — that he was not eager to have Georgiana exposed to the young ladies who lived around Meryton, especially Kitty. Nevertheless, here she was.

She looked rather frightened — although this was so habitual an expression with her, it was difficult to tell if she was upset by anything in particular — and clung tightly to her brother’s arm. They all greeted her warmly, however, and she seemed somewhat reassured.

“I am very glad we are to be sisters,” she told Elizabeth shyly. “I thought — that is, I hoped — well, my brother has always thought very highly of you, and he is so happy . . . ” Both glanced at Darcy, who was speaking earnestly to Mr Gardiner about something. He seemed to feel the attention, and glanced up, smiling briefly before returning to his conversation. “It is — pleasant,” Miss Darcy struggled on, “to see him do something — to please himself. I was very afraid he would end up with someone who just liked him for his fortune and consequence.”

Darcy was too clever and too perceptive to be fooled by the most accomplished fortune-hunter, and Elizabeth nearly made a remark to that effect, before recalling Georgiana’s own experience. The younger lady’s face was very grave and pale as she spoke, and Elizabeth impulsively touched her hand. “Your brother has much to recommend him besides that,” she said, smiling. “I am certain many could have liked him on his own merits.”

Miss Darcy smiled shyly. “Everyone loves Fitzwilliam,” she said simply. “At least, everyone who knows him.”

Elizabeth hesitated a moment. “Like your cousin, Lady Eleanor?”

The younger girl looked briefly caught. “Perhaps not quite so much,” she admitted. “Fitzwilliam and Ella are -- my uncle used to say there must have been some mistake, since they were obviously meant to be brother and sister. They are that close, and so similar too -- everyone says I resemble my brother, but I’m not half so like as Ella is.” Georgiana was staring at her hands, her cheeks flushed. Elizabeth could not tell if she was embarrassed because she was leaving something out, or simply at the effort of sustaining conversation for such a time.

“I am glad there is only cousinly fondness between them; your cousin is very beautiful,” Elizabeth remarked.

“Yes, she and Fitzwilliam are the handsomest in the family,” Georgiana agreed, twisting her fingers together. “I wish I looked like her or Miss Bennet, I always feel . . .” She stopped, looking at Elizabeth with large anxious eyes.

“Miss Darcy, we are to be sisters,” Elizabeth said; guided entirely by instinct, she reached out to press her warm hands around one of Georgiana’s cold ones. “You may say whatever you like to me.”

“I do not know what it is like,” Georgiana said timidly. Elizabeth could feel the strong slender fingers shaking beneath her own. “I have never had a sister, and all my cousins are so much older than I am. Cecily is the closest to me and she is eight years older, and I know Fitzwilliam does not want me too friendly with her.”

Elizabeth with an effort concealed her surprise at this. “Well, I am certain he wishes you to be very friendly with me.”

The other girl returned her smile tentatively. “Yes, he does. I . . . I was only going to say, Miss Elizabeth, that . . . when I am next to Fitzwilliam or Ella, I always feel dreadfully -- homely.”

Elizabeth felt an instant sympathy. Georgiana was by no means plain, but rather a girl caught in the awkward stage between childhood and adulthood. Her face still had a girlish roundness and delicacy about its shape, and it contrasted too sharply with the striking Fitzwilliam features for perfect handsomeness. Her countenance seemed slightly unbalanced. Nevertheless, she was a pretty girl, and would become more so once she grew into her looks.

“I understand,” Elizabeth assured her. “My own sister -- well, you have seen Jane. No one but your brother would ever think me her equal, and even he did not, at first.”

Georgiana blushed fiercely. “He only wanted to make Mr Bingley leave him alone,” she said earnestly. “He can be terribly persistent sometimes -- Mr Bingley, I mean. Not my brother. Although he can be, too . . . not terribly, of course . . .” She stopped confusedly.

“Your brother told you about that, did he?” Elizabeth asked. “So you see, he did not think me even very pretty and fell in love with me nonetheless. You need not be concerned, Miss Darcy, for you are much handsomer than I.”

“Oh no, I am not. And he did think you very pretty, he said so, when -- ” She bit her lip. Elizabeth’s eyebrows rose. “He wrote me about you . . . quite a bit,” Miss Darcy confessed. “Fitzwilliam and I always write about everything, because we have been apart for so much of our lives. It was only a few weeks after you first met that he said you were really very pretty, but not like other women. He said it didn’t mean anything with them -- it was just how they looked -- but with you, it was what you were.” She frowned. “I am still not quite certain what he meant by that.”

“We shall have to ask him, then!”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Miss Darcy glanced towards her brother, her expression both awed and affectionate. “I probably should not have mentioned it -- but you are to be married and you shall be my sister, so it is all right, isn’t it? Or should I have asked first?”

“My dear Miss Darcy,” said Elizabeth, “I am quite sure he will not mind.”

“I -- Miss Bennet, I -- I hope it is not -- impertinent of me to ask, but -- since we are to be sisters, would -- would you mind using my Christian name?”

“Certainly not,” Elizabeth said warmly, “if you will call me ‘Elizabeth’, or even ‘Lizzy,’ as my own sisters do.”

Georgiana smiled shyly. “I would like that, Mi -- Elizabeth. I think that is a beautiful name. My great-grandmother was called Elizabeth -- Georgiana Elizabeth, really, but everyone called her ‘Lizzy.’ She died before I was born but my brother was very fond of her.”

“That explains why your brother refuses to call me ‘Lizzy,’ ” said Elizabeth.

“I do not suppose he spends much time thinking of her when he is with you,” Georgiana said, then blushed fiercely. “Oh dear -- did I say that aloud?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I will not tell him, I promise.”

“Oh, I would not keep anything from Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana cried. Her fervour startled Elizabeth, until she recalled the girl’s history. The confidence subsisting between brother and sister -- however unbalanced the attachment seemed to Elizabeth -- had saved her from the life that awaited Lydia. The thought immediately sobered her.

Once again, Darcy had arrived without Bingley, and was closeted away in Mr Gardiner’s study. After a moment of speculation, the latter emerged, and smiled rather wearily at Elizabeth.

“Please come in, Lizzy,” he said. “Mr Darcy would like to speak to you.”

Elizabeth started at the formality. “Why -- ”

“On what might be termed business,” Mr Gardiner said gently. Elizabeth’s brows furrowed, but she gave her parcels to a servant and followed her uncle into the study. Darcy was standing near the window, looking as deeply uncomfortable as she had seen him in a long while.

“Elizabeth,” he said, then continued in a practiced tone, “I will of course give this to your father and we may discuss it a later juncture, if you would like, but I thought you might prefer to make, er, your wishes known at present, while we are still in town and it is simpler to make adjustments.”

“Adjustments? To wha -- oh.” The settlement. She looked at several papers neatly piled amid Mr Gardiner’s organized clutter and felt Darcy’s palpable anxiety briefly settling over her. Nonsense, she told herself. I always knew he was wealthy. She had felt the disparity between them from the first; indeed, he had made certain that she and everyone else knew of it. Perhaps it had not seemed quite real until lately, but she could not be surprised, she wasn’t surprised. Nevertheless, it was impossible to be easy. Mr Gardiner patted her shoulder sympathetically.

“I am -- I do not really -- I trust you, Fitzwilliam,” she finally managed to say. Darcy’s tense stance relaxed a little, and he gave her the first open, warm smile she had seen for days. She held out her hand. “This does not matter, really -- I would have loved you if you only had a twentieth as much -- you know, and I know, and we are the only ones that matter.”

His fingers curled around hers. Even now, when they stole kisses every evening and most mornings, it was enough to make her shiver a little. She hoped it still would do so years into their marriage. “Yes, of course,” he said, sounding a little breathless. Mr Gardiner didn’t even bother holding back an amused, affectionate smile. “But it is important, Elizabeth. You will be my wife, and it will reflect on you, on my regard for you. It is not -- right, but that is how it will be seen. You do understand?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. She did not have to like it, but they could not pretend that society had no claims on them. They were not only who they were, but what they were. She was marrying a wealthy man, and such things were only to be expected. Even this practical resolve, however, was quickly overwhelmed as he outlined the terms of the settlement.

“Five thousand a-year?” she protested. “What on earth would I do with it?”

“Four thousand nine hundred sixty-seven, and that only after I am dead. I would not leave you dependent on anyone else’s generosity, Elizabeth,” he explained. Elizabeth shuddered a little. Looking at him right now, tall and handsome and in the full vigour of youth, it seemed impossible that one day -- No. I shall not think of it. “It may not be precisely that,” he added, “it depends on inflation and taxes and so forth, naturally our income during the marriage will vary somewhat.”

“Naturally.” Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at him, and he sighed, before elaborating on her jointure.

“Fitzwilliam, I do not need -- oh, never mind. Let us hope you will be the survivor, my love -- everything will be much simpler that way.”

Darcy blinked, then said cautiously, “At least Pemberley is not entailed.”

“That is a great comfort to me -- and to my mother.”

Mr Gardiner, who had just sipped on his tea, choked violently.

“Are you quite well, sir?” Darcy slapped the older gentleman on the back. Mr Gardiner nodded weakly, and Elizabeth bit her lip.

“Fifty thousand pounds will be set aside for any daughters and younger sons, to be divided at our discretion,” Darcy continued serenely.

Elizabeth caught her breath. “Fifty thousand?” she echoed. “Fitzwilliam, what have you done? Where did you get it?”

“Oh, the family has acquired a bit of that sort of wealth, here and there,” he said vaguely. “It seemed a nice round sum.”

“A nice rou -- ” Her eyes narrowed. Was he teasing her? Surely not in such a grave matter -- he was! She laughed in delight; Mr Gardiner looked pleased, presumably that his lively niece need not provide all the spirit in their family. Darcy himself only smiled a little.

“I was quite sincere about the amount,” he added. “That is what I have been so busy with -- consolidating my interests so that I might provide adequately for you and our children, although I inherited twenty thousand outright between my parents and my godmother.”

“Only you,” said Elizabeth, smiling affectionately to hide her very real discomfort, “would consider fifty thousand pounds adequate.”

“Anything less would have to be augmented later on,” he said practically. “I may as well set it aside now.”

Of course. Even fifty thousand pounds, split among two younger children, would not equal the present Miss Darcy’s fortune. Elizabeth was not so much of a starry-eyed romantic as to fail to realize why he had been so unprepared for these arrangements; he had expected to marry a lady of fortune, who would supply the bulk of it herself. Money was a topic she and Darcy were still rather uncomfortable discussing. She did not particularly care about Darcy’s fortune -- he had enough to support them comfortably, and that was all that mattered, or so she told herself. It was, however, the only area where their insistence on mutual equality fell completely apart, and thus the subject remained distinctly awkward.

She had not thought much on children before now, except as the natural consequence of marriage, and glanced at Darcy. Was it shallow to be glad that her children would have so handsome a father? She wondered what their children would look like -- would they be tall, like their father and aunts, or would they have the slight Gardiner build? would they be dark, like Elizabeth, or would they inherit Darcy’s fairer colouring? With a sudden fierceness, equal to anything she had felt at the height of her humiliation in Hertfordshire, she longed to be married, to leave Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn behind and become Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley.

Chapter Eight

Posted on Tuesday, 27 June 2006

If Elizabeth had been nervous for tea with four Fitzwilliam ladies, it was nothing to what she felt now. She was to be formally introduced to all of the family currently in town, and, of course, the invitation had included her entire family. Mrs Bennet had been in fits from morning to evening, and meant only to be silent out of respect for her superiors, except when she could show her deference to them all, but Elizabeth still lived in fear of some untoward mark. She had never been so grateful for the Gardiners and dear Jane in her life.

The entire Darcy-Fitzwilliam clan had assembled for a ‘small, intimate’ dinner — small and intimate meaning that only closely-related family members were present. Darcy had said lightly that the difficulty would be in keeping them away from one another’s throats, as there was some feud there, but Elizabeth did not doubt that they had united in their suspicion and dislike of her — barring Cecilia, of course. She had met Cecilia once more, and easily accepted her future cousin’s earnest apologies for her aunt, and for her own want of proper resolve. She was glad that she could look forward to some agreeable family members. She did wonder, however, why Darcy did not want Georgiana associated to closely with Cecilia — clearly there was something she did not know there.

All were relieved of their coats, and met by Lady Newbury. A brief embarrassment over the contrast between her own plain dress and her grandmother elect’s splendid one was fortunate, for it reminded her of Mr Collins’ reassurances, and her inner laughter put her much more at her ease. The house was not as elegant as Darcy’s, where she had called on Miss Darcy and forwarded their relationship as much as she could, to the great pleasure of all concerned -- but it was grander. Darcy, with some amusement, had explained that the Fitzwilliams had never entirely forgotten their comparatively humble origins in Ireland, and therefore went to great pains and expense to make certain everyone else did.

“My uncle, Mr Gardiner, and my mother, Mrs Bennet,” said Elizabeth. The countess greeted them civilly — the latter too overwhelmed to respond in above a whisper — although with less warmth than she did Elizabeth. The others, she said, were all arrived and in the blue parlour, for Lord Newbury had wished to mark the occasion by a particular gift to Mr Darcy. Lady Newbury’s pale wrinkled cheeks flushed pink at this, and explained quietly that it was a great secret, and all the family — even the Darcys and Merediths — were looking forward to the surprise. Elizabeth softened a little; whatever their feelings for her, their affection for Darcy seemed sincere, and when they saw him happy with her, surely they would more easily reconcile themselves to the marriage?

The servants announced them, and a gentleman of about fifty or sixty, still handsome with greying dark hair and piercing blue eyes, approached them. He was a tall, large man — the only man she had ever seen as tall as Darcy, and broader through the shoulders and waist — and looked very much as she imagined Darcy would at the same age, only darker. He was accompanied by Darcy himself and a slightly shorter man, about thirty-five, who shared the family resemblance, although to a lesser degree.

“Uncle,” Darcy said, with a grim, set, look, “may I introduce my betrothed, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, to you?”

As she had guessed, the elder gentleman was Lord Newbury. Elizabeth smiled, and as she heard Darcy introducing the others, she observed the earl from under her lashes. He was so very like Darcy — more than any but Eleanor — he could be his father. And with that, she knew, with a sudden startling flash of comprehension, exactly what he felt, quite probably better than he did himself. She still clearly remembered how miserable she had been at the idea of giving pain to her beloved father. Why had it never entered her mind that he might be just as upset to do the same — that his family, Miss Darcy and Lord Newbury and Colonel Fitzwilliam and everyone, was just as important and real to him, as hers to her?

It had been months into their acquaintance before she had ever thought of him as a real person, not simply the image she had created and carried around with her. At Pemberley, when she had realised with astonishment that she had not the slightest idea what he was thinking, that he was truly a separate person in his own right — but she had, perhaps, not entirely abandoned the habit of thinking of him only as the “Mr Darcy” she saw before her, with no existence beyond what she saw. And she knew that Darcy had been the earl’s favourite —

He struggled to make himself agreeable to her family. She could do that much for his, and particularly for this man, who reminded her so forcibly of her intended, of Fitzwilliam whom she had tied her life to.

“Miss Elizabeth — ” she accepted his hand — “please allow me to welcome you to our family.”

“Let us hope that we do not frighten her away from it,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam. She had noticed him, but she was so delighted at a familiar and friendly face, that her face lit up with a smile nearly as vibrant as that she had directed at Darcy. The earl’s eyebrows shot up.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam!”

“Miss Elizabeth.” He bowed. “Miss Bennet, Mrs Bennet, Mr Gardiner, Mrs Gardiner. I had the honour of Miss Elizabeth’s acquaintance when she stayed at Hunsford last spring.” He smiled as warmly as ever he had done, but watched her with a trace of uncertainty in his expression. Elizabeth was very glad indeed when Darcy took three steps forward and stood firmly at her side, his hand resting lightly and protectively against her back, and cordially greeted her family, with a meaningful glance at his own. The others immediately followed suit, a deluge of names following; the other man at the earl’s side was his eldest son, Lord Milton. A severe-looking gentleman, old-fashioned in dress and about ten years Lord Newbury’s senior, was Sir James Darcy, Darcy’s great-uncle the judge, and the equally elderly lady at his side was his wife, Lady Darcy. A mild-mannered gentleman of about sixty was a cousin of Darcy’s on his father’s side, Lord Westhampton, and the fair-haired couple with him were his son and niece, Lord Beswick and Lady Susannah Alfreton. The others she had met at some time or another — Lady Eleanor, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Cecilia, and the rest.

She found herself seated between Alethea and Lady Eleanor, as the little ceremony proceeded. The two pointedly ignored each other as the earl addressed himself to Darcy. “I always meant to give this to you,” he said, his expression stern and cold. Elizabeth glanced up, and very briefly met the older man’s eyes. They showed all that his face did not; he looked pained, resigned, and in a peculiar way, relieved. “I should have done it earlier, but this occasion seemed particularly apropos.” He cleared his throat, and said something in an undertone to one of the servants hovering discreetly about. Within a very few minutes, a large flat object draped in a sheet was carried into the room, obviously a portrait.

Anticipation overcame every face in the room, and Darcy stood at the earl’s command, looking curiously at it. His expression was almost as soft as she had ever seen it, and it seemed that he, too, had an idea of what it was. The sheet was drawn off, and a beautiful painting of a young woman revealed. A hush fell over the room; Elizabeth heard Eleanor catch her breath. Lady Newbury had a tear rolling down her cheek. The Bennets and Gardiners simply watched in confused silence.

The lady wore exquisite pearl drops in her ears and another set around her slim neck. Her powdered hair was piled on her head and fell about her shoulders, a black hat set at a jaunty angle atop the mass of curls. She was beautiful, but her beauty was somehow forbidding, despite the vibrant smile and clear undimmed gaze. Elizabeth knew the woman for Lady Anne Darcy almost the instant she looked at her. She had spent too long studying Darcy’s features not to recognise them in the face before her. If he looked like his uncle, it was only because he first looked like his mother.

She remembered their conversation, that day at Oakham Mount. Was she very beautiful? She now knew why he had been unable to properly reply; anything he said of his mother’s appearance necessarily was also of his own, and his vanity was not sufficient for that.

Darcy took a step forward, his gaze fixed on the identical pair gazing out of the portrait. Most, undoubtedly, would see nothing unusual in his expression — most of his relations did not — but Elizabeth recognised the profound longing in his eyes for what it was, made only more so for its unobtrusiveness. Tears rose to her own eyes, and she looked at her mother. They had never been close. Mrs Bennet had always preferred her eldest and youngest daughters, and often resented her second. Elizabeth was too much her father’s child, too much his favourite. Mrs Bennet would have defended Elizabeth to the death, as she would any of her girls, but within their family circle, did not seem to so much as like her. Elizabeth often felt that she did not like Mrs Bennet very much, either. She could not remember a time when she had not been bitterly ashamed of appearing in public with her, of being forced to acknowledge her. It was not a sentiment she was proud of, nor one which she spent time thinking on.

She had never considered her lot as remotely fortunate, until now. She felt an echo of his grief as her own, and had they been alone, would have run up and put her arms around him, lay her cheek against his back, and say whatever comforting thing sprang to her lips. Instead, she could only look, and think. Mrs Bennet had become very fond of her since her engagement to Mr Darcy of Pemberley, and only more so after this evening. Her first, and only, goal in life was to get her daughters married, and married well, since Jane was fifteen years old. Jenny Gardiner, who knew poverty only too well, would never have dreamed that she would one day see her daughter married to an earl’s grandson who could count unbroken descent, from father to son, back to the Conquest and beyond. Whatever else he might be was utterly beyond her comprehension; he had chosen her daughter and that was enough to win her undying devotion. Mrs Bennet’s mind was not a complex one.

Elizabeth looked from her mother, deliriously and silently happy, to Darcy, who said simply, “Thank you, sir,” his voice vibrating with emotion at the prospect of having a mere image of his.

She had never been grateful enough; she had never known that she had something to be grateful of. Her mother was alive.

Darcy reached out and briefly brushed his fingers against the portrait’s painted cheek. The silence was abruptly broken by a flurry of congratulations and acknowledgments. It was some minutes before Elizabeth could even make out anything more than the tip of Darcy’s head, among so many tall relations.

“That was Mr Darcy’s mother?” Mrs Bennet whispered.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Elizabeth. Then she looked at her more closely. Mrs Bennet’s silence did not spring only from respect. She was quite frightened. “She died when he was a child.” How strange was it, to not know what to say to her own mother?

Mrs Bennet scrutinized the portrait. “Mr Darcy’s father must have been displeased,” she declared. “Gentlemen want their sons to be like them.”

Elizabeth sighed.

“Take care that yours do,” she added severely. “Daughters are generally not of much consequence to their fathers, but sons are different. And for heavens’ sake, take care that you do have sons!”

Elizabeth bit back her initial response, and said through clenched teeth, “I will do my best, ma’am.”

“I should hate to see you forced to give way to some odious cousin,” Mrs Bennet added kindly. Elizabeth softened, and said,

“Pemberley is not entailed, Mama. If we have no sons, our daughters may inherit, or a son of Miss Darcy’s.” She thought it best, for the sake of her mother’s nerves, not to mention that her jointure was over twice Mr Bennet’s income.

“What a lovely gesture.”

Everyone had retired to the dining room, where they now sat at Lady Newbury’s command. Elizabeth was between Lady Darcy and Mrs Gardiner, and smiled at the former’s innocuous remark. There was no trace of suspicion, and her manner was almost friendly. Elizabeth was deeply relieved that someone seemed to be.

“Yes, it was,” she replied, with a warm smile.

“I should not say so, but — ” Lady Darcy lowered her voice — “I should not have expected it of the Fitzwilliams. Oh, I do not doubt their devotion, Lord Newbury especially, but . . .” She shook her head sadly.

The food began to pass around. “Mr Darcy was very glad, I think,” Elizabeth persevered.

“Well, I should imagine so.” She sighed deeply. “Poor Anne. I don’t think she ever recovered from Alexander, she became very fussy after he died.”

“Alexander?” Elizabeth blinked.

“Fitzwilliam’s older brother.”

“He never mentioned him,” she said in surprise.

“Well, he died when he was quite young.”

Elizabeth tried to sort out the pronouns. “Alexander died when Mr Darcy was very young?”

“He was perhaps a year old. Alexander was five or six — one of those illnesses that just come about, you know — well, to lose a baby is difficult enough, but an older boy — ” she shook her head. “They were never the same. Anne became so attached to Fitzwilliam, and he to her, although of course he did not really understand. He was not like Alexander, not at all, which made it easier for her, I suppose, but harder for his father — he was nearly as fond of Alexander as Anne was of Fitzwilliam. Well, I often thought, you know — and so did Lady Alexandra — that it was perhaps not wise — Fitzwilliam being so frail, and all — but they were that charming together. There were always balls and parties, for George, Mr Darcy, and Lady Anne were very fond of society, and I remember she always had Fitzwilliam with her before she went down, they would laugh together and she always let him have the last say in what she wore, and stay up when he wanted. She would dance the night away and get ill afterwards, and have awful dreams — she was a very nervous girl, poor thing, and she always wanted him with her then. I really think he took care of her as much as she did of him.”

“That would be very like him,” said Elizabeth, thinking it over. She was both a little saddened at the portrait Lady Darcy painted, and comforted that she would not be following the picture of perfection she had feared.

Lady Darcy smiled, and sipped at her wine. “You seem to understand him quite well, my dear.”

“I would not say that,” Elizabeth said ruefully, “I think I finally comprehend him, and then he turns around and surprises me all over again.”

Mrs Gardiner laughed softly. “My dear Lizzy, you may expect that for the rest of your life. Gentlemen are perverse that way.”

“And ladies,” rejoined Lady Darcy. “It is difficult to know any complex person — and one as intricate as Fitzwilliam? that must be an interpretation and construction, not an absolute*. Undoubtedly he finds you equally unpredictable. Why, Sir James and I have been married for well over forty years, and to this day he never ceases to astonish.”

Elizabeth smiled. She had seen the care Sir James took with his wife; whatever the circumstances of their marriage, there was no doubt in her mind that they loved each other. It was impossible not to smile when she saw them together; there was something very endearing about them. “I suppose you are right. F—Mr Darcy insists that he is quite dull and predictable.”

“Well, he is very much a creature of habit,” Lady Darcy allowed, “but dull?—only to the people he doesn’t terrify out of their wits. We always said that any lady who tries to entrap him deserves what she gets. I remember — oh, what was her name? Lord Whitacre’s daughter. In any case, this woman was simply detestable — malicious and unkind, but never very overtly — not like Miss Bing — ” she covered this with a cough — “in any case, Lady Cornelia — that was her name! now I remember. Lady Cornelia would be very cruel to the younger girls, just out, and she had set her cap for Fitzwilliam — of course he was having none of it — but after he had seen a young lady actually run away sobbing because of something she’d done, seen with his own eyes, Lady Cornelia tried to draw him into conversation. She was going on about how superior London is to everywhere else, and of course he made some curt remark about how he did not care for the hypocrisy and deceitfulness of society in town. Well, Lady Cornelia said that she could not help preferring the variety of entertainments in town — he just said, ‘Oh, I do not doubt but that you are suited to the society here’ and turned on his heel and walked away — but everyone knew what he meant, of course, and for the next few weeks, she was cut by some of the very young ladies she had frightened the day before, and could hardly show her face. Well, it was unkind of him but everyone was glad to see her dropped a peg or two.”

“Oh, I remember that,” Cecilia, across the table and a safe distance from Alethea, chimed in. “What a vile creature she was. Is, I suppose, although I haven’t heard much of her since then.”

“She married an Irish baron,” Lady Darcy said. “Rich, but very reclusive. She will have to be content as a star in the society of St Catherine.”

“Tragic,” remarked Eleanor, before returning to her conversation with the colonel.

Elizabeth smiled slightly. She did not truly approve of his behaviour, but comforted by the knowledge that it was a thing of the past, and deserved into the bargain, she was also somewhat amused. She knew perfectly well that she probably would have had no objections whatsoever had she actually been present. What caught her attention more than either, however, was the consequence of a sharp comment from Darcy. Ironically, in a society where he was less important, at least by contrast — no longer the great outsider, but instead where he belonged, one of many — his influence was much greater. She had thought of his power in terms of interest and connection and dependents, but never this way. In Meryton his disapprobation was relatively meaningless; in town, a snub from him, followed undoubtedly by that of his relations, had much farther ramifications. No one, she thought, would dare to laugh at him, as she had; they could not afford to. And it was not only his power but that of all connected with him; Miss Darcy, were she so inclined, could do the same thing — perhaps, her shyness being so often mistaken for disdainful pride, she already had, quite on accident. And once she, Elizabeth, was Mrs Darcy— She would have to be careful, but doubtless there was the other side, that Bingley had unwittingly taken advantage of — what his approval could mean. She knew perfectly well why Miss Bingley had become so deferential; her acceptance in the circles she was so proud of moving in was so dependent on the Darcy connection — she did not dare affront him.

Elizabeth smiled at Lady Darcy, half-attending the conversation. For a moment she wished Darcy was a modest country gentleman like her father. It would have been far easier. But — she had never wanted easy, had she? He was a difficult man — and if she were honest with herself, she was a difficult woman — and their happiness was all the greater because it had been difficult to attain.

*inspired by Reuben Brower, Fields of Light
*adapted from Jane Austen's (reported) comment that Mary married one of her uncle's clerks and was content to be a star in the society of Meryton.

Chapter Nine

Posted on Tuesday, 25 July 2006

The rest of the meal passed amicably. Lady Darcy’s friendliness did much to lift Elizabeth’s mood, and the four women, Elizabeth, Mrs Gardiner, Lady Darcy, and Cecilia, all talked with the ease of old friends and the enthusiasm of new acquaintances. Eleanor’s occasional contributions made it clear that she was listening even while she spoke to her brothers -- Elizabeth idly noted it was one way in which she differed from Darcy, who had enough difficulty paying attention to one conversation at a time -- but she did not allow it to bother her or check her spirits. Darcy was not near her, but their eyes met every once in a while, and she always smiled brilliantly at him whenever it occurred.

When dinner came to an end, they retired to the same parlour as before, since it was still early. Elizabeth was startled when the Earl quickly went to her side and offered his arm. The Fitzwilliams rearranged themselves unobtrusively, Darcy and Eleanor automatically pairing off and following Lord Milton, who led their grandmother.

“Thank you for your kindness to myself and my family,” Elizabeth began civilly. Lord Newbury smiled to himself and said perfunctorily,

“It is not kindness, it is a pleasure.”

Elizabeth’s old frustration with Darcy’s impenetrable good breeding reanimated itself. She had never been able to catch him in any true improprieties, for even at his most offensive the rudeness was coloured by an unassailable correctness. Lord Newbury seemed to be tarred with the same brush.

“I must offer you an apology, Miss Bennet,” he said unexpectedly, although his manner as stiff as ever.

“I beg your pardon?”

“On my sister’s account,” he elaborated. “Catherine, whatever her private opinions, had no right to attack you as she did, and she certainly had and has no right to interfere in our nephew’s personal concerns. He is eight-and-twenty and may do as he wishes; we have no say in it.”

Elizabeth met his eyes squarely. “You are not responsible for Lady Catherine’s behaviour, sir. I would not blame you for the impropriety of a relation -- you had nothing to do with it.”

Lord Newbury smiled slightly. There was no doubt in her mind that he perfectly comprehended her. She continued, guided only by what she felt, and an impulse of the moment, “Mr Darcy certainly seems to think the opinions of his family more important than that, however.”

“Oh?” The earl’s dark eyes flicked towards her and then away.

Doubtless he would be greatly comforted if he could have heard Darcy’s first proposal. Elizabeth nearly shook her head at the thought, and persevered, “He must ultimately depend upon his own feelings and judgment, of course, but I understand that is what his family taught him?”

He gave her a quizzical glance. “--To depend upon his own judgment, in any case. We did not wish him to repeat my sister’s mistakes.” Elizabeth instinctively knew he meant Lady Anne, not Lady Catherine. “It is a pity we were not more successful.” With that non sequitur, as they were at the parlour, he handed her over to his nephew and left.

“What did he say to you?” Darcy instantly demanded. Elizabeth gave him a sharp look.

“This is a lovely room, dearest; I remember, there was one like it at Pemberley, although of course that one was not so crowded.”

He looked slightly abashed, and left at Elizabeth’s nod when his grandmother shooed him away. “Miss Elizabeth, would you mind sitting by me?”

Despite the faint old-fashioned charm with which she spoke, this was clearly only a rhetorical question, if question at all. Elizabeth sat.

“I have been talking with Miss Bennet,” the countess began. “She is a delightful young woman.”

“Thank you.”

Lady Newbury’s eyes went from sister to sister, her expression faintly perplexed. Clearly she found his choice of Bennet daughters rather peculiar. Elizabeth said lightly,

“My mother finds it very odd that Mr Darcy should have wished to marry me, rather than Jane.”

Lady Newbury’s mouth twitched. “She is very lovely, and seems quite sweet-natured, but she is not the sort of lady that Fitzwilliam prefers.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth’s eyebrows shot up.

“He tends to like people who are lively and open, like Richard, or clever and strong-willed, like Eleanor,” she said complacently. Or both, thought Elizabeth without undue modesty. The puzzling friendship between Darcy and Bingley was beginning to make more sense. The latter benefited from her intended’s steadiness and good sense, the former from Bingley’s easy friendliness.

“Yes, I would think so,” she agreed. Lady Newbury, after a pause, said,

“I was glad to hear that he was marrying. I should like to see his children before I die. Only Milton, of all my grandchildren, has married, and the others are growing older. Eleanor is Fitzwilliam’s age and he is eight-and-twenty.” Charlotte’s age, thought Elizabeth, staring at her prospective cousin with new eyes. Eleanor was rich, beautiful, and daughter of an earl. She could marry whomever she liked, or not at all, if she chose it. Whereas Charlotte, surely no less deserving, had been driven to become Mrs Collins. The injustice of it struck her with a sudden fierceness she had not felt for a long time.

Well, it shall be over soon enough, she consoled herself; then her dark eyes opened wide. No, it shan’t, she realised. This evening would pass; and when she married Darcy, these all would be her family, until she died. She took a steadying breath, and threw a glance at the countess’ impassive face.

“Lady Newbury, may I ask you a question?”

“Certainly.”

“Is there something about me as a person that you find repulsive, or it simply my lack of consequence?”

The countess blinked. “I am not certain I understand you, Miss Bennet. Are you asking whether I dislike you, or whether we do?”

She was clearly the origin of Darcy’s penchant for semantic niggling. Elizabeth sighed. “I meant you particularly, your ladyship,” she said.

Lady Newbury considered. “I do not know you very well, but I do not think Fitzwilliam would have chosen you if you were deficient in any way. He has excellent taste. No, at this juncture I must say that only your . . . situation in life bothers me.”

“That is a relief,” said Elizabeth, “I should hate to think there was anything of substance that I could in some way affect.”

“You can do nothing about your birth, that is true,” the countess agreed. “Miss Bennet, it is not simply a matter of fortune and connections, although those are considerations. We wished someone of our own sphere, acquainted with our ways. Of course we do not blame you for your ignorance -- you cannot help it.”

Somehow, Elizabeth reflected, this was much less offensive coming from the countess; there was a sweetness to her that kept her from giving offence as her daughter so freely did, although the unflinching sincerity was obviously a family trait. “Ma’am,” she said, “I understand your concern. Yet, I am a gentleman’s daughter. Surely I can learn to be a gentleman’s wife?”

“My dear Miss Bennet,” replied Lady Newbury, smiling as one does at a child’s naïve pronouncements, “do you know why it was that, when Mr Darcy courted my daughter, it was his family, not hers, who objected to it, who considered it an unequal match?”

Elizabeth frowned. “I did not know there was any objection at all.”

“They considered her unworthy of him because the Darcys were an old, powerful family when they left Normandy some seven hundred years ago. They were snubbing upstart nouveaux riches when the Fitzwilliams could dream of nothing higher than selling wool in Dublin. With his lineage and connections, it does not matter a whit that Fitzwilliam has no title, his name is enough. He is of *our* sphere, not *yours*. Forgive my bluntness, but that is how the matter stands. George Darcy chose Anne because she was beautiful and wealthy, and those were his requirements for a wife. She accepted him because she wanted entry into the more respectable circles, and he was the most attractive of her prospects.”

Elizabeth smiled. “And, as I am neither beautiful nor wealthy, you do not think I can be a creditable wife to your grandson? And I suppose all of you are of one mind on the subject?”

“I do not know what you can be,” Lady Newbury said. “I only know what you are.”

“An unpolished country gentleman’s daughter, you mean? Not what you wished for Mr Darcy? Not what he wished for himself?” Elizabeth raised her chin. “I suppose you think me the worst sort of fortune-hunter, Lady Newbury.”

“No,” the countess said. “I do not doubt your affection for my grandson. It is evident to anyone who has seen you together.” Elizabeth started. “You have a very expressive face, Miss Bennet.”

“Thank you.” Now, Lady Newbury looked surprised. Clearly, she did not consider it a compliment. Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. She was really beginning to wonder that Darcy had turned out as well as he had. That he had been able to become so different from them, with nothing but his own will and conscience to guide him, was little short of miraculous. “Your ladyship, Mr Darcy and I are engaged to be married. We *will* be married. There is nothing to be done about that, we have made our choice.” She raised her chin. “His family’s antipathy towards me does nothing to shake his resolve, and only makes him unhappy. I see no purpose in it, since you clearly have no intent to repudiate him or me. All that may be done on your part, now, is to help me be what you are so certain I cannot.”

“I beg your pardon?” The countess stared at her. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

Elizabeth met the older woman’s gaze directly. “I will confess that I did not fully understand all this, but you cannot possibly think I did not consider the ramifications before now. I have no intentions of being moulded into something I am not, a -- a mere ornament on his arm, of no use or purpose, but that is not the same thing as clinging to old ways that have no place in a new life. Mr Darcy can only marry me because he is a gentleman, and I a gentleman’s daughter, but I know what his lineage means to his place in society. Surely it can come as no surprise to you that I wish to be a credit to him? It is not infatuation on my part any more than it is his. I want him to be as proud of me, as I am of him.”

Lady Newbury smiled with greater warmth than Elizabeth had seen all evening. Her wide startled eyes filled with tears, and she dabbed at them with a dainty handkerchief.

“Your ladyship?”

“Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I am old and sentimental.” She looked at her. “You seem a very sensible girl.” With her slender blue-veined hand, she covered Elizabeth’s. “He is too good for this world, you know, and no woman on earth deserves him, but I hope you will be happy.”

Elizabeth smiled, a great release of tension easing the pressure in her head. She did not think she had won them all over in a single evening, not even Lady Newbury alone, but she knew a battle had been won tonight.

“Thank you.”

“Elizabeth?”

The others -- well, theoretically, everyone -- were either showing or being shown the house. With a look of boyish mischief, Darcy snatched up her hand and pulled her into an unused room.

“Fitzwilliam!” she cried, laughing.

“Shh,” he said, pressing his hand against her mouth and pulling her towards him, “or else they shall hear.” She giggled against his fingers, then gasped at the sudden touch of his lips against her neck. It was unexpected but very pleasant; the laughter that emerged from her lips at it was a low, throaty sound utterly unlike the girlish one that had preceded it. Suddenly every point on her body seemed excruciatingly sensitive. Chills broke out on her arms and a flutter descended to exactly that spot where his gloved hand rested against the curve of her waist. It was the first time, as far as she remembered, that he had ever touched her out of the impulse of the moment, and she was thoroughly delighted.

He lifted his head and said, in a voice that was light and merry rather than deep and intense, “*This* room is not crowded, dearest.”

“Fitzwilliam, we are in your uncle’s house,” she murmured. It was merely a token protest; a wonderful languorousness seemed to have overtaken her, and she had less than no desire to move. In fact, although the discrepancy in their heights was occasionally troublesome, at present it was perfect, for she could just lay her head back against his shoulder and be quite comfortable. And, of course, it made it ever so much easier for him to bend his head down and kiss her throat, which was also . . . pleasant. They had discovered rather early on that that was something both of them liked rather more than was appropriate.

“Yes,” he said, “that is very fortunate.”

She almost lifted her head. “Fortunate?”

“Yes. When I was growing up, my cousins and I spent a great deal of time here, and we had much freer reign here than at Darcy House. We explored every nook and cranny -- ” he gave into temptation at this point and dropped his lips from her ear to just below the curve of hre jaw -- “and discovered a great number of secrets. I believe I may so that I not only know this house better than my own, I know it better than my uncle. Do you know that there are secret passages?”

“Secret passages?” she said weakly. Darcy, with a superhuman effort, stepped back and walked around to face her. It was very dimly-lit and she could only just see his dark eyes shining at her. “Fitzwilliam,” she said, recovering more of her ability to speak in coherent sentences the further away he walked, “has something happened? You seem . . . rather unlike yourself.”

“I think they are gone,” he declared, then laughed outright. “I am only very happy, Elizabeth.”

“I would never have known from your behaviour earlier,” she said, trying to put her loosened curls back into some degree of order.

“We were in company then. I cannot show my feelings before other people.”

Only me, she thought, quite happy herself. She had always thought she would wish a lover with no qualms about displaying his devotion publicly, but she knew that in this, she would not wish him any different.

“Are you simply pleased with the world in general, or something in particular?” She marched to the window and pulled the curtains open. Light, albeit pale, dusky light, flooded the dark room. Darcy laughed again.

“Oh, I am never pleased with the world in general. I had not known until to-day, though, how much I . . .” He stopped, and she could see him struggling with his native reticence. His expression had altered into one of such tenderness that it transformed his entire face. Then he stepped forward and captured her hand in his, pressing it against his lips. “Elizabeth, I . . . you . . . tonight, you were . . . magnificent. I -- ” he spoke rapidly, like a child giving an apology, “I am so proud of you. I have loved you for a very long time, but I didn’t realise until I saw you with all of us, that I had not merely chosen well for my, our, personal happiness, but for . . . the rest. I am honoured that you have consented to be my wife, and the mother of my children, and the mistress of my estate.”

Elizabeth’s eyes jerked up to his in astonishment. She could not think of anything she had done that was in any way different from her usual behaviour -- perhaps somewhat tempered in deference to her company, but certainly no more than that -- except her attempt to placate Lady Newbury. Yet that alone could not account for this sudden effusion. Her natural impulse was to escape the awkwardness of it with a light jest, yet she intuitively knew it would be an inappropriate response to this sort of occasion, even after they were married. She thought this, too, was another important moment, setting the tone for what would happen afterwards, but she had only begun, “Fitzwilliam, I -- ” when they heard footsteps.

Darcy winced. “They will have missed us by now, we had better go back.”

She could not possibly leave it at that. Elizabeth snatched his hand, wondering a little that she could feel the heat and coldness of both hands, despite her glove and his between them. “Fitzwilliam.” She could think of nothing very meaningful, her mind was terribly blank, so she only said, “I love you.”

That seemed to be enough, though. His face, already lit by contentment, brightened still further. “Thank you, Elizabeth.” As they walked out to give their excuses to their relations, he put one hand against the small of her back as they walked, and, in a gesture more tender than passionate, gently brushed his lips against her temple.

Chapter Ten

Posted on Tuesday, 22 August 2006

“Lizzy,” said Jane sleepily, snuggling beneath the covers, “why did Miss Fitzwilliam want to talk to you so urgently?”

Elizabeth was not at all tired, and lay still, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. Perhaps the most surprising element of the entire evening had come shortly before their departure. Elizabeth was, of course, aware that her decision to marry Darcy affected many people; but she had not understood how far-reaching that effect was until Cecilia took her into yet another unfamiliar and apparently little-known room. She had apparently spent her childhood following after her older cousins, and discovered at least as many secrets as they.

“She wanted to thank me,” Elizabeth said. Jane blinked.

“Whatever for? Did you do something kind to her?”

Elizabeth laughed. “No, not really. At least, I did not intend it that way.” She could see Cecilia before her again, blue eyes swimming in tears.

*I should never have dared, if it had not been for you. Diana found out, you see, and has been threatening to tell Lord Holbrook. He is not really my uncle, you know. My father was just a poor cousin. He took my brother and me into his house when my parents died -- we had nothing except good connections. I owe him so much. And then, Fitzwilliam -- who has always been his favourite, and so obedient and reliable and steady -- he dared. It gave me hope, but it wasn’t until I met you, that I had the courage to write Mr Hammond my acceptance. He has been a perfect angel. And Fitzwilliam told me that he will give John, Mr Hammond, a living near Pemberley and try to intercede with the family. It will be a long engagement, but -- oh, I am so happy! And I am going to tell Diana tomorrow that I will not be persuaded even if she should tell my uncle everything.*

She opened her mouth to relay all of this then shut it again. Jane did not mean to be inquisitive, and sure there would be no repercussions if she was told -- and yet, it had been a confidence. She had given her word that she would not speak of it to anyone but Darcy. It was not the same as when she had told about Georgiana’s near-elopement with Wickham -- she had never dreamed Jane might someday meet Georgiana. Of course, her loyalty to Jane was paramount, but this was only idle curiosity on Jane’s part, but Cecilia’s life. And she had promised.

“I am sorry,” Elizabeth said, looking at her sister with tears in her eyes, “I gave my word that I would not tell anyone what she said.”

“Oh! I shall ask no further,” she said easily, and turned the conversation elsewhere before falling asleep. Nevertheless Elizabeth felt very uncomfortable. Lydia’s marriage had been the first great secret she had ever kept from Jane, but ultimately she had meant to tell her, and had actually done so. Besides, not speaking of something Jane knew nothing of was somehow not the same as refusing to speak. It was perhaps a fine distinction, but Elizabeth, lying in her bed, thought that something in their relationship had changed, and would never be the same. Her first allegiance would be to Darcy now. She shivered, then her mind veered to Darcy’s uncharacteristic exuberance that evening. Of course -- Cecilia would have told him first. That was why he had been so pleased, to see such good come of his own happiness.

Elizabeth thought once more of what Georgiana had said. Darcy did not want her associating too closely with Cecilia. She wondered why, as he was so evidently fond of his cousin. Did he think Cecilia’s defiance, and his own approval of it, would inspire some repetition of Georgiana’s imprudent attachment to Wickham? It seemed unlikely, somehow. Elizabeth was still trying to come up with an explanation when she finally drifted off to sleep.

“Lizzy, Jane, your mother and I wish to speak to you. Mr Gardiner, I am sure, can entertain your intendeds for an half-hour.”

The sisters looked at one another in bewilderment, but obediently followed Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Bennet. Mr Gardiner looked particularly grim as he re-set the chess board. Mr Bingley was, it seemed, an abysmally bad strategist.

Mrs Bennet was rather pink. “Girls,” she began, “it is time for us to tell you about your . . . er . . . marital duties. So that you have time to prepare.”

Elizabeth suppressed a giggle. Jane blushed. Mrs Gardiner remained silent, but Elizabeth thought she caught a smile playing about her aunt’s lips.

“You are very fortunate, to be marrying such fine-looking men. I would warn you never to let your husband know, if you find him repulsive, but that does not look as if it will be a concern.” Elizabeth thought of Amelia’s 'I should not want to marry a man so much prettier than me,' and firmly pressed her lips together. “Still, gentlemen are not . . . built like ladies.”

“I had noticed that, Mama,” said Elizabeth.

Mrs Bennet paled. “Lizzy, you silly girl, what have you done?”

“I have done nothing wrong,” she protested. “But, Mama, how could I not notice? Men simply do not look like ladies, even men like Bi . . . even more slightly-built men. Mr Darcy is nearly six and a half feet tall.”

“That is so,” she allowed, “but that is not quite what I . . . meant. That is . . . well, you have seen dogs and cats and horses and such.” Elizabeth blinked.

Mrs Gardiner coughed. “Your mother means that the differences between male animals and female ones are similar to the differences between men and women.”

Jane’s brow furrowed. Elizabeth bit her lip. Her father had some interesting medical treatises that had rather graphically illustrated the differences in question. She hoped poor Jane would not be too taken aback.

“Men have a great deal of hair. Ladies have hair on their arms and legs, of course, but not in such . . . abundance. And some of them -- ” Mrs Bennet glanced pointedly at Jane -- “have it on their backs, too. Thankfully, your father did not.”

Elizabeth swallowed. She truly did not want to know the specifics of how and her sisters had been conceived, and still less the source of Mrs Bennet’s information as to the hairiness of Bingley’s back. Mrs Gardiner, thankfully, said nothing.

“The first time you lie with your husband,” Mrs Bennet said hastily, “there will be some pain. If your husband is careful, as I am sure Mr Bingley will be, Jane dear, it should not be very much. Afterwards, it can be pleasant, if you encourage your husband to touch you properly. If you have any particular questions about that, after you are married, you can ask me, or write to Lydia.”

Elizabeth shuddered at the thought. Fortunately, her mother seemed quite focused on Jane and did not notice.

“Sometimes, however, it is very unpleasant. My dear girl, you are so delicate, I am afraid you may find it a miserable business. If that is the case, you must simply lie very still until it is over, the pain will be less that way.”

“I thought you said it only hurt the first time,” whispered Jane, her eyes fixed on the floor and her cheeks scarlet.

“Well” -- Mrs Bennet looked helplessly at her sister-in-law. “Margaret . . .”

“It all depends,” Mrs Gardiner said gently. “Not all gentlemen are the same, nor all ladies. Some women find the whole affair thoroughly disagreeable and simply endure it for their husbands’ sakes. Others are quite as . . .” She coughed. “Others are quite as -- enthusiastic -- as their husbands. Most, I imagine, are somewhere in between. However, if you lack . . . enthusiasm, it can be uncomfortable for you, and even painful if your husband is careless.”

“There are excuses you can give,” Mrs Bennet added. “Of course, when your courses come, he will not wish to be with you, although you may . . . well, never mind that.” Elizabeth stared at her mother in wonder. She did not think she had ever seen her blush so much in her life. “There are always headaches, especially if you are planning balls or parties. You may even take something to make yourself feel unwell, but that is usually unnecessary -- a locked door will send the right message. Once you have produced a son or two, you shan’t have to endure it any longer, if you do not wish it. You may tell your husband as much, and it will be ended.”

And everyone lived happily ever after, Elizabeth thought dryly.

“If you wish,” Mrs Gardiner added. “It is far from obligatory.”

“Of course, of course. Jane dear, if you do dislike it, you can also encourage your husband to take a mistress. For a man as impulsive as dear Mr Bingley, it should be no great task.”

Jane turned white and stared at her mother. “But . . . I do not wish him to.”

“Well, of course not now. But later . . .” She nodded her head knowledgeably. “Believe me, my love, when you are both older, and have five or six or seven children, and Mr Bingley has grown fat and is losing his hair, and you have no beauty left to speak of -- then, you will think quite differently.”

“Not Papa, surely,” Elizabeth exclaimed. Mrs Bennet sniffed.

“Let me tell you, Miss Lizzy, your father was always *so proud* that he never went elsewhere. Why, I would have been very pleased if he had, I assure you! If it had made him a little kinder to me and the other girls, I would have liked nothing better. I am sure Mary and Kitty would have been some other woman’s daughters and then I should have had a son.” She tossed her head. Elizabeth did not even attempt to follow this logic. “But, Jane, if you do like being with him, and you still wish him to stay in your bed, you must take of yourself. You are prettier than I was, and you will be richer. There are creams, lotions -- you may have to stop eating to get your figure back -- ”

“Jane,” said Mrs Gardiner firmly, “you are a beautiful woman, and I am sure Mr Bingley finds you so now and will continue to do so after two or three or seven children. He loves you, and he will be kind to you, I am certain. He is a sweet-natured, gentle man, and I have the idea that he probably knows what he is about.” Jane looked perplexed, but Elizabeth remembered what Darcy had written, so long ago -- 'I had often seen him in love before.' And Colonel Fitzwilliam had thought that an unhappy love-affair was just the sort of trouble Bingley would get into. She bit her lip. Perhaps it was better that way, for Jane’s sake, but she did not like the idea of it, especially if he had dallied with ladies that Jane herself might meet. That would be just dreadful.

“Just in case, however, I told Mr Gardiner to talk to them.”

Jane’s eyes opened wide. “To . . . both of them?”

Elizabeth could not keep a chuckle from escaping at this. Doubtless it was very awkward and embarrassing, and if Darcy mentioned it to her she would be properly sympathetic, but the image it evoked was too ridiculous. Bingley, Darcy, and Mr Gardiner, men of twenty-three, twenty-eight, and thirty-six, respectively, all sitting together down to discuss their ‘marital duties’ -- she could not quite picture it. She wondered if her uncle talked to them both at once, or took turns, and could not think which would be worse. No wonder he had looked so unhappy as they had left!

“Yes,” Mrs Gardiner said composedly. “For your sakes.” She turned to her sister. “Jenny, I think that is all, except . . .”

Mrs Bennet sat upright, and, were it possible, coloured still more deeply. “You may go, Jane. There are just a few little things we needed to talk to Lizzy about. The children have been asking for you all morning, I am sure.”

Jane looked bewildered, but nodded obediently and left to find her cousins.

“Lizzy, you are not like Jane,” Mrs Bennet announced. “You are not tender like she is. We . . . well, there are some things that Jane should not know.” Elizabeth’s eyebrows flew up. “For her own sake -- so she is not disappointed. She is a perfect angel, but she is not warm like Lydia and me. And you. You are more like us.”

Elizabeth kept the instant revulsion she felt off her face. I am not like Lydia. She may be my sister, and I love her, but she has neither scruples nor sense nor -- But that was not what her mother was talking about -- and Mrs Gardiner was not stopping her. Her vivacity did not come from her father, misanthropic and secluded in his library. Lydia had been the only one with anything like her love of laughter and the ridiculous -- they were different, but they were also the same. She thought of Mary King again, and flinched.

“I do not think you will want to simply do your duty and lie still,” Mrs Bennet continued. “You will probably enjoy -- it -- as much as Mr Darcy. After the way you have looked at him, sometimes I wonder . . . Well, he is very cold . . . I daresay you will have to seduce him later on, when you wish his -- attentions.”

“Jenny,” said Mrs Gardiner, looking sympathetically at her furiously blushing niece, “I daresay you can discuss that after they are married. If it is ever a concern, that time is still far away.”

“I suppose,” Mrs Bennet conceded.

“My dear Lizzy, when a young man and a young lady who are passionately attached to each other marry, their feelings, at first, are quite fervent. I do not think you can possibly comprehend quite how intense they can be, and for you certainly will be. Everything you have learnt about modesty, about decorum -- ”

“Which I taught you very well,” Mrs Bennet chipped in.

“-- All of those things have nothing to do with marriage, do you understand? They were there to safeguard your reputation, your virtue. But what you do with your husband is your concern, and his, and no one else’s.”

“Forget all of it,” Mrs Bennet said helpfully. “It will do you no good.”

Elizabeth frowned. A lifetime of maidenly modesty could not be put aside just like that. She was rather glad she had never followed those rules like Jane or Mary had. Still, she had never been -- well, like Lydia. She had always been a nice girl. She blushed at simply the idea of wearing some of the nightgowns her aunt had insisted that she purchase. They were beautiful, but to think of Darcy actually seeing her in some of those -- at once she was terribly embarrassed, and yet she also wanted him to see her like that. It was too confusing for words.

Mrs Gardiner cleared her throat. “Now, when you are first married -- if you have not been improper together -- you will not know what each other’s preferences are. You may not know yourselves.”

“And men simply do not talk,” said Mrs Bennet. Elizabeth was starting to feel dizzy. “Even chatty men like Mr Bingley, and Mr Darcy is not at all chatty. That will be your part.”

“Talking?” she repeated.

“Yes,” said Mrs Gardiner firmly. Elizabeth stared. It was very strange to see her aunt and mother in such agreement. “And you also have to convince him to talk, to tell you what he likes.”

Elizabeth’s hands went to her burning cheeks. “I couldn’t,” she said, feeling prudish and insipid, but -- “How could I? I cannot even imagine it.”

“There are any number of things you can’t imagine,” Mrs Bennet said meaningfully. Elizabeth thought that every drop of blood she possessed must have rushed to her head by now. She could not think of a time she had felt more awkward.

“And you must tell him what you like,” said Mrs Gardiner.

“Why?” Elizabeth asked plaintively.

“Because he will not know otherwise. No matter how brazen or immodest you think you are, tell him. My own mother told me nothing beyond what I might have guessed already, and horrible stories of excruciating pain. I cannot say how frightened I was.”

“I am not afraid,” said Elizabeth.

Mrs Gardiner smiled. “We are not all as fearless as you, Elizabeth.”

“I am not fearless, I am afraid of many things,” she said. “But Mr Darcy is not one of them.”

Chapter Eleven

Posted on Saturday, 26 August 2006

When Elizabeth and Darcy almost ran into each other, she escaping Mrs Gardiner and Mrs Bennet, he Mr Gardiner, they started and blushed with embarrassment almost equal to that which they had felt at Pemberley.

“Er . . . you have been with your mother? and your aunt?” Darcy asked, his eyes darting from several paintings of the children, to the rug, to her shoes -- everywhere but her face. His awkwardness went a long way in alleviating that which she herself felt, and she smiled and said,

“Yes. It was very enlightening.”

He coloured even more deeply but his eyes jerked up and met her own. “Oh? I . . . er . . . how, er, nice.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I was only teasing you. Mama only told Jane and me a very little.”

“But Jane left,” he said confusedly. “Bingley was with her.”

Embarrassed as he was, she could only imagine how he and Mr Gardiner had been. If anything of consequence had been said, she would be surprised. In fact, if anything beyond “er” and “sir” had been said, she would be surprised. Doubtless he had been eager to make Bingley suffer what he had.

“Oh . . . yes. Mama had a few things to say which she did not think, or more probably, my aunt did not think, that Jane needed to hear.”

Darcy’s eyebrows shot up, but he said nothing, merely offered her arm and hastily changed the subject.

They left town the next day, with considerable relief on the parts of all, even Mrs Bennet (who was looking forward to disposing of her daughters). Oddly, the next six weeks passed much more quickly than the first three. They were busier now, with wedding plans, invitations to be sent out, the Gardiner children to keep in check, and of course, the never ending social duties.

Both Darcy and Elizabeth were too tired to meet on their customary quiet rendezvous. Elizabeth spent hours awake with Jane, knowing that after the wedding, it might be months, perhaps over a year, until they met again. Then she had to comfort her father, who tried to hide his real dismay at losing both of his sensible daughters at once, and particularly she, his favourite. She knew he had offered to repay Darcy before they left, who had not ‘ranted and stormed’ but simply refused in his usual autocratic manner. Mr Bennet liked her betrothed, she was certain of it; but sometimes she wondered how much Darcy liked him. He clearly was going out of his way to be agreeable, but just as clearly, it was an effort, not like the natural ease he had with the Gardiners.

But perhaps it was an unfair comparison. Darcy knew the Gardiners better, Mr Gardiner was the sort of gregarious man whose sociability rubbed off on everyone around him, and there was always the Derbyshire connection. Darcy and Mrs Gardiner, in fact, seemed even more friendly than Darcy and Mr Gardiner -- but that might have had something to do with Amelia. Elizabeth had seen the awed, sometimes suspicious, distance towards Darcy in many of their neighbours thaw visibly during that time. They undoubtedly still thought him taciturn and unfriendly, but it was impossible to really dislike a man who had a six-year-old girl permanently attached to his trouser leg, and her brother usually not far behind, still puzzling out the pocket-watch Darcy habitually gave him to play with.

Two weeks before the wedding, Darcy and Bingley’s relations arrived. Elizabeth was less than enthusiastic to be thrown into the society of the latter’s sisters and brother, but Bingley’s great-uncle was a kind, if deaf, fellow, who seemed very fond of Jane, while the Fitzwilliams seemed infinitely less objectionable in the company of her family. There were a few additional relations she had not met before, and among the more elderly ones she had met, only Lady Holbrook attended; Cecilia Fitzwilliam’s older brother, a widowed clergyman -- Lord Holbrook’s wife, a plain, dull woman who seemed the source of the otherwise delightful colonel’s unfortunate looks, and whose conversation was almost entirely limited to her dog -- and several children. The only one of these which Elizabeth saw much of was the youngest, a golden-haired creature, notably unlike the Fitzwilliams and yet somehow familiar, who seemed to belong to Mr Fitzwilliam. The others were Lord Milton’s and Lady Diana’s, and evidently had been thoroughly taught that they were to be seen and not heard. She scarcely heard a peep out of them, and rather pitied them. Georgiana was nearly as silent except for the occasional shocked gasp. Darcy’s protectiveness seemed fully justified, at least at present.

About three days after their arrival, Elizabeth claimed exhaustion and fled to a parlour overlooking where most of the assorted family members were gathered. They were facing away and did not see her; she arrived just in time to see Darcy swing Amelia into the air. The little girl squealed with pleasure, suffering none of the shyness or reserve of his own cousins. Elizabeth sighed a little; Darcy was clear, for his face was towards her, but Amelia’s was buried into his shoulder. From this perspective, she was simply a slightly-built, dark-haired little girl -- she could have been anyone. But her hair was not black, not like Elizabeth’s and Mr Gardiner’s, it was the same brown as Mrs Gardiner’s, and Darcy’s. She briefly allowed herself to imagine that the child was not a cousin but a daughter -- their daughter.

“He is very fond of children.”

Elizabeth started violently. Miss Fitzwilliam, Cecilia, had come up behind her. She was still not certain how to behave towards her -- they had hardly spoken, except polite social nothings, since the dinner when Cecilia had poured out her gratitude. Since then she had withdrawn into what Elizabeth privately thought of as Fitzwilliamism, a quiet, enigmatic air, somehow quite distant. Perhaps she was ashamed of her rash outburst; perhaps she had not actually gone through with it. Or perhaps she had and been persuaded out of it -- any number of things might have happened. But Darcy had not mentioned anything, and surely someone would have told him?

She managed a guarded smile. “Miss Fitzwilliam,” she replied.

“Miss Bennet,” Cecilia replied. “Would it be very inconvenient if I intruded upon your solitude for a few minutes, until my cousin comes? I have enough Bertram in me to make conversation with tolerable ease.”

“Oh, of course not,” said Elizabeth -- there was nothing else to say. Cecilia walked towards the window, her step decisive. Something seemed very different about her.

“I have never been to Hertfordshire before,” she commented, “it is a lovely country.”

Elizabeth blinked. “Thank you,” she said, with some surprise. “I have a great fondness for it myself;--although a rather greater one for Derbyshire, as of late.”

Cecilia smiled. “I hope you do. It is -- rather a wilder sort of beauty, don’t you think? And yet ordered.”

“Yes,” said Elizabeth, “I quite agree. Have you spent much time there? I thought I understood you were from Yorkshire, Miss Fitzwilliam.”

“Lord Holbrook and Lady Anne were very close. We spent a great deal of time at Pemberley when I was young, until my aunt died.”

Elizabeth tilted her head, wondering. She knew nothing of the woman who would have been her mother-in-law, except what Lady Darcy had told her. Darcy did not let drop even the smallest hints, and she felt certain there was something there. “Of course,” she murmured. “Mr Darcy does not speak of Lady Anne. Was she very like her brother?”

“Well, we are all quite alike,” said Cecilia, wrinkling her nose a little. Elizabeth bit back a laugh. It was true that there was almost monotony to the similarity between them. “Oh, you mean in character? I was only nine when she died, but from what I remember and have heard, she was very proud and reserved, even haughty, and yet, there was a kind of sweetness to her; and there was brilliance as well, she was so very clever. We loved her, but she was a difficult woman to love and an even more difficult one to understand. Yes, I think she was quite like my uncle, particularly when he was younger. My cousin favours them both a great deal.”

“Somehow,” said Elizabeth, “I had originally thought he was like Mr Darcy.”

“He has something of his father’s character,” Cecilia agreed. “It was my uncle who taught him — a great many things. He could never tolerate injustice or deceit, either, and he had — I don’t know, ideals, dreams, but he was not practical. I always liked him, though. He had the most charming manners, very open and engaging, and quite lively. Grandmother says he was a bit wild in his youth, although he settled down once he married my aunt.”

“They must have an interesting pair,” Elizabeth observed. Darcy had said they had been unhappy, hadn’t he?

“They were not very well-suited, I understand,” Cecilia said, glancing sideways at her. Then she exhaled a quick breath, and began speaking in her old quick way, the words tumbling over each other. “It is not that we dislike you, Miss Bennet. We wished someone of our own rank for him, I confess it, but that is not all.” We? thought Elizabeth. Even Cecilia?

“You wished to see him marry within the family?”

“Fitzwilliam is — he is not — yes, we did, we wished that. But not because, not how you are thinking.” Cecilia took a deep breath. “My aunt and uncle, the Darcys, I said they were not well-suited, but it was more than that. They were desperately unhappy together. They were perhaps infatuated at first, particularly him, but they grew to hate each other by the end. My aunt, I think she was glad to die, she was miserable and tired and — it was dreadful, Miss Bennet, and Fitzwilliam is so like her. There are no portraits of her at Pemberley, they are all at Houghton and the house in town, because my uncle, when she died, he went a little bit mad, he could not bear to see her face. You see why it was so important that Lord Holbrook give his back? Fitzwilliam is not like other men, other people, you know that, Miss Bennet.”

Elizabeth looked out at her tall, proud lover, watching as he laughed out loud and ruffled Amelia’s hair. “Yes,” she said, “I know.”

“He is very strong and confident and clever, but he needs looking after. They, we, were terribly afraid that you would not understand, that you would be like my uncle — you are very like him, in some ways.” Elizabeth’s eyes widened. In all her guessing, all her curiosity, that had never occurred to her. Well, Mr Darcy had been a man -- but it was evident that they did not clearly distinguish between Darcy and his mother, so perhaps it was not so very odd, after all. And if they thought she was not only a bad match socially, but one who would make him unhappy -- Elizabeth sighed. “My uncle and grandmother especially, they simply adored her, and they were devastated when she died. They loved Fitzwilliam all the more because of it, but Mr Darcy could not -- he could hardly bear to look at him.” Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed. How dare he? Fitzwilliam was thirteen, he said, just a little boy -- She wondered where Wickham fit in. Somehow she felt he must, somewhere. “It is only, we do not wish to see him hurt or broken. And they resented you, because he has always been — there, very devoted and loyal and reliable; you know how he is. We were afraid you would take him from us.” Cecilia now seemed child-like, looking at her with a plaintive, wistful expression. “The others still are afraid, except Richard and, perhaps, James.” The colonel and the clergyman, Elizabeth surmised, and sighed, turning to the other girl.

Cecilia was pale and nervous. Despite everything she was a Fitzwilliam, and such a revelation, an exposure, could not be easy for her. And, Elizabeth thought, she was the one who did not seem to care -- much -- about distinctions and expectations, she was the poor relation with, it seemed, more depth than anyone had realised. She might be her only friend among Darcy’s family, and she deserved something in return. “When I was at Pemberley,” Elizabeth said slowly, “I hardly recognised him. I thought he had changed, transformed, into someone new. I did not dare fall in love with him. We were too different, he would not understand me, I could not give him what he deserved.”

Cecilia smiled, seeming to understand, but said with perfect indifference, “I have never noticed any great change.”

“No,” said Elizabeth, “I understand that now” -- and smiled as warmly as she could. “Thank you, Miss Fitzwilliam. I would never dream of taking Fitzwilliam — of trying to take him — from those who love and appreciate him.” She laughed. “They are few enough.”

“Please, Miss Bennet,” Cecilia said, reaching out to clasp her hand, “I hope we shall be friends as well as cousins, whatever the rest of them think. My family calls me ‘Cecily.’ ”

“It is an easy enough name, I daresay I could manage it,” Elizabeth said lightly; “and may I hope that ‘Lizzy’ is not too great a trial for you?”

Cecilia joined her, laughing for the first time without the touch of hysteria or anxiety that always seemed there before. “You may, Lizzy.”

Only two days before the wedding, Mrs Bennet seemed to realise her talk with Elizabeth had been inadequate. She caught her unawares and bombarded her with advice of every variety, most of it contradictory -- both how, and why, she should seduce Darcy, and also how to persuade ‘such a man’ to take a mistress, if that was what she wanted. “In some ways,” she said, with what passed for thoughtfulness with her, “he reminds me of your father.”

Elizabeth was trembling with rage, anxiety, and mirth by the time she escaped, quite early the next morning. They had more time in these last days, for everything was arranged, and often met near the mount before the others awoke.

“And then,” she concluded, “Mama told me that if I did not wish your . . . company, I should influence you to find a mistress to keep you occupied.”

“What?” His voice had gotten -- not softer, but lower and quieter and more controlled, as she recalled was usually the case when he was angry. By the end of that terrible scene at Hunsford, she could scarcely hear him. Elizabeth was both relieved and slightly distressed to see him look so thoroughly offended. Knowing herself to be treading on dangerous ground, for her familiarity with the habits of his set was decidedly limited, nonetheless she said defensively,

“My mother’s thinking is nothing extraordinary, this time. Fitzwilliam, you know such behaviour is only to be expected.”

“I beg your pardon?” He stopped where he was, and turned to look at her. His cheeks were flushed, although with anger or embarrassment she could not tell, and his expression set.

“Not -- I do not mean . . .” She was not entirely sure what she meant. She had never given the matter much thought.

With icy precision, he snapped, “I very much hope you do not mean that such behaviour is only to be expected of me.”

“No,” she replied sharply, “I know that it has been -- what did you say? -- the study of your life to avoid weaknesses that might expose you to ridicule.”

“I must have sounded very pompous.”

“You did,” she agreed, “although perhaps less so to someone not determined to think the worst of everything you said and did.”

“Yes, someone like Miss Bingley,” he said dryly, and Elizabeth laughed.

“Fortunately for your sanity, the world is not divided into women like me and women like Miss Bingley.” She hesitated. “Fitzwilliam, you must not change the subject. I have to -- I wish to know.”

Darcy blinked. “You should probably ask Mrs Gardiner,” he said. Elizabeth smiled and said,

“I heard that you subjected Mr Gardiner to another discussion on the subject.”

Colour rushed into his cheeks. “Amelia?”

“Margaret, actually. I don’t think Amelia would have actually, er, comprehended what she had heard.”

A peculiar pinched look came over him, and he said, “Children comprehend a great deal more than most give them credit for, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth frowned. “Fitzwilliam,” she said, “you are upset, and I cannot think it is simply the subject.”

He glanced at her. “Elizabeth, I did not wish to discuss it, and I cannot imagine why you do.”

“Avoiding unpleasant conversation has never done us any good,” she persisted. “We are to be married, Fitzwilliam. We should be able to talk about anything.”

“Once we are married,” he amended.

“We have less than two days left,” she said impatiently, sitting down and making him do the same. “I understand that you are offended by my mother’s intimation, but it is perfectly of a piece with her usual conversation, and you have shrugged all that off.”

He looked at her incredulously. “The occasional impertinence is one thing, and telling you that my faithlessness is inevitable is quite another.”

“I did not believe her for an instant,” Elizabeth said. “You know I did not.”

He sighed. “Yes, I know it.”

“That is not all, surely. I love her, but Mama is far from sensible. I cannot imagine that you care greatly what she thinks of you.”

“Surely you would not have me indifferent to your parents’ opinion of me?”

“Please stop trying to misdirect me.” She added confusedly, “Fitzwilliam, surely you do not mean to suggest that -- that you are not -- ”

“That I am what?” he replied, his tone coloured by a faint touch of hostility.

“I hardly know how to say.”

With a look of angry disdain, although she hardly knew who for, he said, “I am not in the habit of seducing other men’s wives or widows, visiting brothels, consorting with actresses and opera-girls, or taking advantage of my dependents. There, is your curiosity adequately satisfied?”

Elizabeth, at once pleased and stung, stood and paced briefly, before turning to face him. “Fitzwilliam, if you have done as little as you would have me believe, then I do not understand what is wrong with you. We can put off this conversation until our wedding-night, if you are that determined, but it is certainly something I would prefer to have over with by then. Why will you not explain to me? If you had lived a life of self-indulgence and profligacy, I might understand, but I know you have not;--you have said so yourself, and your cousins told me that your name has never been linked to any lady’s, so I need not fear any embarrassment of that sort.” She reached out and tangled her fingers in his, and felt, rather than saw, his angrily defensive demeanour crack.

He startled her by briefly leaning his head against their clasped hands. “I have not told you all that happened with my family, when we were in town.”

“Your family?”

“Milton’s mistress conceived,” he said baldly; “we had to decide what was to be done.”

Elizabeth stared. “He has a mistress?”

“You just said yourself that it is more the norm than the exception,” he said, but he did not look any more reconciled to it than she. “That is why he is married to Diana -- he loves Miss Martin but would not, could not, marry her. I am sorry, Elizabeth --” he looked suddenly penitent -- “we have quarreled, he and I, more than once, over his behaviour. I will not condone it and he will not see that there was any other way. And, not long after . . . April, I . . . ” Darcy frowned. “He had often asked me for money. I knew why he needed it, but he was family and the eldest of us, so I always obliged. It was not very much, for me, but he only has two thousand a-year as an allowance and he already had difficulties living on that.”

Elizabeth only had a rather foggy idea of how this all worked together, but she caught the meaning of “April” and said, “Why did you stop, then?”

“I spent . . . after . . . that, I spent a great deal of time simply thinking. It was only when I seriously considered it, that I understood how hypocritical my own behaviour was.”

“Hypocritical?” she cried. “You are many things, my love, but that is certainly not one of them.”

“I supported him in a life I condemned,” Darcy countered. “I could not in good conscience do so any longer. In any case, when we went to town, he was still rather resentful about the whole matter, but he needed me too much to air it. He knew about the child by then, and he was determined to raise it in his own house, as his own. We could do nothing to dissuade him except withhold any financial assistance, which could only make matters worse. He would not be so foolish, if he had any idea what it is like -- ” Darcy stopped, then straightened and said more calmly, “The matter has come near to tearing our family apart, all because of my cousin’s profligacy. I very much resented the suggestion that I would do anything remotely similar.”

“Well, I am glad that your resentment is not so implacable as I once thought, then,” she said, and added, “I am sorry. I wish you had told me earlier.”

He laughed unsteadily. “It is a bit difficult to work into ordinary conversation, and I had enough to explain my distress at the time, in any case.”

“In the future,” Elizabeth said, “you will not do that?”

Darcy hesitated.

“Fitzwilliam, I do not wish to be coddled and protected as if I were some ignorant miss. How many of our misunderstandings could have been averted if we had simply talked?”

“Eliz -- ”

“Promise me,” she said, so fiercely that he looked at her in considerable astonishment, “promise me you will not hide anything from me, not even for my own good. I am so tired of secrecy and reserve I can hardly think.”

“I promise,” he said, smiling faintly, “but I will always be reserved.”

She waved that away. “That is manner -- quite a different thing.” She glanced at his dark head, bent slightly, and said, “There is something else.”

“Yes?” Only the flicker in his eye showed any impatience.

She hesitated a moment. “Why does it bother you so? I have not been in the world much, not as you have, but I know that your cousin has not done anything very unusual. You seemed -- you said he did not know what ‘it’ is like, and said something about how children understand a great deal more than they are given credit for. What did you mean?”

His lips thinned and he looked away, his look distinctly pained. Elizabeth felt rather penitent and said, “You need not say if you do not like, dearest.”

“No, you are right. You -- it is not fair to you -- you have a right -- ” He took a deep breath, his fingers clutching hers as if to a lifeline, but a peculiar serenity smoothing his countenance. “I remember.”

Elizabeth looked at him. She almost did not want to hear. The image that Lady Darcy had created for her, of Lady Anne clinging to her young son, came back to her, and she knew without being entirely certain how. “Your mother?”

“I was Amelia’s age, you know -- when I first -- saw. They say that children cannot understand, but, believe me, I did.”

“But how?” Elizabeth tried to add this other dimension to the pictures she was building in her mind; it jarred somehow. “You were six years old.”

Darcy frowned. “It was a different time, especially among -- the society my parents moved in. It was not like now, when -- at least publicly -- such behaviour is frowned on. So many people married and lived together for nothing more than titles and inheritances and heirs, and occasionally a little attraction. My father did love her, though, at first. She did not want to marry him, but she did not want to marry anyone -- she supposed that he was no worse than any other man, and it was such a great match-- She was right, I daresay; given what was usual conduct for such men, his was positively scrupulous. In any case, I suppose I must have already seen and known enough to guess what it meant when a man, someone of our own circle, someone I knew, came out of my mother’s room in the middle of the night. She was crying and I hated him for hurting her. I don’t really remember much of anything before that, although it is perfectly clear -- except for Lizzy, my great-grandmother Darcy -- she had red hair and laughed a great deal, I remember that. And she was often with my mother when she had . . . nervous complaints.”

Elizabeth’s head spun. “Your father did not . . . mind?”

Darcy shook his head. “They were not well-suited, but he lived his life, and she hers, and they were content enough. They hardly spoke to one another. As long as she was discreet, he did not care what she did. And of course, the women he kept below stairs, but that, they could not even be dignified by the name of ‘mistress,’ they were not there for companionship, conversation, anything except his -- pleasure.” Darcy stopped, as if only now realising what he had told her, and in what terms. “I should not have said -- you are a lady, Elizabeth. I should not have spoken like this.”

“Yes, you should have,” she said forcefully. “I cannot go into our marriage ignorant, even if you, of all people, would like me so -- and I have heard you deplore studied ignorance in women often enough.”

He looked away. “I should not have told you,”he repeated. “I never wanted to.”

Did you not? Elizabeth thought, but she said, “Now that that is over, we ought to . . .” She felt herself blushing, and stood up, taking his arm. “Walk home before my mother goes into a fit of hysterics.”

“Walk home? Very well.” He paused. “I think there was a question somewhere in -- all of that.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I don’t remember. I certainly did not think you would ever . . .” She bit her lip. “Fitzwilliam, do you remember, when I was a little . . . impatient, with your, er, reserve in expressing your feelings -- ” Darcy smiled at this euphemism-laden speech -- “and you said it was because you did not want to debase me?”

“I remember.”

“It would only be debasing because we are not married. That is what you meant? You do not want to dishonour me?”

“Of course.” He looked at her in some surprise.

“So -- ” Elizabeth was embarrassed, but also determined, and continued, “If . . . after we are married, if I . . . if I want you to . . . to come to my bed, you would not think me -- base?”

Darcy caught his breath, and was silent for several moments. Then he said quietly, “No. No, I would not.”

“I am glad, because -- you understand -- I do not want you to put me on a pedestal. Particularly not -- ” She fixed her eyes on the ground, glad she had her bonnet shielding her face, and her voice dropped to a bare whisper -- “er . . . when we are -- alone.”

“I am aware of your imperfections, Elizabeth.”

“My aunt said . . . what did Mr Gardiner say to you?”

Darcy flushed. “He loaned me some books, and, er, discussed them with me.”

“What sort of books?” When he didn’t reply, she added, “Will you show them to me, dear?”

“Certainly not!” He looked scandalised. Elizabeth laughed delightedly. She loved the strain of prudery in his character -- it was one of those little quirks that brought that rush of affection over her again.

“I meant . . . do you remember, before -- well, Wickham, when we used to argue?”

“Yes -- that was when you hated me on my own merits.”

“No,” she said, “I did not hate you then, and a great deal of it had more to do with me than you. But that is not what I meant to say. It’s . . . I suppose it is rose-coloured glasses, but I missed that, a little. Not disliking you, that only made me unhappy, but the way you talked to me.” She laughed. “There was never any nonsense about my being a lady then. You talked to me like -- almost like I was a man.”

Darcy blinked.

“Or . . . I mean, there was none of that nonsense about my being a lady. I was so used to being cleverer than everyone, I think your intelligence was half the reason I so disliked you -- but it was the first complimentary thing I ever thought about you. Well, actually -- ” she coloured -- “the second.”

“The second?” He turned his head. Elizabeth felt her cheeks turning even redder.

“The first thing . . . well, I thought you had beautiful eyes. But,” she said hastily, “then you began talking and I didn’t think about it again, for awhile.”

Darcy laughed outright. “We are rather frighteningly alike, sometimes.”

“But that was not what I was talking about. After we are married, you will talk to me like you did before? I rather like being challenged. And -- ” she smiled ruefully -- “I think it is probably good for me.”

“Of course,” he said. “Elizabeth -- I could not be a pliable, gentle fellow like Bingley, even if I tried.”

“I would not want you to be like Bingley!” she cried. “That is . . . I like him, of course, but . . .”

“You would not want to be married to him. I know -- I admire Jane greatly, but -- ” He shook his head. “I daresay that I will be more my usual argumentative self once we are married.”

“Once we are married? Why only then?”

He smiled. “Because you shan’t be able to get rid of me, then.”

Continued in Next Section