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Chapter 27

Posted on Friday, 27 January 2006

London

Lizzy Darcy realized the grievous implication of her words a mere moment after Lord Braunfield's departure.

"What have I done? Why did I not think prudently before I voiced my opinion?" cried Lizzy in full agitation, apprehensive that her words could be misconstrued into the worst kind of ill wishing for his father.

A gentle admonishment came to Isabella's mind, but she refrained from voicing it aloud. Instead, she put a comforting arm around Lizzy's slender shoulder, and said encouragingly, "You may make amends."

"What must Lord Braunfield think of me?" continued Lizzy in perturbation.

"I thought you were indifferent to my cousin William - that you would not give a farthing's worth for his consideration," replied Isabella with a knowing smile. "Does his good opinion matter to you now?"

"William . . . his lordship . . . has been very gentlemanly, but I have continued to abuse his goodwill," replied Lizzy, hot tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "He must think me the worst tempered young woman - disagreeable and impertinent, harsh in my judgment and quick in my censure."

"I can vouchsafe that my cousin's opinion of you is quite the opposite!" disagreed Isabella.

"Don't tease," begged Lizzy, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. She refused to become a watering pot over this.

"I am in earnest," replied Isabella, as she clasped Lizzy's hands in hers. "Your heart is in greater peril than ever before, is it not?"

Lizzy shook her head stubbornly. She dared not allow herself to contemplate such ominous prospects. ". . . I do . . . like him now, but he had been such a rake for so long . . ."

"If William is truly repentant . . ." Isabella tried to find the appropriate words. Unpleasant memories of her once haughty and repulsive cousin flashed across her mind - a sharp contrast to the pleasant and admirable image of him now. Thus, she could comprehend the emotional dilemma Lizzy was facing.

"I know I am a fool," confessed Lizzy suddenly, ". . . but I cannot love in half measures! How do I know his true character and mind? Can I trust him fully? Oh, I am utterly miserable! If only . . . if only I could discern things in a clearer perspective!" Surely, if she were falling in love with William Warring, wouldn't her heart be soaring with exuberant joy? Instead, she felt overwhelmed by a palpable feeling of dread, as if she was standing at the edge of a precipice, staring into a terrifying abyss. She was being a coward as well, admittedly afraid to risk her heart or to brave an uncharted course . . .

"Perhaps, if you invite William to join you in the fund-raising efforts for the new orphanage, his idle time will be better employed, and you will be able to discern his reformed character for yourself? I have known Alexander all my life, but it took a visit to the Ridgemont mines before I looked upon him with fresh eyes," advised Isabella.

"Ah yes! That unfortunate tumble of yours - into the arms of my dear brother - has resulted in such happiness!"

Isabella blushed at such recollection. "Perhaps, there will be such a moment of revelation for you too, Lizzy."

"If such a moment does arrive, I fear that it will not clarify things at all! If only I could go back in time - if I had but slapped William under the Great Tree, and had not allowed his kiss . . . events might have unfolded differently!"

"Oh, Lizzy! Such wistful thinking," laughed Isabella bemusedly. "It is entirely out of your character to lament about the past. You are always the optimist."

"My mind is quite addled lately - I must endeavor to cure my malady with serious learning instead." Lizzy smiled as her innate vivacity rallied her spirits again.

"Do heed my advice, Lizzy!" implored Isabella.

"I shall do so at the earliest convenience - that is if his lordship still wishes to speak to me after this day!"

The fire in the hearth was becoming uncomfortably hot - due to being fed by a steady stream of unsatisfactory drafts of W's letter to his Kindred Spirit.

In frustration, Lord Braunfield balled up his latest futile effort, and pitched it into the fireplace in a perfect arc. He stood up gingerly, muscles stiffened by the long hours spent at his desk. He felt a painful clamp in his damaged knee, but it was nothing compared to the aching void he felt in his heart.

He seemed to have garnered everyone's approval except Elizabeth's! How did he truly rank in her estimation of him if she were not restrained to speak her mind openly?

He loathed to admit it, but here were other daunting obstacles as well. He was not lacking in experience with the fair sex, but he was a hapless novice in the rituals of sincere and genuine courtship. How should he woo Elizabeth when she had resolutely refused to grant anyone the privilege of being her special beau? His clandestine guise as "W," however intriguing, was problematic. If he declared his heart to her on parchment whilst maintaining his anonymity, she might well balk at such blatant impropriety, and terminate their correspondence all at once.

If only Elizabeth would give a reply to W's last letter - then he could guess the state of her mind! he groaned in frustration. Was she piqued by his defense of the "unworthy cad" who kissed her? Or did she not take umbrage, and has written back to him already? The safe delivery of her letters had to rely upon various persons - whose discretion and trustworthiness were presumed, but never tested. If her latest letter had been lost, or worse, had fallen into the wrong hands, the potential for jeopardy was immense.

Unbeknownst to Lord Braunfield, the ever prudent Anthony Knightley had initiated a deliberate delay in forwarding Kindred Spirit's latest missive to "W."

Anthony Knightley smiled fondly as he recalled how Elizabeth Darcy - with her irresistible smiles and youthful enthusiasm - had persuaded him to be her special letter courier shortly after his marriage to her cousin Margaret Bingley. Lizzy needed someone entirely trustworthy and discreet to facilitate the exchange of letters between herself and those outside her family circle - letters that were formal and scholarly, centered solely upon the myriad of political and social issues. As barrister and MP, he was the ideal person to aid her.

Such an arrangement had gone on smoothly, without any unpleasant surprises. Lizzy's letter-writing campaign was generally a one-sided effort - there was nary a reply to her anonymous but impassioned pleas for justice and reforms. Indeed, the mysterious "W" was the first one to pen a missive to "Kindred Spirit." At first, the barrister shared Lizzy's enthusiasm. After all, he was equally impressed by W's political essay. His bemusement, however, soon turned into unease when this seemingly scholarly interchange became a flurry of correspondences. His apprehension worsened when she entrusted him with yet another letter, and bashfully requested a speedy delivery to its rightful destination.

Anthony would have approached the Master of Pemberley if he were still in Town. Instead, he expressed his grave misgivings to the younger Darcy.

Alexander had nodded in thoughtful silence at his disclosure - but did not seem overly perplexed or disturbed. In the end, he confided that he knew the secret identity of "W," but he was bound by honor not to make any revelation.

"What should I do with this?" asked Anthony, holding up the latest letter by "Kindred Spirit" like a war banner. "If you know this mysterious Mr. W, let me advise you to deliver your sister's letter to him personally, or by your most trusted servant. I think it imprudent and ill advised if we continue to involve the editor of a magazine in this . . . very unconventional . . . er . . . friendship on parchment."

Alexander had given his grudging promise to keep Lord Braunfield's secret, but his better judgment protested against any breach of impropriety. He knew that he was caught in a quagmire, and his decision would undoubtedly affect the future happiness of his beloved sister and a good friend he had grown to regard as a younger brother.

Lord Braunfield suffered another sleepless night. When he joined Alexander Darcy for their regular morning ride in Hyde Park, it was inevitable that his haggard appearance should incite a few teasing comments.

"Are you ill, William? You do not look at all well," remarked Alexander at he took full measurement of his friend riding alongside him at a leisurely trot.

"To confess the truth, I feel far more horrid than I look," declared Lord Braunfield ruefully. He fell silent, apparently lost in his thoughts.

"Whatever is the matter? Did you join your old chums for some late-night carousing about Town?" asked Alexander in habitual solemnity, although one could easily discern the good-natured humor in his dark eyes. He did not doubt his friend's exemplary ways of late. His sporting remark was meant to jolt the viscount out of his silent brooding.

"Carousing? A word now as foreign to me as drinking, gambling and womanizing!" groaned William with indignation. "Did I not predict - by renouncing la dolce vita, and embracing a disciplined life devoid of vile habits - that I would suffer a slow death of . . . boredom!"

"Not boredom - I surmise it is acute loneliness compounded by miserable heartaches," said Alexander with a compassionate smile. "I have suffered in a similar manner, my friend, so I can commiserate with you. And yet, I firmly believe that he who persists will prevail."

"Ah, yes, the Darcy family motto: vincit qui patitur." interjected Lord Braunfield with a mirthless laugh. "How long did you persist in your courtship of my cousin Isabella before you finally prevailed? How great was your agony before your love was requited?" he wondered aloud.

"Far too torturous for my comfort and sanity of mind, but well worth the wait," admitted Alexander frankly. "At times, I did fear losing her to someone else instead!"

In such moments of candor allowed by their deep friendship, Lord Braunfield had spoken with extraordinary frankness. He added apologetically, "I beg your pardon - for treading upon such a delicate subject. My behavior towards my cousin Isabella at that time was entirely unforgivable! Let me reiterate that I now have only brotherly admiration for her, and nothing beyond."

Alexander reassured him with a magnanimous smile. "Likewise, my wife reciprocates with sisterly affection for you."

William nodded with appreciation at his words. He heaved a deep sigh before asking, "Am I being unreasonable in regard to your sister Elizabeth? Am I pursuing someone that will forever remain beyond my reach? Is it in the Divine scheme of things that I shall be denied of true love - as an atonement of my past wrongs and offenses? What other penances must I serve in order to prove my love to her?"

Alexander was genuinely touched by his friend's sincerity. If he had doubted the viscount before, the abject misery upon his face convinced him of the utter truth. He withdrew a letter from his coat, and said, "I hope this will alleviate a fraction of your suffering."

William gasped in delighted surprise - recognizing at once Elizabeth's elegant handwriting. For a long moment, he simply stared at the linen envelope in his hand, as if he could scarcely believe his good fortune at receiving it.

"It is not by my design or volition, but I find that I have become your de facto letter-courier," said Alexander. "Anthony Knightley came to me last evening, and expressed his grave concern over the frequent correspondence between my sister and Mr. W. I managed to allay his fears without revealing your secret. Let me state clearly, however, that I am a very reluctant party to this mad scheme of yours, William. You may think this is the best course of action for you, but I beg to differ. You must try to speak to my sister again, to win her heart - frankly and openly - without this clandestine ploy."

"To confess to her again that I am W, and become a laughing stock for her once more?" protested William. "If I propose marriage to her now - as my humble self - she will surely fling it back in my face with ridicule - in the same way she laughed at the possibility that I could be the mysterious W himself!"

"William. . ." persisted Alexander in his protest.

"A man must retain his own dignity!" declared Lord Braunfield. "I doubt if Elizabeth would ever love a man devoid of dignity or sense. I think it is foolhardy to attempt another open confession until I have secured her heart irrevocably. And now, if you will grant me leave, my honored friend? I would like to read her letter."

Alexander nodded in reply, and rode on ahead to allow William a measure of privacy. The viscount quickly dismounted, and took refuge under the shade of a fine elm tree. He broke the wax seal, and took out the parchment pages with care. Her letter was dated several days prior - written well before their tempestuous chess game. It began:

My sage friend,

Sir, dare I claim the privilege of calling you my friend? Since my first reading of your excellent article in Gentlemen's Quarterly, I have felt a distinct sense of fellowship, of kindred minds and spirits. My initial impression has since been confirmed by the three subsequent letters which I am honored to receive from you.

So rarely does one have the opportunity to express one's mind fully and openly, without fears of censure or reproach. I do value this venue of communiqué, and I agree that the ton can be very intolerant - a mere breach of conduct can result in the harshest of consequences. A person's reputation can be compromised by the whisper of a few insidious words, twisted into malicious gossip, and thus taken as the gospel truth! Therefore, I concur with your logical resolution to remain nameless and faceless to each other. Our mutual trust in our goodwill and honor cannot override this imperative need for discretion.

So, once again, dear sir, I take up my pen to write to you - to vent my frustration over the enormity of our many social ills and the lack of adequate remedies to cure them. I readily echo your advocacy for greater involvement by the citizenry to confront the woes of our times, and the need of the privileged classes to spearhead urgently needed reforms.

In speaking of reforms, tell me, sir, am I being unreasonable in wanting my friends to better themselves? I have been well taught by my dear parents to seek constant improvement of my own self. Alas, I must confess that I often falter and fail rather miserably in my efforts. The saving graces in my life, most fortunately, have been my beloved family and my faith in God.

In my own circle of acquaintance, there is a young nobleman who has many admirable qualities, albeit undetectable at first acquaintance. I wish I could mention his lordship by name, so you may write to him to encourage him. In all fairness, his transformation from a rash and unbridled rogue to a true gentleman is beyond amazement. I have witnessed his empathy for the poor and unfortunate, his stoic grace in enduring his physical infirmity and the sting of criticism for his past follies. I believe such a man, innately good, and now devoid of his vile habits, has the true mettle for leadership. It would be shameful if he should waste his talents otherwise. . .

Alas, I have made another foray into personal rumination instead of the scholarly discussion that I intended from the first. Please overlook this faux pas. Penning this letter at a late hour of the night is not entirely conducive to clear thinking. I hope that you do not suffer the same afflictions that I do!

Most sincerely yours,

Kindred Spirit

Lord Braunfield could scarcely believe the content of Elizabeth's letter. He perused it over and over again, until he was certain that he did not mistake her words.

He had thought - erroneously it now seemed -- that she harbored a lingering contempt for him. Instead, she held such high hopes for him! He mulled over her words, and realized the justification of her disappointment in him. He had become too complacent in his own comfort: dispensing his father's wealth to charities required no more than a passing thought on his part; W's article might have caused a stir amongst the ton, but it was only a singular article, and he had done nothing else to bolster his bold words and progressive ideas.

Instead of paying his customary daily visit to the Bingleys, Lord Braunfeld hurried home to pen his reply. He knew that a fresh course of action was urgently required, and he could ill afford to delay any longer.

Pemberley
Derbyshire

Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy and Mrs. Brandon stood in amazement at the extraordinary sight before them. Their husbands - such dignified gentlemen - had abandoned their habitual solemnity, and were cooing softly to the pair of sleeping infants. The nurses stood in attentive silence at a discreet corner of the elegant drawing room, ready to resume their assigned duties at a moment's notice - but such summons were not likely to come for quite a while longer.

"I never thought I would hear my husband sing in such an open manner," remarked Mrs. Darcy softly, as she recalled how rarely her dear husband would sing - even in the privacy of their own bedchamber.

"God makes little girls with such angelic sweetness - who can rightfully resist being enchanted or to sing in celebratory joy?" replied Mrs. Brandon, smiling approvingly at her own spouse.

"We are exceedingly blessed!" agreed Mrs. Darcy. "Each proud grandpapa can hold a darling babe in his arms without inciting undue jealousy from the other."

"Unfortunately, the father himself has to wait patiently for his turn to hold his own newborns!" laughed James jovially as he joined them. He kissed his mother and mother-in-law affectionately, and gazed at his twin daughters with overflowing pride. "Have you ever beheld more splendid babies? They are so much like their dear mother!"

"Indeed they are," agreed Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Brandon in unison, their lovely faces diffused with equal happiness.

"Is Miranda resting well?" inquired Mr. Darcy with fatherly concern. From his wife's report, he knew that the birthing of the twins had gone smoothly, but Miranda was utterly exhausted from the ordeal.

"Yes, she is sleeping soundly," replied James with obvious relief. "Dr. Randall reassures me that all is well."

"Excellent! I am very glad to hear it," smiled Mr. Darcy at his younger son. "Do take every measure to ensure that your dear wife has proper rest and the best of care. If there is anything lacking, you must alert your mother and me immediately." Mr. Darcy knew that James took prodigious care of Miranda, but felt compelled to remind him of his proper duties.

"Yes, sir!" promised James respectfully. "Miranda and I - and now our children - are already spoiled by having every comfort and luxury at Pemberley."

Mr. Darcy was pleased. He turned his full attention back to the tiny granddaughter cradled in his arms. He admired the exquisite sleeping form of little Viola for a long moment before he surrendered her to the waiting arms of her proud father.

Colonel Brandon acknowledged such a gesture with appreciation as he cuddled their other granddaughter. "Thank you, Darcy, for being so considerate. I am not ready to relinquish this precious bundle of joy. I dare say sweet Rosalind and I have established a nice rapport."

"Choosing your favorite already?" admonished Mrs. Brandon with a bemused smile.

"I dare not, my dear Marianne," he replied with a merry chuckle. "As a matter of fact, we shall make better acquaintance with bothgranddaughters. Mr. Darcy has been so constant and gracious in his entreaties for us to prolong our stay that I feel compelled to accept his hospitality."

"Wonderful!" said James with a sigh of relief. "Miranda was worried that you would leave soon after the christenings of the babies."

"We have to return to Delaford . . . eventually," remarked Mrs. Brandon thoughtfully. She could not have asked for better or kinder hosts than the Darcys, but she missed being at her own home. She had hoped that James and Miranda would bring their daughters to Delaford, and take up residence there.

"Yes, indeed," confirmed James, "for the celebration of Edwina's wedding to my cousin Henry. We shall accompany you home - by then, my daughters will be strong enough for the long journey to Devon." Little Viola began to stir and fuss; her twin sister Rosalind, resting placidly, soon followed suit.

"My daughters are feeling their hunger pangs - again. They will give full cry in a moment or two," muttered James in the brightest of smiles. Blessed with wife and children, he felt his life now complete. "Such vocal and feisty little misses."

"They remind me very much of Lizzy," smiled Mr. Darcy indulgently. He loved his children, with equal and unstinting affection, but it would not be wrong to say that his youngest daughter tugged at his heartstrings a trifle more than the others.

"Well, I do hope that they will emulate their wonderful aunt," declared James with pride. "I find speaking one's mind openly a very admirable trait. Even Jane, ever demure and reserved, seems to have acquired this new habit as of late. Quite remarkable, actually."

The twins began to cry openly, and prompted their father to take them back to the nursery at once. He was, of course, aided by the retinue of doting grandparents and capable nurses. For infants so young, their combined voices seemed rather formidable. To all present, however, such cries were sheer delight since they signified thriving young lives and the bright promise a new generation would bring to the families.

"Are you ready to sing for me? I promise to be an eager audience," asked Mrs. Darcy demurely as her husband came into her bedchamber. He smiled at such a greeting, but shook his head at her request. Instead, he strolled over to where she was sitting, and took up her ivory comb to brush her hair for her. It was a nightly routine that he enjoyed immensely - whilst he admired every aspect of her beauty, he could give her his undivided attention as well.

"You sang such sweet lullabies," continued Mrs. Darcy, barely able to hold back her exquisite laughter. "I do not recall you singing aloud to our own children."

She was watching his handsome reflection in the large gilded mirror before her, and saw his look of abject embarrassment.

"It was not quite singing," Mr. Darcy protested. "I merely recited the poetic words whilst trying to stay in rhythm to Brandon's humming. The good Colonel is a consummate baritone."

"No, you were definitely singing - by any standard. You have an excellent voice, my love. I do not comprehend why you should be so shy of it," persisted Mrs. Darcy. Presently, she stood up so she could face him directly. "Indeed, the pair of you should consider making a public performance together. Colonel Brandon is a handsome gentleman; as for you, my dear husband, you have such an admirable physique, noble visage and commanding presence - you will draw an eager audience."

"Perhaps Brandon and I should perform at the next village fair at Lambton?" Her sporting humor was infectious, and he could barely suppress his own laughter. "Under the great chestnut tree?"

"The one on the village green? By the smithy?" Her fine eyes sparkled with vivacity as she began to trace the outline of his mouth with a slender finger.

"Yes, the very one," he nodded earnestly. "It was one of my favorite trees to climb when I was a boy."

He enjoyed her flirtatious gesture for a long moment before he kissed her hand, and held it against his heart. He might look serious and dignified, but the rapid cadence of his heart and the look of absolute adoration in his dark eyes revealed his true emotions.

"You are a man of many hidden talents, Mr. Darcy," she said solemnly.

"You are well acquainted with all my talents, as well as my many flaws. There are no secrets or impediments between us. If any humble talent of mine has remained hidden from you - well, I must entreat you to help me discover it. After all, Mrs. Darcy, you are my better self," he replied with equal sincerity.

"Not your better self, Will," she acknowledged his compliment with genuine modesty. "In this marriage of true minds, I am glad that we are two halves of the same heart. I am content to be your other self."

"As am I. I love you, my dearest and loveliest Elizabeth!" he declared as he clasped her in his arms. She welcomed his embrace with equal fervor, accepting and requiting his kisses measure for measure. The vibrancy of their love had not diminished with the passage of time.

"You are truly happy with me, my Lizzy?" The radiant glow in her eyes already confirmed her answer, but it always gave him such pleasure to hear her speak it aloud.

"Yes! I love you so dearly!" She bestowed another tender kiss upon him. They had been married for nearly three decades, but each passing day spent together had been sweeter than the previous one.

"As completely as ever?" he asked hopefully.

"Indeed! Incurably so," she confirmed with effusive laughter. "I shall have to endure this feverish affliction until my last breath!"

He laughed as well - deep, orotund laughter that carried all their shared joys and dispelled any tears. He drew her closer to him - the joy of having her in his arms was as great as the first time she allowed him such an intimate privilege.

The same thought must have crossed her mind because she invoked the exact words she spoke to him then, "Oh, Will! I never imagined such enthrallment - such bliss - could be attained by mere mortals."

"Nor did I - until you became my wife, my darling," he murmured gratefully.

"Will you sing for me?" she asked him again.

"If you insist upon it, I shall," he said with perfect amiability. "I fear, however, that I may fail to earn your good opinion."

"You are far too modest. Judging from experience, I can vouchsafe that you will exceed all expectations."

With effortless grace, Mr. Darcy swept his wife up to carry her to the bed. He was formidably strong, but he was always so tenderly considerate of her. She was gratified by his gallantry, and allowed herself to be ensconced in the haven of his arms.

He looked rather embarrassed as he cleared his throat. She grinned at him in encouragement, and prompted him to begin his recital of romantic arias. His deep, pleasant voice was timorous at first, but grew marvelously strong as he sang to her a capella. The music and the lyrics - of grand passion, abiding fidelity and everlasting love - might have been written by Mozart and various others, but Mr. Darcy succeeded in rendering them uniquely his own.

Mrs. Darcy sighed contently as her husband sang to her - long into the tranquil night.

Chapter 28

Posted on Friday, 10 February 2006

Beauchamp
Derbyshire

Lord Ashbourne took advantage of the serene tranquility of daybreak to take a solitary stroll outdoors. He could scarcely believe it, but in a matter of hours, he would be married to Lady Julia Berringworth.

He reflected upon the past week at Beauchamp. Since the arrival of the bridal party, the days and nights had been filled with prenuptial celebrations - social gatherings of family and neighbors, capped by elegant dinner soirees. The Earl and Countess of Matlock were in a jubilant mood, perhaps more so than their dutiful son.

Lord Berringworth, ever conscious that his own peerage was merely two generations old, had long aspired to ally his daughter's future to a nobleman of an ancient and distinguished lineage. Lady Berringworth, likewise, was much impressed by the fine attributes of the handsome heir of Lord Matlock, and welcomed the match with enthusiasm.

Of Lady Julia's true feelings, it was much harder to discern. She seemed pleased with her parents' choice - she had been sweetly demure and cordial to Lord Ashbourne since the moment of their formal introduction. For companionship, however, she relied greatly upon her own retinue of family friends who had journeyed to Beauchamp as her bridal party. She preferred frequent retreats to her chamber suite, and was gleefully delighted when the dower house at Beauchamp was offered to the Berringworths and their guests as their private quarters during their stay.

Beneath Lady Julia's amiable countenance, however, Lord Ashbourne could detect a growing distraction and irritation. Her determined efforts to appear cheerful had failed to hide her inner mood entirely - like the dark clouds of a gathering storm, they forestalled an impending tempest.

If only Lady Julia had not prolonged her Continental tour with her mother and younger brothers - then I would have been able to gain a better acquaintance with her before the wedding, Lord Ashbourne lamented silently to himself. He did not expect her to tumble into love with him at first sight, nor he with her, but he would have preferred to be her friend before he became her husband. He had scant opportunity to speak to her in private, and he did not know her well enough to guess at the root cause of her displeasure. He was never a man of eloquent words, and his natural shyness was compounded by the awkwardness of their peculiar circumstance. If the truth be admitted, he felt guilty for being the man her father had chosen for her by formal contract. By his own foolishness, he had forfeited his free choice in matrimonial matters, but he could not think of a valid cause for Lady Julia to do so likewise. Surely, a fashionable miss of the ton, barely four and twenty, endowed with lovely looks, pleasing manners, and a very handsome dowry, would not be lacking in eager suitors. He wondered, not for the first time, why she would submit so docilely to her parents' will.

"Your pretty fiancée seemed rather distraught last night. I hope she is well?" remarked Sir James Fitzwilliam after he greeted his nephew with an affectionate smile. A lifetime of military discipline had installed the habit of reveille at dawn. Sir James had already enjoyed his morning ride. Vigorous health and good cheer radiated from his lean, sun-bronzed face. Although Sir James was well into his fifth decade, he could still outride and outshoot many officers half his age.

"I believe so, Uncle James. Lady Julia complained of a headache when she retired for the night, but the apothecary was not sent for," replied Lord Ashbourne. After a moment's pause, he added, "It is perfectly understandable if Lady Julia should feel distraught. Beauchamp is a great distance from her maiden home in Oxfordshire, far from her friends and familiar surroundings. I am but a stranger to her, yet our families already expect us to behave like a happy pair. They lavish such fond wishes upon us at every turn."

"Lady Julia mentioned her preference for London - quite openly and frequently - since her arrival here," stated Sir James thoughtfully. Nothing much escaped the sharp eyes of this veteran soldier. From his careful observation, he discovered that Thomas and Lady Julia might seem perfectly compatible at first glance, but the differences in their temperaments and preferences were significant enough to pose problems in the future. He prayed that the young couple could nurture a strong friendship to weather the inevitable storms in their union.

"I believe she wanted a grand wedding in London - much like the elaborate celebration of Alexander and Isabella's nuptials," added Lord Ashbourne.

"But you prefer the quiet dignity of our family chapel at Beauchamp," smiled Sir James with compassionate understanding. "You can do without hundreds of guests in attendance and a mob of onlookers crowding near Grosvenor Chapel to catch a glimpse of a wedding of the haute ton."

"I must confess that I do," replied Thomas with a low chuckle. "Moreover, my father's health is still too vulnerable to risk making the long journey to London. I have plans, however, to remedy my bride's severe disappointment. Since most of the ton will still be in Town for the Season when we return from our Bridal Tour, we shall host a grand Ball at Fitzwilliam House to celebrate our marriage. I shall spare no expense, and shall ask Lady Julia to plan the gala to her full satisfaction."

Sir James nodded approvingly. "You are a very good man, my dear nephew. Once you set your heart in its rightful place, I believe that you will secure true happiness."

"Your fair lady did not expect such candor from you, my dear nephew," remarked Sir James thoughtfully. He recalled the startling scene of the previous evening. He and his dear Georgiana had chaperoned the affianced couple for their evening stroll in the garden - when Thomas unexpectedly knelt before Lady Julia to make a full confession of his past.

"It is only proper that I should begin my marriage with a clear conscience," said Thomas with dignified solemnity.

"I hope you did not upset her feminine sensibilities," remarked Sir James. He and his dear wife had stepped away discreetly, and were not privy to Lady Julia's response.

"Lady Julia reassured me that she suffered no false illusions. She was well aware that a young man who has spent numerous Seasons in London since he came of age could hardly be expected to have led an unblemished life."

"Very true!" admitted Sir James. He had, of course, heard of worse tales of woe and flagrant transgressions, and was grateful that Thomas did not sully their family honor with greater follies than the ones he had indulged in.

"I promised Lady Julia my complete fidelity and devotion. She will never find me wanting in any way as her husband or as a father to our children," he said most earnestly.

"I am proud of you, Thomas," smiled Sir James with approval, pleasantly surprised by the depth of maturity and genuine humility Lord Ashbourne had acquired since his ridiculous brawl with Lord Braunfield at Pemberley.

Both men walked the rest of the way in companionable silence. A myriad of nostalgic memories flooded Sir James's mind - of his boyhood and happy times spent at Beauchamp. Lord Ashbourne's thoughts were directed expressly towards the future - to his new duties as a husband, and the implicit obligation to beget heirs for a new generation.

A festive mood reigned over the assembly of family and guests gathered at the family chapel at Beauchamp. It was a small but magnificent edifice, and complimented the grandeur of the great house itself. Generations of Fitzwilliams were baptized, married and laid to their final rest within these stonewalls. Anyone fortunate enough to be born into such an illustrious family would stand proudly on such hallowed grounds and be justly inspired. By the same logic, however, the burden of carrying on and to promulgate the noble name and family legacy might seem all too daunting to heirs with gentler souls.

Barely three months before, the Earl of Matlock had lingered precariously at death's door, but on this fine day in late spring, he had recovered from his near fatal carriage accident, and enjoyed the satisfaction of attending the wedding he had arranged. His beaming smile reflected his heartfelt pride and joy of his firstborn son, but certainly hid the bereavement he still felt in regard to his younger sons lost to various childhood maladies. Lady Matlock stood devotedly by her husband's side; her happiness induced more by his deliverance than by the wedding of their son. The Countess harbored her own misgivings about the impending union, but she was a loyal wife, and trusted her husband's judgment.

At the altar stood the tall and handsome bridegroom. Lord Ashbourne was the very image of aristocratic dignity and noble mien. In stoic patience, he awaited the arrival of his bride. He missed the steadfast presence of Alexander Darcy, whose duties required him to be elsewhere. Hence, he was grateful that his cousin Andrew Fitzwilliam was standing with him as his best man - a worthy young man equal to Alexander in character and honor.

The viscount knew he should be counting his blessings. Yet, he felt as if he was on a battlefield - enduring the eerie quiet before the first barrage of cannon fire. He was sober and reverend, but the reality of pledging vows of matrimony with someone he barely knew proved appallingly intimidating at this appointed hour of destiny. He took a deep breath to steel himself, and turned his attention to the congregation instead.

From the front pews to the furthest one in the rear of the chapel, he knew almost every face present. If there were a few sentimental hearts who disapproved of arranged marriages, he realized they would hold their peace this day. He looked directly at his devoted family and close relations, feeling the palpable warmth of their love and goodwill reaching across the church aisle to where he was standing.

One particular face, with gentle eyes and an angelic smile, gave Lord Ashbourne the requisite encouragement he needed. He did but glance at Jane Darcy, yet he could feel the immense sense of tranquility welling up within him. He did not realize how much he had missed talking to Jane, seeking her opinion and advice in matters great and small. Since her departure from Beauchamp, he had felt a strange void amidst its splendor. No longer would he hear her play and sing in the evenings. Now, Jane had returned, and he could feel the inexplicable brightness in all his surroundings.

A line from Shakespeare unexpectedly sprung to mind, as aptly fitting as it was sudden: Love comforteth like sunshine after rain. . .

Good God! Thomas muttered to himself as he realized what Jane Darcy truly meant to him. His heart had known this hidden secret for many weeks, but his rational mind had relentlessly suppressed it until now. I love her!

By honor and convention, his engagement to Lady Julia Berringworth was considered a binding contract. He had every intention to keep his marriage vows and never to dishonor his wife, even in his private thoughts. Even if he were free to love whom he wished, he knew he neither deserved Jane Darcy nor had any hope of winning her heart. Her concerns and affections for him were entirely sisterly. In all their encounters, there had never been any inappropriate word or suggestive gesture that could have implied feelings beyond platonic on her part. Her conduct was always exemplary; her manners unfailingly impeccable . . . well, her generous heart had long been lost to Henry Bingley!

Yet, the essential question begged to be answered. How did I ever fall in love with Jane without ever knowing I had made a start of it? Especially when I had directed every conscious thought exclusively to my betrothed?

Lord Ashbourne was too preoccupied to note the passage of time. The appointed hour had passed, and the lovely bride had yet to make her appearance at her own wedding! As the long minutes of anticipation dragged on, the congregation began to grow restless. A discreet whisper, a subtle word to one's neighbor soon spread across the pews in excited murmurs and a splattering of good-humored chuckles. He felt a slight nudge from his best man, and was jolted out of his reverie. He looked around in bewilderment, momentarily unable to grasp what was happening.

"Thomas, I think I should go and inquire about this long delay," said Andrew with a worried frown. In quick, purposeful steps, he left the chapel via a side door.

Lord Matlock was greatly alarmed. Surely something must be amiss if the bride was a full hour late to her own wedding. The earl was tempted to rush out to make his own inquiry when Sir James Fitzwilliam whispered in his ear. "Please allow me, brother, to investigate. Do not alarm your guests unnecessarily." Nodding to Lady Matlock, the general took his leave in polite silence.

As Sir James Fitzwilliam and his son approached the dower house - situated a short distance from the family chapel - they could detect the frantic atmosphere within its walls. No sooner did they enter the grand foyer when Lord Berringworth greeted them in full agitation.

"My daughter . . ." began the nobleman, his face ashen, and voice trembling so badly, he could not continue speaking.

"Whatever is the matter?" asked Sir James urgently. "Has Lady Julia fallen ill?"

Lord Berringworth stood rigidly still, and answered with a hesitant shake of his head. He stared back at Sir James, dumbfounded, fiercely gripping within his hands, a piece of parchment.

"My lord? Do you wish for us to read the letter?" ventured Andrew Fitzwilliam in a low, calming tone as he stepped closer to the older man. By his sharp instincts, he surmised the parchment held a vital key to the present situation. He could hear the distinctive sounds of a woman's cries - wailing in great anguish.

For a moment, it seemed as if Lord Berringworth did not hear him. Quite suddenly, however, he thrust the parchment into Andrew's hands, and muttered pleadingly, "I beseech you - please, help us!"

Andrew took the letter and handed it over to his father instead. As Sir James read the letter, he could barely suppress an oath. When he looked up, his expression was both grave and indignant.

"The girl has run away!" declared Sir James. "She has eloped with someone else!"

By now, Lord Berringworth, forlorn and helpless, sunk down into the nearest chair. He buried his face in his hands, trying to stifle a sob.

"What?" exclaimed Andrew in disbelief. "What do you mean, sir?"

Before his question could be answered properly, Lord Ashbourne came in with his father hot upon his heels. At the sight of the bridegroom, Sir James surrendered the letter to him.

The grimace upon Lord Ashbourne's face grew as he read the letter aloud:

Forgive me, dear Mother and Father! I have tried to be a dutiful daughter, but I cannot marry Lord Ashbourne! You know well that my heart belongs to another - your efforts to separate us have been in vain. He has come for me, and I shall sooner die than to refuse him again!

I pray that you will understand.

Your beloved Julia.

"She doesn't mince words, does she?" Lord Ashbourne replied glibly.

Lord Berringworth lamented in answer, "Always too emotional and strong-headed for her own good! Oh, the misery of it! How could she willfully choose an insignificant, low-born callow youth over you, my gracious Lord Ashbourne? Is such abhorrence to be borne?"

The gentlemen present nodded their agreement out of sympathy and politeness, but they could well sense Lady Julia's anguish. In choosing to follow her heart rather than the wishes of her parents, she had paid a great price. She had forsaken her family and forfeited her friends. She had abandoned title, wealth and comfort to ally her future with someone whom her parents vehemently disapproved.

"It is your duty, dear son, to help me find my wayward daughter! To bring her home at once!" implored Lord Berringworth as he suddenly seized hold of Lord Ashbourne's arm. "My poor daughter! She does not know her own mind - she must be rescued from the clutches of the rake before she is utterly lost . . . Oh, unspeakable infamy!"

"Have you any inkling where she may have gone?" asked Lord Ashbourne with admirable calmness. He was not surprised that he felt but a small sense of loss, since it was overpowered by an even greater sense of relief. He knew now that his heart truly belonged to Jane Darcy.

"No, none!" muttered Lord Berringworth in despair.

London

Lizzy did not see Lord Braunfield until the grand Ball hosted by Lord Cloverdale. He had been absent from her daily routine for a mere two days, but strangely enough, it had felt far longer to her.

Did I truly miss him so badly? she wondered.

A new letter from W had arrived during the interim, and had compensated for the depravation of Lord Braunfield's company. She had read his letter repeatedly - drawing consolation and inspiration from it with each perusal.

She could recall each of W's words with clarity and fondness:

To My Kindred Spirit,

I am honored beyond measure that you wish to call me friend, dear lady, but I must protest against any claims of sagacity. I am more foolish than the next fellow. If you knew my full history, you might wish to withhold your friendship altogether!

In the matter of the young nobleman - if he is blessed with your precious friendship, he must surely know your grand hopes for him. If he is a worthy man, he will heed your clarion call to duty!

However, grant me leave to remind you, my dear lady, that few are endowed with your formidable will and clear conscious. Perhaps his lordship requires greater encouragement from you. By my own experience, I know how daunting it can be to step out of the long shadows cast by one's parents and family, or to redeem one's good reputation after it has been sadly tarnished.

In closing, I must salute you for your tireless efforts to become a truly accomplished woman. You are, indeed, an admirable example to all.

I remain, as ever,
Yours to command,
W.

Lizzy smiled to herself as she reflected upon the irony of reality. Mr. W. has an insightful mind, but such a modest and considerate nature. If only Lord Braunfield were more like W!

Excited chattering from those around her soon drew her attention back to the elegant Ball. An exalted personage was about to make his entrance. Judging from the eager looks of anticipation upon the faces of the young females and their mothers, Lizzy could almost guess the name.

"Lord Braunfield!" announced the butler, dressed in courtly regalia. Lord Cloverdale was a man known for his whims and extravagance, second to none in the ton but Lady Paxton herself.

The gathering crowd surged forward as one, to gain a better view of the man whom the ton had deemed the most eligible of bachelors.

"Oh, Mama! He is indeed an Adonis!" exclaimed a young lady breathlessly.

"I am never wrong, child," came the stern matronly reply. "Be sure to promenade in front of his lordship - frequently if you can manage. Taking a turn in the room always shows off one's figure - especially one like yours, my dear! This is your first Season. What a triumph if you can secure Lord Braunfield."

"I have been abroad for a while," remarked another - a voice feminine and sultry. "I was told that wicked son of Lord Paxton has been hiding himself - for a very dramatic self-reformation - behaving almost like a monk in the abbey. Pity! He looks more dashing than ever before!"

"Well, he best hides himself away again," replied her companion - a stern-faced gentleman with a gruff voice. "No sense to make such an entrance at a Ball, looking like a preening peacock. Where is his noble father? Poor fellow must be home nursing his gout."

"I think Lord Paxton feels he can trust young Braunfield to enter Society without his supervision nowadays," laughed another gentleman.

Lizzy could hardly believe her ears, yet such remarks that accompanied Lord Braunfield's presence at any social gathering were familiar ones: cries of fawning admiration, plans to ensnare him into matrimonial traps, disparaging remarks about his past, and the envious comments about his good looks, character, and - last but not least - all his worldly advantages.

"What fault or great harm is it for a young, idle nobleman to indulge in a few reckless escapades now and then?" said yet another gentleman, himself a dashing dandy.

"Such was the fashion during the Regency, but alas, we are at the dawn of a new age," was the prompt reply. "We all have to learn better manners."

Lizzy could resist speaking her own mind until this last remark.

"God Save the Queen!" Lizzy exclaimed. "By God's Grace, may Her Majesty and her dear Prince Albert live long and prosper - as may our nation. May this new age - the Victorian age - be the most glorious one of all!"

"Hear! Hear!" rejoined her neighbors, and the general comments turned away from Lord Braunfield at last.

Because it was such a grand Ball, with so many guests in attendance, Lizzy did not have a chance to speak to Lord Braunfield upon his arrival. Indeed, their host had taken the young viscount by the arm, parading him before all his relations - especially his young and unmarried female relatives - making no secret of his ambitious plans as a matchmaker.

"I shall do my duty as your godfather, and find you someone most desirable for a wife - one that will be warmly welcomed into the family by your noble father, and more importantly, one that will meet even the lofty expectations of your dear mother," said Lord Cloverdale with a roaring laugh. His lordship was a hefty man, and had a booming voice to match.

"Thank you, my lord, for your kind consideration," replied Lord Braunfield graciously. "I am still but a young man - there is no urgent rush to the altar."

"Alas, your esteemed father is not getting any younger," protested Lady Cloverdale. She was as good-natured as her husband, but a bit more meddlesome. "Surely, you must be the dutiful son, and allow Lord Paxton to enjoy his grandchildren in his waning years!"

Lord Braunfield put on a brave face, and endured the attention of his eager host and hostess. He came to this Ball solely to dance with his beloved Elizabeth. He had avoided many prior social routs and balls, because he knew Miss Elizabeth Darcy would not be in attendance either. He finally managed to extract himself from Lord Cloverdale, and headed immediately towards the Darcys. He knew where they were amongst the crowd, for he had been keeping a prodigious eye on them the moment he entered the ballroom.

"Miss Elizabeth," said Lord Braunfield as he greeted her with a formal bow before bestowing the same courtesy to the Alexander Darcys.

"Good evening, my lord," Lizzy replied with cordiality. Her voice and manner were dignified and pleasant, but her heart leapt as it always did whenever he came near her.

He gazed at her intently, admiring her in appreciative silence. Her dark hair was fashionably braided like a crown atop her head, adorned with exquisite, tiny white rose buds. She wore an elegant ball gown of pale gold, which suited her alluring figure perfectly. Her dark eyes - so fine and brilliant - held him captive. He recalled, with shame, how abominably he had behaved when his noble father first introduced him to her.

How could I ever have judged her to be merely pretty when her true beauty outshone everyone else?

Lizzy could not guess his thoughts. She was already ill at ease in his presence, and found that she could not endure his close scrutiny as well.

"Miss Elizabeth, may I be so bold as to reclaim the waltz that was promised to me at the Gardiner's Ball? With your brother's permission, of course," he asked with grave formality.

"I . . . I do not mean to dance tonight, my lord," she stammered, "I do not even have a dance card."

"Then you are not engaged to anyone presently. . . I mean for dancing, this evening," he said placidly. She could well detect the teasing glint in his dark eyes.

"Lizzy, a promise is a debt of honor, even if it is merely a waltz," said Alexander, his tone of voice almost fatherly. Turning to the viscount, he said solemnly, "You may take my sister for a turn on the dance floor. My wife and I shall be on the terrace, but not beyond. It is far too dark in the garden. If you should find the need for fresh air afterwards, you are welcome to join us."

The deepest blush came upon Lizzy at her brother's words. Vivid memories of Lord Braunfield's searing kisses in Sir Edward's garden flooded her mind. She trembled despite herself.

As Lord Braunfield led her to the dance floor, she was acutely aware of the curious stares and close inspection of their neighbors. But, when William put his arm around her slender waist, drawing her close to him as they began their waltz, he became the center of her attention. Everyone, and everything else, soon faded away.

Despite his damaged knee, he managed to dance with elegant grace. Her apprehension melted away as she took pleasure in their harmonious steps together. By small degrees, the rigidity of her posture relaxed. In response, he pulled her ever so slightly, but perceptibly closer to him. Tightening his hold upon her, tenderly but possessively, he leaned a fraction nearer whenever he guided her at a turn.

She had been staring determinedly ahead - at his cravat - before she dared a glance at his face. She was half-expecting to see a smug look of triumph, but saw the most solemn look instead. The habitual joviality in his dark eyes was replaced by uttermost intensity.

"I believe we must have some conversation, my lord. Perhaps you can remark upon the size of the room, and I, upon the various couples . . ." The quiver in her melodic voice betrayed the torrent of raging emotions beneath her pleasant countenance.

"You are a divine dancer," William murmured at last. He suppressed an inward groan. Did she have no inkling of how torturous it was to hold her so close, and yet, be so far from her heart? Fond remembrances of their tender moments together flooded his mind: the texture of her silken skin, the fragrant scent of her hair, the ardent warmth of her kisses . . . Oh, what he would give in the world to touch the sweetest lips he ever had the pleasure - nay the honor - to kiss.

"Thank you," she answered in full embarrassment, "as are you, my lord."

They fell silent for a long moment before she mustered up the courage to speak again. "I am very sorry about my conduct towards you, my lord."

"Hush now!" he whispered, almost pleading. He smiled down at her, and added gently, "Let us enjoy this rare moment of serenity between us. Presently, silence is golden."

She appreciated the truth of his words, and gladly surrendered herself to the sheer enjoyment of their waltz. She was still swaying in motion when the last musical note was played; he seized the opportunity to swirl her around in an exquisite pirouette, and expertly led her off into the next waltz without breaking stride.

"I owe you but one waltz, my lord," she voiced a hasty protest.

"Yes, indeed. Alas, I must beg for your indulgence - I have promised myself yet another one," he grinned back at her.

"You are incorrigible," she admonished him with a barely suppressed smile. "I knew your air of grave solemnity was an affectation, a mere whim of the moment. You have a vast selection of desirable partners at this Ball - I am certain most of them will gladly dance with you."

"Nay, Elizabeth," he shook his head, "I have never been more sincere in my life, and I care not a whit about dancing ... except with you."

The confessional tone of his voice was unmistakable. The ballroom, however, was not the proper place for serious conversation, and she allowed his statement to remain unanswered.

They waltzed on in companionable silence. As much as she loved to dance - she had many delightful and gentlemanly partners at such Balls - she realized that she had rarely enjoyed herself as splendidly as she did presently. A blush naturally accompanied such thoughts, and he duly took notice of it. He whispered a few words to her, but they were entirely inaudible.

"I beg your pardon, my lord?" Lizzy asked when he led her off the dance floor. "I did not hear you."

He tucked her arm in his as he escorted her through the throng of people, leading her directly towards the French doors. "Those words were not meant to be heard by you - not yet, not presently. . . Ah, I see your dear brother and sister are waiting for us."

They rejoined the Darcys, exchanging a few words of pleasantries before Isabella took Lizzy's arm to lead her outside onto the terrace, ahead of the two gentlemen.

"Well, Lizzy?" whispered Isabella.

"I tried to apologize, but his lordship would not speak to me. He . . . merely wished to enjoy the waltz."

"Did you as well? Did you enjoy the waltz?" smiled Isabella.

"I must confess that I did," replied Lizzy with candor. "Far more than I had anticipated."

The gentlemen continued their amiable conversation for a while longer before Lord Braunfield approached Lizzy again.

"Miss Elizabeth. . . your brother has given me his kind permission to speak to you - a private tête-à-tête - for a moment."

He placed her gloved hand upon his arm, and led her a small distance away, but well within full view of the Darcys. He turned to face her fully, but took a step backwards, allowing for a respectable distance between them, so any casual onlooker would not mistake this courteous tête-à-tête for amorous flirtation. He was more aware than ever of the vital need for propriety - he would not sully Elizabeth's good name with even the slightest hint of indiscretion. In retrospect, their stolen kiss at the Gardiners' Ball had been a dangerous indulgence. He did not regret kissing her, but he would not take such a risk again whilst they were in the public eye.

Lizzy decided to take advantage of the moment to make her peace with Lord Braunfield. "You have every right to be upset with me, my lord, but I must ask for your forgiveness," she began tentatively, willing herself to be brave. "The other day, during our conversation, I meant no malice or disrespect towards Lord Paxton. I understand the natural order of succession . . ."

He held up a hand to stop her, and smiled. "Please, Elizabeth! Let us speak no more of our unfortunate misunderstanding. I should be the one to thank you - you have jolted me out of my comfortable complacency. I . . . I have been mulling over various matters, and I have made a very important decision."

He paused briefly, as if he wished to gather his thoughts.

She waited with bated breath. He was seriousness itself. Was he about to broach a subject of an intimate and tender nature? Her wits abandoned her, and she could scarcely breathe.

"I have decided to stand for Parliament," he said at last.

"Have you?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes. Well, not immediately. I have discussed the matter very carefully with my father. My relative youth and regrettable past, plus my lack of experience and naiveté in politics - all pose serious impediments to my chances of a successful election. I am determined, however, to give serious pursuit to such a worthy goal. I shall do my best to improve my mind, to acquire a liberality of ideas, and to broaden my horizons. To such ends, may I entreat you to be my true friend?"

"I am very honored, my lord," she replied with a genuine smile.

"To lend me your support and understanding? To give me your unvarnished opinions and criticism with unstinting honesty?"

"Yes, I shall, my lord. With all my heart," she promised him solemnly.

Her last reply sent his spirits soaring. Wordlessly, he lifted her gloved hand, and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss upon it. She could feel the palpable warmth of his touch through the fine silk, and blushed despite herself. He did not release her hand immediately, but held onto it for a lingering moment.

"I thank you, Miss Elizabeth ... with my heart, as well," he whispered softly.

Chapter 29

Posted on Saturday, 4 March 2006

Beauchamp,
Derbyshire

"I cannot even fathom how the scoundrel could have gained access to my daughter here at Beauchamp, let alone carry her off with him!" muttered Lord Berringworth, suffering from abject torment. By her elopement, Lady Julia had forfeited a marriage that would have allied her to one of the most illustrious families of the realm. The grief she brought upon her family seemed inconsolable. Lady Berringworth could be heard wailing in the next room, as if there was a tragic death in the family.

"Who is this man . . . your daughter's professed love?" asked Lord Ashbourne with a surprising calmness - especially for a bridegroom newly jilted at the altar.

Lord Berringworth uttered a soft oath. "Hell's teeth! He is nothing to your excellent self, my dear Lord Ashbourne! My daughter fancies herself in love - with an insignificant, ill-favored rake by the name of Homer Alban . . . a mutual friend had vouched for his character and made the introduction, allowing Alban to ingratiate himself into our home and . . . weasel his way into the tender heart of my gullible Julia. I isolated her from him as soon as I discovered it."

"Her tour of the Continent?" remarked Thomas with sudden comprehension.

"Yes," acknowledged Berringworth. He paused, and then literally spat out the words, "Alban's mother is English, of landed gentry, but his father is American, from an obscure merchant family in Boston. In short, Alban hails from the same accursed place and infamous breeding ground that fostered those treacherous rebels against the Crown!"

From the disgust in his voice, it was clear that Lord Berringworth regarded the loss of the American colonies - some six decades prior - as an unforgivable betrayal that was happening afresh.

For the younger generation, however, imbued with youthful optimism and progressive views, there was much to admire about the ideals promulgated by the Founding Fathers of the young Republic. Whilst Lord Ashbourne nodded politely to appease the older man, he could not help but add, "The loss of our American colonies was indeed regrettable. In retrospect, however, it was inevitable when one considered the oppressive policies of our government in the years leading up to the actual revolt."

Lord Berringworth glowered, as if Thomas had suddenly taken up a musket in defense of the former colonials.

Andrew Fitzwilliam caught his cousin's eye, and exchanged a knowing look with him. Politics aside, there was nothing like the vehemence of a belligerent father. Lord Berringworth would undoubtedly find fault with Homer Alban, no matter how much a paragon the young man might well be

"Alban must have made some prior arrangement with Lady Julia - perhaps via secret missives, to secure the knowledge of her specific whereabouts of this vast estate," remarked Sir James with sound logic, trying to steer the conversation back to the main issue at hand. "Did any of the servants notice something amiss? Her personal maid, perhaps?"

"After Julia was dressed in her bridal finery, she begged to be left alone until the appointed hour of the ceremony. My wife naturally complied - she is ever accommodating of our daughter's moods. Alban must have climbed through the window and carried her off!"

"It is futile to guess how it happened - we must address the grievous aftermath at hand," said Sir James Fitzwilliam calmly, as if he was commanding a field maneuver. Turning to Lord Matlock, he added in a much gentler tone, "Brother, we must be mindful of our many guests waiting at the church."

"Yes! A hateful thing to do, but I must declare to all that there will be no wedding - that the bride has eloped with someone else!" said Lord Matlock grimly. His disappointment was tremendous, but he was inwardly grateful that his son had merely lost a willful fiancée, rather than suffering the misery and humiliation of losing an unfaithful wife!

"If I ever lay my hands on Alban, I shall wring his despicable neck!" exclaimed Lord Berringworth in great agitation. "Or better yet, have the rogue arrested for the crime of kidnapping, and let him swing from the gallows!"

"Well, Berringworth, perhaps you should have listened to your daughter more carefully and given better consideration to her . . . preference. We might have all been spared from this scandalous trouble presently!" said Lord Matlock with stern disapproval. Turning to Sir James, he said, "Come, brother, stand with me at church. I must rely upon your stalwart presence."

"Father! One moment please!" Lord Ashbourne spoke with a sense of urgency.

"Yes, my dear boy?"

"I believe we should keep Lady Julia's elopement a guarded secret. She must truly love Alban, and vice versa, or she would never have gone away with him! We must not rob them of a chance at happiness - however dismal it may seem to us presently. This terrible act of youthful folly may yet be remedied - attainable by lawful marriage."

"Love? What does the young chit know about love?" cried Lord Berringworth in frustration. "I have chosen the ideal husband for her - namely you, Lord Ashbourne - to cherish her and bestow upon her all the blessings any woman would desire! Yet, she has chosen to behave like a shameless wanton."

Lord Matlock turned to his own brother, trusting in his judgment. "James? What is your opinion?"

"My nephew is exceedingly chivalrous, considering the unfortunate circumstances," said Sir James. "However, I must agree with him. It is wiser to err on the side of prudence than allow public censure to destroy her honor."

"We can inform our guests that Lady Julia is indisposed - a sudden illness," said Lord Ashbourne sincerely. "And by mutual consent, our wedding has been postponed . . . indefinitely. . . People may whisper an insidious word or two, but a broken engagement is easily forgotten once the ton seizes upon another interesting bit of gossip to occupy them."

Lord Berringworth seized hold of Thomas's arm, and pleaded in a desperate cry. "You must really love Julia to care for her honor - although she has done so little to deserve it. We must find her - rescue her from the clutches of the rogue Alban. I beg you, dear son, take her back! Name any price . . . a king's ransom . . . I shall be most happy to oblige you!"

"Take her back? A woman compromised?" thundered Lord Matlock with shocked indignation. "The marriage contract is null and void, Berringworth. By your daughter's reckless act, her dowry is rightfully forfeited, but I shall be generous, and allow you to reclaim it."

"Lord Berringworth, allow me to speak - I am not in love with Julia, but I am compelled by honor to find her - if only to ascertain her current state of well-being," said Lord Ashbourne with gentle compassion. "If Homer Alban is as despicable as you claim him to be, I shall have him clapped in irons. If he is truly worthy of her, however, I would not stand in their way."

"If you can find the pair of love birds, my noble cousin," observed Andrew. "They have flown from here, perhaps two or even three hours ago, and to which direction of the compass? If they are traveling by railway, they can be counties away by now!"

Lord Berringworth uttered a cry of despair as he sank back into his chair. He buried his face in his hands, and allowed the tears to flow.

"I sincerely hope this will not turn out to be a wild goose chase to Gretna Green. Her abigail's testimony might be a false tale - a ruse to allow the love birds a safe passage to America instead," said Andrew Fitzwilliam with a deep frown.

"We can but try," replied Lord Ashbourne with a weary smile as he stretched out his long legs to make himself more comfortable. He was patient and calm - a loyal son carrying out another act of filial duty.

"Zounds!" Andrew muttered loudly as the carriage swung hard against a turn in the road. "Your coachman drives as if we have a demon at our tail! Perhaps we will suffer an accident, and this will prove to be a very short chase after all!"

"I never knew you to be faint-hearted. Come now, show us your mettle! This is my hour of need, and I sorely require your resolute strength," retorted Lord Ashbourne with a bemused laugh as he turned to regard his cousin. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a lean and muscular build, Andrew Fitzwilliam was the image of his father, Sir James. There was, however, a notable gentleness about him - he had Lady Fitzwilliam's kind eyes and shy smile.

"I am as stout-hearted as any worthy Fitzwilliam - tell your driver to apply his whip with greater ferocity if you wish," protested Andrew with a jaunty laugh. "I am merely questioning the wisdom of chasing after your wayward bride and her lover. Her father should be doing his duty, and not sending you as his proxy."

"I have scant choice but to undertake this mission on Berringworth's behalf. Lady Julia might have been abducted by force; her parting note a clever forgery. Who will give chase? Her father is immobilized by grief and chronic gout, her mother is in hysterics and her brothers are but mere boys."

"So you are Sir Galahad - their knight in shining armor." Andrew shook his head in resignation. Quoting from Lady Julia's letter, he spoke with a dramatic air, ". . . I shall rather die than to refuse him again! In my humble opinion, Lady Julia is no helpless victim under duress. Ah, what would I give to have a young lady speak with such grand passion for my sake!"

"I have yearned for such sentiments as well - in my greener days - and paid a heavy price for it," confessed Thomas after a long moment. "I mistook physical lust for genuine love, and allowed a woman with a beguiling smile and seductive charm to entrap me." He grimaced at the painful memory. "My mistress toyed with me - like a cat with a favorite ball of yarn - and I owe the discovery of her true character to another gallant! So take heed, Andrew, lead a virtuous life, and do not fall victim to entrapments by alluring paramours."

"Zooks! I never knew you to be susceptible to such follies!" exclaimed Andrew, amazed by his cousin's honest candor. He decided to speak his mind openly as well. ". . . I saw the way you were looking at our sweet cousin Jane . . . do not tell me you have completely missed seeing such a treasure before your very eyes - until now?"

"Yes," nodded Thomas ruefully, "the greatest fool is before you!"

The younger man muttered a soft lament. "The strange twists of fate. If only Mrs. Darcy has less enchanting daughters. . ."

"Andrew, you do not mean . . . you . . . you are in love with Jane as well?"

"Me?" laughed Andrew, as if he deemed the question too redundant to be asked. "Yes, I am very much in love with Jane Darcy. I have always admired her quiet beauty, whilst everyone else, including you, seemed utterly bewitched by her more lively sister!"

"Jane is Lizzy's equal in grace and intellect, but you cannot deny that Lizzy's vivacity is truly dazzling - however can one resist her?" reasoned Lord Ashbourne.

"Aye, there are few who will argue that Elizabeth Anne Darcy is the most captivating creature to be with. Her admirers are legion - indeed, most of my chums confess to be in love with her," declared Andrew. After a long moment of reflection, he added, "Yet, I believe it will take an extraordinary man with fortitude and wit to match Lizzy's formidable will and aspirations. She will not be content with less."

"Lizzy confronts life so boldly. Suitors of fainter hearts need not apply!" Thomas agreed, recalling his brief and ill-fated courtship of her.

Andrew contemplated for a moment, and summed up his observation rather neatly. "Lizzy is like the summer's sun, but Jane is like the nourishing rain and refreshing breeze of spring."

"I never knew you harbored such a poetic side, Andrew. Does Jane know your true sentiments towards her?" said Lord Ashbourne softly.

"Yes, of course," laughed Andrew again, this time it was a mirthless sound. There was a deep regret in his pleasant voice as he elaborated, "I made my declaration to her last week. She thanked me in the sweetest manner, but she turned me down. In her eyes, I am too much of a brother."

Lord Ashbourne was greatly relieved to learn of this, though he kept his feelings to himself. "You are an excellent man, my dear cousin - I would entrust you with my own sister in a heartbeat. . . Despite Jane's resolute avowal, I believe she has yet to free her heart from its lingering attachment to Henry Bingley."

"Perhaps she is still in love with Bingley, but it will do you no harm to confess your own admiration and love for her," advised Andrew. "At the very least, she will know your sturdy shoulder will be there for her to cry upon at Bingley's wedding. Who can predict the future? . . . I am told that true love often begins rather subtly - in the guise of a meaningful look across a room, a gentle caress, or a sweetly whispered concern . . ."

"Or a witty duel of words . . ." chuckled Lord Ashbourne. Then, he grew serious as he reflected, "Jane Darcy will not have me - what woman wishes to be seen as a consolation prize - coming after my mistress, her own younger sister, and my runaway bride? Jane deserves someone who has never looked upon another, and loves her to the very core of his being from the onset."

"Such high criteria certainly disqualifies you," teased Andrew gently. "Perhaps Jane will overlook your sorry past if your heart is now unequivocally hers? A woman in love is arguably the most tender-hearted creature. She will embrace you - warts and all."

Thomas sighed and looked utterly miserable. "I shall never win back Mr. Darcy's good opinion of me - once lost, it is irretrievably lost. When I broke faith with Lizzy - I definitely lost it. His daughters will never wed without his blessing."

"Very true. The entire situation seems hopeless indeed," nodded Andrew solemnly. "Well, let us at least endeavor to secure Lady Julia's happiness. We can only do what is within our meager powers, or whatever is willed by Providence."

"Amen!" murmured Thomas as he offered up a humble prayer for his own lost cause - as any truly penitent sinner would.

Lord Cloverdale's Ball
London

The ton was abuzz with fresh gossip before the last guest had departed from the glittering Cloverdale Ball.

Once again, Miss Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley had been singled out for dancing and conversing exclusively by the Viscount of Braunfield at a prominent Ball -- as he had done so at previous social routs. In his wild days, his lordship had certainly danced and flirted with many great beauties; but since his reformation, Miss Elizabeth was the only one being accorded such a distinct privilege.

By their own merits, both Jane and Elizabeth Darcy deserved their rightful places on the exclusive list of Incomparables amongst the haute ton. Indeed, any gentleman fortunate enough to gain either Miss Darcy as his wife would be much envied. Social conventions, however, set greater esteem upon noble titles, wealth, and patronage. The present earl of Paxton was considered as rich as Croesus. If his only son was as dull and plain as the fat earl, it would still be considered a paramount achievement by any young woman of Society to secure such a marriage.

Lord Braunfield, however, was intelligent and handsome - a personage made irresistible by the glories of his title and fortune. Many a young lady had swooned at the mere mention of him. The gossip mills were wild with whispered rumors of the many outrageous ruses employed to entrap his lordship in marriage! Indeed, declared one particular dowager, Miss Elizabeth's self-avowal of "being on the shelf" could well be an artful ploy by the clever young lady - a ruse to avoid her own legion of admirers, thus securing this most eligible of bachelors for herself instead.

One such blatant comment naturally invited more speculation. The vivacious Miss Elizabeth did seem to attract Lord Braunfield's eye, but to what avail? Many a shrewd observer pointed out the lack of any substantial progress. Several months had gone by - since Lord Matlock's fancy ball at the end of last Season - with no signs of formal courtship or announcement of an engagement between the pair! More than one person concluded, with a happy sigh, that Miss Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley might not succeed in her capture of Lord Braunfield after all. Lord Cloverdale's enthusiastic efforts at match-making affected a shift in the wagering odds at the clubs. Although Miss Elizabeth might remain as the odds-on favorite, a handful of new names - fashionable young misses from noble families - were gleefully put forth as likely candidates to ensnare Lord Braunfield in the matrimonial trap this Season.

If the ton was privy to the actual truth - that it had been the walls of Miss Elizabeth's obstinate heart, and not Lord's Braunfield's, that was impenetrable - it would be genuinely stunned!

With all my heart! Like the sweetest melody, Lizzy's words continued to echo in William's mind as he mounted the grand steps of Paxton Hall. They were offered as sentiments of friendship, of course, but he was inclined to believe that they were hopeful signs of her budding love for him as well.

William smiled to himself ruefully, recollecting every exquisite moment he had spent in his beloved's company this evening at the Ball. Frankly, he was amazed that he did not break the invisible leash that he had required of himself - it was much tattered, but held taut. How often during their waltz did he yearn to clasp her tightly in his arms, to kiss her with abandonment, and to sweep away all her resistance?

Oh, my dearest Elizabeth! I shall surely go mad if I cannot have you in my arms for all the days and nights to come! he growled in frustration, repeating the same words he had whispered under his breath when they ended their last waltz. He cast a wistful eye at the night sky. Daybreak was still hours away. He was doomed to suffer yet another sleepless night.

His butler greeted him at the door with a deep bow. "Lord Paxton awaits you in his study, my lord."

"How is my father tonight? His gout?" inquired William. The grave concern in his voice was genuine.

"His pain has subsided, my lord. The new herbs have worked wonders."

"Good, I am glad to hear it. If only my father would abide by the prescribed eating regimen as well," said William. He turned to acknowledge the other servants with a brief nod. Even at this late hour, they stood in respectful silence in the grand foyer waiting to be at his beck and call. Lady Paxton had installed such discipline in the household - she ruled by an iron hand and a volatile temper. Such as it was, her servants trembled at the mere thought of her ladyship. They took great care to obey her complex lists of house rules, lest she would vent her vehement anger upon her return from Paris.

Lord Braunfield, once as haughty and obnoxious as his mother, was now as benevolent as his kindly father. He excused the loyal staff with an appreciative smile and a lordly wave. To his valet, he added, "Take yourself off to bed, Owens. I intend to keep my father company for the duration."

William strolled down the grand hallway towards the library, knowing he would find Lord Paxton awake at this late hour. Any mention of Miss Elizabeth Darcy would bring a bright smile to his father's aged face, and he had much to discuss with him.

Grosvenor Square
London

A telegram from Derbyshire awaited the Darcys upon their return from the Cloverdale Ball. They were now residing back at their own townhouse, as the Bingleys had left for Donwell Abbey for a short visit with the Knightleys and their family relations.

Alexander tore open the missive, and read the jubilant news. "Thank God! Twin daughters for James and his beloved Miranda! They are all in excellent health."

Isabella and Lizzy literally danced with joy, and said in unison, "Such wonderful blessings! What are their names?"

"Rosalind and Viola," replied Alexander with warm approval. "I had an inkling they would name their little darlings after Shakespearean heroines. . . After all, James and his Miranda fell in love over a reading of the Bard's love sonnets - as did her parents."

"Love sonnets? Well, far more romantic than falling in love over the discussion of a charcoal drawing. Or was it over my poor sprained ankle?" Isabella teased her husband sweetly, and was rewarded by a tender kiss upon her forehead.

"For my part, I think you first tugged at my heartstrings when you protested that I took better notice of the wall-coverings than your enthralling company at my birthday dinner," confessed Alexander with a smile as he possessively - yet tenderly - wrapped his arm around her slender waist. "Then, to waltz with you in my arms, to gaze into those mesmerizing blue eyes of yours. . . How well we matched each other - in every way. . ."

"Oh, do cease your open flirtations! Such outrageous behavior before my innocent eyes. To think that our parents entrusted me to your care. I seriously think the pair of you have greater need of a chaperone than I do," Lizzy mockingly gave them a stern frown, before she broke down in mirthful laughter.

After a moment, she added, "Oh, my dear brother, when shall we return to Pemberley? I can hardly wait to see the babes, and to hold them in my arms! With Miranda's beauty and James's jovial nature, they must be such precious little darlings!"

"We shall leave Town within the fortnight. There are business matters relating to Ridgemont that require my attention, but we shall be home for the christenings." Alexander had always preferred the tranquility of Pemberley over the hurly-burly world of London, and he was very eager to be home as well. A quiet evening by the hearth with his wife and child was infinitely better than the most glittering of soirees in Town.

"Good!" smiled Lizzy. ""Now, I must bid you both a goodnight. I have to write a rather important letter."

"To whom?" asked Alexander with concern. "Magazine editor? MP? . . . Or your favorite anonymous political commenter - Mr. W?"

Lizzy was about to confirm his guess when she thought better of it. Instead, she smiled, and tried to appear nonchalant. "To a friend . . . a dear friend . . . a personal note . . . to discuss certain matters of mutual interest. . ." She dashed upstairs quickly, before her elder brother could speak to her again.

"Our dear Lizzy and her letter-writing!" smiled Isabella indulgently as she took her husband's arm to mount the grand staircase at a more leisurely pace. They headed to the nursery, and found their beloved son in peaceful slumber. His devoted nurse, Mrs. Prentice, made her nightly report - of the young master's hearty appetite and amusing antics. Alexander wanted to linger on - perhaps for a bit of late-night playful frolic with his son - but was discouraged from it.

"Our son will be awake at the break of dawn. Pray, wait until then to display your fatherly affections!" whispered Isabella as she tugged at his hand.

"What suitable diversion do you suggest, my sweet wife?" Alexander said with a jaunty smile as he followed her out of the nursery. "I feel too energetic to retire to bed."

"You can write mundane reports about coal production. . ." She gave him a flirtatious wink, ". . . or you can compose a love sonnet for me, my Bard of Ridgemont."

He chuckled, and protested against the rising cost of lamp oil. "At this hour, I prefer the ambience of soft candlelight."

"Speaking of burning the late night oil - I fear Lizzy stays up too often at night penning her missives and daily journal," remarked Isabella.

"She wants to pen a personal note - mostly likely to W. . ." frowned Alexander. "I do not like it - not at all!"

"Lizzy reassured me that all her correspondences are scholarly. Besides, how can she form a tendre towards Mr. W - a man she has never met in person? Oh, my love, you are overwrought with anxiety over your sister. Think what you will be like with our own daughters."

"We don't have any daughters . . ." murmured Alexander very softly as he opened the door to their bedchamber. They stood in the doorway, gazing thoughtfully into each other's eyes. Neither one of them spoke for a long time.

"Well . . ." smiled Isabella finally as she placed her arms around his waist, and leaned into him demurely, ". . . not yet. . . not for several months . . . we shall not know if our darling Alex will have a little brother or sister until the baby arrives . . ."

Alexander looked momentarily stunned. A radiant smile spread across his handsome face as the meaning of her words sunk in.

"Oh, Bella!" With exuberant joy, he swept her into his powerful arms, and carried her into the bedchamber. As he kicked the door shut behind them, he asked, his voice tremulous with excitement. "Is it true? Are we with child?"

She laughed, her heart overflowing with happiness as well. She was truly blessed to have such a loving husband!

"We?" she teased him again before she sought another lingering kiss. "I did not know a husband could bear the babe as well - or have a share in the pain of birthing?"

"Forgive my grammatical error. It is a force of habit, for I think of everything in terms of us and we." Alexander frowned deeply, troubled by the awkward implications behind his wife's light-hearted words. "As a man, I cannot pretend to make any claims of true comprehension - of the intense suffering you have to endure in order to bear our child . . . our children. Yet, my dearest Bella, I do feel your awful pain - in the very core of my being, I . . ."

Isabella cupped his face with her hands, and spoke with urgency and sincerity. "Hush now, my darling, do not distress yourself! I know your heart as implicitly as I know my own. I cannot ask for a better or kinder husband! I only meant to tease you. I do not begrudge you for the pains of motherhood. It is a woman's fate to endure - God has made women to be wives and mothers. . ."

"As men are ordained by God to be husbands and fathers - providers and protectors of families," he said before he kissed her again - with all the tenderness and fierce joy that was bursting forth in his heart. She sighed contently, melting into his arms as she requited his love, measure for measure. They held onto each other, savoring the bliss that engulfed them, and made them complete.

"I do not deserve such happiness," he said, breathless with wonderment as he clasped her even closer. He recalled how he used to brood and sulk so gloomily - in despair of ever finding his true love, of ever having a marriage as strong and vibrant as his parents' own. Now, he had his own angel. His darling Isabella was the answer to his prayers, and the fulfillment of his dreams.

"Yes, you do," she reassured him. "It is your reward - for loving me so deeply, passionately, and completely - and for being such for a wonderful father to our son . . . to our children."

"All of life's blessings - I hold here within my arms. You are so beautiful, and your goodness is immeasurable," Alexander's dark eyes glistened with ardent admiration as he solemnly caressed her face.

Then, gently and reverently, he put his hand upon her abdomen. She was alluringly trim, but he thought he could already feel the new life that was growing within her. He smiled, entwining his fingers with hers. Both of them knew that mere words were inadequate to express their sense of awe and wonder.

"I am your Papa, my precious one. We have yet to meet, but I love you already." Alexander leaned down to bestow a symbolic kiss upon Isabella's belly - a kiss for their unborn child, nestled safely within her womb, growing stronger and bigger with every heartbeat.

London

"Lord Braunfield! We had quite given up hope of seeing you," said Lizzy in surprised delight as William stepped into the offices of Gardiner & Sons carrying a large box in his arms. At their parting at Lord Cloverdale's Ball, she had invited him to attend the committee meeting for the new orphanage. He had given her his ready acceptance, but to her disappointment, he neither showed up at the appointed hour, nor sent words of apology.

Well, better late than never, she mused, ready to be in an amiable mood.

William's spirit soared at the very sight of his beloved. What would he give to have Elizabeth greet him with such a smile each morning?

"I must beg your pardon - for my tardiness," said William as he beamed a winsome smile at Lizzy before he bowed formally at everyone present. The committee seemed to be comprised of a selected group of matronly ladies of the ton. He recognized the familiar faces of the Gardiner ladies amongst them. Lizzy Darcy was the sole representative of the far more youthful set.

Lady Gardiner made the necessary introductions, noting the conspicuous absences of the two Mrs. Darcys - esteemed members of the Board of Trustees. The Mistress of Pemberley was presently in Derbyshire, and her daughter-in-law Isabella was feeling a bit under the weather this morning.

"Congratulations for the family are in order," remarked Lord Braunfield to Lizzy and her Gardiner relations. "I saw Alexander briefly this morning. He informed me that the house of Darcy is blessed with the recent birth of twins."

"I can hardly wait to see the new babes," said Lizzy exuberantly. "My brother James and his beloved Miranda deserve every happiness."

"You love children very much, don't you?" said William, recalling the special rapport she shared with her young nephew Alex Darcy. His words were more of a statement than a question.

Lizzy thought she saw a wistful look in Lord Braunfield's dark eyes. She could feel his palpable sense of regret. From her own observations, she realized that Lady Paxton might be frightfully domineering and outspoken, but she certainly was not very demonstrative with her motherly affections.

"Yes, I do. Every child is precious because life itself is precious - a gift from God," she replied solemnly. Her direct statement invited enthusiastic comments from all those present in the room. A lively forum of discussion ensued, and William took advantage of the moment to study his surroundings.

He cast an appreciative glance at the tasteful furnishings of the office suite. Gardiner & Sons was one of the most successful trading companies in London, and its head office reflected the wealth and prestige of the proprietors. Sir Edward Gardiner had generously set aside this large room in his building for the exclusive use of the committee.

"I spent a very fruitful morning," said William as he resumed the explanation of his tardiness. "I managed to find quite a few old chums of mine at my clubs - all were eager to contribute to the new orphanage."

"Eager?" asked Lizzy skeptically as she arched an elegant brow at him. Young, wealthy bachelors of the Polite World were not known for their seriousness of mind or purpose. They generally preferred sports and other idle pursuits. One was more likely to get a gold sovereign from them through a sporting wager, than a charitable donation.

"Perhaps eager is a poor choice of words. I simply cornered my dissolute friends, and demanded redemption of old debts and favors. I lectured, scolded, bullied and shamed the sundry lot into doing something for the public good. And I have threatened to call upon them yet again - for more charitable donations, of course."

Lord Braunfield laughed, an exuberantly rich sound that Lizzy found rather enthralling. How different he was from his former self! He no longer looked nonchalant or indifferent, but was bright and engaging in his countenance. He stood before her, clear-eyed and determined, answering the clarion call to duty. A sense of pride swelled within her heart. This new William Warring was quite remarkable, she thought.

With a grand flourish, he poured the contents of the box out onto the wide desk before him. Gold sovereigns, bank notes of various denominations tumbled out - along with a handful of bank drafts and foreign currencies. It was a small fortune.

"This is amazing, my lord" exclaimed Lizzy as she gestured for the others to help her tally the money. William pulled up a chair, and silently sat down beside her. He did not join in with the accounting, but allowed himself the luxury of admiring her lovely profile.

Although not a breathtaking beauty by conventional standards of the ton, Lizzy's overall appearance was very pleasing to the eye. Her dark eyes, so bright and fine, could easily hold an admirer captive.

How exceedingly wonderful she looked when she frowned in serious concentration, he mused. She was the very picture of an intelligent and articulate mind, a generous heart emboldened by an intrepid spirit. He knew he had been a great fool at their first meeting - his arrogance and vanity had blinded him to her unsurpassed merits - and he had been suffering the sorry consequences ever since.

His eyes followed every movement of her elegant hands as she counted out the money and made the necessary entries in the ledger book. He recalled how those slim but supple fingers danced across the ivory of the keyboard, coaxing such heavenly sounds from the piano. He knew she was equally proficient with the harp. He longed to hear her sing and play again, for he doubted if he had ever heard anything that gave him greater pleasure. . .

He could scarcely believe it! He had never sat so close to the woman he adored - and allowed only chaste thoughts to cross his mind. He did not require the memories of their fervent kisses to inspire the sanguine happiness that was coursing through him at that moment. The pleasure of her company was bliss itself.

"Did I do well?" William spoke at last, with the eagerness of a young schoolboy.

"You have made an exceedingly impressive effort, my lord," Lizzy declared with an admiring smile as she reported the total sum.

He inclined his head modestly to acknowledge the effusive applause from everyone present. He then pulled out yet another bank draft from his pocket, and handed it to Lizzy.

"A donation from my father," he said simply.

She gasped when she saw the amount. "This is far too generous, my lord!"

"No, please do not dwell upon it," he implored sincerely. "It is for a worthy cause."

"If only we had your lordship's aid during our capital funding for the last orphanage!" Mrs. Philip Gardiner chimed in cheerfully. She was greatly indebted to this courageous rescuer of her son Joseph, and took every opportunity to express her appreciation of his friendship towards the Gardiner family.

"I fear I would have been of little help, madam," replied Lord Braunfield with a regretful shake of his dark head. "I believe I was hovering at death's door then - after my short stint as a live target for Sir David Lexington."

William spoke with complete candor, with no attempts to disguise or evade the truth. Lizzy had always admired honesty in her friends, and she found herself looking upon him with fresh eyes.

"A most painful and unforgettable lesson - putting an end to my misspent youth," he stated with undaunted humor. Turning to Lizzy, he added, "I have no fear that I shall ever require a similar lesson in the future."

"Oh," was all Lizzy could mutter in reply. His statement had brought back all the unpleasant circumstances that were associated with the shooting: his obnoxious behavior towards her, his obsession with his cousin Isabella after the rejection of his marriage proposal, his drunken spree, and his subsequent assignation with Lady Lexington - which was thwarted by the enraged husband with a pistol. . . He carried the scars of his transgression, as well as the burden of her unyielding harsh judgment of his character and lack of trust in his present reformation. . .

"Will you permit me . . . or do I ask too much . . . to render greater assistance in the planning as well as the construction of this new orphanage?" He asked in full earnest. "Your true dedication to this worthy cause has inspired me."

"I . . . all of us . . . shall be very honored, my lord," replied Lizzy, scarcely able to meet his eyes. She knew his offer was a compliment to her own self.

"Thank you!" he muttered gratefully, and turned to acknowledge the gracious ladies of the committee as well.

Their ensuing conversation centered on the new orphanage. Lord Braunfield proved to be rational and pragmatic, for he had learned much under the tutelage of Alexander Darcy at the Ridgemont mines. He pointed out issues of concern that the architect did not fully address in his preliminary plans - such as a clean water supply, and problems of treating effluence and foul cesspits. Although the scientific understanding of diseases was limited, Lord Braunfield appeared to be knowledgeable on the subject. There was a confident ease in his manner that invited friendly banter from all present. He was mindful and courteous to everyone, but it was well evident that Lizzy was the center of his attention.

Within an hour, he and Lizzy had regained the camaraderie that they shared prior to her unfortunate outburst at their chess game. The warmth in her manner towards him was genuine, and he gladly basked in it. Indeed, they seemed to have advanced to a new level of understanding - one imbued with greater trust and familiarity.

When their hands accidentally touched when they were both reaching for the building plans on the desk - bare hand against bare hand - she did not shy away immediately. This mildest contact sent William's heart into a near frenzy. He had been starved for her goodwill and smiles for so long. Sensation tore through him like a bolt of lightning. . .

He allowed his hand to linger over hers for a fleeting moment longer before he withdrew it with reluctance. She stole a quick glance at him, the bright glint in her fine eyes was mesmerizing. He felt as if she had flung her arms around his neck to bestow a sweet kiss of approval upon him. He fought against his own feverish longing to sweep her into his arms, and willed himself to remain stoically calm instead.

The present company seemed very sympathetic to this blossoming friendship. Lady Gardiner was a model of good sense, consideration and discretion; her relations and dear friends followed her excellent example in their own conduct. They were not the meddlesome sort who fed lively gossip to the rumor mills of the ton. They busied themselves with matters at hand, and minded their own assigned tasks. If they should glance over at the young couple out of sheer human curiosity, they did so very subtly and infrequently.

Of Lizzy Darcy's heart, they could only venture a guess, but it was evident to all that Lord Braunfield's admiration for the young lady was easily overflowing.

At least one of them knows what it is to be in love, mused Lady Gardiner. Fond recollections came to her mind of another young couple - Mr. Darcy and her niece Elizabeth - and their chance encounter nearly three decades ago at Pemberley. Lord Braunfield was certainly not another Fitzwilliam Darcy, thought Mrs. Gardiner, but he was a very remarkable young man nevertheless.

1st June, 1840
London

"Did you have an enjoyable evening?" Lord Braunfield anxiously queried as the meeting of the Society of the Abolition of Slavery and the Civilization of Africa came to an end. His guests nodded enthusiastically.

"His Royal Highness spoke very well. I am much impressed by his compassion and austere mind," said Alexander Darcy. Prince Albert was recently elected the President of the Society, and his speech to the Society that evening was outstanding.

"So exceedingly handsome!" giggled Emily Bingley with girlish admiration. "Such fair hair and wonderful blue eyes, such a tall and dashing figure. . ."

"I do like his slight mustache, and such very, very slight whiskers," agreed Margaret, indulging in a bit of frivolous feminine fun as well. Turning to Anthony, she added teasingly, "My dear husband, you should emulate his Royal Highness."

"I cannot comprehend why the newspapers make such cruel sport of Prince Albert. They are all very disrespectful of him," frowned Lizzy Darcy, her mood remained a solemn one. "Surely, anyone of sense can discern his excellent mind and high moral principles."

"His Royal Highness is German," explained Anthony Knightley with a regretful smile, "and from such a small duchy. We English can be very arrogant in our pride, and rather hostile to foreigners. I do not share such sentiments, of course, but such is the prevailing mood of the public."

Thoughtful silence greeted his words, until young Emily interrupted it with effusive words of gratitude for her noble cousin.

"I know not how you managed to secure our invitations this evening, but thank you so much! I am glad I did not claim fatigue from our journey home, and miss out on this evening entirely."

"Yes, indeed! We truly enjoyed it," concurred her sister Margaret.

"You honored me by being here," smiled Lord Braunfield graciously. "And tonight's discussion is of vital importance, do you not agree?"

"Our laws have abolished slavery, but it is still such an evil practice elsewhere in the world. I pray it will be eradicated very soon!" said Isabella Darcy.

"Yes! Most regretfully, slavery in the United States of America! It is a shameful and immoral exploitation of people, giving lies to the high principles which the young Republic is built upon," stated Lizzy with abject misery. Her admiration for America was great, but such injustices gnawed at her constantly.

"I fear political compromises will not solve the issue of slavery. Morality aside - the economic and social issues are so entwined with slavery in the southern states that the country will be torn apart - forced into a bloody conflict in the end," observed Lord Braunfield gloomily.

"No!" protested Lizzy with a horrified cry. "A civil war? Brother against brother? God forbid such unimaginable horror, my lord!"

"Even if slavery is abolished in America tomorrow," interjected Alexander thoughtfully, "true emancipation of the former slaves may take the work of generations."

"Sometimes, the only way to fight evil is through blood and fire," William muttered to himself, recalling his close brush with death and its consequences.

"Lord Braunfield has a point," said Anthony as he overheard his soft-spoken reflection. "War itself is horror, but there are noble causes that demand the just and virtuous to bear arms . . ."

"Speaking of noble causes - why are we fighting a war in China presently?" demanded Lizzy heatedly. "To protect the economic interest of unscrupulous English merchants selling opium - the poison mud - to the Orientals? Tell me, my honored MP, where is our Parliamentary opposition on this infamous opium war? What is the moral justification? Moreover, I think Parliament should be paying more attention to our internal problems. Bad harvests in the last few years have forced such raises in prices, causing much hardship for our people. Look at the troubles in Birmingham recently . . . a town ravaged by its own people!"

Her companions fell into a momentary silence. There would be no stopping Miss Elizabeth Darcy once she began a political discussion.

"May I suggest we return to Paxton Hall presently?" said their gallant host of the evening. "I think we must partake of some refreshments before we plunge into lengthy discourses on such weighty issues."

"We accept your gracious invitation, my lord," said Anthony with a relieved smile. He nodded to his wife and sister-in-law. They quickly took his arm on either side, and headed towards their waiting carriage.

"Miss Elizabeth?" asked Lord Braunfield as he offered her his arm to escort her to his own elegant equipage.

"Thank you, my lord," she smiled. "You are indeed very thoughtful and kind."

"Have I not told you before, Miss Elizabeth? You always bring out the best in me," he murmured softly. He tucked her gloved hand through his elbow, and pressed his other hand over hers in a possessive manner.

A strange sensation went through her - her earlier agitation seemed defused by his soothing touch. She inhaled several deep breaths, and felt his smile without actually seeing it.

He sighed - a pleasurable sound of contentment - followed by an almost inaudible endearment, "Oh, my sweet . . ."

She turned sharply to look at him. The street was well lit by gas lamps, and the evening fog had not set in. She could see him clearly as he met her gaze, the intense yearning in his heart unmistakable in his dark eyes. It was the same look he had before he kissed her so boldly at the Gardiners' Ball!

Lizzy fought hard to maintain her composure as she settled against the cushioned seat of the spacious carriage. She was determined to fend him off if he made any overt gestures of flirtation. Instead, she willed her mind to recall his insightful words on the thorny issue of slavery in America. As she had not expected such sagacity from him, she was duly impressed.

Isabella and Alexander ascended the next carriage. They sat together, purposefully leaving the seat by Lizzy's side vacant. It was their clear sign of goodwill towards Lord Braunfield. They would be lenient, and would not quibble if Lord Braunfield sought to display tender gestures of affection towards Lizzy - as long as he continued to conduct himself in the most gentlemanly manner.

Lizzy kept her eyes averted, staring down at her folded hands. William felt much closer than he actually was - the solid strength of his presence seemed to radiate across the small space between them - and she had never been more acutely aware of him. She was glad for the darkness in the carriage, and was grateful that the interior carriage lamp was unlit.

Seeking to divert her thoughts from William, she thought about her recent letter to W. His reply was brief, but it expressed a deeply personal camaraderie - one which he only hinted at in his previous correspondences. She did not take offense, but felt flattered and moved.

My dear Kindred Spirit,

I am glad to hear the good news - it seems his lordship is no fool after all. Indeed, it is very obvious that your steadfast friendship has inspired him to seek such worthy goals! I must confess that I cannot help but feel a tinge of envy towards his lordship. He is, indeed, in a very fortunate situation. If I should ever come forth to beg the same friendship of you, my dear lady, would you grant me a touch of your grace?

Please forgive me! I have spoken, or rather, written too much. Doubt not my utmost sincerity, for I remain, as ever, yours to command!

W

A sudden jostle of the carriage caused Lizzy to bump against William. Instinctively, he reached out to brace her with his arm, holding her firmly against his side as the road proved to be extremely bumpy.

Their unexpected contact was electrifying - all her senses were sharpened instantaneously. In her mind's eye, she saw once again his heroic rescue of Joseph Gardiner, and the way he had looked afterwards - his lean but muscular physique so clearly defined and accentuated by his wet lawn shirt and well-tailored breeches. . . No man had ever inspired such unladylike thoughts in her mind, and she had been deeply unsettled by such a realization.

She wondered how events would have unfolded otherwise, if she had overthrown her lofty ideals and iron discipline, and listened to her passionate heart! If she had yielded to his ardent pleadings in the garden that night, and had prolonged their feverish kissing, would he have seduced her, and induced a forced march to the altar?

Oh, William Warring! You will be the death of me, lamented Lizzy in silence as she tried to edge away from him. She felt a blush of the deepest crimson come upon her face. When he did remove his arm from her, he immediately reached behind her to clutch at the silken loop which was dangling at the side of the window, as if he needed to steady himself for the duration of the ride. This movement allowed him to remain close to her, and she realized she could not evade him without making a scene.

It was so dark in the carriage! Their chaperones would surely voice a stern reproach at Lord Braunfield if they could see clearly! The silence that hung over them felt like a heavy cloak - discouraging general conversation whilst allowing whispers of more intimate nature. Therefore, it was more likely for Alexander to confess sweet endearments in Isabella's ear than to be on vigilant guard against Lord Braunfield. The prospect of being a father again had quite altered his habitual solemnity. He was more smitten with his wife than ever before, and in turn, had become more demonstrative with his affections in public.

Lizzy was determined not to dwell upon the awkwardness of her present situation. To her chagrin, her thoughts did not stray from his lordship at all! She could no longer deny the intense feelings that surged throughout her whenever he was near.

She imagined being the wife of such a man - so devastatingly attractive and charming when he willed it. Yet, when grand passions cooled, what would be left in its stead? The miserable example of her Aunt Lydia and Mr. Wickham was the constant reminder of unbridled passions and its follies. No lasting happiness could result from such a union if abiding love and mutual respect were not of equal magnitude!

When they reached Paxton Hall, Lizzy found herself being handed down from the carriage - not by one of his lordship's trusted footmen or by her brother Alexander - but by Lord Braunfield himself!

"Welcome to Paxton Hall," William said as he beamed at her. He welcomed his other guests as well, but she remained the center of his attention. He did not relinquish his hold upon her hand, but proceeded to escort her up the front steps with ceremonial courtesy. As he remained clutching her small gloved hand by the fingertips, it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world for him to do -- to bring her home with him.

"Thank you," Lizzy stammered politely as she entered his palatial townhouse. She stole a shy glance at him, not quite meeting his eyes, but found herself staring at those sensuously masculine lips of his.

What a moment to recall the fever of his kisses! she admonished herself silently.

"Is something amiss?" William asked her immediately, as if he sensed her inner turmoil. "Does Paxton Hall displease you? It is rather ostentatious - my mother has a penchant for extravagance and grandiose."

"No, no . . . no," she said hastily. Out of politeness, she added, "It is magnificent - I doubt if there is anyone who disapproves."

"Too much of late Baroque," he complained mildly. "I prefer a more refined and elegant style - I think Pemberley is the ideal."

"Thank you, my lord," Lizzy stammered again.

William added, with a meaningful look, "As for Pemberley's natural setting, I have never beheld a finer vista. I am particularly fond of the Great Tree, the exquisite lake, and its lush environs, a demi-paradise to be sure."

"We are all very fond of the Great Tree, my lord," acknowledged Alexander with a bemused smile. He was glad to see his friend in such a jaunty mood.

Poor William had been suffering like a lovesick calf for so long, thought Alexander. It was high time for Lizzy to welcome his courtship, and to yield her stubborn heart at last!

Continued In Next Section