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Chapter 30

Posted on Monday, 11 September 2006

Gretna Green
Scotland

"If that young man is Homer Alban, I dare say Lady Julia Berringworth has not chosen him for his looks or mode of fashion," remarked Andrew Fitzwilliam with a bemused chuckle as he gestured at the young couple standing some distance away - in an old churchyard near the village green.

Their journey to Gretna had not been in vain - Lady Julia was there! Presently, she did not look like a blushing bride, for she seemed to be engaged in a heated argument with the young man in question.

"Not a pleasant prospect," muttered Lord Ashbourne gloomily as he strode determinedly towards them.

"A lovers' spat? Or is she regretting her elopement already?" wondered Andrew aloud.

He was hoping for the former scenario; for he did not want his cousin to be saddled with the burden of bringing a runaway bride home to Derbyshire. If Thomas was convinced he had no chance of ever winning Jane Darcy's heart, he might feel compelled to marry the chit simply to offer her his protection.

They could hear snippets of the argument. "How dare you make such a suggestion?" she cried. "You are too overwrought to be reasonable," he retorted. The couple had not noticed the new arrivals until they were directly upon them.

Julia stared unblinkingly at them, before crying out in astonishment. "Lord Ashbourne! Mr. Fitzwilliam!"

Homer Alban took a bold step forward, placing himself squarely in front of Lady Julia. It was not immediately apparent whether Alban was shielding his lady from potential harm, or whether he was preventing her from bolting away.

"Lady Julia," said Lord Ashbourne with a deep bow, ignoring Alban entirely. Andrew marveled at his cousin's refined manners - he looked as if he were greeting his lady in an elegant drawing room in London.

"My lord," she stammered, her eyes darting nervously between the gentlemen.

Lord Ashbourne turned his attention to the stranger standing so defiantly before him. Not handsome, but a pleasant clean-shaven face, graced with a pair of piercing green eyes. Though short of stature, and a bit on the stout side, Alban carried himself well. His attire was well-tailored but dark and sober, not of the latest cut or style. Alban was definitely not a popinjay of the ton.

"Mr. Alban, I presume?" said Thomas in an authoritative tone. He realized that he was towering over the younger man - a significant advantage when one sought to intimidate one's adversary.

"Yes," came the firm reply. It was a confident voice - neither shrill nor overbearing - and it reflected the character of the man. "I do not know how you managed to find us, Lord Ashbourne, but I see that you have brought your Second. . . Very well . . . I have a pacific nature, but I shall not evade the challenge of a duel - since the honor of my Julia is at stake."

"You speak very boldly, sir," said Lord Ashbourne evenly. "And you have preempted me. As I am Lady Julia's fiancé, I should be the one to throw down the gauntlet instead." He smiled despite himself. "I feel obliged to tell you that I am an excellent shot."

"No! Dear Heaven! Not a duel over me!" cried Lady Julia in despair. She literally flung herself upon Lord Ashbourne, clutching at him in a frantic manner.

"I beg you, my lord, please spare Homer! I am the guilty party - I jilted you at the altar, left you without any word of warning or apology. I have inflicted the most grievous insult upon you and your family. I knew I owed you, at the very least, an honest explanation before my flight from Beauchamp, but I was too agitated and overwhelmed. Please forgive me!"

"It is long past the hour for a plea of mercy, my dear," said Alban as he tried in vain to pull Julia away from the viscount.

Thomas clasped his hands firmly upon Julia's slender shoulders, holding her captive. He met Alban's challenging gaze, and declared, "My marriage contract with Lady Julia must take precedence over your elopement. As I see no wedding band on her finger, I must assume that you are not her husband yet. Therefore, by rights and tradition, Lady Julia is still under my protection - my affianced lady until our engagement is formally broken . . . Or, pending her final decision, our marriage vows may yet be solemnized after all."

"No!" Alban voiced his protest with vehemence. "You don't have any rights. Julia does not love you. No amount of gold or prestige of noble titles can compensate for her sufferings. And suffer she will, because she knows that I love her as deeply and desperately as she loves me!"

"What do you have to offer Lady Julia, sir?" interjected Andrew Fitzwilliam, speaking up for the first time during this confrontation.

"My pure heart and my fidelity," Alban said, his voice shaking with great emotion. "I cannot boast of having an impeccable pedigree, great wealth or vast estates, but I can offer Julia a comfortable home, respectable society, and a circle of decent relations and friends. My family is well respected in Boston - my grandfathers and several of my great-uncles were Sons of Liberty and veterans of the Revolutionary War. I am a lawyer by profession, but my family still owns a thriving business in trade."

"I hope you are not a weaver of tales, Mr. Homer Alban, like your namesake - Homer of the Iliad and Odyssey," said Andrew. There was a touch of menace in his pleasant voice.

Alban was no fool. He understood the implication of Andrew's words. "Sir, you hear nothing but the truth from me. Englishmen do not hold the sole claim to honor and duty," he retorted boldly. "I have my credentials if you care to verify them. I swear by all that I hold sacred, that I love Lady Julia."

Lord Ashbourne nodded thoughtfully. He turned his attention to Lady Julia, and said gently, almost fatherly in tone. "What is your true wish, my dear? When I came upon you and Mr. Alban, you were exchanging rather heated words. If you have changed your mind about him, you may come safely home with me. We have kept your elopement a guarded secret. Not a word of scandal will be breached. Your honor is unblemished, and . . . my pledge to you . . . well. . .it still stands."

Lady Julia was too astounded to speak. She stared at him dumbfounded, her pretty mouth agape. "You will take me back?" she asked at last.

He thought of Jane Darcy and the hopelessness of it all. Slowly and somberly, he replied, "I shall not forsake you."

Andrew Fitzwilliam gasped loudly, but kept his peace.

"You would forgive my elopement?" she continued her questioning in amazement.

"If you return to your maiden home, unwed and . . .well . . . if this rash act of youthful misjudgment ever leaks out, you shall suffer unbearable infamy," replied Lord Ashbourne stoically.

"Julia!" cried Alban in desperation, a look of abject misery on his face. "Why are you toying with him? Asking such outrageous questions? Please, I beg of you, forgive my earlier outbursts. You know I cannot live without you."

Lady Julia took a long moment to gather her thoughts, and turned once more to Lord Ashbourne. "My lord, I am ever so grateful for your chivalry! You are so ready to make sacrifices - for someone as undeserving as I. Alas, I must decline your most gallant offer. I do love Homer, and my life is his!"

"Oh, my own Julia!" exclaimed Alban joyously as she flew into his welcoming arms.

Lord Ashbourne grinned, genuinely charmed by the sweet scene of reconciliation before him. After a moment, he ventured a question, "Why were you quarrelling?"

"Homer wanted to visit my parents after our wedding to beg their forgiveness and ask for their blessings, whilst I wanted to announce our nuptials in the Morning Post, and then take the first available ship to Boston. Going back to my parents would be disastrous - my father will not hesitate to shoot my new husband on sight - thus, making me a widow! In the eyes of Society, a fallen maiden is unforgivable shame, but a young widow with a rich dowry is entirely different. My father will gleefully arrange for my new marriage with another nobleman - someone I dare wager will not be as wonderful as you, my lord. I would rather kill myself than suffer such horrors!"

"Self murder?" repeated Lord Ashbourne with an oddly bemused smile. "You are dressed in bridal finery - suitable for a wedding, not a funeral." Turning to Alban, he offered his hand as a sign of friendship, "I think we shall mutually call off our proposed duel of honor?"

"Yes, thank you!" smiled Alban in full relief. "Dueling is, after all, illegal. As a lawyer, I must respect the law."

Thomas shared a hearty laugh over this observation. "As I am Lord Berringworth's proxy in this current mission to secure his daughter's safety, I shall take my implicit authority to its limits. In fact, I shall walk the bride down the aisle personally - to ensure she marries the man she loves. Fitzwilliam can stand as your best man."

Alban swallowed hard, scarcely believing that his long suffering was at an end.

"Shall we, my lady?" said Lord Ashbourne to the blushing bride as he took her arm to lead her to the small church nearby.

"Oh, thank you, my lord, for everything. I do adore you!" exclaimed Julia effusively as she stood on tiptoe to bestow a grateful kiss upon his cheek.

"Now, now, my dear," said he with fatherly solemnity, although his eyes were filled with genuine laughter, "from this day on, such tender sentiments should be reserved exclusively for your own husband."

"Yes, my lord," promised Julia. "I shall be a devoted wife and mother. Homer and I shall always think of you as our dearest friend and protector."

"I am honored, madam," he replied with a formal bow.

Seeing such happiness for Lady Julia and her true love only served to make his own future seem that much more dismal than ever before.

Paxton Hall
London

Lord Paxton presided over the dinner party with his habitual affability, regarding each guest with the indulgent smiles of a benevolent father. It was an informal gathering with his Bingley nieces and their families; unexceptional in its nature, and familiar in its mood. The aged earl felt quite sanguine. If he had been disappointed to discover that his son had yet to secure Miss Elizabeth's heart, he remained in buoyant hope.

The lively discourse, which the present company had begun after their attendance of Prince Albert's speech, had continued unabated. Well-informed, articulate, and compassionate, these privileged young people were keenly concerned with the political issues of the day, and were genuinely dedicated to public service.

"May I entreat you all to a viewing of a newly commissioned portrait as our after-dinner diversion?" suggested Lord Paxton.

"An excellent idea, my lord," concurred Anthony Knightley. "Perhaps you will treat us to a personally guided tour of the Grand Gallery as well - complete with family anecdotes?"

His suggestion was met with eager enthusiasm by all. As close relations and family friends, they had visited Paxton Hall countless times over the years - but like all other guests, they had never given the Warring family portraits more than a passing glance. Indeed, all great manors in the British Isles were filled with such similar treasure troves of ancestral paintings - so abundant that they were often treated as commonplace objects, and thus considered as interesting as colorful wall-coverings. The only paintings which could still command an admiring eye or a lingering view were the ones accredited to the Old Masters.

Lord Paxton laughed amiably as he led his guests upstairs. "Alas, you will find a few rogues amongst the illustrious." His lordship's gout seemed to have subsided, for he walked with a jaunty step rather unexpected in someone of his old age and infirmities. Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth Darcy could be given due credit for his lordship's merry mood. She had graciously taken his arm when he offered it, and he gladly basked in the delight of her company.

"This is William Arthur Warring," began Lord Paxton as he pointed to a large painting of a knight in full regalia, staring down at them with the fierce dark eyes and arrogant face that bespoke a nature of unyielding harshness but honorable character. "A loyal friend of Henry of Bolingbroke. He became the Baron of Paxton when Bolingbroke took the crown as Henry IV." He gestured to the next portrait of another battle-hardened face, "William, the second Baron, who fought at Agincourt by the side of Henry V. The third Baron supported Henry Tudor, and was elevated to Earl after the ascension of Henry VII."

Anthony Knightley took note of the family motto: Amat victorica curam. Translating from the Latin, he remarked, "Victory favors those who take pains. Very apt! The sight of such formidable warriors must have sent their enemies running from the battlefield."

"And a few of their own descendants as well," confessed Lord Braunfield with a hearty chuckle. "When I was small, I used to cry at the sight of these paintings, so you can imagine my boyhood nightmares. I still shudder at the thought of how severely disappointed my ancestors would be if they knew me personally."

"I beg to differ, my lord. I think there is much hope for the reformed William Warring," stated Lizzy thoughtfully as she gazed at the family portraits. Her assertion was quickly affirmed by her fellow guests.

"Thank you," said Lord Braunfield with unassuming modesty.

"The Warring family lineage harkened back to a Henri de la Guerre who, as his name signified, fought at Hastings," continued Lord Paxton with his narration. "Manorial records from mid-13th century showed the spelling of de la Guerre being anglicized to de Warre as well as Warring."

Lord Paxton paused briefly before he gestured to a small portrait of a solemn, brooding man with a deeply haunted look in his eyes. "This is the newly commissioned work that I wished you to see. The likeness is authentic - taken directly from a very old miniature. Here, we come to an interesting twist in the family history - a chapter not often told. After Henry VIII broke with the Roman Church, there was much upheaval in the realm. Arthur Fitzwilliam Warring, the second Earl of Paxton, was implicated in the Catholic uprisings in the north in 1536, found guilty of treason, and was beheaded at the Tower."

There was a collective shudder amongst his guests - they could well imagine the gruesome end of the nobleman. A heavy mood engulfed them. No one spoke - for want of suitable words for such an unexpected revelation.

Alexander Darcy was the first to break the silence. Looking directly at Lord Paxton, he said, "I think our ancestors crossed each other's paths during those fateful days of the Pilgrimage of Grace. Baron Thomas Darcy* was my ancestor."

"I read about Baron Darcy," said Lord Braunfield thoughtfully, "A remarkable man, renowned for his honor and valor, earning much accolade under the reign of Henry VII."

Alexander nodded, amazed that Lord Braunfield should know the Darcy family history. "Lord Darcy incurred the wrath of Henry VIII when he surrendered the stronghold of Pontefract Castle to the rebels. He was beheaded for high treason as well."

"Truly tragic business - having to choose between God and King," remarked Anthony Knightley.

"Very tragic indeed," murmured Lord Paxton pensively. He brightened up as he added, "Fortunately, the Darcy family is blessed with very worthy descendants in all the succeeding generations - flourishing and faring exceedingly well ever since."

"We are thankful for all our blessings," said Alexander with a gracious smile.

Lizzy gazed at the portrait of the 2nd Earl thoughtfully. The face was not a classically handsome one, but it was strong and pleasant. The pensive look in his intelligent eyes reflected the mind of a philosopher rather than a warrior. Lizzy stole a glance at Lord Braunfield, and saw the striking family resemblance. Although William had his good looks from Lady Paxton, he possessed the commanding air and the intense dark eyes of the second Earl. He was a worthy avatar of an ancestor who defended his principles to the bitter end.

William added with a chuckle, "My mother was none too pleased when my father first commissioned the portrait of such an infamous personage. She is not one who likes to acknowledge anything less than glorious in our family's history."

"Yes, indeed. My Caroline will throw such a fit when she sees this painting," remarked Lord Paxton with a forlorn look. "I firmly believe, however, my family's gallery of honor is incomplete without it."

"The second Earl died for his faith - a traitor in the eyes of his King, to be sure, but certainly a martyr for his church," observed Lizzy astutely.

Her perceptive logic won her admiring smiles of approval from her host. Lord Paxton's eyes twinkled with impish mischief as he continued their promenade. "As for the Warring wives and daughters - each of them capable and remarkable women, to be sure - but regrettably, not a pretty face amongst the lot. My dear son is well aware of his filial duty to remedy such a pitiful situation."

The implication of his lordship's last statement was not lost upon his guests. All eyes glanced instinctively towards Lizzy. Her face grew crimson upon such close scrutiny.

"Aunt Caroline is much admired for her beauty," protested the Bingley girls in unison, out of their sense of familial loyalty and devotion.

"Indeed, Lady Paxton commands such attention wherever she goes," remarked Lizzy. She had recovered sufficiently from her earlier embarrassment to venture a mirthful remark. "There are so many excellent portraits of her ladyship throughout Paxton Hall to remind us of her superfluous beauty."

There was a hint of irreverence in her lively eyes, and William caught sight of it before she glanced away. He smiled - appreciative of her honesty and delighted by her satirical wit.

"Alas, I am put to shame. My lady wife's beauty is striking," conceded Lord Paxton. "However, she has been away in Paris for so long - her image has become somewhat less vivid in all my fond recollections of her." Father and son exchanged a meaningful look.

"I believe my father is referring to a different kind of beauty - the truest kind that I have learned to cherish as well," said William in surprising candor. He was looking directly at Lizzy with unabashed admiration.

Awkward silence greeted his confession. Did the viscount mean to declare his heart so openly to Lizzy Darcy, in the presence of company?

"Will Aunt Caroline be home soon?" asked Emily Bingley out of politeness. If the truth be admitted, she was terrified of Lady Paxton.

Lord Paxton shook his head rather woefully. "Other than routine matters with our Parisian bankers, I have no inkling of my wife's future plans."

His son interjected with a good-humored laugh, and a nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders. "You all know Paris well - everything en vogue, be it fashion or entertainment, always come with such pretty prices. My mother is ever so fond of presiding over her fashionable salon."

Polite smiles and affirmations greeted his teasing words. Somehow the mention of Lady Paxton had put a jarring note over their cordial mood. Noting the late hour of the night, the guests expressed a collective wish to end their visit.

William allowed everyone to proceed before him. As Lizzy walked passed him, he held up his hand tentatively to detain her.

"Elizabeth?" he said softly.

"Yes, my lord?" she said. Her easy smile turned apprehensive as she suddenly realized that they were alone. Everyone else had reached the end of the gallery, and was descending the grand staircase.

"Thank you for this evening - and for all the recent days that you have allowed my company. I have enjoyed every moment - especially our lively debates of Whig versus Tory politics, and the daunting political tasks faced by Lord Melbourne. The Prime Minister certainly has his hands full."

He took a step closer to her, and added meaningfully, "I admire a woman who is not afraid to speak her mind - especially when she has a good heart, and speaks with perceptive insights."

"Thank you, my lord," she stammered awkwardly; her heart beating in a wild cadence whenever he came near her.

He was standing so close to her - she could hardly formulate a rational thought or maintain her composure. Despite his formal manners, she was acutely aware of the hidden passions that had been simmering, threatening to boil over at the first sign of encouragement.

How long can I resist throwing my arms around him, feeling his lips once more against mine? she wondered.

They both knew the potential dangers, but neither one of them was brave enough to make the first move: her fears of being another Lydia Wickham were ever increasing, and he - who had suffered such emotional torment because of her - was biding his time for the most opportune moment.

"In regard to Mr. W - I have something of vital importance to reveal to you," William began at last. "Not everything is what you perceive it to be."

"If you wish to criticize Mr. W again, let me forewarn you, my lord, I shall not hear of it!" she replied, an inexplicable and sudden anger rising within her.

"I have no wish to speak disparagingly of W," he answered her calmly. "I admire the man very much - indeed, I feel a very close affinity to him whenever I read his essays - in particular, the new one on child labor legislations. Aside from his writing, however, you know nothing of him. Your idol may have feet of clay after all."

"Outside my own family circle, I have rarely encountered such a brilliant mind and noble spirit," she said defensively. "Mr. W has my highest esteem."

"Your highest esteem? You are entirely infatuated with W, aren't you? Quite in love with him altogether?" he cried in sudden agitation. He felt shaken to the core by his own agitation. Winning Elizabeth's heart had been his most challenging task, and now, he suddenly realized there was a new impediment - he alone was responsible for creating the only serious rival for her affections.

How ever did I get myself into such a quandary? He lamented in silence.

"In love with Mr. W?" she asked incredulously. "The idea is too absurd for words, my lord!" Oddly, such a thought had never crossed her mind before, but it was startling real in its possibility.

He grimaced, feeling more despondent than before, "If you did not care for him, you would not be so defensive whenever I broach the subject of W."

"I have had quite enough of this conversation, my lord. My choice of friends is none of your concern. And now, I must rejoin my family," she said boldly. She was shocked by his outrageous assessment of her attachment to W., and was unsettled by her raw emotions.

"Please, Elizabeth," he pleaded urgently, his anger subsiding as he tried to master his overwrought emotions. "Stay with me . . . for a moment longer. Let us not part from each other on such a harsh note."

The tattered leash must not give way! He admonished himself sternly.

"I must take my leave, my lord," she said. Even an innocent could comprehend the implication of the smoldering fire and raw intensity in his dark eyes.

"I beg you, Elizabeth!"

His self-restraint had finally reached its breaking point. He reached out to take her hand in his - soft, fragrant and delicate skin against his rougher palm - and he knew he was lost before he kissed it, pressing it against his pounding heart.

"William. . ." she said uncertainly, her melodic voice trembled perceptively. It was intended as an appeal for mercy. To him, however, it sounded like a lover's seductive caress.

He groaned - muttered a tortured cry of her name - as he seized her into his arms, crushing his mouth down upon hers. He kissed her with feverish passion, imbued with the desperate hopes and yearnings that he had tried to suppress since their first kiss under the Great Tree at Pemberley.

The intimacy and intensity of this kiss was like nothing she had ever experienced - it went beyond their searing kiss at the Gardiner Ball - for it was tumbling headlong into the realm of true passion!

A soft moan escaped her lips - the mere sound of her voice seemed to send a bolt of lightning through him. He released her mouth long enough to murmur endearments against her ear before he began to lavish fiery kisses upon her velvety neck.

"No, please . . . no . . .oh, dear!" she mumbled faintly, feeling as if she was being drawn into a tidal wave. She threw her arms tightly around his neck - like a drowning victim in a raging sea, clinging onto the only solid lifeline she could find. At that moment, her mind finally acknowledged what her heart knew: William Warring was the only man to hold such irresistible power over her. Yielding to his will would be in a matter of heartbeats!

He responded to her pleading words by recapturing her mouth once more. His ardor was ever increasing as he drew her closer. He yearned to carry her off with him - to break down the barriers, to sweep away all their misunderstandings, and to finally establish a perfect rapport between them.

Suddenly, he broke off their embrace - as unexpectedly as he had begun it. He took two quick steps backwards, and extended an arm to keep her at a distance. She was swaying, entirely weak at the knees, as if she would topple over without his support.

"What more do you want of me, Elizabeth?" he demanded in a fierce cry, flustered and angered by his lack of discipline. Once again, he had forced his kisses upon her, and she had responded to him as though she was consumed by the same fever. But he knew it all too well - when Reason resumed its proper command in her disciplined world, it would drive her further away from him.

Lizzy was too breathless to answer him. She fought for some vestige of control over the torrent of emotions that was raging throughout her. She was too dazed and bewildered to think properly. She stared back at him, her pretty mouth agape, and unconscious of the irresistibly alluring image she presented, for it drove him to utter more frantic words.

"W writes you letters - words imbued with subtle sentiments, woeful regret and implied passion. He is a phantom without a true name or face, yet you are literally swooning over him, defending him as if he is your lover! Deny it if you wish, but the truth is glaringly blatant: W has seduced your heart. I stand before you, a mortal man of blood and sinew, who dreams of you every night and pines for you each morning. What astounding feats do you wish me to perform before you will grant me your trust . . . your heart?"

"William. . . you are speaking wildly. . ." she protested . She shivered, from the strange coldness that had descended upon her the moment he thrust her away from his arms.

Does he realize how hard I have been trying to nurture deeper feelings for him, and his outburst has all but doused the flickering new flames of love? She fumed in frustration.

"What more do you want of me?" he repeated, his voice thick with emotion.

"Nothing . . . nothing else . . . I want no more from you," she muttered, feeling inexplicably weak and weary. She had answered his question numbly, without realizing how misconstrued her words sounded. What she wanted most at that particular moment was to take refuge in the haven of his strong arms again.

Poor William! In his over-wrought condition, her brisk reply sounded like an unequivocal rejection of him. He gasped as if he was in physical pain, as though she had plunged a sharp dagger directly into his heart. Bitterness and disappointment surged forth, and he felt sick to the core of his being.

She waited in vain for him to speak - but he was as still and silent as a stone statue.

"Lizzy?" came Isabella's soft and tentative call from the far end of the Grand Gallery. Beside her stood Alexander, looking like one of the formidable Warring knights of old. One could easily discern the stern disapproval in his eyes, despite the distance and the dark shadows in the hall.

"Yes, Bella . . . I shall join you presently," exclaimed Lizzy with false bravado, exceedingly relieved by the sight of her brother and sister. She forced herself to appear calm, and not fly into her brother's protective arms. "I am sorry I have tarried behind. Lord Braunfield and I were . . . discussing the merits of different political commentators, and neither of us took notice of the time."

One would have to be blind to be oblivious to the state of Lizzy's appearance. With her crimson blush, her swollen lips, her once perfect coiffure now in a disheveled state, she looked like a young woman who had indulged in an amorous tryst rather than an intellectual discourse.

With diplomatic aplomb, Isabella approached her with a reassuring smile, and placed a comforting arm around her shoulder instead. "Nothing to signify, my dear Lizzy. Anthony has already taken Margaret and Emily home. Our own carriage awaits us at our leisure."

Alexander allowed his wife to lead his sister away before he stepped forward to confront Lord Braunfield. With his superior height and physique, he loomed over him like an avenging angel, a sight that would frighten fainter hearts.

"Well, Braunfield?" Alexander demanded with rigid formality, in a low and menacing voice. "Explain yourself, sir! Or do I have to call you out to defend my sister's honor?"

"I kissed her - driven to the edge of madness by my desperate love for her," confessed William. There was a slight hitch in his voice as he added in resignation, "Do what you must, Darcy . . . Shoot me . . . pummel me into a bloody heap as your brother did to Lord Ashbourne . . . I care not."

Alexander studied his woeful face and sorrowful eyes. "You are in real agony. I think it is not you, but your other self - the mysterious Mr. W - that I should challenge to a duel of honor. As for you, my friend, I have no fonder wish than to stand with you as your best man at your wedding."

William nodded, ever grateful for his friend's compassion and understanding. "Yes! At this very moment, I would gladly put a bullet through Mr. W myself!"

"Perhaps you should - figuratively speaking - kill off Mr. W with swift vengeance," suggested Alexander earnestly. "W may continue his political commentaries for the general public, but I believe it is wise for him to terminate all further correspondence with a certain young lady. From what I have witnessed thus far, I believe she will be furious and deeply hurt when she finds out the truth about W."

William nodded in silent acquiescence. He saw no other alternative, but to heed his mentor's advice.

"Lizzy, I must have a word with you," said Alexander solemnly as soon as they returned home. He had held his peace during the brief carriage ride home, but he could not ignore his sense of honor and duty.

Lizzy eyed her elder brother wearily, and turned to Isabella with a pleading look.

"It is getting rather late," said Isabella on Lizzy's behalf.

"I fear this matter cannot be delayed further," said Alexander firmly. After dismissing the butler and servants standing in attendance, he gestured towards his private study.

Lizzy clutched Isabella's arm, and walked towards the study like a doomed prisoner. Judging from his stern look, she could guess what was on her brother's mind. She took the preemptive measure, and spoke up immediately.

"Please allow me to explain. Lord Braunfield was . . . well. . . I was equally guilty for what transpired," confessed Lizzy, no longer fighting to hold back her hot tears.

Alexander took her hand in his and gave it an encouraging squeeze, before he spoke to her in a fatherly manner. "You harbor far deeper affections for Lord Braunfield than you are willing to admit. If you allow him to court you properly, in the conventional manner . . ."

"To what avail?" she protested in tears, interrupting him. "Lord Braunfield had left a trail of broken hearts behind him in the past Seasons - accounts of his exploits are still on people's lips. I refuse to have my name mentioned in such delirium by the gossip mongers."

"His intentions toward you are entirely honorable, I assure you."

"You are his best friend," she cried. "You are too magnanimous, and always willing to overlook his faults."

"Lizzy!" came his immediate retort. "You are the most obstinate creature. Flaws and fragilities are part of the human condition. We must embrace our loved ones - with all their warts and glories."

She was rendered mute by his words. He seized upon the opportunity to champion Lord Braunfield's cause. "Lord Braunfield's wild past will always be a blemish upon his honor, but must you continue to punish him? Turn your back against this remarkable young man? My dear sister, I challenge you to name one other gentleman besides William Warring, who will smile so indulgently and proudly at you when you are determined to be strong-willed and outspoken. Who else in Her Majesty's realm will listen so patiently to you, never responding in a patronizing or condescending tone? Someone who always praises your opinions when you are both in agreement, but makes an earnest effort to comprehend your strong views when they are so different from his own? Never one to put you in your place, or make claim to superior masculine prerogatives - and most importantly -- endure your mercurial moods with great perseverance, honest understanding and good cheer."

"I can name several such admirable men - you, Papa, James . . ." she replied defiantly.

"I mean outside of our family circle," he said patiently, folding his arms to await her answer.

"There is one other man," she said out of sheer stubbornness - her mind suddenly turned to Mr. W - her sage friend and kindred spirit.

"Name him!" demanded Alexander.

"I shall not divulge the name of the honorable gentleman." She was too ill-humored to capitulate graciously, "You look as though you wish to shoot him at this moment."

"Don't be ridiculous, Lizzy!" he growled, in a rare loss of his excellent temper.

His stern demeanor, however, was softened by her growing distress. Never one prone to vapors or hysterics, Lizzy was now in a flood of tears. He tried to comfort her with a brotherly embrace. "Mark my words, my dear sister. William Warring's good merits far exceed the sum of his bad ones. Do not ride rough shod over his generous heart, or you will live to regret it."

She nodded her head reluctantly, but would not stay to listen anymore. After a hasty goodnight, she dashed out of the room, leaving her brother to stare after her with a deep sense of foreboding.

Isabella sighed, exasperated by the vexing situation as well. "Lizzy is so fearful of being like Aunt Lydia."

"Lizzy is not Lydia Wickham - not in the least" he protested emphatically. "And your cousin William is definitely not another George Wickham. Lizzy should think of our parents' excellent example of connubial bliss, instead of clouding her mind with horrid images of the marital hell of the Wickhams."

"Let us hope that Lord Braunfield has also cultivated an immeasurable degree of forbearance during his amazing reformation."

Lord Braunfield plunged into deeper gloom as he sat down to pen W's letter to Kindred Spirit. How naïve and erroneous he had been, thinking that he could woo her and win her heart as W?

Oh, the devil take it! William growled in frustration as he literally stabbed his pen at the parchment with his signatory "W." He downed a tall glass of mineral water, grimaced at the bland taste of it, and fought against a sudden urge for French cognac. For a fleeting moment, he thought of his old chums - a frivolous and foppish lot - who could amuse him with their reckless antics for a spell. Any diversion, he mused, would be preferable over another solitary night in his bedchamber.

He muttered another curse - at himself and at the current state of affairs - as he headed out of his palatial home. The coolness of an early summer's night did nothing to ease his over-wrought temper.

Lizzy awoke from her restless slumber to find a new letter from W on a silver tray by her nightstand. In her eagerness, she did not pause to question its unusual appearance since it had not been delivered in its usual manner by her trusted courier, Anthony Knightley. Unbeknownst to her, Lord Braunfield had handed his letter directly to her brother earlier this morning; Alexander, in turn, had entrusted Isabella to complete the errand.

A sense of bereavement engulfed Lizzy as she read the letter. W did not spare her feelings with any words of remorse or tenderness, but cut directly to the matter:

To Kindred Spirit,

Against my better judgment, I have allowed our friendship on parchment to exceed the strict rules of propriety and common sense. Words and thoughts thusly passed between us that would never have been voiced if you and I ever met in a drawing room - face to face.

The luxury of anonymity has its ultimate price, and regretfully, I am not prepared to pay it. Therefore, dear lady, do not respond to this letter for I must beseech you to cease all further correspondence between us.

Adieu. I humbly wish you health and happiness.

Yours etc.

W

Wiping the hot tears from her eyes, she wrote her response immediately. It would be in defiance of W's expressed wish, but she could not allow this rare friendship of kindred minds to die an ignoble death without expressing her sentiments. She had spent so much of her private time in the company of his letters - had spoken her mind more openly to him than she did to her own family and relations via her lengthy missives. She had no fear that her letters would ever be flaunted in public, or be a source for blackmail. For whatever reason that prompted W to end their platonic friendship so abruptly - it had to be a strong reason - she knew she could still trust him implicitly.

Meanwhile, Lord Braunfield's accusing words continued to echo in her ears: You are entirely infatuated with W, aren't you? Quite in love with him altogether?

Through her tears and heartache, she finally knew the truth. No, she was not in love with Mr. W, but she was certainly guilty of severe infatuation. She had admired W as a larger than life hero, thought of him with girlish adoration and feminine sentimentality. Her emotions were heightened by the sense of romanticism and mystery that shrouded his true identity.

In the end, it no longer mattered. Young or old, handsome or repulsive, strong or infirmed, W had remained her sage friend. She could not find fault with his wise decision to end their unconventional but increasingly intimate friendship on parchment.

With a heavy heart, she bundled all the letters from W with a faded pink satin ribbon, and placed them within a small, exquisitely carved Bengal box - her birthday gift from her Uncle and Aunt Fitzwilliam - but it would now serve as a repository for W's letters. She buried the box deep within her wardrobe, whispered a prayer, and dried her tears. Mr. W would not want her to be such a sentimentalist over him.

Her thoughts returned to Lord Braunfield - or more truthfully, he was never absent from her thoughts, even when her mind became preoccupied by other serious matters. She realized that she had been unnecessarily cruel towards him - unintentionally done, to be sure, but she would not commit the same mistake again. She would not torture him with another offer of friendly reconciliation. If she cared a whit about him, she would have to take a decisive step indeed.

"Good morning!" greeted Lizzy brightly as she came into the breakfast room. "May I join you?"

"Elizabeth . . .er . . . good morrow to you," Lord Braunfield stammered in surprise as he scrambled to his feet to greet her with a formal bow. Alexander Darcy had invited him for breakfast after their customary morning ride in Hyde Park, but he did not expect to see any ladies of the Darcy household at such an early hour.

"Certainly. The omelet is exceptionally good today," invited her brother as he waved her to a chair by his side. The servants hurried to prepare a fresh place setting for her.

"Thank you," smiled Lizzy as she took a sip of her coffee.

Alexander studied his sister's face for a long moment. There were dark circles of fatigue around her eyes - bearing a sharp contrast to her cheerful countenance. She was far from being as sanguine as she appeared to be. Their eyes met, and he knew she meant to speak her mind openly to Lord Braunfield.

Perhaps a tête-à-tête was not entirely suitable over the breakfast table, but Alexander had no wish to hinder its occurrence. He dismissed the servants from the room with a masterful wave, and strolled over to a far alcove of the room himself. He pulled out his small leather portfolio, and prepared to busy himself with drawing sketches. His continued presence in the room would be silent and discreet, lending respectability whilst allowing the young couple a rare moment of privacy.

"Did you sleep well, Elizabeth?" inquired Lord Braunfield. Like her brother, he could discern her uneasiness. His tone of voice was polite and formal, but he could not hide the tender look of concern in his eyes.

"No, my lord. I barely slept a wink," she confessed truthfully. "However, today is another day that the Good Lord has made - so I am determined to greet it with good cheer and humble gratitude."

Lord Braunfield nodded pensively at her words. "An admirable attitude. I must applaud you for it. . . I also suffered a sleepless night, but alas, I lack your hopeful spirit and cheerful mood. I ventured out late last night to my club - to seek out my old chums for some frivolous diversions. An hour at Brooks', in the company of the rakehells, proved to be more than I could endure. To speak frankly, they find me too dull - by their estimation, I have become quite an old stick-in-the-mud."

He spoke evenly, with a nonchalant shrug of his broad shoulders, as if he were merely speaking of the weather, and not matters of such a personal nature. He sighed, and added with a bitter laugh, "In your eyes, however, I fear I shall never measure up to your sterling standards. I shall never attain the high esteem that you reserve for your family and dear friends - such as Mr. W."

"Please forgive me, my lord," Lizzy began, her voice tremulous with emotion. "I have been entirely selfish - indeed, abominably cruel to you. Let us speak no more of Mr. W for he is, as you so aptly pointed out, a phantom without a face or real name. You accused me of being in love with Mr. W, but I assure you emphatically, that it is not true at all."

She paused to swallow several deep breaths, to summon up the courage to meet his eyes. "My lord . . . William . . . I do care about you. I esteem you, I value your friendship, and I enjoy being with you. Beyond our mutual cordiality, I am quite aware of your . . . admiration for me. . . Against my will and my better judgment, I had responded to your . . . ardent attentions on various occasions, but such follies had always haunted me afterwards. . . Alas, I must not vacillate about the undeniable attraction between us. Too long have I been a coward and a fool . . . "

He held up a hand to stop her, reaching across the breakfast table so his fingertips almost touched her lips as he spoke urgently, "I should be the one to beg for your forgiveness. You behave as any young lady of good breeding should - being prudent and sensible. You are entirely justified in your misgivings and apprehensions. My reformation is but a recent phenomenon, and my regrettable past claims a longer history of follies. It certainly did not help things when we . . . zounds . . . you are so unlike any woman I have ever encountered!"

"Yes, I am the most obstinate creature in the world," she admitted with a self-effacing smile. "My brother gave me a stern lecture last night, but he was right about everything."

"Yes?' he said with sudden hope. He knew he had the strongest ally in Alexander Darcy.

"William . . ." she continued almost inaudibly, "I don't want to give you any false hopes or make promises I cannot keep."

She fell silent, trembling at the thought of what she wished to say to him next. She stared down at the table linen, and wondered if she should best leave those words unsaid, and bolt from the breakfast room instead.

"Pray . . . speak your mind - openly and frankly," he said encouragingly. "You have always told me the unvarnished truth."

"Shall I risk being too blatantly forward, too unladylike to speak my mind?" she asked frowningly.

"I find your complete honesty one of your best qualities," he reassured her.

She swallowed her pride, and said, "You told me once that you wished to court me. . ."

"I still wish to," he correctly her tenderly. He placed a finger beneath her chin to tilt her face - so she could look at him directly in the eye. "It is my most fervent hope."

"Then . . . will you grant me . . . the honor of . . . your courtship?' she whispered, her face crimson with acute embarrassment. It had taken her much courage to voice the question.

He heaved a great sigh of relief, and managed to stop himself from jumping up and shouting out a celebratory cheer at the top of his lungs. Instead, he stood up with graceful ease, and walked around the breakfast table to her side. Bowing from the waist, he took her hand with ceremonial courtesy, and lifted it to his lips.

"Upon my honor, dearest and loveliest Elizabeth, you will not regret your decision," he murmured as he held her hand firmly in his, pressing it against his heart.

This was a very familiar gesture, but it was the first time she enjoyed the romantic overtures without any sense of hidden guilt. The rapid cadence of his heart, which easily matched her own, certainly betrayed his seemingly placid countenance at this moment.

"I hope you will not be proven wrong, my lord," she said shyly.

"Trust me, and all will be well," he implored her earnestly. He kissed her hand again - possessively and lingeringly upon each slender finger - and said, "May I have the pleasure of your company this afternoon - for a drive in the park?"

"So public an outing - so soon?" she protested mildly. All of London would know of his courtship of her in an instant. "Shall we not enjoy a quiet evening at home? Have a game of chess or play duets on the piano instead?"

"I beseech you, Elizabeth, allow me the indulgence. You know not how long I have waited for the day when I could promenade with you - proudly upon my arm - and be the envy of every young buck in Town," he said jubilantly.

She had never seen such happiness in his eyes before. She could not refuse him. She smiled demurely, and gave her consent.

"As you wish, William."

Upon hearing her answer, the most dazzling smile spread across William's handsome face, as though he had already won the grandest prize in the realm.

Author's note:

In this chapter, I have made a reference to a historical nobleman as an ancestor of my fictional Darcy family. All the characters in this story are fictional, and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter 31

Posted on Saturday, 30 September 2006

Pemberley,
Derbyshire

Mr. Darcy had been away from Pemberley for a mere day, but he was exceedingly anxious to be home again. Although he enjoyed the company of his Fitzwilliam cousins, he did not relish being away from his beloved wife.

A familiar scene of domestic tranquility greeted him as he stepped into the bedchamber. His wife was sitting in her favorite chair, a thick volume in her delicate hands, thoroughly engrossed by her reading. He smiled reflectively, recalling the first time he saw her - Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn - that fateful autumn when his best friend, Charles Bingley, settled into his country home in Hertfordshire. Almost from the first moment of their acquaintance, he had been captivated by her fine eyes, brilliant wit, and sterling character. He loved and admired her with a passionate ardor that he had felt for none other before or since. Now, after nearly three decades of marriage, he marveled how she could still take his breath away.

At the sight of her husband, Mrs. Darcy put aside her book, and hurried across the room to greet him. She wrapped her arms around him, and said tenderly, "Will! I missed you so!"

"Terribly?" he asked with a delighted grin.

"Yes," came her confirmation with an affectionate kiss.

"As did I, my love. I found that every hour spent away from you was an hour lost." He heaved a deep sigh of contentment as he buried his face in her hair.

"Hmm . . . you smell so wonderful," he murmured as he hugged her closer. Her warmth and scent were as familiar to him as air itself.

Mrs. Darcy laughed merrily, and explained, "I spent the day at the herbarium - supervising the concoction of various remedies, as we have to dispatch fresh supplies to Ridgemont. I certainly do not wish to wait until their reserves have dwindled down."

He smiled, appreciative of her dedicated sense of duty and loyalty. It was no small wonder that all who were dependent upon the Darcy patronage were so devoted to her.

He traced a gentle finger upon her cheek, well pleased to see that his caresses could cause such a blush still. ". . .if I had known what happiness was in store for us, I would have thrown myself at your feet at our first meeting."

"If we did not suffer the various fateful events that followed the Meryton Assembly, would we have overcome our mistaken pride and prejudices?" she asked reflectively.

He pondered her somber question for a long moment before he answered her. "Even if different events had taken place, our paths would have still converged. You and I were destined to be together - a pair of kindred spirits."

She reached up to brush back a lock of hair from his noble brow. His hair, although graying, was still thick and unruly. Indeed, Mr. Darcy looked as youthful and vigorous as the first day they met.

"Yes, indeed - two hearts well forged into one," she nodded in agreement as she kissed him. As she rejoiced in their own bliss, she could not help but be worried about the welfare of their loved ones. She asked with genuine concern, "How fare our Fitzwilliam cousins at Beauchamp?"

"All is well, considering the unusual circumstances." He gave her a brief account of Lord Ashbourne's journey to Gretna Green and the subsequent turn of events.

"Lord and Lady Matlock must be glad to have their son safely home," said Mrs. Darcy.

"Yes, but they have to resign themselves to his present state of bachelorhood. After the debacle with Lady Julia Berringworth, Ashbourne has absolutely refused the prospect of another arranged marriage. I cannot say I blame him," explained Mr. Darcy.

"It was very gallant of Thomas - to bring Lady Julia's elopement to a successful conclusion."

Mr. Darcy's frown deepened at her choice of words. "An elopement is not something to crow about. I cannot condone such blatant disregard for propriety. If Lady Julia had been more forthright about her feelings for Mr. Alban, none of the troubles would have arisen. A very foolish girl indeed."

"Do not be so harsh on her. Sometimes, it is very difficult to confess one's heart. . . Surely, an elopement for true love is vastly different from those wild flights committed in the folly of lustful passions?" reasoned Mrs. Darcy as she caressed his stern face. "In the end, there was a proper wedding. We must rejoice and pray for their happiness."

He took her face in his hands, and bestowed a lingering kiss upon her lips. "You are a true romantic at heart, aren't you?" he said, his voice tender and intimate.

"Are you not a believer in true love as well, Mr. Darcy?" she asked with a mirthful grin, the radiant look in her fine eyes was ever present.

"You alone have made me a believer, Mrs. Darcy," he conceded with a gracious smile. "You are my own heart! I feel quite justified to declare that no other couple has inspired such fervent admiration amongst the multitude."

"We may be the happiest couple, my darling, but we do not have the exclusive claim to true love," she replied as she leaned against his strong chest. "There are many who have attained connubial bliss."

"Forgive my vanity," he acknowledged before he kissed her again, "but one may argue that the tales of our extraordinary love are yet to be exhausted! Many generations henceforth will learn from our example. Years from now, people will write odes and sonnets in celebration of us - of a love forever true."

She sighed happily; glad to be in his strong arms. Her sanguinity, however, was disturbed by a sudden recollection. "Oh, dear! Your effusive attention has distracted me immensely."

"Whatever is the matter?" he inquired urgently.

"Two telegrams were delivered during your absence. One from our son, the other from Lord Braunfield."

He took the telegrams from her, and she allowed him to read in silence. Alexander's communiqué was brief but succinct, informing his parents that Lizzy had consented to Lord Braunfield's courtship. He was openly supportive of the viscount, but promised to intercede on his parents' behalf if they deemed it necessary.

"I never thought I'd live to see this day," Mr. Darcy exclaimed. "Caroline Bingley's son is courting our daughter - it is scarcely believable!

Lord Braunfield's telegram was very lengthy, but every word was heartfelt. It must have cost the viscount an exorbitant sum of money to send such a lengthy missive - indeed, he vowed that he would come to Pemberley in person to make another formal request for courtship if they wished it of him.

"So the courtship has begun. William Warring - with his remarkable forbearance - has prevailed against our Lizzy's stubborn nature at last," remarked Mrs. Darcy.

"So it seems," muttered Mr. Darcy with a deep frown, looking none too pleased. During these past months, his opinion of Lord Braunfield had vastly improved, but he was not entirely prepared to welcome him as a prospective son-in-law.

"You cannot say you are overly surprised," she said reasonably. "As I recall, Lord Braunfield had approached you - the morning after the Gardiners' Ball - and declared his love for our daughter."

"Yes, he did. He asked for Lizzy's hand in marriage. When I refused him, he begged for the chance to court her properly."

"You granted him permission?"

"No, not exactly . . . not directly. I told Braunfield that I would never force Lizzy to do anything against her will . . . her heart. I suppose my words did imply a formal consent for his courtship - if her feelings were to change."

"So . . . it seems that Lizzy is now willing - to welcome Lord Braunfield's attention openly, and to brave the risks of losing her heart to him. You will not stand in their way of happiness?"

"If I do, can you blame me?" he asked solemnly. His stern frown deepened.

"Will!" she protested. "Have you not promised me that you would step aside and hold your peace - albeit remaining vigilantly protective - when either one of our daughters should welcome a worthy suitor of her own choice?"

"I remember my promise to you," he said grimly. "Braunfield has certainly won your good opinion of him. You now deem him worthy of our daughter?"

"I trust Alexander's judgment - he believes William is, above all other men, perfectly suited to Lizzy."

"Nevertheless, I shall withhold my approval of Lady Paxton's son until I have a chance to assess our daughter's true feelings."

"Lady Paxton's son?" repeated Mrs. Darcy with an arched brow. "Is William not equally Lord Paxton's son? Indeed, I believe he is ever more like his benevolent father. I have not told you this before, but the anonymous donor of the new roof for the Female Orphan Asylum was none other than Lord Braunfield."

"So it was him? Well, a wealthy man can afford to be generous," remarked Mr. Darcy, unwilling to concede his position.

"You are in rather ill-humor over Lord Braunfield, aren't you? You know well that he did not seek any public gratitude. I only knew of his generous donation because Isabella and I are on the Board of Trustees of the orphanage - we each received a confidential letter from the Matron. I am certain that William has performed other equally noble deeds unbeknownst to us."

Mr. Darcy nodded thoughtfully. He was well aware of his other noble deeds. He sighed heavily, and said, "I dare say our Lizzy has been a great influence upon Braunfield. I can readily comprehend the underlying reasons for his generosity and consideration. The inducement is irresistible: for a man who is blessed with good heath and worldly fortune, winning the heart of a truly remarkable young woman is a prize beyond measure. I can speak from my own experience."

"So you do approve of William?" she said with an incredulous smile.

"Even if I approve of him, I fear that there is at least one other party who will object most vehemently to this particular courtship."

"Lady Paxton? Do you think she will prove to be the insurmountable impediment to the young couple's happiness?"

"Yes, and I believe we must not throw our babe into a lioness' den!" Mr. Darcy protested indignantly.

"Our babe? Our Lizzy is now an accomplished young lady - and endowed with the best merits of her father. She will show her mettle," said Mrs. Darcy with motherly pride.

Mr. Darcy regarded his beloved wife with an appreciative eye, and slowly nodded his agreement. "Both our daughters are blessed with the virtues and talents of their mother." He gathered his wife once more in his arms, and murmured, "I know it seems rather redundant, my dearest, but I must tell you again how deeply and ardently I love and admire you."

"Oh, Will! I shall never grow tired of hearing your sweet confessions," sighed Mrs. Darcy contently, as she welcomed her husband's words with joyous exultations of her own.

2nd June, 1840
London

"Oh, no, Bella! He is here already - and your parents as well!" exclaimed Lizzy as she looked out the window, and saw Lord Braunfield alighting from his elegant carriage. He was punctual to the minute for their appointed afternoon drive in the park. In bringing Mr. and Mrs. Bingley with him as chaperones, it was very obvious that the viscount did not wish for anything to go askew on this auspicious day.

Isabella understood Lizzy's anxiety perfectly. "Do not be overwrought, my dear Lizzy. My parents will not let you come to any harm." As she gently caressed the head of her sleeping son - little Alex was slumbering contently in his mother's arms - she added, "I can vouchsafe that my noble cousin will be on his best behavior, and will take every opportunity to earn your good opinion of him."

"Won't you come with us? I shall feel so much better with you by my side!" pleaded Lizzy.

"Your brother has insisted that I rest at home today, and he is never wrong in such matters. I do feel rather fatigued."

"Perhaps I should stay with you, Bella. Surely, you have need of my devoted care."

"No!" laughed Isabella merrily. "I am an expectant mother, not a sick invalid. Moreover, I doubt if any household in London can boast of having more devoted and capable servants. My dear Lizzy, you truly do not have one good excuse to decline your promised drive in the park with Lord Braunfield."

"You and Alexander are having your amusement at my expense!" protested Lizzy with a frown, but she leaned down to kiss Isabella's cheek affectionately. "I shall not be upset with you, my dearest friend, but I am in very ill humor towards my brother. He is determined to march me down the aisle with Lord Braunfield, is he not? By the Season's end, if he has his will."

"It is fortunate that Alexander is so busy with estate matters today - else he would be standing here to meet the full force of your wrath," smiled Isabella. "Best be off now, Lizzy. Bonne chance!"

Before Lizzy could answer, the butler appeared at their sitting room door, and made the formal announcement. "Lord Braunfield. Mr. and Mrs. Bingley."

A round of affectionate greetings were exchanged - somewhat subdued due to the presence of the sleeping child. Lord Braunfield stood a few paces apart, bowing with stiff formality. The jubilant look on his face, however, bespoke volumes of his emotions.

"We must allow you rest in comfort, dearest Bella," whispered Mrs. Bingley as she kissed her daughter. "Join us for dinner this evening?"

Isabella smiled fondly at her beloved mother, and nodded her consent.

Little Alex stirred at the sound of his grandmother's melodic voice, and opened his bright eyes instantly. Far from being upset that his peaceful slumber was disturbed, he glanced around the room with vivid interest. A beatific smile graced his face as he easily recognized his present company. He cooed happily, and babbled off a string of words in greeting.

At the sight of Lord Braunfield, the precocious tike bolted upright from his reclining posture in his mother's arms, and greeted the viscount with a cheery cry, "Boo!"

When Lord Braunfield hesitated for a moment, little Alex waved his little hands, and said more insistently, "Boo! Boo!"

In response, Lord Braunfield stepped forward, bent down to meet the gaze of those startlingly blue eyes, and said softly, "Hello there, my dear boy." He caressed the soft crown of dark baby curls in a fatherly manner, and added, "I am very glad to see you as well."

Little Alex squealed in delight, applauding enthusiastically to show his pleasure as he rattled off another string of words - some incomprehensible to be sure, and most of them distinctive and clear.

"My grandson is a born orator and diplomat!" laughed Mr. Bingley with justified pride.

Lord Braunfield nodded his agreement in pensive silence. Vivid imageries of bright and vigorous children - his own brood of little Warrings - filled his mind, and he stole a glance towards his beloved Elizabeth.

From the sudden blush upon her lovely face, it was apparent that her mind was occupied by similar thoughts of marriage and family. Her mood, however, was far different from his lordship's jubilant spirit. Nervousness and apprehension certainly crowded out any sense of true happiness for her. She could hardly speak to him, as her mind seemed to be befuddled, as though a thick fog had settled in.

Soon, she found herself being escorted from the sanctuary of her home, her arm upon Lord Braunfield's. The mere presence of him had already caused such wild flutterings in her heart. How could she maintain her composure for the rest of their afternoon together she wondered helplessly? . . .

By the time his lordship's open phaeton entered Hyde Park, the gossip mills were abuzz with the latest news. As it was the fashionable hour for ladies and gentlemen of the ton to be out and about, the park was an ideal place for social rendezvous and promenades. If any person failed to recognize Lord Braunfield and his party immediately, the heraldic emblem emblazoned upon the doors of the phaeton and the fancy liveries of the footmen certainly drew significant notice.

The sight of the handsome couple caused quite a stir. Whispered words began by single individuals converged, and literally became a rippling tide of excited comments, coursing through the gathering of the curious and the idle like a flowing river. Many a gentlemen took advantage to ride alongside the phaeton, to exchange a word of greeting whilst giving appraising looks at Lizzy. As his lordship had so gleefully predicted earlier that morning - with Miss Elizabeth Darcy by his side, he was certainly the envy of every young buck in Town.

Lord Braunfield, long accustomed to such overt attention, was cheerfulness itself. He gladly basked in the glory of Elizabeth's company, and the pride of being her special beau. The Bingleys, both of such amiable and patient nature, accommodated the inevitable stares with genial smiles.

Lizzy was quite unsettled by the close scrutiny of envious strangers. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a young lady falling into a dramatic swoon, whilst her mother wore a look of sullen despair. If she and Lord Braunfield were not the cause of such distress for the young lady, Lizzy would have made a jesting remark, and enjoyed a good laugh. Instead, she remained in stoic silence, and kept up a brave face. Lord Braunfield had requested this outing, knowing full well that they would be the center of attention, their names upon the tip of everyone's tongue. Yet, he had wished it, and she was determined to humor him in order to show him her goodwill. . . She wondered briefly if every outing with his lordship would be such an ordeal.

William had been chatting amiably with Mr. Bingley. Suddenly, he sensed Lizzy's acute discomfort, and turned to look at her with grave concern.

"Are you unwell, Elizabeth?" he asked worriedly. "Perhaps I should not have been so selfish in requesting this afternoon drive. People are staring at us much the way they stare at the chimpanzees or the giraffes at the Zoological Gardens. I am very sorry."

Tentatively, he patted her gloved hand gently, as a gesture of reassurance. As she did not pull away, he took hold of it discreetly.

She was amazed to find how a mere touch from him was enough to calm her - and his continuous hold upon her hand was comfort itself. She could feel his sturdy strength through their gloved hands, and she reveled in the simple sweetness of his gesture. With sudden boldness, she squeezed his fingers lightly - a silent but eloquent expression of her appreciation - before she withdrew her hand. She could feel his smile of satisfaction before she saw it.

"I simply can't find adequate words to express our joy," said Mr. Bingley effusively as he gazed across the carriage at the handsome pair, and duly noted their tender gestures towards each other. He beamed at them as he added, "You will find, as I have these many years, how much brighter your entire world is when you have your beloved by your side."

"You speak the truth, my dear," smiled Mrs. Bingley demurely as she nodded her fair head in agreement. She was as thrilled as her husband in seeing their niece find a match in William Warring.

Mr. Bingley continued his rhapsody about connubial bliss. "My wife and I have been blessed beyond measure. Your happiness will surely equal ours, and rival that of the Darcys as well."

Lizzy felt the deepest blush of embarrassment upon her face. She made a hasty protest, "Uncle Charles! This is but the very first day of courtship! Lord Braunfield and I may prove to be entirely incompatible - our different temperaments may prove to be irreconcilable."

"Perhaps the first day of courtship, but certainly not the first of being in love," teased Mr. Bingley good-humoredly. "I can vouch for my nephew - he has been suffering in agony over you for many months, my dear Lizzy. If there should be daunting obstacles in the path of true love, he is not one to shrink from the challenges, I assure you."

Lizzy felt she would surely die of embarrassment. She kept her eyes averted, staring at the floor of the carriage, and made no reply.

"Charles," admonished Mrs. Bingley gently, "I do believe the first requirement of being a good chaperone is to be watchful but silent. Discretion is the key."

"I do apologize for my overzealous words," said Mr. Bingley remorsefully. His bright blue eyes twinkled as he added, "I shall promise to refrain from making any further inferences to your budding romance if you consent to dine with us this evening."

William was about to accept the invitation, but he thought better of it. He turned to Lizzy instead. "What is your wish? I am yours to command, my dear lady."

She was keenly aware of his eagerness to dine with the Bingleys, and was duly pleased when he deferred the decision to her.

"I shall be delighted to spend the evening with Aunt Jane and Uncle Charles," she said demurely. Then, quite suddenly, the significance of his last words sunk in. She looked at him in full earnest, and said, "What did you say, my lord - just now?"

He obliged her with an earnest smile, declaring to her again that he was hers to command. It was a sentiment that he had always expressed in the closing salutation of W's letters to Kindred Spirit, and he was genuinely pleased that he could say such words to her in person presently.

She stared at him fixedly, trying to formulate her thoughts. He saw the look of confusion in her eyes, and said reassuringly, "I know it is a common enough expression - especially in written correspondence - but it is not a sentiment that I make a habit of voicing verbally or on parchment. Indeed, you are the only one to whom I have expressed such words."

"Forgive me, my lord. I was rather taken aback by your choice of words. . . A sheer coincidence, really." She realized the Bingleys were studying them with curious looks, and decided to change the subject. She said hastily, albeit with a genuine smile, "I am so anticipating Henry's wedding."

"As are we! Like many young men, my son needs a good wife to anchor his life - to give him a sense of true purpose and duty," laughed Mr. Bingley jovially. "We shall return to Derbyshire with you to attend the christenings of the twins, and journey together with the families to Devon for the nuptials."

"My brother James wrote to me recently. He has already arranged for a private rail car, so a greater part of our journey to Devon shall be in relative ease and comfort," smiled Lizzy.

"James is fast becoming as considerate and responsible as our dear Alexander," said Mrs. Bingley approvingly.

Lord Braunfield expressed his own gratitude in having Alexander Darcy for a mentor. The conversation soon turned to general topics, but Lizzy could not help but continue to mull over Lord Braunfield's words, as well as all the other comments he had ever voiced in regard to the mysterious Mr. W. How strange it was, she thought, that she could recall his lordship's words so clearly - almost in verbatim.

No, it is not possible! she thought in great agitation as a sudden thought stuck her mind.

An evening at the Bingleys was always immensely enjoyable. Lord Paxton joined them, his habitual joviality was a delight to all. Isabella and Alexander Darcy, along with their adorable son, completed the dinner party. Lord Braunfield was on his best behavior - attentive and courteous to all present - paying special deference towards Lizzy. He deferred all matters to her before he voiced his own opinions. There was the hint of a flirtatious glint in his dark eyes whenever he looked at her, but never once did he make any inappropriate remark or gesture towards her.

Most notably, he doted upon little Alex, and spent much time playing with him after dinner. His genuine fondness for the child seemed to be mutually reciprocated, as the squeals of laughter were punctured with exclamations of "Boo!" The viscount was exceedingly amused, and jokingly claimed it as his new name.

Lizzy found herself gazing at Lord Braunfield at every turn. He had been a familiar figure in her daily routine during these many weeks in Town, but she felt as if she was seeing him with fresh eyes for the first time. Gone was her gnawing sense of apprehension and fierce determination to fight against his irresistible charms.

How strange it was, she mused, that she no longer felt as if she was standing at the edge of a dangerous precipice? Rather, whenever she was near him, she felt a sense of inexplicable happiness, a comforting warmth that coursed through her entire being. If it were not a breach of decorum, she would have danced around the dining room, whilst singing a cheerful tune. If she was treading upon the first steps of falling in love, she was in terra incognito, but she was no longer fearful of the consequences.

For all present, the radiant look in Lizzy's eyes added much hope that their fondest wish would come true. The formidable walls of her obstinate heart were fast crumbling, and William stood in vigilant readiness to claim her love. None in the party would be overly surprised if William made his marriage proposal at the first opportune moment.

In retrospect, Alexander knew it had been a wise decision to send a telegram to Pemberley earlier that morning. Although the senior Darcys were fully aware of Lord Braunfield's regard for Lizzy, it was his duty to alert them that the courtship was now in full earnest. He could fairly guess his mother's reaction, but he wondered at his father's true feelings. . .

The Darcy townhouse was but a stone's throw from the Bingleys, but Lord Paxton insisted upon taking them home in his carriage. He deemed it a nuisance to summon the Darcy carriage, but declared the short walk home was entirely unsuitable as little Alex was already fast asleep in his father's arms. Moreover, a carriage ride allowed his son another opportunity to sit close beside Miss Elizabeth Darcy.

The grand carriage provided ample room to convey a party of six in comfort and ease. Much of the interior of the carriage was shrouded in darkness, as the footman had lit but one of the carriage lamps. Under the present circumstances, it seemed more a result of specific instructions rather than a careless neglect of duty.

Lizzy sat between the Warrings. The father's bulky frame took up much room on that side of the carriage, and Lizzy was forced to lean closer to Lord Braunfield than propriety would warrant.

Taking advantage of the relative darkness, Lord Braunfield placed his arm discreetly around Lizzy's shoulders, with the ostentatious purpose of supporting her in case their carriage hit a pothole. As they were in Mayfair, the roads were smooth and in good repair. His excuse was a laughable one, but she allowed it without protest.

Greatly encouraged by her quiet acquiescence, he murmured softly, "Thank you for a most wonderful day. I hope that you enjoyed it as I did?"

She smiled demurely and replied, "I must confess that I enjoyed the quiet dinner with the Bingleys far more than our afternoon drive in the park."

"I am too accustomed to being in the center of things, taking after my mother's preference for the hurly-burly world of the ton." His remark elicited a bemused laugh from his indulgent father. He added remorsefully, "I must learn to appreciate simpler but more gratifying habits, and seek the quiet tranquility of home and hearth more often."

"I do not abhor social routs - indeed, I enjoy a Ball as much as the next young lady - but I do feel uneasy when I am being examined by so many pairs of curious eyes," Lizzy explained.

"Indulge me once more then, and allow me to escort you to a masquerade ball at Vauxhall tomorrow evening," he asked earnestly. "Fireworks and much ado afterwards. I have not attended a masquerade for a long while."

"Another Ball?" she frowned slightly. She glanced across the carriage to her elder brother. During their parents' absence from Town, he held authority in their stead. "I have to attend a meeting in the orphanage tomorrow morning. . ."

"May I have the honor to accompany you to the morning engagement as well?" beseeched Lord Braunfield. Turning to Alexander, he added, "I assure you that I can arrange for the most proper chaperones for each outing."

Alexander gave his consent readily. The solemn tone of his voice could not well hide his delight in the present turn of events between the young pair.

Even in the dimness of the carriage, Lizzy could see the viscount's winsome smile in response. It was quite mesmerizing, and she could hardly refuse him.

"As you wish, my lord," she smiled with light-hearted abandonment.

William inclined his head with a grateful smile. A sudden jolt of the carriage sent her leaning closer to him, and at the same moment, he brushed his lips against her temple. It was a gesture of endearment that was so brief that it might have been imaginary if she did not feel as if he had lit a fire upon her person. She took several deep breaths to calm herself, but inhaled his clean masculine scent. Her senses took a dazzling turn, as she found herself longing for his kisses. She nearly collapsed against him when the carriage finally came to a halt.

"Good! We are home," said Alexander calmly. His deep voice recalled Lizzy back to reality. She felt the deepest blush came upon her face, and she willed herself to remain dignified. She saw the steady gaze of fatherly approval from Lord Paxton, and she could not help but return his warm smiles.

As Lord Braunfield handed Lizzy down from the carriage, he retained his grip upon her gloved hand for a moment longer than was necessary. Her senses were too full of him to function properly, and she missed the step. He caught her squarely in his arms, steadying her before letting go

"Until tomorrow then, Miss Elizabeth," he said with sudden formality as he stepped back, releasing his hold upon her. He trusted the servants to keep their eyes politely averted, but he could not command their ears to stop their function. He turned to exchange a few words of niceties with the Darcys, and placed a gentle hand upon the head of the sleeping child as a sign of benediction.

He bowed to Lizzy, and kissed her gloved hand to take his leave.

"Thank you, my lord," she said with a proper curtsey to the Earl of Paxton before turning her attention back to his son. Her voice trembled slightly as she added, "I must bid you good night."

Lord Braunfield gazed at her for a long moment before he leaned down to whisper a parting sentiment to her. "Yes, bid me goodnight, but I pray you, never bid me goodbye." He was so close that she felt his breath warm against her skin as he spoke. As he stepped away, he allowed his lips to brush against her delicate cheek, as he bestowed an almost imperceptible kiss.

Lizzy's heart fluttered wildly at his featherlike touch. She felt as if she had been lifted directly off her feet, and was being whirled away in the merriest of dances. At such a moment, any lingering thoughts she might have of the mysterious Mr. W. simply dissipated from her mind. She would never have confessed it to anyone, but she could hardly wait to see William again the next day.

She knew not how she managed to reach her own bedchamber. William's parting words resonated in her ears like an endless melody. She fell asleep with his name upon her lips, and dreamt of him throughout the entire night.

Pemberley

Jane Darcy was much surprised to see Lord Ashbourne riding towards her. He vaulted gracefully from the saddle of his stallion a good distance from the Great Tree, and walked towards her in a measured pace. He looked as if he needed to gather his thoughts before he could face her.

She raised her hand in a gesture of cheerful salutation, and smiled brightly at him.

"Good morning, Jane. How are you?" He halted before her, a step beyond arm's length, and bowed courteously.

"I am well, thank you. It is so good to see you again . . . I am, however, very sorry that Lady Julia married another gentleman."

"You know the details already?" he said softly, relieved that he did not have to recount the events of his journey to Gretna after all.

"My Papa is the soul of discretion. From him I heard scant news. Andrew Fitzwilliam, however, let me in on the secret," she explained quietly.

"Our cousin has been here already? To see you?" he asked with a pang of jealousy. It mattered not that Jane had already turned Andrew down. If such an exceedingly fine young man could fail in his quest for Jane's heart, what chances of success could he dare hope for himself?

"Yes. Andrew came here earlier this morning - to take proper leave of my parents before he headed back to London. He sat down with me for a long tête-à-tête - as he will likely receive a posting to India, and as such, he will be away for a few years." She did not elaborate, however, that Andrew had made a last ditch effort to win her heart - beseeching her to turn to him if she should have need of a most faithful and devoted friend.

"Yes, India," confirmed Lord Ashbourne with a nod. "He is very excited about the prospect. He is as stalwart as his honored father. I wish him great success."

"As do I," smiled Jane. "Andrew is so dear and wonderful. One has but the best wishes for him." She sat gazing at Lord Ashbourne steadily, and inquired with genuine concern, "How fare you, Thomas? I hope you are not too broken-hearted over Lady Julia Berringworth?"

He shook his head vigorously. "I was never in love with her, so my poor heart has escaped unscathed and entirely intact."

Jane was silent for a moment before she said pensively, "You did not fall in love with Lady Julia because you were still in love with my sister." It was a statement, and not a question.

"Lizzy?" He asked her dumbly, as if the name was strangely unfamiliar to him.

"Yes, I have but one sister!" Jane replied with a good-natured laugh.

He sighed, and confessed gravely, "No, I was never in love with your sister either. At the time of my courtship, fool that I was, I had surmised that Lizzy would suit me ideally. . . To owe the truth, I did not know what it was . . . to love someone - truly and absolutely - until the day of my wedding . . ."

He paused abruptly, looking so utterly miserable that she felt exceedingly sorry for him. She said to him, with the kindest smile, "You are in need of a sympathetic ear, aren't you?"

Thomas nodded as he sat down beside her on the mighty tree bench. He was glad that their special bond of friendship had deepened to such a degree during her recent stay at Beauchamp that he could now claim her as his closest friend.

"My dear Jane," he began solemnly, "you know well that there are but three people to whom I can speak my mind so openly, without reservation or impediment. Aside from your brother Alexander and our cousin Andrew Fitzwilliam, you are my only trusted confidant."

"You honor me," smiled Jane sweetly. "Now, tell me your troubles - perhaps I can help ease your mind."

He smiled gratefully, "Being with you is Grace itself - but I shall pour my poor heart out to you." He sighed heavily, and continued, "My present misery stems from the tremendous guilt that has been gnawing at my conscious these many months. I am so ashamed of how I abused your sister's trust in me - making a marriage proposal to her because my father had demanded it of me, and not because I was in love with her. . . Well, you know about my regrettable past . . . my blind infatuation with Madame St. Pierre . . . I have been searching for my true love in vain, and I never realized that I had already found her until it was too late . . ."

He stopped abruptly, for there was a hitch in his deep voice. He buried his face in his hands, and muttered in quiet despair. "I am woefully unworthy of so fine a lady!"

Jane recognized the agony in his voice, and was entirely sympathetic. Did she not suffer similar heartbreak? Being in love with someone who did not return her love? But her mind was too preoccupied with her present company to spare more than a fleeting thought towards Henry Bingley.

She placed a comforting hand briefly upon his, and said, "You are a fine man, worthy of any lady. The history of your past may contain a few sorry chapters, but which of us is perfect? Your reformation is genuine, and it is upon such a new foundation that you must build your future." She paused briefly to allow her words to sink in before she added, "If you need someone to vouch for your sterling character, I shall proudly do so. Now, tell me, my dear cousin, does your fine lady know you harbor such deep feelings for her?"

He shook his head, his face still buried in his hands.

"You must tell her then!"

"She is far too kind-hearted to laugh in my face, but she will surely turn me down," he mumbled in protest. "To my knowledge, she has already rejected a very worthy young man - a better man than me. She is a star beyond my reach!"

"What if she already harbors strong feelings towards you, but does not know that you reciprocate her love?" She said firmly, being seriousness itself.

He remained in resolute silence.

She decided to add a teasing note to cheer him out of his doldrums. "Come now, Thomas! Look at me . . . it is rather hard to converse with you when you are hiding your face like a sulking child."

He lifted his face from his hands, and turned to her in silence. He gazed at her with a look of such tenderness and desperate longing; a look of ardent love.

She stared back at him, her pretty mouth agape at she realized the truth as surely as if he had shouted it across the vast fields of Pemberley at the top of his lungs. For a long while, she remained too stunned for words.

"Jane?" he said very softly, speaking her name with a tone of intimacy he had never dared before.

She shook her dark head slowly, too amazed to utter any words other than, "It's impossible!"

Instantly, he was on his knees before her. Seizing her slender hands in his, he exclaimed with great emotions, "It is the absolute truth. Oh, dearest and sweetest Jane! To you I have never spoken a false word! I have entrusted you with my innermost thoughts and fears. I am the most miserable of God's creatures, and I know I shall never win your heart or your father's approval. I must beg you, however, to grant me this one solitary chance for confession, and allow me to tell you how deeply I love and admire you!"

"You love me?" she whispered breathlessly.

"Yes, my darling. I love you - desperately, completely and unequivocally!" he declared firmly.

If Thomas Fitzwilliam could affix a certain moment that first made him realize his love for her, then Jane Darcy could rightfully acknowledge her own incredible moment of realization as well. She might have been in love with Henry Bingley, but she had long accepted the futility of it. During these past months, her own heart had stealthily detached itself from her first love, and made its way to its true destiny without her conscious awareness or volition.

Looking into his dark eyes, she realized that she was in love with him already, that her heart was completely his as well. Tears of happiness rolled down her lovely face, as she fought hard to retain her dignified composure.

"Please don't cry, my love," he pleaded urgently. It pained him to see that he was the cause of her tears. "I did not mean to offend or hurt you in any way by my declaration." He took out a square of clean linen from his pocket, and began to gently wipe away her tears.

"It is very selfish of me to make you hear a confession which you had neither foreseen nor welcomed. If I cannot have your love, at least allow me the grace to keep our friendship," he beseeched her earnestly.

Jane laughed - a clear and melodic sound that lifted his spirits immediately. She leaned forward, so close to him that their foreheads touched. "I did not realize it until a moment ago . . . Oh, Thomas! I love you too!"

It was his turn to be utterly speechless. He could scarcely believe his own ears.

How he longed to take her into his arms, but he dared not impose upon her. He waited with bated breath, looking for a sign of welcome.

Jane smiled demurely at him - with an unmistakable look of love upon her countenance - as she reached to caress his cheek.

"Yes, I truly love you," she stated again, boldly and happily, without any remorse or lingering doubts.

They laughed joyously, sharing their mutual delight at such a golden moment of revelation. They opened their hearts fully to each other. Words of endearment and tenderness poured forth, like an elixir of life. At such a moment, it was doubtful if there was a happier couple in the realm.

Wiping away her tears of joy, Jane soon grew solemn again. "The daunting task now is to convince my family that our love is not some mere flight of fancy. My father can be forbiddingly stern. My brothers are fiercely protective as well."

"I shall brave any trial to prove my worth to your family," Thomas declared with fearless determination.

"I know, my darling. My faith in you matches the depth of my love," she said trustingly.

With gentleness and gratitude, he gathered her into his arms, whispering her beloved name over and over again. A great renaissance of hope came over them, and their long-suffering hearts were healed at last.

When their lips finally met in a tender but lingering kiss, it was wondrous beyond words.

Chapter 32

Posted on Monday, 16 October 2006

Pemberley

"You wish to marry my daughter?" thundered Mr. Darcy, his handsome brows knitted into a furious frown. "It is utterly out of the question. I absolutely refuse to give my consent!"

A lesser man would be bowed down by such a forceful refusal. Lord Ashbourne, however, stood resolutely before the formidable Master of Pemberley. Taking a deep breath, he pleaded his suit again as he spoke in the most earnest manner. "I understand you perfectly, sir. If I were you, I would not hesitate to call the butler to throw me out by my ears."

"Then save me the trouble, and remove yourself from Pemberley at once," replied Mr. Darcy sternly.

"I shall not leave until you have spelled out your terms, sir." Lord Ashbourne persisted.

"My terms?" asked Mr. Darcy in puzzlement.

"Yes, sir. Any test of character you wish to devise for me to prove my worth as a husband for your daughter, Jane. I shall gladly submit myself to any daunting task which you deem necessary. I beg you, sir! You must allow me the chance."

Mr. Darcy took measure of Lord Ashbourne in pensive silence. He had always regarded the offspring of his Fitzwilliam cousins with the heart of an affectionate father. Indeed, he had watched over this heir of Lord Matlock as if he were his own son. He would be lying if he claimed that he did not care a whit about the younger man.

"Might I remind you, Thomas, that I had granted you my blessings once before. I had trusted you implicitly, allowing the future happiness of my daughter Lizzy to be in your hands. By your own volition - your own selfish needs - you chose your French mistress over my precious daughter. In doing so, you betrayed our faith in you."

"I know, sir," replied Lord Ashbourne in utter misery. "I know of no greater fool than myself. I behaved most despicably towards Lizzy during my courtship of her last autumn. The memory of it will haunt me until my dying breath. Since then, I have done everything within my power to atone for my sins. . ."

Mr. Darcy held up an impatient hand. He did not wish to hear any more of it. "Yes, Lizzy informed me of your heartfelt apologies. Indeed, she has already forgiven you, and has only the best wishes for you."

"I do not deserve her good graces, but I am ever grateful," stated Lord Ashbourne solemnly.

"Now you have turned your attention to my eldest daughter Jane," said Mr. Darcy with justified fury.

"Yes . . . but it is not by unscrupulous scheming or with intentional mischief," explained the viscount urgently. "I fell in love with Jane without ever intending to! Believe me, sir, I have tried very hard to suppress my feelings for her. I know how unworthy I am of such fine a young lady, and I know I may never win your good opinion of me again. . . And yet . . ."

"And yet?" asked Mr. Darcy, with a patient tone which surprised even himself.

"And yet, quite miraculously, Jane loves me as well," declared Lord Ashbourne, his handsome face radiant with happiness whenever he spoke of his beloved.

"My daughter has declared her heart for you?" Mr. Darcy could see the answer readily on the viscount's face, but he had to voice his question aloud.

"Yes, sir. I would not be standing before you at this moment, to beg for Jane's hand in marriage, if she did not love me," said Lord Ashbourne with quiet humility.

How different Lord Ashbourne looked presently, mused Mr. Darcy. When the viscount first approached him to ask for Lizzy's hand, he had the look of a man who never doubted his rightful place in the scheme of things. To such a man, the hand of a Darcy was a prize to be claimed, as certain as his birthrights of his noble title and family fortune.

Lord Ashbourne was, of course, still the heir to the earldom of Matlock, but he had become, by painful lessons, a different man. Mr. Darcy could not fail to recognize the look of desperate longing and hopeful dreams in the eyes of the younger man. It was the same look he saw in his own mirror so many years ago - when he had scarcely dared to allow himself to hope - of ever winning the heart of the woman he loved so deeply and passionately.

"Papa!" came Jane's eager greeting as she came into the drawing room to join them. Mr. Darcy turned to greet her, extending an arm to embrace her with the warmth of a devoted father.

Jane kissed her father's cheek, as affectionately as any loving daughter would. Mr. Darcy could, however, sense a definite change in her serene countenance. She seemed aglow with happiness as she turned to greet her ardent suitor with the warmest of smiles.

Mr. Darcy had to clear his throat before he could speak again. By his estimation, the tender looks exchanged between the pair proved to be a truer testimonial of the depth and intensity of their love than any spoken words could convey. He felt a sudden pang of loss in his heart - surely it was a feeling any affectionate father might have felt when a suitor stepped forward to claim the hand of a most beloved daughter. He could easily recall the words Mr. Bennet had said to him. I did not think there was a man worthy of my dear Lizzy . . . I would not part with my daughter for a man less worthy than you, Mr. Darcy . . .

"Papa?" said Jane softly, placing her hand upon his own. She did not need to voice any pleas on the behalf of her beloved Thomas, for the look in her fine eyes spoke volumes in his favor already.

In response, Mr. Darcy smiled as he patted her hand reassuringly. "I must have a word with your dear mother first."

He knew he could trust his daughter's keen mind and sound judgment, but the choice of one's spouse - the lifelong companion of one's life - was amongst one of the most critical decisions a person could make. The welfare and happiness of many others - including children yet to be born - were inextricably entwined with such a decision as well. He had been blessed beyond measure because of his wife. He knew of many others whose ill-judged decisions had resulted in great marital woes.

"I spoke with Mama only moments ago," smiled Jane, her dark eyes sparkling. Her cheerful countenance signified that the outcome of such a conversation was a favorable one. Nevertheless, Mr. Darcy felt it was his prudent duty to discuss the matter with his wife.

The young couple was left in dreadful suspense when Mr. Darcy left the drawing room to seek a serious tête-à-tête with Mrs. Darcy. Jane took a seat upon the elegant settee, but Lord Ashbourne was too nervous to do likewise. Yet, he could not bear to be away from her, so he simply stood by her side, and remained in grave silence. He allowed her to take hold of his hand, but did nothing else. He could not bring himself to look at her. A single glance at his beloved, and he knew he would break his steely resolve and gladly be lost. He felt it was imperative for him to maintain the most gentlemanly conduct for the duration.

Jane seemed to comprehend his mind entirely. She was content to have him nearby, but she did not impose upon him further. She shared in his suffering - the acute torment of a final refusal by her father - and commiserated with him by her reassuring presence.

Gradually, the warmth of her hand generated a fresh surge of vivacity in him. Indeed, her touch gave him an inexplicable sense of optimism. She knew all his sins and faults, and yet, she loved and trusted him - completely and unequivocally. Surely, with such a remarkable, steadfast woman by his side, nothing in life would ever seem as daunting again. He could now dare to aspire to loftier goals, and set higher expectations for himself, His Jane would always be his inspiration and saving grace. The most fervent of prayers came upon the heels of such a realization, and he prayed harder than he had ever before.

At long last, the Master of Pemberley returned with his esteemed wife by his side. They paused briefly at the threshold of the room, and took measure of the quiet scene before them - the young couple's entwined hands, the look of deep embarrassment upon Lord Ashbourne's face as he attempted to disengage his hand from Jane's, and the determined tenacity upon which Jane retained her precious hold. It was evident that she meant to hold her ground if her parents should prove to be obstinately against Lord Ashbourne.

Mr. Darcy spoke sternly, without any preamble. "Very well, Thomas. Against my better judgment, I shall grant you a second chance to prove yourself."

"Thank you, sir!" exclaimed Lord Ashbourne, yet scarcely dared to take another breath.

Mr. Darcy held up a hand to becalm his excitement. "I must warn you, however, the tests of your character may be as intimidating as the twelve tasks of Hercules. If I am being exceedingly harsh towards you, I feel entirely justified. I shall fail as a good father if I do not protect Jane. She is, like all her siblings, as precious to me as life itself." In a slow and deliberate tone, he added, "Let me reiterate a very important point: I shall not grant my blessings until you have met all expectations."

As severe as Mr. Darcy looked, there was a definite sense of goodwill behind his words. Could he be rooting for Lord Ashbourne to succeed?

"I support my husband's decision entirely," said Mrs. Darcy with a motherly smile. She might harbor her own misgivings, but if an infamous rakehell like Lord Braunfield could undergo such a remarkable and genuine reformation, surely there was hope for the likes of Lord Ashbourne?

"I shall not fail you!" exclaimed the viscount as he turned to face Jane, looking as if he was being given a new lease on life.

Lizzy Darcy woke up with a smile upon her face. It hardly seemed possible, she mused, to tumble into love with someone so quickly.

To confess the truth, she had never truly been in love before. Her past experiences were entirely restricted to brief episodes of innocent infatuation. She had always taken pride in having Reason rule over her heart - her ardent feelings for Lord Braunfield had been long regarded by her rational mind as willful follies and despicable wantonness.

Yet, it would not do now. Her true feelings for William Warring could no longer be denied. Yesterday - the first day of his courtship - had been the turning point. She had taken real delight in the pleasure of his company, had spent hours beside him without being overwhelmed by his physical attributes. She had carried many earnest and articulate conversations with him without once lapsing into a heated argument. She knew that he was on his best behavior, and was determined to earn her good opinion of him at every turn. Yet, his manner and conduct seemed entirely true to his reformed character - it could hardly be a well-acted performance.

In the midst of her musings, she suddenly realized that she had yet to resolve the nagging thoughts she had in regard to the true identity of the mysterious W. Lord Braunfield's remarks had prompted her to examine the remote possibility that the viscount and Mr. W. were acquainted with one another. Was that the reason why he was so agitated that evening at Paxton Hall - warning her that W was nothing but a phantom, that she should not be besotted with W?

"Dear Lord!" Lizzy exclaimed aloud to herself. "Can Mr. W. be someone I know? One of my own relations?" The brilliance of W's mind, his progressive ideas, his gallantry, his strong sense of justice and duty, and his genuine concern for others - such sterling qualities signified a gentleman in the truest sense. Why, her own brother Alexander could fit the description perfectly!

She rushed to her wardrobe, and took out the Bengal box. With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid, and took out the bundle of W's letters. She examined his handwriting carefully, and concluded with a great sigh of relief that it was definitely not written by her eldest brother.

She continued to stare at the signature on the parchment. She had seen a similar W recently - written with the same bold stroke and masculine flourish. Where did she see it, she wondered in utter frustration? Upon the page of a guest book? On a bank draft - payable to the orphanage as a generous donation for its capital funds? She was certain she had seen it before, but she could neither name the place nor the time.

Perhaps, she mused, the easiest way to resolve the mystery was to ask Lord Braunfield directly. She only hoped that he would not tease her again by insisting he was the mysterious W himself. It had been a very amusing joke when he first declared it, although she had been too agitated to respond with a good laugh then. However, if he should make the same outrageous claim again, she was determined to humor him.

Lord Braunfield arrived at the Darcy townhouse at the appointed hour to escort Lizzy to her morning meeting at the Asylum for Female Orphans. For this outing, he managed to persuade Sir Edward and Lady Gardiner to be their chaperones. To own the truth, the senior Gardiners were delighted and honored to fulfill his lordship's request. The viscount had been the savior of their young grandson. Without Lord Braunfield's heroic and timely rescue, the River Thames would have been a watery grave for the rambunctious Joseph.

Lizzy had parted company with Lord Braunfield on very good terms the previous night; her sentiments towards him continued to increase favorably. Her dazzling smile at the sight of him was a sure sign of the present state of her heart.

Lord Braunfield bowed formally before he kissed her hand. "Good morning, Miss Elizabeth."

"Good morrow to you, my lord," she said demurely.

He returned her smile, and gladly basked in the warmth of her welcome. It was an auspicious start to a new day which promised even greater happiness.

Effusive greetings were exchanged with the Gardiners. Alexander and Isabella had a prior social engagement elsewhere in Town. Before they took leave, they bid a sanguine adieu to their sister Lizzy and her present company.

Glancing at the clock upon the grand mantle, Lizzy said, "Oh dear! We must make haste as well."

Their visit to the Asylum for Female Orphans proved to be a success. Lizzy had recently taken a personal interest in the learning curriculum of the young girls, and the Matron was proud to report excellent progress thus far.

"The overall health of the children has improved significantly as well," added the Matron, her glowing smile of appreciation and admiration was directed at Lord Braunfield.

Lizzy turned to look at her companion with a quizzical gaze. The viscount merely shrugged his broad shoulders, and said modestly, "I arranged for a physician to make visits here - on a regular basis. Great strides are being made in the medical field - preventive measures against certain maladies - from which we can all benefit."

"You are very considerate and generous, my lord," said Lizzy admiringly. The Gardiners nodded with appreciative smiles as well.

"I have done nothing more than to follow Alexander's example at Ridgemont," said the viscount placidly.

"Our family has a vested interest in the welfare of our workers," said Lizzy pensively. "These orphans here do not have any claims upon your patronage, my lord."

Lord Braunfield held her inquiring gaze, and answered her honestly. "Your genuine concern for the orphans is incentive enough for me to act accordingly, Miss Elizabeth."

Her heart leapt at his simple statement. Was her influence upon him so strong? It was scarcely believable. Yet, she was to learn a more amazing revelation in the next moment.

"I must commend your steward, my lord. Mr. Bertram is an excellent man. He is so dedicated and efficient in his work," remarked the Matron.

Lord Braunfield acknowledged her compliments of his chief steward with a solemn nod. "All is well then?"

"Oh, yes, thank you! All is supremely well, my lord. I only hope that your lordship is not too upset by the unexpected added costs," said the Matron with a deeply worried frown.

"The extra sum was of little significance," smiled Lord Braunfield amiably. "Do not worry over it anymore, my good lady."

Lizzy listened to the latest exchange between the Matron and Lord Braunfield with growing puzzlement. Her keen logic allowed her to conclude that the Matron was no longer speaking about the children's health. Was there something else that Lord Braunfield had done for the orphans, unbeknownst to her? A project of large enough magnitude that would involve his lordship's steward in the role of facilitator? Surely, she would have been properly informed by the Matron, or by her mother and Isabella, both being trustees of the establishment?

Curiosity got the better of her. "What extra costs?" she voiced the question openly.

The Matron had taken several steps ahead with the Gardiners, and she did not hear Lizzy presently. Lord Braunfield had remained by Lizzy's side, but he chose to ignore her direct question.

"William!" said Lizzy impatiently. "You heard my question clearly enough! Pray, divulge the answer now. Surely, it cannot be such a dark secret?"

In response, he grinned at her, and said, "I like the way you say my Christian name. It has such a melodic and gently possessive accent to it. I believe it is high time for you to forsake the use of my formal title."

"Oh! You can be so incorrigible at times!" she protested with a frown. She took an appraising survey of her surroundings, and her eyes were arrested by the sight of the sturdy new roof.

"Does it meet with your approval, my lord?" The Matron had called out proudly, her hand gesturing skyward towards the main building.

Lord Braunfield inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the Matron. He had hoped to keep his gift of the new roof a secret, but it seemed Elizabeth had already deduced her answer before the Matron spoke.

The Gardiners, in fulfilling their assigned roles as chaperones, had been quietly observant thus far, but at this moment, they voiced their high praise as well. The Matron took up their chorus of gratitude as she enthusiastically led the Gardiners on a tour of the facilities. There were other renovations that Lord Braunfield had generously funded along with the new roof.

Lizzy found herself alone with Lord Braunfield. Wordlessly, he led her to a quiet corner of the courtyard where they could have a moment for private conversation.

"It was you, William?" exclaimed Lizzy incredulously. "You must have commissioned it during your very first visit here. It was built so rapidly, with extra crews of workers on hand."

"It was money well spent," he said with an easy grin. "Some of the funds came from very handsome returns from my recent investments. My father was glad to fund the balance - if only to celebrate how I no longer wasted his fortune on frivolous pursuits of wine and women, and other reckless adventures."

Lizzy looked up at Lord Braunfield in wonderment, realizing that she had only begun to know him. He had always been unflinchingly honest about his past, yet she had remained so severe and judgmental towards him. At this moment, she could no longer deny that he had transformed into a paragon much like her esteemed brother Alexander.

"Is there anything else I should know, my lord? Do you have more secrets to reveal? I do not wish to embarrass myself continuously before your eyes!"

He shook his head, and leaned closer to whisper in her ear. "Open your heart to me, dearest and loveliest Elizabeth, and my life will be an open book to you."

Surprised by his candor, she backed away from him, and saw the most earnest look upon his handsome face. He had truly meant what he said! His words sent her heart into a wild tumult. It was the first time since the commencement of his formal courtship that he had breached his air of gentlemanly cordiality to make a very bold plea for her heart.

"My lord . . ." she hesitated.

"It's William," he murmured softly, a look of the gentlest admonishment in his dark eyes.

"William . . . I . . ." She was at an utter loss for words. How could she refuse him now?

"You are an avid reader. . . The story of my life is not as complicated as you imagine it to be. Yes . . . there have been a few regrettable chapters . . . filled with sordid details, but I assure you that there is nary a blemish after the decisive chapter involving the demonstration of Sir David Lexington's marksmanship upon my person."

"Well then. . ." she said very slowly, the deepest blush coming upon her delicate cheeks. "I believe I have read the Prologue already. . ."

"Perhaps you are in the middle of Chapter One?" he said hopefully, his intense gaze never leaving her lovely face.

"Yes," she confessed shyly. "I believe I have taken a perusal of the next few chapters as well. . ."

"Have such chapters piqued your interest?" he asked tentatively, half-fearing that she would reject him outright.

"From what I can glean from the pages, the material seems to be quite fascinating. My interest is quite engaged."

She had gamely taken up his apt metaphor of books for his courtship of her, and he was very grateful. He lifted her gloved hand in his, kissed it before he pressed it against his chest. It was an eloquent gesture, one that was reserved exclusively for her. She welcomed it with secret pleasure. Even through the layers of fabric, she could feel the rapid cadence of his heart.

"Promise me you will keep reading?" He pleaded softly, his dark eyes intent upon her face.

"For the improvement of my mind?"

He searched her eyes for any hint of teasing, but realized that she was in full earnest. He replied with equal solemnity, "No, for the improvement of mine. Dearest Elizabeth, you must know that you are my Muse. There are many new chapters - indeed, the better part of the story - yet to be written, and I can think of no one else but you to inspire such authorship."

She felt too overwhelmed to respond to his intentions. After a lingering moment of silence, she gave her answer with an almost undetectable nod. Lord Braunfield, however, was blessed with the keenest eyesight. He smiled, and felt quite content.

He pondered for a moment to find the best words to say to her - not mere words of flirtation or seduction, but genuine words of declaring his abiding love for her. A love sonnet, perhaps?

His romantic musings were interrupted when the Gardiners rejoined them at the courtyard. The Matron ushered in the children, who greeted their benefactors with bright smiles and polite curtseys. The visiting party was treated to a delightful chorus of English folk songs, and a recital of poetry. As much as Lord Braunfield enjoyed the performances, he could not keep from turning to gaze at Lizzy. More often than not, he was rewarded with a shy smile or lingering glance from his beloved.

At the conclusion, the youngest came forward, and said in a small but clear voice, "My lord, ladies and gentlemen, we thank you for all your kindness!" She giggled as she said this directly to the viscount, "And for all the new dolls and special treats you brought to us today. We love them so, my lord!"

Lizzy stole a surprised glance at William, and found him smiling at the children. He inclined his head to acknowledge the effusive words of gratitude, and said simply, "You must direct your thanks to Lady Gardiner. It was she who mentioned your fond wishes. I am merely the facilitator."

The children obediently gave thanks to Lady Gardiner, who greeted their cheers with a modest smile.

"You are full of surprises, my lord. You truly care about the little ones. I am very impressed indeed," whispered Lizzy. It was inexplicably wonderful to discover that his interest in the welfare of the orphans was not a passing fancy or mere whim. He shared her own genuine concern for them.

William drank in her compliment as if it was the sweetest wine. He smiled, and murmured, "Dare I hope that another chapter of my life has earned your good opinion and satisfaction?"

Lizzy nodded, suddenly feeling too shy to meet his searching eyes. "Yes. . ." she confessed softly, "this book . . . your book . . . is fast becoming too hard to put down . . ."

Continued In Next Section