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Please Read!:

Faithful reader(s) (of my previous stories) a few disclaimers and an obnoxiously long author’s note, which will thankfully not be repeated!!

One, while this was inspired by the subtext muses of my last ella, no original characters of my making cross from previous fics to this one.

Two, I wrote this as a challenge to myself to write in a different style and engage with different issues.

I would like to dedicate this to my LJ/MSN girls who put up with (and indulge) my nonsense on a daily basis. All of them are very dear to me, and they all know who they are and that they are to be held equally responsible for this, and to be praised for demanding a Shem-fic-on-demand that I can justly be proud of and not wonder what I was drinking ;p

But particular partners in my insanity are my lovely beta; any remaining errors are my own because I added them after she was done, or because I wilfully ignored her.

Also to Kay (and to Mary S) who pitchforked me relentlessly about this fic for a year. And to Kaarin who jumped out of the shadows to pitchfork my muse into continuing its roll and pointing out when I was veering into smaltzy territory.

Lastly to Vals who spoils me rotten, though I don’t deserve it, and my only repayment can be these fics.

(*Quote by Thomas Campbell)

Prologue ~ Three out Walking

Miss Catherine Bennet ran the stick idly on the ground after her.

It was of course just like Lydia to go into Meryton the day after the Ball without telling anyone.

Maria Lucas had come to call and Lydia had promptly whisked her off into the village to see if Wickham had returned from town.

She had paid no mind to the fact that this meant her sister would not be able to walk into town.

Lizzy would have walked into Meryton with her, if only to get away from the attentions of Mr Collins, but that gentleman’s sudden assertion he would not mind a walk had scotched that plan.

Jane was needed by Lizzy, of course.

Kitty tried hard not to begrudge her sister that protection, but she did.

For no one would walk into the village with her if they would not. Mary refused to go anywhere that would involve speaking to officers, or more correctly, watching other young ladies speaking to officers.

It was not proper to go out alone, but this was Kitty’s home; she knew every path into Meryton and the village of Longbourn. She recognized every face – well apart from those few and far between strangers. They rarely were gratified by visits from gypsies, so there could be no real harm in venturing abroad alone.

If she did not, then Lydia would spend the entire morning hearing all the gossip from the ball and would tease Kitty with it mercilessly.

Kitty had reached the pretty river that ran at the bottom of a dip in the land, and where a little grove of trees made everything very pleasant. Perhaps it might be best called a creek, but Kitty had never really learnt the difference.

Looking along the path, Kitty smiled. Perhaps it had been a good thing that Lydia had left her at home. For standing on the path was Mr Wickham. Kitty quickly dropped the stick, not wishing to appear childish before him.

He was not wearing his regimentals, the ones that made him look so dashing, but a blue superfine coat and breeches. The change in his attire had not dampened his smile.

“Miss Catherine!”

“Mr Wickham! We had not hoped to see you so soon.”

“My business in London was swiftly concluded.”

“Then it is a pity you were not able to come to the ball, I know many – Lizzy especially – lamented your absence.” Kitty tried to sound arch.

Mr Wickham smiled at that. Kitty wondered if Lizzy and he had some understanding, after all Lizzy was quite in love with him! And who would not be; a handsome soldier!

“I am flattered that anyone would have missed me.”

“Of course you were missed, Mr Wickham.” Coming closer, Kitty noticed Mr Wickham was looking tired, with heavy lidded eyes, and he was leaning on his cane, not just as an affectation but as if it were holding him up. “Mr Wickham, I do hope you did not rush back to Meryton, sacrificing your health. No one wishes to see you ill.”

Mr Wickham merely smiled.

Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy swished his cane out in front of him, as he took his customary early morning walk.

He had walked beyond the confines of Netherfield Park, partly because he needed a long walk to revive him after the ball, and partly because he did not wish to spend any more time than strictly necessary with Miss Bingley.

Darcy had not entirely managed to avoid her, having to listen to her comments on how well he looked. Darcy did not think his attire, a blue coat and breeches, deserved such comments, but he had long abandoned attempting to understand Caroline’s stratagems.

The ball had not, as far as Darcy could tell, passed off as badly as it could have.

However, that was not to say it was a pleasant evening. The worst case Darcy had imagined occurring was Bingley proposing in the middle of the dance floor. As that had not happened, the event could hardly be termed bad. Yet, this was of little comfort to Darcy.

It had also confirmed for him that he was acting correctly in his decision to follow Bingley to town.

Bingley had left early that morning and it had taken Darcy and the Bingley sisters only the work of a moment to decide that tomorrow they would remove to London.

There Bingley could be easily convinced of the unworthiness of the Bennets as potential family.

Darcy comforted himself that he would be saving Miss Bennet from an uncomfortable situation. She would not know how to say ‘no’, if indeed she wished to say ‘no’. She may be one of the many young ladies who would be satisfied with a handsome, kind, young man; one of those ladies whose hearts could barely be touched. Not because it did not exist, Darcy had seen enough of those types of ladies to know the difference, but merely because Jane Bennet liked everyone equally and consequently felt no particular passion.

Bingley, too, liked everyone; they were alike in that regard, but Bingley formed passions for people and expressed them. If his enthusiasm for Miss Bennet was to end in a marriage, Darcy could not be certain that his ardour would pall into a regard that Miss Bennet could return. If it did not, his friend would be hurt when he discovered she did not feel for him what he felt for her.

Yet, if he was honest with himself, his removal to London was not going to be entirely for the goal of protecting his friend. It would be prudent to remove himself from the society of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who had just one too many charms. He was sensible of feeling more for her than he ought, but he was also sensible of his position in society.

It was, surely, not impossible for him to form similar feelings for some young lady, as yet unknown, although strictly speaking he had not felt such feelings for anyone else outside his salad days. But it was almost certain he would at some point find another young lady, who occupied a better position in society, who would understand his needs.

It was also important to remove himself from Wickham’s society.

He had breathed a sigh of relief, one he had not known he had held, when he realized that Wickham had absented himself from Netherfield. While he was sure his self-control would have prevented a scene, he could not be entirely certain since he wished he had punished Wickham when he had the chance and the prospect of doing so whatever the circumstances may have proved too tempting.

He felt a pang at leaving without at least giving someone a hint of Wickham’s true character. But from what he could see, there were very few fathers and mothers in Meryton who would regard Wickham as an eligible parti. Mrs Bennet would lament that such a charming man had no fortune, but she would simply turn her mind to some other equally charming man with a fortune. If she would do such a thing then Darcy saw little danger in other parents succumbing to Wickham’s dangerous appeal.

For Wickham’s part, Darcy could see no young lady in Meryton with the requisite charms . Wickham would merely flirt with them.

Many of the young ladies seemed designed to flirt, so that would hardly harm them.

Mrs Amelia Long shook the umbrella into the verges of the path. She was sure she had seen something moving. But apparently she was mistaken; she should have brought her spectacles instead of her umbrella. She had been convinced that it was to rain, after all it had rained almost incessantly before the ball!

Mrs Long was paying her usual visits for a Wednesday. Mrs Long scheduled her visits very strictly, making the most of her week. If there was one thing she hated it was missing a visit. It meant missing gossip and there was hardly enough of it – the juicy kind, that is – as it was.

She usually brought one of her nieces with her, but they were still laid up after the ball.

When Mrs Long had been a girl, she would have been ashamed to have been abed the morning the day after a ball. The morning after was when one attempted to discover all those things one actually missed due to being too busy causing gossip for others.

For instance, Mrs Long had known that the haughty Mr Darcy had deigned to dance with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but she had not known the particulars; all the little looks, the snippets of conversation that others had overheard! In turn she had been able to fill in the blanks for those who missed what had caused Miss Lydia Bennet to be running through the ballroom with a soldier’s sword.

Of course there was not just the ball to discuss; there was Mr Bingley’s trip to London. Mrs Goulding said it was just a business trip, but everyone else was convinced that Mr Bingley was going to London simply so he could return to Netherfield with a ring. Opinion was divided over whether it would be some heirloom given to him by his mother, and whether one generation merited the word ‘heirloom’ or whether he would purchase a ring new.

Also how did Mr Bingley ascertain Miss Bennet’s ring size? In Mrs Long’s experience men in love found nothing a serious obstacle.

These musings got Mrs Long to the top of the gully. Looking from this spot there was a pretty view down to the creek. What she saw made her give a little scream.

“Are you sure you are not ill, Mr Wickham?” Kitty did not like to tell him that he was not, up close, looking as handsome as he usually did. But she weighed this against being the one to rush to his aid. Lydia would be so very jealous.

“I have never felt better in my life,” he responded.

Kitty stepped closer to him and rapidly stepped back. She could smell a most peculiar smell. It smelt like her father’s good port, but far stronger than the usual smell that wafted out of the library.

All of a sudden Mr Wickham did not look as if he was smiling as she thought he had been.

“Well, my sister will wonder what became of me if I do not hasten…”

“Wait,” Mr Wickham shot out a hand and caught her arm.

Kitty suddenly felt panicked. Gentlemen were supposed to flirt with words, not actually …it was up to the lady to tease a gentleman by hitting his arm or playing, as Lydia often did, with their tassels.

For all her flirting she had rarely been in company with a man alone but she was sure such interactions were not supposed to happen in this way.

Wickham stepped closer to her, far too close for propriety, and Kitty attempted to back away, but her flight was impeded by his hand and by a tree.

Darcy was half way down the gully, heading towards quite a picturesque scene when he heard a cry from a woman. Turning his head whence the cry came, from the top of the gully, he could see no one for the trees.

He stepped forward to look and saw a distressing sight: a tryst taking place by the river. The gentleman, his back to Darcy and the gully, had the girl pressed up against the tree.

Darcy resolved to ensure Bingley (and himself) never again set foot into this place and made to leave when he realized if this was indeed a tryst the lady was hardly enjoying it.

She was making a spirited attempt to kick the gentlemen.

Suddenly, something swung into focus. It was Wickham.

Darcy strode towards the couple, cane in hand.

“Wickham!”

Wickham turned, looking, as Darcy had seen him many times before in college, as though he had imbibed too much.

He snarled, and Darcy took great pleasure in knocking Wickham over with his cane.

He sprawled, inelegantly on the dirt and sneered up at Darcy, “Spoiling my fun Darcy? Pity you didn’t entirely spoil the fun I had, in Ramsgate, with – “

It was inconceivable that this was not a reference to Georgiana, and Darcy reacted again with his cane.

“Coward, Darcy?” said Wickham stumbling as he regained his feet.

“A dog deserves to be whipped with my cane,” replied Darcy. Wickham did not reply but merely limped away.

Darcy turned to the lady, and was shocked to discover it was a Miss Bennet. The fourth daughter – Catherine, he believed it was.

She did not seem to have suffered and permanent harm, although her dress was in disarray and her bonnet lay on the ground. She was sobbing uncontrollably.

Darcy attempted to reason her into some awareness, and tried to coax her to walk with him away from the creek.

She succeeded in walking a couple of steps before fainting into Darcy’s arms.

Mrs Long had thought it was a tryst too, until she had seen the girl’s panicked figure. She could not make out the faces from this distance, but she could make out the man’s predatory stance; cane, blue coat, top hat and breeches and the girl’s frightened one; muslin gown, pelisse and bonnet.

Then he had pounced and Mrs Long had shrieked.

They had not heard her cry out, so she hurried off down the path that led to the river bank.

It meant she lost sight of them; moments when anything could happen! But there was no other way down to the water.

These sorts of things did not happen in a respectable neighbourhood! She had never heard of such a thing! It was the stuff of fiction.

Of course young men and young women often met, for nefarious purposes, before they were married, but that was for mutual pleasure. Although it was possible for a young lady to agree to meet with a young man and then become alarmed by his ardour. Perhaps that was what had occurred in his situation.

It made Mrs Long feel much better to think of it in this way; otherwise they had an out and out villain in their midst! Who could it be?

Mrs Long turned the corner and made to wave her umbrella at the villain. Of course there was always the prospect that he would simply assault her as well! So Mrs Long decided to call for help very loudly, knowing that the local tenant farmers often came to sit by the river on their breaks.

The sight around the corner made her cut off one of her cries sharply.

There, in his blue coat, top hat, breeches, cane discarded by his feet, was the villain, with his victim fainted in his arms.

“Mr Darcy!” she gasped.

Chapter One ~ Facing the Rage

Posted on Thursday, 8 February 2007

Mrs Long had succeeded in capturing the attention of both Darcy and a group of men who emerged from the trees on the other riverbank.

But Darcy didn’t notice that they had company, and laid Miss Bennet on the ground before speaking to Mrs Long.

“Mrs Long, some assistance?”

Mrs Long looked shocked. Darcy supposed she was shocked that he would render any assistance at all. He was not entirely unaware of what the residents of this part of the country thought of him. Whatever they thought, he was not an unchivalrous man! To leave a young lady in Miss Bennet’s condition was repugnant to him, as it would be to any other gentleman, no matter the lady’s station in life.

“Some assistance, you wish for me to assist you?”

Darcy was very close to snapping at Mrs Long; did the woman see anyone else? But then he realised some men had forded the stream. Naturally, they would be of more use than Mrs Long who seemed on the verge of fainting.

“Mr Thomas, quickly take up Miss Catherine!” said Mrs Long imperiously.

Darcy handed the swarthy man Miss Bennet’s bonnet who hoisted Miss Bennet up into his arms as though she did not weigh more than a feather. He was surprised when Mrs Long addressed him again.

“Do not touch her, you villain!”

Darcy had thought Mrs Long had some measure of breeding that would have prevented her from being so openly impolite. It was gratifying that the farm hands were also surprised at her behaviour. Darcy had wondered if his words about the confined and unvarying nature of country society had been too harsh. But the idea of being cooped up in close proximity to Mrs Long for any length of time put paid to those thoughts!

“This villain, who thinks himself so far above his company…”

“Enough, madam!” Darcy’s temper was sorely tried. Simply out for a walk, he had managed to become embroiled in another one of Wickham’s intrigues and while he had managed to stop it before any material damage had occurred…it should not have happened. Darcy’s blood was also boiling from Wickham’s insinuation that Georgiana had been in a similar situation. Wickham clearly meant to imply that his sister, unlike Miss Bennet, had enjoyed and welcomed Wickham’s attentions. What irked him more was that Wickham was not incorrect; after all he could be charming when he wished to be and Georgiana was so innocent that it would have not taken much to convince herself she was in love, and that such things were right in such a situation.

Feeling less in control of his temper than he had in months, Darcy decided there was nothing more likely that to snap that control than listening to the ramblings of Mrs Long!

With a curt, “Tell Mr Bennet I shall call upon him to ensure his daughter’s health.” Darcy picked up his cane, abandoned as he had caught, Miss Bennet and strode away.

It was, not that he knew it at the time, to be the worst decision of his life.

He strode back to Netherfield in a fine temper and called for his horse. His quarry however was not in Meryton. The boarding house where Wickham kept his rooms claimed that he had not returned from London. However the owner helpfully told him that Mr Wickham was being met at the inn of the next town, where the stage stopped, by Mr Denny.

The stage was apparently not due in for another hour; it was clear Wickham had found some other way back to Meryton. No doubt eager to get back to seducing the young ladies of the town! After Wickham’s actions of the morning Darcy had a strong feeling that inquiries with any tradesman’s daughters would bring to light a host of other iniquities Wickham had committed in his short time in Meryton.

It was probably a good thing he did not find Wickham as Darcy was not sure what he had intended to do to him.

Although he now had more of an idea what the villain could have told Miss Elizabeth. He had known whatever it was would be lies, but now he knew it would be poisonous lies of the highest order. He wished he could be sure that his sister had been left out of Wickham’s tales, but after Wickham’s behaviour today he did not have that guarantee.

Darcy could not help but think of Bingley dining again with the officers; he had declined due to a reluctance to meet with Mr Wickham. But from Bingley’s report the talk at the tables had not been improved by Wickham’s presence. An all male affair, especially with soldiers, was likely to lead to ribald conversation, but apparently Wickham and his friends had gone so far as to toast to various ladies. It had made Bingley particularly uncomfortable to hear the Bennet sisters’ names toasted so rapturously. Only the middle and eldest sisters were apparently ignored; Darcy doubted any of the officers would find any attraction in Miss Mary and he could not conceive of even Bingley simply ignoring Miss Bennet’s name being brought up in such a fashion. Darcy had not even attended the evening and he was disgusted at the mere thought of a group of drunken soldiers toasting the charms of Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

But who knew when Wickham would, in a drunken state, or simply an ill-humour bandy his sister’s name about?

Darcy shook his head and mounted his horse to ride to Longbourn.

Darcy frowned at the looks the Longbourn servants gave him as he crossed the threshold. He supposed he was spoiled with his servants, who were all exceptional people. They would not demean themselves by staring at a guest. It seemed impossible to him that any servant worth their ilk would allow themselves to betray even the slightest curiosity in their master’s guests. In fact, it was poor breeding in anybody to do so!

The youngest Miss Bennet was standing in the hall, and if Darcy read her facial expression correctly, she was looking at him with interest. Her look confused him since he doubted he was of any interest to Lydia Bennet. He did not even think he had seen her looking at him more than once! That sort of disinterest, impressed him in a well-bred woman, but he could not be impressed with her youthful disregard for fortune. It was not true disinterest but merely that she had not learnt to regard fortune, all she cared for was a handsome solider who would flirt uncontrollably with her. That was not something to admire.

Darcy handed his hat and gloves to the butler, he vacillated over whether to do so, after all it was not to be a long visit but he decided that Mr Bennet did deserve more details of Mr Wickham’s character.

“Could you inform Mr Bennet I should like a word with him?”

The butler bowed and left the room, hopefully to fetch Mr Bennet.

Darcy’s voice apparently caused Mary Bennet to drift into hall but this was merely to lead her younger sister away. She spoke in hushed tones and Darcy only caught the words ‘avert your eyes’ which seemed even too evangelical for the staid Bennet sister.

There seemed, to Darcy, an abnormally long wait until someone came to show him the way to Mr Bennet. Even if he had stepped foot in the house before, it would have been the height of discourtesy to simply wander through the place in search of its master. Yet another reason to praise his servants when he returned to London; Darcy was certain that they would never leave a visitor unattended for so long or if such a wait was unavoidable they would have seen to the visitor’s comfort far more promptly.

A creak made Darcy look up to see the two eldest Miss Bennets standing on the stair. He did not know what the eldest looked like as he only had eyes for her sister. She had a look of such reproach in her eyes that for a moment Darcy thought it might be hatred. What had Wickham been telling her?

The butler returned and Darcy tore his eyes away from her pleasing figure and fine eyes, despite their expression.

Mr Bennet arrived from somewhere in the depths of the house and silently opened the door to his study. Darcy attempted not to roll his eyes as he realised it directly opened onto the hall. He could have easily been left to wait in there, rather than to stand in the middle of the hall for everyone to gawk at!

“Mr Bennet, I trust your daughter has suffered no lasting harm?” said Darcy once the door closed.

Mr Bennet had his back turned and Darcy saw him tense before turning around.

“You can ask me that?” he sounded angry, which of course he had every right to be.

“I understand this is a trying time, but no material – “ Darcy stopped and realised. Miss Bennet was no doubt too indisposed to have told her father what had occurred and Mrs Long had seen very little. Mr Bennet was no doubt in the dark as to the whole proceedings, merely having been told that his daughter had been found collapsed by the river. It would be best for all concerned perhaps if Wickham was left out of the tale. Wickham would hardly mention such an event, not even Wickham was that stupid.

“Your daughter fainted, Mr Bennet. I am sure some rest will do her good. She was fortunate to do so while I was nearby, although I am sure Mrs Long would have come upon her even if I had not been walking.” Darcy was sure Miss Bennet would affirm something similar. He felt no qualms about lying to Mr Bennet. There was no possibility of a lasting harm, and he would not wish marriage with Mr Wickham on even the silliest girl in the country. He did not doubt that after this experience Miss Catherine would ensure never to be alone with another man until she was married. Darcy still needed to ensure that Wickham was not unleashed on any other unsuspecting girls; however for Miss Bennet the experience would probably have done more good than harm! It would cure her of flirting or being too openly trusting.

“Fainted?”

“Yes, fainted.”

Mr Bennet had a peculiar expression on his face. “You would not know the cause of her illness?” His tone was harsher than Darcy would have associated with the man.

“No, I am not aware of it.”

“Did you touch my daughter?”

Darcy was thrown by this question; “I suppose I did – “

Mr Bennet looked disgusted and Darcy felt suddenly very like he had when the ice had cracked while he had ice-skated as a child.

Darcy opened his mouth, but the door opened and Mrs Bennet entered.

“Has the villain confessed? My poor daughter. My poor innocent daughter.”

Darcy blinked. “Villain?” They could surely not have thought that he had done anything improper?

“Villain! Attack my daughter and dare to show your face in this house!” Mr Bennet sounded angry.

“Oh and now Mr Bennet shall have to fight a duel and what shall become of us!”

Darcy definitely felt all at sea. “Calm yourself, madam, sir, you are labouring under a misapprehension.”

“Are we?” said Mr Bennet.

“Yes, I will admit I did not tell you the truth just now, I thought it would be best – “

“Best!? I see how it will be!” shrieked Mrs Bennet before scurrying away. Darcy gave a sigh of relief, now he could speak rationally to the father.

“I thought it would be best if it was not spoken of, but Mr Wickham was frightening your daughter. As I was to say before, she took no material hurt. I made sure of that.”

“Should I be grateful?”

Darcy blinked.

“Should I be grateful that you are such a villain as to come into my home and speak such lies when you were seen!”

“I beg your pardon. Seen?”

“ Seen. Mrs Long saw you.”

“Your daughter fainted into my arms,” said Darcy. He could not understand why Mr Bennet was so alarmed at the fact that Mrs Long had seen Darcy carrying his daughter. Of course it was not a usual or indeed desirable situation, but it was certainly better than letting Miss Catherine fall to the ground.

“Before! With your hands and…I laughed at the gossip that you were so far above your company and thought that you were just like any other proud young man. But now? You think that wealth – “

“Sir! I did not touch your daughter. I do not pretend to know what Mrs Long thought she saw.”

The door flew open again and Mrs Bennet returned, this time with the subject of the conversation.

Darcy had not thought Miss Catherine would be so composed. She looked pale but she was not in hysterics.

“Tell your father, Kitty! Tell him!”

Darcy looked at Mrs Bennet sharply and then at her daughter. Surely she had not told her mother that he… The compromising position, as Miss Catherine had found herself in that morning, did have the threat of marriage, but even she would not think it was acceptable to swap his name for Wickham’s, for all that he was a better prospect!?

“You have not said that it was I, when you know it was Wickham?” he thundered.

“I will not have you speaking to my daughter in such a fashion,” said Mr Bennet.

Miss Catherine did not raise her eyes, which had lowered as soon as Darcy had raised his voice. “No, I did not. I – it was not – I had fainted but it was Mr – Wickham who … not – “ the girl stuttered this out before fleeing the room.

Mrs Bennet glared at him. He had not thought her capable of such a look. “You see, Mr Bennet, he has terrified her into speaking such untruths, but you shall not escape! You shall be made to marry her!”

“Sir, I protest my innocence. Your daughter has said – “

Mr Bennet waved his hand at his wife, it was not successful and he had to physically hurry her from the room. “You swear on your character, which my eldest daughters tell me was in some question before this incident, that it was Mr Wickham who assaulted my daughter?”

“I swear on my character, on my honour, on anything you wish me to swear upon,” said Darcy. “I assure you that there is no stain upon my character. I will not swear it is impeccable, no young man has no indiscretions; but nothing that – “

“Mr Wickham has told Lizzy of heinous crimes towards himself. She told me of them after Mrs Long, babbling of your iniquitous behaviour, brought, via Mr Thomas, an insensible Kitty home.”

“May I inquire as to the charges Mr Wickham has brought against me?”

Mr Bennet nodded and gave Darcy the details.

“I refute them utterly. I can only lay before you all of my dealings with Mr Wickham.”

And so Darcy did, relating all of his dealings including those of the morning, although he created for himself a vague female relation dependant upon him in order to explain Wickham’s behaviour to his sister. He did not wish to have Mr Bennet, or anyone, think ill of his sister, but he must be told the circumstances if not the whole truth.

Mr Bennet had sat down, tiredly, in a chair. “My problem, Mr Darcy, is that if you are capable of attacking innocent females, you are also capable of making up such lies, even those that involve close relations.”

“I am not lying. You can appeal to my cousin for the truth.”

“I have another problem, even if I do believe you.”

Darcy frowned. He was not stupid; he had a fair idea what Mr Bennet was going to say… he just did not wish to voice it aloud.

“Even if I do believe you, Mrs Long and a number of farmers have left my house under the impression that you – I assume due to some similarity in attire and looks? – I cannot say it. I believe, despite such a short acquaintance, you understand Mrs Long’s inability to keep such things to herself. I have little expectation that the farmers would not speak of it, not to mention the little reliance I have on my servants. Of course they would not see it as gossiping, it would merely be telling their daughter at the Lodge or the Park…”

Darcy closed his eyes and turned away.

“My daughter has been compromised. Utterly and completely. Someone must marry her.”

Chapter Two ~ Marriage

Posted on Wednesday, 14 February 2007

Kitty slammed the door behind her. She did not mean to slam it; it just flew out of her shaking fingers.

She sat on the bed and tried to think.

It was actually quite hard.

She had been walking and then…and then….and then…

It seemed all moments of blurriness connected by moments of extreme clarity.

Wickham stepping towards her; seeing another man – who looked so similar – whom she knew now to be Mr Darcy; being at home lying on her bed with people talking in high pitched tones around her; her mother ushering her into the study demanding she tell her father; Mr Darcy yelling…

It was supposed to have been a nice walk into Meryton, see the officers, look at some hideous cloth…

But somehow it had all flown out of her grasp and she did not know when.

She did not even know how it came to be that everyone was talking in shocked tones about Mr Darcy. Surely Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy who detested each other would not be in league together?

Perhaps she should have read more of the novels that Lydia had ordered from the circulating library! How upset Mary will be when she realises all this could have been averted if I had read more novels, thought Kitty.

For if she had read more novels she might have seen that Wickham and Mr Darcy were really confederates!

Kitty shook her head. No, that was preposterous for she was sure she remembered Wickham’s cruel tone and Mr Darcy thrashing him with the cane.

Rising from the bed, Kitty went to look out the window and watched as Mr Darcy stormed out of the house and practically flung himself onto his horse. That was odd. But any thought of what could have upset Mr Darcy so flew out of her mind when someone knocked on the door. It was Jane.

“Kitty, can I get you anything? Did you need to talk?” Jane spoke quietly and in a tone that suggested she expected Kitty to be distraught.

Kitty shook her head, unable to speak, hoping that her sister would just leave her alone.

Jane, always the most sensitive of her sisters, must have realised her desire and had closed the door so quietly that Kitty was not even aware Jane had left until she looked away from the window.

Kitty tried to think, but all that kept flashing into her brain was how repulsive Wickham was and how could she have ever thought him handsome.

He had touched her. She remembered that now and shuddered.

But it was over. No one had seen them, had they?

Well apart from Mr Darcy.

Perhaps that was what Mr Darcy was angry about? The fact he could not tell anyone how shamefully she had behaved?

After all she must have done something for Wickham to treat her like that!

She, who had previously desired men’s attention! Just the night before at the ball she had run around the ball chasing officers!

Wickham would not be welcome in this house, she was certain of it. So she would not have to see him again. Only… surely Lydia or Lizzy would not convince Papa…?

Kitty knew she didn’t want to see him, or Mr Darcy, ever again.

But it did no good to dwell on it.

It seemed easier to go to bed and curl up with one of the novels lying around her room, than to think about things that she could not change.

Things did indeed feel better in the morning.

Lydia had not come in the night and Kitty wondered briefly where she had slept. It was a rarity not to be woken up by Lydia selfishly making as much noise as possible or in reverse having to be as quiet as a mouse as to not wake her up.

Breakfast in bed at Longbourn was unheard of unless you were Mrs Bennet. Kitty had tried many times to get one of the maids to bring her up a tray and it always ended in Hill giving her a stern lecture about responsibility and laziness. What responsibility had to do with breakfast in bed, Kitty could never work out.

So it was with some surprise that a knock on the door was revealed to be Hill herself bringing Kitty a tray of her favourite breakfast foods.

Hill fussed over her a bit before leaving her alone. The leaving her alone might have been precipitated by Kitty suddenly jerking and almost knocking over the whole tray when Hill’s arm brushed her own. Kitty expected a sharp retort but instead she got a glance of pity and Hill bustling out of the room.

After a good night’s sleep Kitty felt more refreshed and less scatterbrained. No, she felt more herself.

She was not surprised that her father wanted to see as soon as she felt able, but she was surprised by his actions. Instead of lecturing her, or even making fun of her; both of which her father was entirely capable of doing and had done so in the past; he looked searchingly at her.

Then he moved to look at her more closely and Kitty found herself wishing to back away, when he put his hands on her shoulders and said “My darling girl.”

He then embraced her.

Kitty tried not to stare into his waistcoat, wondering why he was treating her so well, when surely her actions had brought shame onto the family?

She had never listened to her elder sister’s strictures on propriety and now look what had happened.

Her father dropped his arms awkwardly. “Kitty, do you feel like you can tell me what happened yesterday?”

Kitty swallowed. “No one would go into town with me, so I went alone.”

Mr Bennet nodded.

“I saw Mr Wickham by the river bank and he – “ Kitty stopped. “I do not…I am not sure…Mr Darcy was there.”

“Kitty, you do not mention Mrs Long?”

“Lord, what does Mrs Long have to do with it?” Kitty felt exasperated. She knew, now, what she had done was wrong, why was her father making her relive it? She was sure it was because he was about to lecture her severely and tell her she should not be let out of his sight forever more. He had threatened that recently when hearing of her, Lydia and Mrs Forster’s exploits with some of the officers. She had never thought he would actually ever carry through with such a plan.

Mrs Bennet would have raised too much of a fuss! But she was sure even her mother could not pass off what happened the day before as youthful high spirits.

“Mrs Long witnessed the event.”

“Oh,” said Kitty.

“She claims it was Mr Darcy who – “ Mr Bennet broke off, not knowing how to finish the sentence delicately.

“No, he was there but…” Kitty frowned. “He was very angry and seemed to take some delight in hitting Mr Wickham. Is this why he came here yesterday?”

“Yes. Mrs Long it seems has told many people her version of events.”

“Oh,” there seemed not much more to say.

“I shall have to go into Meryton, but I shall speak to you on my return.” Her father handed her a book and smiled rather wanly at her.

Kitty flicked through the book. Shakespeare’s plays. Her father must be worried if he had left her alone in his library with his books!

If Mrs Long had seen something, or made up something to make herself look interesting then Kitty did not know how it was to be forgot.

It would be like Miss Smith and Reginald Bower. Mrs Long had seen them kissing in one of Old Mr Bower’s orchards, and she had told Lady Lucas who had told Mrs Bennet who had told Mrs Phillips who had told Mr Phillips who had told Old Mr Bower.

The consequence was Reginald Bower had been given a commission, and Miss Smith had been labelled a fortune hunter and had her reputation quite ruined.

Of course most of the town had saved their whispering and pointed stares for the Bowers; after all it was not gentlemanly to abandon a female in such circumstances.

This disapproval of Mr Bower’s actions had not, however, stopped the ostracism of Miss Smith.

Mary, for instance, had managed to censure everyone’s actions equally, though saying that Miss Smith’s virtue was priceless and she had been the most to blame for losing it.

Kitty had looked on the affair with amusement, after all Reginald Bower was quite hook nosed!

But it did not seem quite so amusing now.

She wondered if not being a willing participant meant you would still be outcast?

Or would Mr Wickham marry her?

Perhaps yesterday had been an aberration? He had been drunk and so overcome with her charms…

Kitty looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. No, that was just stupid. He may have been drunk and any young lady would have done.

After all, she did not have any charms that some other young lady of the village did not have in spades!

Kitty had liked Mr Wickham; but even she could see the inconsistency between his public behaviour and his private one!

No, she hoped she would not have to marry Mr Wickham! He most likely would not be prevailed upon to marry her, so she would have to …

Kitty did not know what she would have to do; in novels the young lady ended up in a convent but she was not Catholic and she did not think England had convents.

Miss Smith had ended up retiring to Harrowgate. Kitty regarded that as a fate worse than…well perhaps not death, but certainly marriage to Wickham.

It might not be so bad being married. She would have as much freedom as Mrs Forster, and certainly would be able to lord it over Lydia!

Though one would have to see Mr Wickham every day and that was enough to have her shuddering again.

Kitty picked up Shakespeare again and tried to read it. It was impossible. She had never much cared for reading! She doubted that the events of yesterday would have any effect on that!

She wondered at her mother not speaking with her.

Mrs Bennet had been one of those fussing over her when she had awoken, and of course she had barged into her room and dragged her down to speak with Mr Darcy, but apart from that she had not come near her.

This she found all very strange. Perhaps it was because Mr Collins was in the house and she feared the events would affect Mr Collins’ offering for one of them?

Of course she could go and speak to her mother, but Mrs Bennet, while entering into all of her youngest girls’ whims, and desires was not likely to make her feel any better about this .

Several hours later, and several pages into Hamlet, Kitty was very glad she had not spoken to her mother.

Mr Bennet returned looking grave.

What alarmed Kitty more was he was followed by Mr Darcy who was looking thunderous.

“Papa?”

“I have never in all my days met a more….duplicitous….conniving…evil man.”

Kitty had never heard her father speak so.

“Was on the stage-coach the entire time! Of course Mr Denny can vouch for my whereabouts and here is Lt. Parks who happened to be on the coach with me all the way from London!”

Kitty stepped backwards. Her father was rambling.

Mr Darcy was looking at him with some concern as well.

“Papa?”

“There is nothing for it; my daughter’s reputation must be saved! After all for all I know, Mr Wickham could have been on that coach! ”

Kitty suddenly realised there was a whole conversation happening, in which she had no say, or no part, she could not even hear the conversation.

“Sir,” said Mr Darcy curtly.

It was only one word but suddenly Kitty realised what was happening or what was going to happen. Her father was about to say that she would marry Mr Darcy.

“No!” she said forcibly, watching as the two men turned to her. Suddenly her next line which would have been “I would rather die!” died on her tongue.

Mr Darcy then began to speak to her father of arrangements and Kitty blinked. Was she not even to be asked? Was her outburst to be ignored? Were the words not even to be spoken aloud?

It seemed that they were not, for Mr Darcy after telling, not asking, but telling both her father and herself that they were not to speak of the whole affair beyond announcing an engagement left the room and the house.

Kitty felt betrayed. She would rather go to Harrowgate and face drinking the waters all day as the companion to some lady’s pug than marry Mr Darcy. And that was saying something.

Chapter Three ~ Strength Without…

Posted on Thursday, 22 February 2007

Darcy looked intently at the brandy snifter that was currently occupying a prime position on his desk. The idea of drinking until it was empty appealed to him but also conjured feelings of strong repulsion.

His father, though a good man, had often succumbed to the lure of a good brandy when Lady Anne had passed away. Darcy had found him once unconscious in his study chair. He had not been more than fifteen and had found it difficult to assist his father to his bedchamber.

All he had thought of was the importance that no one see his father in such an undignified state. The image of George Darcy, the master of Pemberley and his father, was not to be tarnished by this unknown wretch of a man. It had dismayed him to realize, when returning to the study to clear away the mess, that Old Wickham was there before him. He was not sure what hurt more, that his father had indulged more than once, or that the steward knew and had not done or said anything.

Of course, Darcy realized later in life that it was not weakness in his father to mourn his loss nor was it wrong of Old Wickham to shelter his friend and master. To mourn the loss of a wife, a loving wife and mother, by removing all knowledge of the present, was acceptable, and it had not lasted long.

To contemplate doing the same because one had gained a wife – that was true weakness. Darcy pushed the snifter to the corner of the desk and sighed.

This room had been his father’s before him, and his father’s father before him, and so on; not for time immemorial, though it had seemed so to Darcy when his father had talked to him, as a small boy, of the Darcy lineage.

He remembered his mother dressed in her finery standing near the fireplace, looking coyly over one shoulder at his father, laughing at some joke Darcy could not remember, no doubt because he could not understand it at the time. Later, when they had both gone, Darcy remembered kneeling before the same fireplace and telling Georgiana that everything would be all right because she still had him. Of course, he had come close to breaking that promise, leaving her alone and defenceless in Ramsgate.

Then, he had hoped, he would meet a beautiful intelligent woman who would be able to guide Georgiana through the perils of being a lady of fortune. She would stand near the fireplace, and look coyly over one shoulder at him. It had been a fantasy but he had enjoyed it at the time.

It seemed fitting that the room was the place he’d come to terms with the fact he’d never have a marriage equal to his parents. Nor would he have a marriage equal to that of his peers.

And a room where he could indulge in some wallowing after reflecting upon the reactions of his closest family and friends. It had been a difficult task informing those who needed to be informed of his impending marriage. Darcy had never shied away from difficult tasks; that was true cowardice, but in this instance it had taken all of his courage to summon his friends and family.

To say his uncle was less than pleased would have been an understatement. Darcy had wondered if he should dissemble over the circumstances of his hasty engagement but had realised that if he was to garner any support from his family his uncle at least needed nothing but the bald, honest, and painful truth. The whole story, not just those immediate events in Hertfordshire.

“How could this be, Darcy?”

Darcy grimaced. His uncle had seated himself behind the desk. It was his house, yet he felt an interloper forced to pace in penitence before Lord Matlock.

“How could I be so foolish?”

“I would put it in stronger words, but there are ladies in the house,” replied his uncle. Georgiana was showing Lady Matlock her latest drawings and talking excitedly of receiving a new sister. Darcy had not told her the truth.

“I should have seen – “ Darcy stopped. He had always prided himself in not chastising himself unnecessarily. Of course, this did not include matters of family, but in all else he felt no desire to punish himself for things that could not be helped. Despite regretting his comments about Elizabeth Bennet, once he had been in her company longer, he saw no point in thinking about the matter further. Watching Bingley fret over every perceived and actual societal misstep, particularly when they concerned young ladies, had further removed the desire. No, Darcy could not have seen what the Bennets were, or what they were likely to entangle him in.

“Yes, you should have,” Lord Matlock was blunt. “Your father paid for him to attend his college. Spoke well of him to his friends! I knew you did not care for him, but that is of little consequence. Richard cares little for Harold!”

Darcy turned, “You are speaking of Wickham?”

Lord Matlock rolled his eyes, “Of whom else would I be speaking? You failed to do your duty! To your family, to your sister and to yourself!”

“Yes, it was my responsibility and I dealt with the situation as I saw fit. There was no need to expose Georgiana to ridicule and censure!”

“It need not have happened! I am the head of this family – “

“Excuse me uncle, but you are not the head of mine and – “

“I misspoke. I apologise. But you must see the consequences of your actions! ”

Darcy shook his head. “You think I do not see the consequences of my actions? I must live with this – “

When his uncle did not speak, Darcy sat on the edge of the desk. It meant he had to face away from his uncle, but he did not trust himself to look at anyone.

“I must live with this; Georgiana must live with this and my family must live with this. Believe me, uncle, I know of my responsibility and I know how much this rests on my inability to see Wickham for what he truly was.”

“And of your future wife?”

Darcy turned to look at his uncle.

“She must live with this, too.”

As painful as his interview with his uncle had been, his conversation with Bingley was more so.

Bingley had bounded into the study.

“Darcy, I cannot tell you how pleasant it is to see you. Although whatever made you come up to London? I shall be home – how pleasing it is to have a home – in several days.”

Darcy had offered Bingley a drink and a seat, Bingley had accepted the former and rejected the latter, happily walking about the room.

“How did you leave my sisters and Mr Hurst?”

“Very well,” said Darcy, trying to think of an acceptable way to broach the subject of his engagement. He had not decided whether it would be wise to divulge the truth to Bingley.

“And all our acquaintance, are they all well?” If it was anyone but Jane Bennet that Bingley was not so subtly hinting at discovering any information about, Darcy would have smiled at his friend’s complete openness, even when he was convinced he was employing the most complete subterfuge.

“Yes, they are all well.”

“Excellent! Or should I say Capital!”

But Darcy was not in the mood to join Bingley in this Mertyon joke.

“Bingley, I have something of importance to say to you.”

Bingley seemed not to hear him, instead commenting on the painting over the mantle.

“Bingley, I wish you would attend to me – “

“I know what you are going to say, Darcy. You consider Jane Bennet a lovely girl, but not the type of young lady I should marry. You will then point out the number of times I have tumbled in and out of love. You will then comment on every wrong doing – both actual and perceived – that the Bennet family has carried out in your presence, and even those not in your presence. All in all you will attempt to convince me that Jane Bennet is not worthy of my love. And nothing shall do that, Darcy.”

“Not even the fact she does not return your love?”

This, as Darcy had suspected it would, deflated Bingley.

“Not even the fact that her pleasing smiles are no more than she gives anyone else, that any attention she gives you stems from her politeness and her duty to her mother. A mother, who like many mothers before her, though they were not as transparent, feels it your duty to marry one of her daughters and will stop at nothing, not even if it makes her daughter miserable, to see it happen.”

Bingley turned to him with the most painful expression. “Is this true, Darcy?”

Darcy toyed with saying yes. It was after all what he had intended to tell Bingley, and it was the truth.

But for now, Darcy merely shrugged. “That is not why I asked you to come, Bingley.”

Bingley did not respond, but it was clear from his stance he was thinking, Then why did you?

So after pouring himself another drink, Darcy told Bingley of his impending marriage. It did occur to him, that after silencing both Miss and Mr Bennet, even to their own family, to the truth, that it was rather hypocritical of him to be revealing all (or intending to reveal all) to so many people.

But Darcy had every faith in the necessity of what he was doing. Not that he told Bingley the entire tale. He edited Georgiana out; he could not expect Bingley to turn his attention to Georgiana if he knew of his sister’s misstep. He had to rely on Bingley’s previous knowledge of Darcy’s dislike of Wickham’s character.

Bingley was silent.

“Speak, man!” said Darcy, sounding to his ears curiously like his friend.

“I do not know what to say,” Bingley looked agitated.

“We have been friends for many years, you could say nothing that could offend me,” said Darcy, rather generously because he was easily offended. He knew that was one of his faults.

“The Bennet family thinks you a villain. If they do not, the village thinks you a villain”

Darcy did not respond. He could not refute that remark.

“I do not mean to be selfish, but you have ruined my chances with the one woman I – “

It was uncharacteristic of Bingley, which perhaps spoke of his sincere depth of feeling for Miss Bennet. Darcy had hoped to split the couple irrevocably, but he wished with all his heart that it had not been at the expense of his own future.

“Forgive me, Darcy. I did not mean – “

“No, you meant it, and you are quite correct, as things stand I cannot see how Jane Bennet – assuming she does not, as I believe, know the truth – could countenance even a friendship with – “

“The truth must be known!”

“No.”

“Darcy, you cannot believe that it would be best to have all of Hertfordshire, including the Misses Bennet, believing you the worst kind of villain!?”

“I would rather them think that, then the truth, that I am a -.”

“A gentleman!”

“No, Bingley, I would be regarded as a laughing stock. As it is, the majority think me merely as over amorous and perhaps unwise to meet my beloved in such a secluded spot.”

“The Bennet sisters do not think that –“

“No. Do not ask me to explain it to you, Bingley. I could not have – “

“I do not think I will ever understand you, Darcy,” replied Bingley, “But I will stand up for you.”

“I beg you not to speak the truth – “ Darcy spoke hastily.

“I meant at your wedding. If you wish for me to remain silent on other matters I will.”

“Thank you.”

It was not to be thought that Colonel Fitzwilliam, upon hearing of Darcy’s engagement (from the newspaper, or from his father) would respect Darcy’s privacy. Or respect the fact Darcy clearly had many things to attend to. His attorneys had been in and out of the house – and in and out of Cheapside where a Mr Gardiner was attending to the Mr Bennet’s arrangements. Darcy had been relieved that Mr Gardiner was a respectable city gentleman, although from the looks Mr Gardiner had given him, he could not say he had been given the same appraisal in return. It had left a bitter taste in his mouth, but it was of his own doing. All of it.

“I had no notion, that you were in love, Darcy. I thought you found the countryside quite below your touch!”

Darcy for moment was confused by Fitzwilliam’s tone.

Fitzwilliam took pity on him.

“I should have shot Wickham when I had the chance.”

“I am being justly punished for my peaceableness.”

“And Wickham remains unpunished.”

“He will have to face his crimes.” Darcy said this with more hope that he could actually lay claim to.

“What is she like?”

Darcy was flummoxed at his cousin’s change in conversation.

“Who?”

“Your bride?” Fitzwilliam sounded as if Darcy’s question had been one of the stupidest he had heard.

It was quite typical of Fitzwilliam, or possibly of soldiers; if there was nothing to be done, there was nothing to be done. If there was something to be done, it was done. If the latter then Fitzwilliam would have been pressing Darcy into action; as it was, it was the former. Thus as far as Fitzwilliam could see the only solution was to press forward and make the best of it.

Darcy wished, at times, he had the Colonel’s temperament. Darcy was far too prone to wallowing. Not the type of wallowing that had all the ladies aflutter over the heroes in their circulating library novels. Darcy’s temperament meant that he merely mulled, continuously, over everything. No one but his closest acquaintance could identify this mood, but it was as destructive as constantly drinking brandy and refusing to rise from one’s bed. Darcy’s nature was such that prolonged thinking either brought an epiphany over his behaviour, or, more than likely, made him convinced he was correct in placing the blame elsewhere.

“Darcy?”

This shook him out of his reverie. What was Miss Bennet like? His first uncharitable thought was stupid.

“Young,” was instead his response.

Fitzwilliam merely raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know, passably pretty,” though certainly not handsome enough to tempt him,” coughs a lot; I cannot say.”

“Will she be a good companion for Georgiana?” His cousin clearly realised that attempting to bring Darcy into a positive frame of mind regarding his future wife was a futile task.

“I am sure she will be a lively companion.” Darcy did not dare express his true sentiment that he feared she would be a harming influence. He did not want his sister running about a ball room sabre drawn. But he knew Fitzwilliam. He would not leave until he thought he had bullied his cousin into thinking better of the situation than he had when he had arrived.

Darcy was jerked from these reminiscences when a knock sounded at his study door. His butler did not wait for an answer, instead entering the room in his calm way.

“Dinner, I believe, is served, sir. Mrs Darcy is sitting in the parlour.”

Darcy just looked at him.

“I understand that she is expecting to be escorted to the table?”

He nodded curtly at the servant and waited until he left the room to curse; mildly, but a curse nonetheless. To have to be reminded of such a basic civility by his butler!

He stoked the fire before leaving the room. “You must conquer this, Darcy, you must!”

Chapter Four ~ Ships that Pass in the Night

Posted on Thursday, 1 March 2007

Kitty looked into the ornate mirror. It was far more decorated than any mirror that hung anywhere in Longbourn.

Sally, her maid,(Kitty felt occasionally like pinching herself whenever she thought of the fact she had maids) had told her it had been purchased by the late Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, Mr Darcy’s mother.

Kitty was not sure she wanted to be in a dead woman’s room, although she might have had a dead woman’s room at Longbourn and never known it.

Sally was fussing in one corner of the room, attempting to brush some imaginary piece of lint off whichever dress she thought Kitty should wear that day. The fact that someone was exclusively fussing over her, brought a smile to Kitty’s face. Not much had over the last weeks.

The Darcys’ Townhouse was, as far as Kitty could see, cavernous, and populated by an army. Longbourn had not lacked servants, as Mrs Bennet failed to see why she should go without comfort, despite then also bewailing her daughter’s lack of fortune.

At the time Kitty had not seen the discrepancy, but she had seen the accounts for this particular household, and while she was sure the country was cheaper, it seemed a great deal of money was needed to support any household!

While Longbourn may not have needed all its servants, the Darcy townhouse did! She had almost expected to find loitering maids with nothing to do, but they appeared to be busy every second of the day. Kitty felt almost underfoot! With so many of them buzzing about like bees, Kitty found (having no experience in organising a household, beyond being able to ring the bell for tea) that the only thing she could do was attempt to learn their names.

She expected she was lucky Mrs Wilson seemed to take pity on her and explained things slowly and surely. Mrs Wilson was a jolly fat woman, who had apparently known Mr Darcy since he was a boy; she had been a maid at Pemberley, until her marriage had seen her promoted to London, along with her elder sister who was now housekeeper at that grand estate.

The only flaw in Mrs Wilson was the assumption that Kitty would be pleased and gratified by a great number of stories about her husband’s childhood. Kitty sat through these feigning as much interest as she could. Not that that was difficult, it was exceedingly hard to picture Mr Darcy doing anything like half the misdeeds and adventures his housekeeper attributed to him.

Husband. Kitty really needed to come to terms with that word. She had almost been caught last night attempting to say it into the mirror. Have you met my husband…

Though who she would introduce Mr Darcy to she did not know. She had not seen anyone, apart from her army of servants, since the wedding. She had at least expected Georgiana to be at the townhouse. Her new sister had not travelled down to Longbourn for the wedding, but had written her a letter brimming with her delight, so much so that it was obvious that she had no idea about the true circumstances surrounding her brother’s wedding.

It was strange, Kitty thought, that she could talk of Georgiana, but still Mr Darcy was Mr Darcy. She could never call him by his given name of course, as it was hideous.

“Mrs Darcy?”

Kitty was startled out of her thoughts.

“I have brushed off the morning dress,” Sally held it out in order to allow Kitty to inspect it.

“It’s lovely,” Again, thought Kitty, one of the only pleasures marriage afforded her – a set of new dresses. Made of course in Meryton, as it was a hasty marriage; Kitty was not as disappointed as Lydia that she did not get to go to town to make up her trousseau.

Kitty slowly walked down the stairs into the foyer. She had not come down to breakfast – another benefit of marriage– perhaps, she might be forced to concede that there were many benefits, even in a loveless marriage.

She had come down to breakfast once or twice the week before, her first week in the house, and Mr Darcy had made himself absent, so if he was not going to concern himself, then Kitty might as well sleep later and drink chocolate in bed.

The bowl left for calling cards was empty; Kitty should have realised it would be, it was far too early for calling. She had not known half the names of people leaving their cards. The other half she knew by reputation. None of the names of people that she did know in London, her uncle’s acquaintance who had on occasion visited Longbourn, had left their cards. To Kitty the amount of cards seemed endless, but Mrs Wilson had reassured her that the minute number of cards was merely because London was so empty at this time of year. It had not even occurred to her that she should worry over the number of cards left her.

All this made Kitty think, as she returned upstairs, of her uncle and aunt, and that perhaps visiting them would enliven her days. So she retired to the parlour after calling for her carriage at the appropriate time. Carriage – another reason marriage was not so distasteful.

She understood why they had not ventured out; after all a bride and groom were expected to want some time together, although Kitty suspected the groom should not be absent so frequently. Unless he was playing hide and seek?

The image of Mr Darcy hiding under some piece of furniture seemed so utterly ridiculous that Kitty could not help but laugh. Of course the moment she did so the door opened admitting Robert, one of their footmen, and another gentleman.

“Mrs Darcy, Lord Matlock to see you.”

Any amusement still left died on Kitty’s lips. She did a brief curtsey. She had rarely received visitors by herself, at home – no - she should call this her home not Longbourn. ! Any that did come to Longbourn while she was the only one downstairs were such close friends that they did not stand on any ceremony.

She did not think Mr Darcy’s uncle would be at all appreciative of being treated like Maria Lucas. (Since Maria was often treated like an extra maid; she was so unassuming that Lydia and Kitty felt no compunction in ordering her about.)

“Robert, if you could see to some refreshment?” Tea would solve anything. Even if Kitty detested the stuff, belatedly she realised that Mr Darcy must be somewhere in the house. “And can you inform Mr Darcy his uncle is here?”

Then she realised if Lord Matlock had wanted to see Mr Darcy, he would have been shown to his study. Kitty bit her lip and tried not to blush. It was so awkward, did she invite him to sit? When no doubt he felt more at home than her, he had more right to feel at home than her.

But she invited him to sit anyway.

“I trust you are well, Mrs Darcy?”

“Very well thank you,” Kitty wanted to tell him to call her Kitty, but could one ask an earl that?

“Your trip from Hertfordshire was not too taxing?”

“No, it was very pleasant,” At home Kitty could have excused herself from these type of tedious pleasantries. But here, she was mistress, although this had not stopped her mother from handing such matters to Jane, once Jane turned sixteen.

“You are finding the household to your satisfaction?”

“Indeed, it is very comfortable.”

This could possibly go on forever. After all there were almost a hundred things Kitty could think of that one could make polite conversation with. She decided to take control of the situation.

“The weather is very fine.”

The Earl looked at her, “Indeed.”

They were interrupted by the tea tray. The next moments of conversation were surrounding tea, or port, and offering the biscuits.

“I believe London’s roads are most satisfactory,” Kitty thought it was probably the most inane thing she had ever uttered also perhaps the rudest, because she felt as if he had come to judge her. She knew what everyone must think of her. Her behaviour had been disgraceful and had caused the ruin of a – detestable, but honourable – young man. Kitty wanted to slither away, but there was nothing for it. She was not Jane who would wilt until pity was taken; she was not Lizzy who would be outwardly impudent and directly ask the Earl if he had made up his mind about her, she was not Mary who would not care about the Earl’s opinion, only God’s, and she was not Lydia who would find it all a good joke and not care a jot if anyone thought ill of her.

The corners of the Earl’s mouth twitched. “You have had extensive experience of our roads?”

“Just the ones we came over from Hertfordshire. You see, I have never been to London before.”

“And yet you find our roads more satisfactory.”

“Indeed. Is that not what one is supposed to say?”

The Earl appeared to regard her more keenly. “If one is trying to be insipid.”

Kitty had to look away for a moment, stung by his comments, “You have found me out. I am terribly insipid.”

The Earl said nothing.

“I believe if I said everything in my head, you would think worse of me, so I shall confine my remarks to the weather and the roads.”

“We are family, Mrs Darcy.”

“Not by my choice,” Kitty felt a lump appear in her throat and willed it down. She had been so good. It had after all been her fault. “Not by yours either,” she added, convinced that would be Lord Matlock’s next words.

“And yet, here we are,” he replied pleasantly.

“I cannot promise not to embarrass you,” said Kitty.

The Earl frowned, “In what way would you be embarrassing?” His tone was sharp.

Kitty blushed, turning away to hide those tears that threatened to fall, she had meant that she was likely to say the wrong thing, use the wrong fork, stumble in her dance steps, but Lord Matlock’s tone sounded as if he thought her confessing to something much graver.

“Forgive me, I misheard your words,” the Earl looked more sympathetic. “I came on an errand, my wife would have come except she is nursing a head cold; Georgiana wishes to meet her new sister…”

“Oh whenever she would like,” said Kitty, not even realising she was speaking over the top of him. She had always imagined life without her sisters as heaven, but it was unbearably lonely.

The Earl smiled, “You are happy to have a new sister.”

“I am tired of my old ones!”

“I believe you have four sisters?”

“All far more accomplished than me; I do not sing, I do not paint, and I do not play the piano. I believe Georgiana does all three?”

“Yes, very proficiently. There is no problem in getting her to practice.”

“Far more biddable than me; I preferred to trim bonnets.”

“Your governess did not mind?”

“We had no governesses or tutors.”

“You are opposed to them?”

Kitty thought about it; if she had someone in her youth, though she was hardly old now, telling her what to do and forcing her to practice Mozart’s sonatas, she would have hardly thanked them for it. Even now, when she wondered if she should have been taught the feminine arts, so that she didn’t feel so wretchedly inadequate, she did not think she would like someone telling her what to do. Which, she reflected, was more than likely the definition of husband, although hers would have to shout very loud from whichever cupboard he had hidden himself in.

“I do not think I should’ve liked to be told what to do,”

“Of course, you understand that your children – “ The Earl paused tactfully.

Kitty blanched. She had not even thought of children. She was rescued from having to answer by Mr Darcy’s timely entrance.

“Uncle,” Mr Darcy reaching to shake his uncle’s hand.

“It is good to see you, my boy,” said Lord Matlock rising to meet his nephew’s hand. “Your wife and I were just discussing Georgiana’s return; it appears they are equally as anxious to meet each other.”

“Indeed,” Mr Darcy turned to nod at Kitty.

Kitty thought rolling her eyes at this might reverse the apparently good opinion she had started to summon in Lord Matlock.

Mr Darcy had not entirely been able to avoid her; dinner time was one such occasion where they spoke of the weather, of household matters, who had left cards, and on one memorable occasion, the night before to be precise, when he had run out of things to say before the last plates had been removed, read to her from the newspaper.

She had commented that she had read most of that paper, for what else was she to do all day, household tasks did not take all day and sitting in bed drinking chocolate all day grew surprisingly boring. She had said it merely to see what he would next do. He had merely asked if she had read the ‘to let’ sections of the paper, and on her demurring had read them to her.

It had put Kitty greatly in mind of her mother; she could see Mama presiding over their small morning room, commenting on the attics in Purvis Lodge. It had been all she could do to keep her countenance. She did not think she had been entirely successful since Mr Darcy had ceased his reading and looked at her. Kitty also did not think her comment that the pudding was rather ticklish had entirely convinced him either.

She was tempted to discomfort him and ask him, now that he had appeared, if he would ask his uncle’s advice over the many properties he had commented on the worth of the night before.

Her daydreaming had meant she had lost the thread of the conversation occurring between Mr Darcy and his uncle. She could only ascertain they were still speaking of Georgiana, and how pleasant it would be (on Darcy’s side) to regain her and how unpleasant (on the Matlocks’) to lose her.

They appeared to expect her to make some comment.

“I’m sure Georgiana will be a great comfort to me on my visits.”

“Georgiana is not out,” said Mr Darcy blandly.

Kitty had not conceived of this. After all, she had been out for years! She could not imagine why any young lady who did not have the obstacles of older sisters would not be out as soon as possible. No wonder Georgiana had plenty of time to practice her accomplishments. Poor Georgiana, to have no fun at all!

Then it struck Kitty that if Georgiana was not out, and Mr Darcy did not seem inclined to allow her to accompany Kitty on her return calls, then who would go with her? The idea of having to visit even one of these unknown ladies on her own… she was sure to say something stupid.

“Then you will be accompanying me on my visits?” asked Kitty, not sure whether she would be relieved by the answer yes. The idea of society matrons and Mr Darcy sitting there glowering – she doubted he’d do any better in ‘his own sphere of company’ than in hers – filled her with dread.

Apparently the idea of social calls filled him with dread if the look on his face was anything to go by.

Lord Matlock chuckled at his nephew’s distress. “Do not wish to take tea with the ladies?”

Mr Darcy straightened in his chair, “Of course I will accompany – “

Kitty supposed this was the point she was supposed to put him out of his misery, disclaim that she needed his presence, but she was not inclined to do anything of the sort.

“Never fear, Mrs Darcy, my wife when feeling better wishes very much to make your acquaintance and I am sure she will be happy to accompany you – into the breech as it were.”

Kitty was not so sure she would be; Kitty was only a country miss who had entrapped her nephew. While the Earl appeared to have thawed, or at least decided to retreat into affable politeness, his wife could very well be coldly polite.

Kitty had watched various matrons in Meryton’s circle behave in this fashion; it was unpleasant to watch, and when involved, as she often was when the young ladies attempted such punishments of their unruly friends, equally unpleasant. Kitty was not the type to be coldly polite to anyone, and shrunk when rebuffed. It was how Lydia convinced her to do so many things; Kitty feared being ignored.

Except she could hardly refuse any offer of support now.

She could take her aunt, but would that be one of those embarrassing things the Earl had hinted at earlier?

Kitty decided it must be, when she saw Mr Darcy’s face after Robert had announced the carriage.

“I am visiting my aunt, in Cheapside,” replied Kitty to the unvoiced, but still asked question. Mr Darcy’s face after this announcement confirmed it to her.

But there was nothing for it but to politely take her leave.

Chapter Five ~ From Paper to Ash

It was only to be expected. The only thing that had surprised Darcy was the fact that his aunt had only written, not flown up - possibly with broomstick in hand, although this was something Darcy only thought privately, in his head, when no one else was around – to London the minute she had read his letter.

Darcy had not wished to inform his Aunt Catherine of his engagement, but it was his duty to write to his relations. Unlike his Aunt and Uncle Matlock, Lady Catherine was not to be privy to the details surrounding his engagement. Darcy had no faith in Lady Catherine’s understanding of what it meant to be a gentleman. Although Darcy could imagine that some of her suggestions would invariably be true. The gossip of Hertfordshire would have tainted him, but not ruined him. It would have scarcely affected his ability to contract a suitable alliance, though Darcy was not sure he would have liked a wife who was capable of ignoring misdeeds against another young lady. For it would have been villainy to leave any young lady of decent birth open to the kind of treatment Miss Bennet would have recieved.

But his Aunt had not been able to make these arguments, for she was under the impression that Darcy had merely formed a hasty alliance. That was enough to anger Lady Catherine, and yet there had been silence from Kent.

Darcy had half wondered if this silence meant that Lady Catherine would burst into the church at Longbourn at the moment the clergyman asked whether there was any just cause impeding matrimony. He was relieved that she had not, despite the fact it would have been a novel way to delay his marriage. But Darcy did not agree with delaying unpleasantness any more than he agreed with refusing to make difficult decisions.

The silence continued through the first weeks, until a letter arrived. It was not penned by Lady Catherine, though it was ostensibly from her. The hand was not that of his cousin, nor that of Mrs Jennings (both hands he knew quite well); it took him a while to sift through the obsequious opening to realise it was Mr Collins.

Darcy had thought that the Bennet’s cousin was a particularly foolish sort of man; that is when he had thought of Mr Collins at all. The only time he had paid any sort of attention was when he was causing a scene on the dance floor with Miss Elizabeth, and it had been some chivalrous – Darcy could not own to any other thoughts or feelings, not now! – prompting that had lead him to rescue her from that being the only dance of the night. She would be the object of some speculation after he had stood up with her, and it was better that form of speculation than the kind Mr Collins had exposed her to.

His idea of the baseness of the gossip of the country was confirmed by Sir William Lucas’s comments on the assumption that Jane Bennet would soon exchange her name for Bingley.

On reading his aunt’s dictated letter, he could not merely confine this ill-opinion of others to the country. His aunt was the daughter of an Earl and her remarks were the height of ill-breeding and impropriety.

No matter what he thought; anyone else speaking of his wife in this way was unacceptable. Not to mention, if he was being entirely fair, the majority of Lady Catherine’s accusations were entirely unfounded. The vitriol directed at him was less ill-placed.

Darcy did not even intend to do the letter the dignity of finishing it, instead consigning it to the fire. He did not think he would even pen a reply; although on second thought that might truly cure his aunt’s ‘spasms’ and bring her to town.

He was about to write his cutting reply when he caught a scribbled postscript. It was difficult to make out and, while still in Mr Collins’s hand, was clearly not dictated by his aunt.

As far as Darcy could make out, Mr Collins was attempting to appease him at the same time as carrying out Lady Catherine’s wishes. Darcy despised those who attempted to hedge their bets. However, amongst the comments that Mr Collins did not wish to offend, was a line that seemed to imply Mr Collins had written a similar letter to his wife.

Darcy threw the letter down on his desk, before striding into the corridor.

“Robert!”

“Yes sir?

“Have you taken Mrs Darcy’s letters to her?”

Robert nodded an affirmative. Darcy dismissed him back to his post, and then took off up the stairs.

Mrs Darcy. Darcy would never get used to that; he certainly did not think of her in his head like that, but he could hardly call her Catherine in front of the servants. Georgiana seemed to be having no trouble calling her Kitty.

He hoped that Georgiana was practicing her pianoforte so he could have a conversation with Catherine. God knew what his Aunt had felt acceptable to put in a letter to her.

He should have realised Lady Catherine would be an obstacle to removing any scandal attached to his marriage. Of course it could not be removed entirely (after all it did look as though he had acted imprudently, but acting imprudently was not scandalous, not in the way the truth would be) but he had every proof and conviction that the whole incident had been turned most romantically on its head by the denizens of Meryton. He should be pleased; after all it was more likely that jealousy should have raised its head at the elevation of one of their own young ladies to such a position. However, he supposed country pride had won out.

Georgiana was playing the pianoforte when he opened the parlour door. She looked up and smiled at him. He had not seen her smile quite so fully at him in some time; he did have to concede that company her own age was something she sorely needed. Although he wished he could have been more selective about that company.

Mrs Annesley also looked up at his entrance.

Catherine did not; she appeared engrossed in a letter.

Usually when he came to listen to Georgiana, he chose a remote seat and remained silent, commenting only when necessary. He left the conversation to the ladies, particularly Mrs Annesley, who was good at pleasantries.

Mrs Annesley had assumed that her services would be no longer required, and seemed surprised when Darcy had insisted that both his sister and his wife would benefit from Mrs Annesley’s continued companionship.

But this time, he chose to sit on the same sofa as Catherine; they were far enough from the pianoforte and Mrs Annesley that they were unlikely to be overheard.

“May I?” From this distance he could tell that it was certainly Mr Collins’ handwriting.

Catherine looked up at his inquiry – which was for politeness’ sake nothing more, after all he had a perfect right to read her correspondence. She looked annoyed but said nothing.

He wondered at Mr Collins being able to even put pen to paper in such a fashion to a woman.

“I do not even understand half the words,” said Catherine. Darcy thought he could detect a certain tightness to her tone. He wondered why he was surprised,;of course she would be upset by such comments.

“He has misspelled a great deal of them,” replied Darcy before folding the letter.

“Has someone written?” said Georgiana.

Darcy tried not to cringe; protecting Georgiana was his aim, but how to do so without unnecessarily suppressing her natural curiosity? He had worked so hard to attempt to encourage her out of her shyness.

“My cousin, wishing me well, “said Catherine quietly.

“Oh may I read it?”

“It was not as enthusiastic as yours, and I am afraid it is full of bible verses. Mr Collins is rector for Lady Catherine.”

“Oh,” Darcy could hear the enthusiasm die in Georgiana’s tone. “Well, perhaps you can read me an edited version.”

“Of course, later.”

Mrs Annesley chose that moment to scold Georgiana for neglecting her music, so Georgiana returned to that task.

Darcy turned to his wife, “I beg you will not take Lady Catherine’s words seriously. Lady Matlock’s behaviour can only convince you that not all my family - “

“Lady Matlock is most kind,” however Darcy thought that her comment was not sincere. Which Darcy felt was unfair; it was hardly Lady Matlock’s fault that Catherine was unused to the kind of refined elegance that characterised ladies of his Aunt Matlock’s ilk. She probably felt that Lady Matlock did not like her, simply because Lady Matlock did not gossip with her, or look favourably on young ladies exhibiting themselves on the dance floor with officer’s sabres.

With a nod to Mrs Annesley and a smile at his sister, he exited the room with the letter.

He burnt the letters and wrote a caustic letter to Lady Catherine.

This caustic letter had the effect of causing Fitzwilliam to knock on his front door. Darcy had been from home on business. He had only known of Fitzwilliam’s presence upon returning.

Fitzwilliam was charming Georgiana in the parlour, as he always did. Darcy had always reprimanded him for it; it would do no good for Georgiana to fall in love with her cousin!

It was not only Georgiana Fitzwilliam was charming. He was telling some bounder of a story to an enrapt audience of three ladies.

“Darcy, I was just about to tell the ladies of that time we took out that prime new stallion – “

“Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy warningly.

“Oh do tell us, Richard, I was too young to remember.”

“I could not possibly, Darcy would disapprove of it,” laughed his cousin.

Georgiana pouted and Darcy was torn between disliking such an action in his sister and happy to see Georgiana in high spirits.

“I assure you, you are not missing out on any great tale,” said Darcy, pouring himself a glass of wine.

“You are not interested, Mrs Darcy?” said the Colonel, and Darcy had to hide his feelings at those words tripping from his cousin’s tongue.

Catherine smiled, “I believe I know the story.”

“Really? I cannot imagine that Darcy would tell you such a tale,” Fitzwilliam looked amazed, which reflected how Darcy felt.

“No,” replied Catherine.

“Then who did?”

“A lady never tells,” she replied simply.

Darcy used the excuse of turning to put his glass down, to hide the expression on his face, which he had no doubt would leave no one in doubt of his own feelings. When he turned back, the Colonel had fixed him with a particular look that Darcy recognised; it was the face Fitzwilliam showed before he was about to do something to tease his cousin. Darcy doubted anyone else would recognise it.

“You see that expression, Mrs Darcy? Your husband does not believe you know a thing.”

Darcy fixed a hard stare on Fitzwilliam, who merely looked blandly back.

“Well, I can say that I would feel safer knowing a physician was on hand, if Mr Darcy was to ride out…” said Catherine, not meeting anyone’s eyes.

Fitzwilliam laughed; “You do know! I expect it was Mrs Wilson! Darcy you should inform her only to tell tales of your childhood that reflect well on you!”

Darcy merely asked if his cousin would join him in his study.

“She is pleasant enough,” said Fitzwilliam, lounging on the sofa. “Do not look at me like that, Darcy.”

“I cannot believe you thought that was a – “

“Really, Darcy, if this is how you behave I do not wonder – “ The Colonel stopped. “You are supposed to have had a love match. Behaving like this…”

Darcy closed his eyes and tried to ignore his cousin. It was true, but he was incapable of acting warmly or even wanting to act warmly.

“Your mother is having a dinner, I believe.”

“Yes. Of course rather thin of company, but my mother believes it necessary to show good-will.”

Darcy nursed his drink.

“So am I to take from your silence that you will be there?” The Colonel didn’t expect an answer, instead he moved onto the motivation for his visit: a demand to know exactly what Darcy had written to Aunt Catherine to provoke the sort of letter that his father had received that morning.

It occurred to Darcy as he handed Catherine into the carriage that this was one of the few occasions he had been alone with his wife. He had not even been in the carriage from Longbourn, he had elected to ride. Even in the uncomfortably cold weather.

“I have had a letter from home.”

Catherine appeared to require conversation, which made Darcy think of Elizabeth and then wish he had not.

“Indeed, I hope your parents are well.”

“Mama is never well.”

Darcy blinked, Mrs Bennet did not look as though she had been unwell to him. His confusion must have shown on his face.

“Her nerves, they prevent her from most things. Since they seem to always happen whenever something Mama dislikes occurs, I am thinking I should develop a set.”

“I beg you wouldn’t,” said Darcy stiffly. That was all he needed.

“I was only funning.”

“But your family are well?”

“Yes, they all seem well. Mama wrote particularly to ask about Mr Bingley. She wondered at him returning to London. After all there was no need – in her mind. And it is not as if we have seen him.”

“I have seen him at my club,”

“Then why does he not call? I could tell him all about Jane.”

Darcy cringed. “Why do you think he wants to know about Jane?”

“Because he is in love with her.”

“What do you know of it?” It was perhaps a trifle too harsh, but Bingley was a messy situation. The wedding had proved Bingley right; both the elder Miss Bennets who were not aware of the true situation – perhaps the only secret ever kept in that household – had been remarkably cool towards Bingley. Clearly Darcy’s sins had rubbed off upon him. Darcy had no doubt that it was Mrs Bennet who had written to inquire of Bingley, not her eldest.

His sharp remark seemed to have silenced his wife, and they continued in silence until they reached the Matlock’s residence.

As they were not seated together at dinner, Darcy could both at once breathe easy and hold his breath, for she was seated next to two young men and it would be fatal to him if she flirted with either of them.

He tried to keep an eye upon her, without looking as if he was watching her like a hawk. There was the uncomfortable feeling that always occurred when one was under observation. And Darcy knew that both of them were under intense scrutiny. Catherine perhaps less so, because all of the ladies here would have met her under the aegis of Aunt Matlock and morning calls.

It was painful, after dinner, to be the subject of raillery. He disliked it normally and it was intolerable to hear the assumptions made in these circumstances. The only positive was that clearly no one had even thought of the fact Darcy might have been forced to marry.

Darcy stared at the port bottle and tried to make conversation, and could only hope when the gentlemen rejoined the ladies that he would be pulled in so many directions that he would not have to play the devoted husband, as so many of these gentlemen clearly thought he wanted to.

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