Chapter Twenty-Five

Posted on: 2008-08-28

Darcy was proud of himself. For the past two weeks - for the most part - he had kept his resolve. He had managed to keep his distance, while playing the dutiful suitor and not upsetting Elizabeth. With every visit Elizabeth paid to Arryndale, he greeted her with a kiss on the hand, and after the requisite amount of time had passed, he returned to his study, or anywhere a man could go to be alone, leaving her to Georgiana's company.

While leaving the room each time took more effort than he cared to admit, that was not important. What was important was that he had remained in control. It did not matter that every visit was a new battle with himself; or that there had been times he stayed longer than he should have because she was looking too beautiful or being too playful; or that he rarely concluded any business while she remained in his house.

The only thing that mattered -- or so, he convinced himself -- was he had remained disciplined, and if he continued to do so, his determination would pay off. Soon things would be back to the way they should be; he and Elizabeth would be good friends who entered a marriage of convenience. His heart would stop racing at the thought of seeing her; he would not have to remind himself not to kiss those pouty full lips; he would not feel terribly jealous of his sister, Miss Bennet, or anyone else who spent time with her; and he would not seek out excuses to speak with her. Any day now...

Though Elizabeth's mind was not engaged in the same manner as Darcy's, no one could say she was idle. Indeed, Elizabeth soon found her time in London was not her own. First there was shopping with Jane and Aunt Gardiner. If she was not being fitted for a gown, she was looking at gloves, bonnets, undergarments, parasols, reticules, stockings, and slippers.

Though Elizabeth felt the number and quality of garments being acquired was sufficient, Lady Matlock had other ideas. So, for every visit to the modiste with her sister and aunt, there was one with Lady Matlock and, if she was fortunate, Georgiana.

She had lost count of the number of times she had been measured, and she had looked through enough lace and ribbons and material to last an eternity. Yet, there was always one more thing to purchase. Between the two matrons, Elizabeth was certain she would visit every shop in London before her trousseau was complete.

Interspersed with journeys through Mayfair, Piccadilly, Cheapside, and Bond Street, she called on Lady Matlock - where she and her ilk shared news of town or discussed plans for the upcoming engagement ball - and looked after her cousins.

Her only respite came in the form of visits to Arryndale, and quiet evenings on Gracechurch Street; yet even those always seemed to have an agenda.

Most of those evenings were spent recounting her afternoons at Arryndale, calls upon Lady Matlock, and her latest purchases. This was all done while assisting her aunt with her mending, helping her cousins finish bonnets and samplers, and teaching the boys to play chess and checkers.

Most of her calls at Arryndale were spent in the music room, playing the pianoforte. She and Georgiana learned a few duets and practiced many other pieces together. On occasion, Darcy would join them, though more often than not, he would greet her, and then retreat to his study, only emerging long enough to see her off.

All in all, the two betrothed shared little private conversation. What discourse they did share gravitated towards matters of the house and estate, the upcoming ball, the wedding plans, and Elizabeth's preparations to remove to Lanelle House.

The level of activity was both exhausting and exciting. At times it was difficult to believe that in but a se'ennight, the Granville ball would take place, and then Elizabeth would begin training in earnest to take her place as Mrs. Darcy. She had not envisioned taking on such responsibility so soon, and began to fret over her ability to add yet more to her list of obligations.

On one particular afternoon, Darcy sat in the music room with Elizabeth, Georgiana, and Jane. Such visits had become frequent, but this time he indulged himself by remaining with the trio longer than he had generally permitted.

He could not help admire his sister's talent and how much Georgiana had changed since making Elizabeth's acquaintance. Her playing, while always superb, had taken on a new depth in recent weeks. Georgiana played with confidence, and was not so fearful of trying new pieces. More than once he had witnessed her laughing at her mistakes rather than becoming frustrated and angry at herself, as was her previous wont.

This afternoon, the two were learning a new piece, and Darcy could not help the mirth in his eyes as he watched the two women he loved best giggle and tease one another over fingering schemes. It further affirmed he had made the correct choice in marrying Elizabeth; and as soon as he was over this silly infatuation, life would be perfect. He exchanged an amused glance with Jane, and then turned his attention back to the pianoforte where Georgiana was playing, and Elizabeth was turning the pages.

The rumble of distant thunder reminded him he was expecting his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and he wondered if the appointment would be cancelled. He checked his watch, and then took his leave of the ladies.

A few minutes later, he heard his cousin grumbling in the foyer. "I do hope all this fuss is not over a little rain." Darcy said dryly.

"Rain? I wish!" Colonel Fitzwilliam snarled. "Damn thunder spooked Hector; nearly threw me."

"Let us hope it does not rain on the continent, then. The French are unlikely to be intimidated by an officer who can not keep his seat."

"You will not sound so smug once I get a foil in my hand."

With the challenge laid, the two proceeded to the armoury.

"Any news from Whitehall?" Darcy asked, while warming up.

"Anxious to be rid of me?" the colonel retorted, slicing the air to familiarize himself with the balance of his wooden blades. The cousins had taken to duel-bladed sparring, after witnessing a demonstration at a festival in Sussex the previous year. Neither one had enough faith in their abilities to use steel blades.

"Not at all," Darcy replied honestly. The two gentlemen faced each other and saluted. In the next moment, they came at each other, the sound of wood against wood echoing through the room.

"I need to make arrangements for Georgiana's care after the wedding. If you will be in town, I will leave her to you; otherwise I should speak with your parents." Darcy said, while twisting into a parry.

"No word from Whitehall," Colonel Fitzwilliam grunted, blocking and retreating at Darcy's advancement. After a feint and a parry of his own, he took the offensive. "I shall attend your engagement ball, but after that I am uncertain," he added. He let out a victory whoop after soundly tagging Darcy in the arm and both men moved apart for a brief rest.

Darcy thought to inquire further, particularly on the subject of Miss Bennet, but decided against it. He and Elizabeth had agreed to remain silent on the subject, and so he would.

"Are you intending on keeping Mrs. Annesley on?" Richard asked.

Darcy swallowed a gulp of lemonade. "I am, at least until the end of the Season. Elizabeth will be too busy, and I would prefer Georgiana not to be alone while in town."

Richard nodded, while wiping the sweat from his neck with a towel. "I will inform you on my whereabouts as soon as I receive orders. With the reports and directives I have been receiving, I expect new orders soon."

"To the continent?" The concern in Darcy's voice was genuine.

Richard shook his head. "I can not say."

Darcy nodded, knowing better than to press his cousin about such matters. Though he sorely wished to inquire on Miss Bennet's reaction to such news, he remained silent. His decision was further enforced when his cousin once again picked up his wooden blades.

"You have been practicing... without me." Colonel Fitzwilliam accused, after just barely blocking the blade in his cousin's right hand.

Darcy said nothing, but continued his attack. A few moments later, he heard the doors open, but could not see who had entered. The break in his concentration cost him though, and he lost the offensive.

"Blast!" he shouted, from the blow he received in the leg, not long afterwards.

At the sound of a loud clap he turned to find Lord Blakeslee. "You are getting better, Darcy. With a little more practice, you will be as good with two blades as you are with one." Blakeslee said.

"Wesley!" the other two greeted almost in unison.

Darcy wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel and then tossed it to Richard. "What brings you by?"

"Nothing in particular, but if neither of you are too fatigued, I had Cardwell fetch me a foil and jacket."

Not long after, the three were suited up and armed with more traditional fencing foils. It had long been determined that Colonel Fitzwilliam could best Darcy or Blakeslee one on one with some regularity. Since then, the three had taken to sparring together. Though two on one sparring was not permitted at the fencing club, all three gentlemen enjoyed the added challenge; so when they could, the three would practice at Arryndale.

The battles were swift and furious. They took turns battling two against one. By the end, they were all tired.

After wiping down and changing into their regular clothes, they adjourned to the library for tea. "So how is it you have an afternoon free, Darcy?" Blakeslee asked. "Between your intended and your sister, I did not think your time was your own anymore."

Darcy joined the others in a chuckle and shook his head amusedly, ignoring the underlying ripple of jealousy. If he trusted himself more, he would be with Elizabeth. For now though, he needed to deflect the line of questioning. "That is an easy explanation. My sister prefers the company of Elizabeth now."

"To be dismissed by them both, and not yet married. It does not bode well for your future felicity." Blakeslee rejoined. He turned to Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I thought you were going to give him pointers on how to court his lady fair."

Colonel Fitzwilliam placed his hand over his heart. "I have done my best, Wesley. But some cases I fear are hopeless."

Darcy rolled his eyes. Truly, what did they expect? Wesley may think him in love, but Richard knew differently. Any appearance of courting was simply for show. He was saved from having to defend himself by a knock on the door.

"Forgive the interruption, sir," a servant said, "but you wished to be informed when Miss Elizabeth was taking her leave."

Darcy rose instantly from his seat. "Excuse me, gentlemen. I need to speak with my fiancée." Without waiting for the snickers that had become all too common from the other two, he schooled his steps to disguise his anticipation and left the room.

He caught up with Elizabeth near the front doors. Then, after being assured Georgiana was well, but resting, he asked, "Did you have a pleasant afternoon?"

"I did. I enjoy your sister's company very much."

Elizabeth dug into her reticule and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper. "It is not much, but I knew you would appreciate this." She dropped her eyes to floor, suddenly feeling very shy.

Darcy's heart began to thud against his chest. It did not matter what the package contained; it could have been an empty box for all he cared. She had been thinking of him! Surely that was a good sign, was it not? He pulled back the wrapping to find a jade inkwell with intricate eastern carvings in the sides. "It is exquisite!" he gasped. "I... I... love it."

Then, before he acted on his impulse, he blurted out, "I trust you have saved the first and last set for me at the Granville ball?"

"Knowing how much you detest the activity, I had thought not to dance at all." At Darcy's stunned expression, Elizabeth had to pinch her lips tight to keep from laughing. "If, however, you are requesting my first and last, it must be your good fortune that those sets have not been requested by any other person, save your cousin."

"My cousin has reserved your first?"

His look of incredulity mixed with a tone of annoyance broke down Elizabeth's self-control, and she let out a short giggle. "No, but he did request a set. Several days ago, in fact."

Several unkind words and phrases passed through Darcy's head with respect to Richard Fitzwilliam. Aloud, however, he said, "Richard may dance any set with you, so long as it is neither the first, nor the last." His tone was severe and unyielding.

"This is how a gentleman reserves a dance?" Elizabeth teased while arching a brow.

Darcy thought of several ways he could demonstrate just how ungentlemanly he could be, but instead, bowed dramatically over her hand. "Forgive me, fairest Elizabeth. Wilt thou do me the honour of granting me your first and last set at the Granville ball?"

Elizabeth laughed at the theatrics. "It shall be my pleasure, kind sir."

He responded the only way he could; his dimples flashed for just a moment before he pressed a delicate kiss on her hand.

A moment later, the carriage pulled up and Darcy escorted his betrothed out of doors. "God bless you," he said as he handed her up. Elizabeth smiled and nodded in return, but her attention was immediately drawn to the sight of Lord Blakeslee escorting Jane to the carriage, and her sister's heightened complexion.

When had Lord Blakeslee appeared? And what had he said to cause such a reaction from Jane? Based on Jane's rosy cheeks, what ever it was, it was more than a friendly greeting.

Two days before the ball found Elizabeth and Jane in their room on Gracechurch Street. Elizabeth moved between open cases, the bureau and the closet, carefully folding garments and placing them in her trunks. On the bed sat Jane, carefully sorting through the jumble of ribbons, and rolling each one for easy retrieval.

In just a few days, Jane would return to Longbourn, but Elizabeth would take up residence in Lanelle House.

"I wish you could stay," Elizabeth remarked. "I fear I will be in great need of your comforting spirit."

"Lizzy, there is no cause for such consternation. Lady Matlock must think highly of you if she offered to sponsor you. Besides, Mama needs me at home to help get ready for your wedding, and after that I will be for Kent."

At the mention of Mr. Collins, Elizabeth's nose automatically wrinkled, earning an admonishing look from her sister. "Lizzy, be kind," Jane said. "It is no surprise Mr. Collins is more concerned with his patroness' opinion. They must live quite near Lady Catherine, and she has done a great deal for them. Besides, Charlotte is very pleased for you."

Elizabeth demurred. "I still wish you could remain in London. Who else will remind me not to think meanly of others if you are not around? I feel I shall be in need of a great many of reminders."

Jane giggled softly before teasing, "Then I shall write one in each of my letters. Besides, if I am in London, who would stop Mama from hanging all the lace in Meryton in the church?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Perhaps you are correct. Please, do not let her make a spectacle of us."

Jane smiled triumphantly. "So you see, I must return to Longbourn."

"And perchance a certain colonel will find himself in Hertfordshire as well."

"Lizzy!" Jane hissed, as she turned bright red. Elizabeth could only laugh. "And what of Lord Blakeslee? I noticed him speaking with you the other day."

"It was nothing really. He was only being polite. He requested a set at the ball."

"I believe politeness had very little to do with it," Elizabeth remarked. "I think he fancies you."

Jane shook her head vigorously. "I am certain, were I not your sister, he would not notice me at all."

At this, Elizabeth barked a short laugh. "You are always noticed, dear sister, but pray, which set did the Earl reserve for himself?"

Jane's complexion once again turned a rosy hue. "The supper dance," she murmured.

"I knew it!"

"Lizzy, it is nothing like that," Jane pleaded. "Mr. Darcy likely requested it of him, so I would not have to dine alone."

Elizabeth shook her head. "You are too modest by far, Jane." In a sing song voice, she added, "Do not believe me if you wish, but you will have two admirers at the ball, and likely more." She pondered whether to bring up Mr. Bingley, but decided against it. It was perhaps being selfish, but she had precious few moments with her sister before she was wed, and did not wish to ruin the merry spirit.

On the eve of the ball, Elizabeth, not surprisingly, found sleep difficult to attain. Afraid of waking Jane with her tossing and turning, she climbed out of bed and padded over to the window seat. She pulled back the curtains and looked out into the black night. When the moon was full, she could sometimes see the mews below, but not tonight. The clouds hid the sliver of a moon, rendering the night especially dark. It did not matter. She was not looking for anything in particular, merely something to occupy her mind - something other than the ball.

Tomorrow, she would be presented to London society as Darcy's intended. All eyes would be upon her, wondering who she was, from where she hailed, and most of all, why Darcy had chosen her. Would they accept her? Or would they shun her?

Knowing it was a private ball, eased her mind only a little. The guest list had been belaboured, almost to the point of tedium, and so it was unlikely anyone would shun her. That, however, did not mean she would be warmly accepted.

Recalling her first meeting with Mrs. Stephens, she wondered how many other families and women had been disappointed by her engagement. Aside from Miss Bingley, she was unaware of any others who had actively pursued Darcy, though she was not naïve enough to believe others did not exist. Thoughts of Miss Bingley sparked a flash of anger. Unfortunately, Mr. Bingley's close association with Darcy required he be invited; and, so not to insult her betrothed's friend, Miss Bingley had to be included. She could only hope that woman did not cause a scene.

She felt a shiver run through her, and pulled her gown tightly around her as her thoughts turned towards Darcy. Was he as anxious about the ball as she? Was he awake pondering the crowd, the looks, and the whispers? She let out a silent giggle realizing that if he was, he would most likely be in bed with his head under a pillow thinking suffocation a more palatable option.

Then remembering the night of the theatre, the callers at Lanelle House, the ladies who approached for an introduction in the shops, and the appraising looks she had received from them all, she considered for a moment he might be correct.

She let out a loud, heavy sigh and then turned sharply, hearing Jane rustling the bed sheets. Dear, sweet, Jane. If only she were as beautiful as her sister. Then people might understand how Darcy had been taken in by her beauty. Men could not help be enraptured by Jane's loveliness and angelic spirit. She pressed her hand to her lips to forestall a giggle at the thought of scads of men in line clamouring for a dance with Jane. There was no doubt her sister's dance card would be full.

Then, recalling Mr. Bingley would attend, she began to worry. Jane had not seen him since that one afternoon on Bond Street, at least to her knowledge. Would Jane welcome his company? What if he asked her to dance? More importantly, did Jane want him to ask her? If Jane did not, there would be little Elizabeth could do; she was obliged to stay by Darcy and speak with all of the guests.

She looked over at the bed, which had quieted, and shook her head slowly, pondering the situation. Though she could not say Jane was happy now, she was not as low as she had been in December. Was it possible she no longer held an attachment to Mr. Bingley? Or had time simply lessened the pain? On the other hand, Jane did seem to welcome the attentions of Colonel Fitzwilliam, and those of Lord Blakeslee. Perhaps she was getting agitated over nothing.

Realizing she could have little sway on either Jane or Mr. Bingley, she turned her musings back towards the coming month. If recent events were any indication, it would have its share of challenges. It would be a month of tedious practice of all manner of activities, and somehow Elizabeth would have to find a way to accept the criticism that would be doled out.

Lady Matlock had already found fault with her playing, and her ability to match china, silver, and linens. There was still her presentation at court, for which they had only begun preparations, not to mention the instruction she was to receive on dealing with the household staff and accounts, and preparing for her first dinner as Mrs. Darcy. In other words, there was a plethora of faults still left to be uncovered.

She rubbed her hand tiredly over her face. For Jane and the rest of her family's well being, she could tolerate a meagre month under Lady Matlock tutelage. There were certainly worse fates; Charlotte had gone so far as to marry Mr. Collins for her security.

A smile touched the corner of her lips when she realized what an idyllic life she would have in comparison. Yes, her first season would be a bit daunting, but then they would be for Pemberley; and it was not like she and Darcy did not enjoy one another's company; quite the contrary. Not only that, but she also adored Georgiana. Not everyone who entered an arranged marriage could boast such a close friendship with her husband and his sister.

Her smile broadened as memories of Darcy played through her head. At the moment of their reintroduction in Meryton, never would she have imagined Fizzy, her childhood playmate, would become Fitzwilliam, her soon to be husband. It was true, when he first spoke of marriage, she had her reservations, but the more time they spent together, the more at ease she felt with the idea.

The first time he kissed her hand had been awkward, but now she looked forward to receiving them. Nor did she mind the other little intimacies they shared. She quite liked having a strong arm to hold, while they walked; relished her responsibility of teasing Darcy out of his sombreness; and was quite fond of the idea of always having someone around who appreciated her bouts of playfulness and sense of humour.

Perhaps most of all, she enjoyed knowing that they would always be companions. Once they were married, there would be no meddlesome aunts trying to separate them, no letters to be lost in the post, no excuses of being too busy with every day life to write.

All in all, she surmised, it was perhaps not the marriage she had idealized as a girl, but it would be a good marriage.

Her shoulders twitched as another shiver overtook her, and realizing her feet were nearly frozen, she scampered back to bed, curled under the covers near the warmer, and soon fell into a deep sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Posted on: 2008-09-04

Darcy stood stock-still as Franklin finished tying his cravat and then brushed the dust and lint from his new tail coat. When his valet pronounced him ready, Darcy expelled the breath he did not realize he was holding.

He turned to the left and then to the right, inspecting himself with the help of an old mahogany mirror. He fingered his cravat, making certain it was not too tight, and tugged at his jacket, checking its fit in the shoulders. Everything had to be perfect tonight.

Realizing the cause of his conscientious dressing, he chastised himself. "Li'l Beth," he said under breath, "just a friend." That, however, did not stop him from one last inspection of the shine of his dancing shoes.

Not unexpectedly, as he met Cardwell - armed with his cloak, gloves, and hat - at the front doors, he found Georgiana lying in wait.

"You are very handsome tonight, Fitzwilliam. Elizabeth will be pleased." Darcy wanted to say it did not matter, but knowing such a comment would fall on deaf ears, merely smiled and patted Georgiana's cheek.

Despite his sister's bright mien, he could see her disappointment at not being able to attend the festivities. Her age was reason enough to leave her at home, but the truth was he would not be able to watch over both her and Elizabeth. There would be other balls for Georgiana. "I promise to tell you about it in the morning, but I do not want you to stay up for me."

"Every detail?" Georgiana insisted. When Darcy agreed, she kissed him on the cheek. "I shall hold you to that promise. Give Elizabeth my love."

When Darcy entered the ballroom with Elizabeth on his arm, all he could see was a throng of men, looking to take his beautiful, vivacious Elizabeth from him. His first inclination was to turn and leave. That was not an option, so he settled for pulling Elizabeth just a little closer to him. "There is nothing to fear," he whispered.

His courage rose when he felt Elizabeth tighten her grip on his arm. She was nervous and needed him. He would be strong for her; he would protect her. Guests immediately approached, and for his betrothed's sake, he put his most genial self forward.

Until the dancing began, Darcy moved them through the room, providing introductions where necessary, and engaging in small conversation. He hated this part; small conversation was never his forte. He had hoped to draw less attention, particularly from the women, but he soon learned that was an unrealistic expectation. Everyone was interested in meeting the nobody he had suddenly attached himself to. More surprising, however, was that despite his engaged status, mothers and daughters alike still approached him, seeking his favour with flattery, coquettish smiles, and forced giggles. At least with Elizabeth by his side, it was tolerable.

The attention of the ladies was a trifling matter -- Darcy knew how to cope with that -- compared to the issue of the other gentlemen. He did not appreciate the glances they bestowed on Elizabeth, the way they bowed over her hand, and most maddening, the way they had the gumption to request a dance. While logically he knew it was expected of both the gentlemen and Elizabeth - and generally, there was not even a hint of untoward intentions - it did little to quell his urge to strangle each and every one of them. Elizabeth was his! He was the only partner she needed, and more than once did he rail against the social edict that only permitted him two dances.

Elizabeth had just granted yet another gentleman's request for a set when Lord Blakeslee approached the couple.

"Darcy!" he greeted, in his usual insouciant manner. He then bowed over Elizabeth's hand and said, "Miss Bennet, any man here tonight not frightfully jealous of my friend, has no taste." He eyed his friend while he said it, trying not to chuckle over the warning written on Darcy's face.

"Including yourself, sir?" Elizabeth countered impertinently.

"Touche!" Blakeslee chuckled. "Since I am found out, might I be favoured with a set?" Knowing Elizabeth would grant the request did not stop Darcy swearing several oaths if she did not.

It was not that Darcy held any grudge against Wesley; quite the contrary. Lord Blakeslee was one of the best men he knew. It was simply he could see how well matched Wesley and Elizabeth were. As soon as Blakeslee saw how precious and unique Elizabeth was, he would have few options.

When it came to courting, there was no competition. Blakeslee's affable manners and easy tongue, compared to his own reticence and fumbling conversation, could easily win over any maiden he chose. His mind kept telling him Wesley would never betray a friend, but his heart still twisted when Elizabeth teased him as she did.

At that moment, he knew he was a lost man. There was no fighting it, no way overcoming it. Wesley was like a brother, yet he was ready to call the man out for the singular crime of speaking to his betrothed. The realization was frightening.

What had she done to him? And why was he so powerless to stop it? And what was he to do now? He was madly, passionately, violently in love with a woman who wanted nothing more than friendship from him.

He needed to think. He looked longingly at the door, but then felt Elizabeth prodding him. They were on to the next group of people; there could be no escape.

The next hour continued much like the last, forcing Darcy to exchange his latest epiphany for a blur of names, faces, and social pleasantries. For that reason alone, he was never so happy for the dancing to begin.

For the next thirty minutes, he would not have to consider anyone or anything but Elizabeth and the dance steps. He felt a fraction of the tension slip from his shoulders as they led the set to the floor. What he would not do to whisk her away from all this pomp and circumstance. A quiet evening at Arryndale is all he wanted. As the dance began, he easily imagined sitting in the library with Elizabeth; a well stoked fire in the hearth, Elizabeth curled up on the sofa, and he in his customary arm chair. She would be stroking an errant strand of hair, as she often did while reading...

"You are brooding, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth sang, interrupting his daydream.

"I am not."

"You have not said more than three words in the past twenty minutes. That is brooding."

For a moment he said nothing. He had to be careful. A single slip of the tongue could send her running back to Hertfordshire. "I do not like balls."

"But you dance so delightfully," she teased. "I dare say I have never had such an agreeable partner."

At such a comment, Darcy's lips could not help but twitch, but still he said nothing.

Elizabeth giggled, obviously pleased with herself. "Pray, which of the other ladies present tonight shall you honour with your superior dancing?" At Darcy's stern glare, Elizabeth chimed, "You have not forgotten your promise to dance at every assembly and ball during our engagement?"

"I never should have agreed to such a thing. It would surely be much more rational if conversation instead of dancing were made the order of the day."

"But then it would not be near so much like a ball." She bit her lip as Darcy rolled his eyes. "None the less, you have made a promise, and I intend to hold you to it."

"If I must, I am to dance with your sister, Miss Woodall, and two others," he muttered.

"Miss Woodall?" Elizabeth exclaimed in surprise. "The one with Mr. Bingley?"

"Indeed. Does that trouble you?"

"No... No. I..."

Mistaking her consternation for jealousy, he smiled down at her. "There is nothing to fear, Elizabeth. I have no desire to marry her. She is the sister of my good friend." He held his breath, realizing he may have said too much.

"But is not Miss Bingley as well? Have you also reserved a set with her? Surely, you have noticed her hovering." She bit back a giggle.

"Yes." Darcy said grimly. "How could I not? I am under no obligation to dance with her, and will not, after her treatment of you and your sister."

"Will Mr. Bingley not be offended? He is Miss Woodall's escort, and he has asked your future sister for a set." She could not help the hint of contempt in her voice.

"Has Mr. Bingley offended you, or are you concerned about his dance with Miss Bennet?"

"I am only concerned for Jane. What can he mean by requesting a set?"

"Elizabeth, we agreed to not interfere," came the warning.

"I do not wish to see Jane unsettled. It is her first London ball. Did you not notice what set she gave him?"

"I am afraid I did not."

"The second after dinner." Darcy's brow crumpled in confusion. "She was making a statement, Fitzwilliam; relegating him amongst the inconsequential dances. She had other sets available; I am quite certain of it."

"Perhaps she no longer feels an attachment to Mr. Bingley."

"But did you not see the way she paled upon seeing him? No, there is still something between them."

"What would you have me do?"

After a moment of thought, and realizing nothing could be done, she blew out a breath. "Nothing. I apologize."

"If he does anything untoward, I shall speak with him. Until then, let us enjoy the remainder of our dance."

"I have found you out at last; you do enjoy dancing!"

Darcy marvelled at how quickly her spirits could rebound. "Only when I am particularly acquainted with my partner." He smiled down at her. The rest of the dance passed in relative silence, but each wore a small smile.

At the completion of their dance, the reality of the ball intruded. Darcy once again fell into his stoic manner as the two were surrounded by guests still curious enough to approach, and those looking to curry either Elizabeth's or Darcy's favour.

To his chagrin, Elizabeth was rarely without a dance partner. Darcy often chose to stand by the wayside and watch, his fists clenching and unclenching, quite unaware he was presenting a portrait of a love struck fool as he offended guests with his inattention.

Finally, some respite from the jealousy that churned in his breast came when Bingley claimed Elizabeth's hand for their dance. He had no worries of an attachment forming between those two.

Darcy watched his friend dance with his betrothed, curious about the changes he saw in him. Bingley's usual jovial spirit seemed clouded, and presently, looked as though he needed a stiff drink. Seeing Elizabeth's brow arched, he sighed; she was most likely debating with Bingley, the likes of which he had not seen since he was at school.

After the dance, Darcy, Bingley and Elizabeth spoke for a few brief minutes, before Bingley expressed the desire for some wine and took his leave.

"You were meddling," Darcy accused.

Elizabeth smiled innocently, but the tilt of her chin told Darcy she was anything but that. "I only asked his opinion on who had the greater share of enjoyment at balls, men or women."

Darcy nodded, knowingly. He had no doubt the conversation was filled with double entendres and innuendos. Only Elizabeth could turn an innocent sounding topic into a dressing down. If he did not love her so, he would have a good mind to...

The two were interrupted by Elizabeth's next partner claiming his dance, and the green monster returned.

Finally, the dinner bell rang and the guests proceeded to the dining room. Darcy eased, noticing he and Elizabeth had been seated with the Matlocks and the Granvilles. Conversation was lively, and for a while, it was easy to believe that this was nothing more than a family dinner.

Those illusions, however, were shattered when Mr. Granville stood. "It is with great pleasure, that I welcome you all tonight and thank you for joining us. I am especially honoured to be hosting this special event. There were many of us who did not think it would happen, but my cousin, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, has finally chosen a bride. Without further ado, I ask you all to join me in raising a glass to the future happiness of the couple. To Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, Hertfordshire, may you blessed with many children and many years of joy."

As Mr. Granville began the toast, Darcy squirmed. He hated being the centre of attention. However, the moment he looked to see how Elizabeth was faring, the rest of the room melted away. Her entire being had taken on a rosy hue, but her eyes were dancing and her lips were curved in a bashful, amused smile. Had they been alone, he would have had no choice but to kiss her. Right then, he formed a new resolve; he would find a way to make Elizabeth love him.

The moment was broken by a roar of cheers and clanking of glasses.

The rest of the evening progressed well. After dinner, conversation and dancing resumed in the ballroom. Darcy danced his one with Miss Woodall, while Elizabeth partook of a number of dances, each with a different partner.

The only disruption to the evening's gaiety was when Bingley led Miss Bennet out on the floor. As they watched the couple join the set, Darcy felt Elizabeth tense. Nearby, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lord Blakeslee were eyeing the couple as well. Seeing their interest in the couple, Darcy could not help feel relieved knowing Miss Bennet would be returning to her home soon. His courtship was complicated enough, without having to mediate between his cousin and his friend over his future sister. After he was married, they could do as they pleased.

"It will be well," Darcy whispered to Elizabeth. "Bingley knows better than to cause a scene." Elizabeth nodded absently.

He began to share in Elizabeth's consternation, however, as the dance progressed. Apparently, Bingley was to prove him wrong. Whatever was being said between the two was not good, if Miss Bennet's pale face was any indication.

He looked down at his betrothed and cringed. Her jaw was clenched and her breath was slow and hot. Perhaps he should have listened to her and prevented the dance from occurring. He sent up a silent prayer that all would be well, but his hopes were dashed when he saw Miss Bennet fleeing the room. Elizabeth was close on her heels.

He looked between the Miss Bennets and Bingley, torn over which direction to go. He had decided to deal with Bingley later, when he noticed Lord Blakeslee was attempting follow the Miss Bennets, but had been halted by Colonel Fitzwilliam. He stopped as well. His cousin was correct. The sisters would want a moment alone.

With his decision made for him, he went in search of Bingley and caught up with him walking towards the exit. "Bingley!" he called out. "What the devil happened?"

"I am sorry, Darcy." Bingley said, in a tone that was more resigned than apologetic. "I am not myself tonight. Miss Bennet and I exchanged a few unpleasant words. I am very sorry. Will you give my apologies to Miss Elizabeth?"

Darcy had a mind strike the man for upsetting the evening, but that would only cause a greater commotion. "Bingley, Miss Bennet looked to be in tears!"

"I am sorry," he mumbled.

Seeing his friend looking so defeated tempered Darcy's anger. "Is there anything I can do, Bingley? You seem to be out of sorts lately." His tone was a mixture of annoyance, confusion, and genuine concern.

"I am fine," Bingley bristled. "It is nothing with which to concern yourself. I can manage well enough alone. Excuse me."

Darcy watched in wonder as his friend left. With each step, the haughty rigidness of Bingley's shoulders drooped deeper into a defeated slump. No matter what Bingley said, he was not managing well alone. If only Bingley would confide in him, then he could fix it. He suspected it had something to do with Miss Bennet, but could not fathom what. Bingley was the one who chose not to return to Netherfield; surely he could not expect a warm reception from the lady after that. Maybe it was something else, business related perhaps; though why Bingley would not come to him for help made little sense. They frequently discussed matters of business. He would invite Bingley to lunch and ferret it out. Then, he would not exert himself to remain calm.

When the ladies returned, Darcy quickly made his way to his betrothed's side. "I am sorry, Elizabeth. Will your sister be well?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Perhaps it was for best. Matters between Mr. Bingley and Jane seem to have been settled." Her tone was void of her usual humour.

"I am afraid I can not so easily forgive him for disrupting your evening."

Elizabeth smiled obligingly. "Please, Fitzwilliam. We should return to the guests."

As much as Darcy would have preferred to leave, or more precisely remain in private discourse with his betrothed, he could not but agree. An early departure would have caused more speculation and gossip. And, there was a final dance to be had. If Elizabeth was well, he had no intention of ending the evening on such a sour note.

After the final dance, the guests departed slowly. As the guests of honour, Darcy and Elizabeth were obliged to remain until the very end. It was therefore very late when Darcy's carriage pulled up in front of the Gardiner home.

After seeing his betrothed to the door, he placed a long kiss her hand. "Good night, Elizabeth. I ..." He resisted the urge to brush a finger along her cheek. "I shall see you the day after tomorrow." He turned and left, before he said anything more, barely hearing her sweet, "Good night, Fitzwilliam."

The following morning, Elizabeth woke earlier than the rest of the house, but later than her wont. With the late night, it was not surprising. In anticipation of the late morning, breakfast had been delayed, and was still some time away. With some rare quiet time on her hands, she availed herself to the comforts of her uncle's library. It was not as large as the one at Longbourn, and paltry compared to the one at Arryndale, but it was a comfortable refuge.

Despite the open book that lay in her lap, her mind was full of the ball. All the planning by Lady Matlock and Mrs. Granville had paid off in great dividends; the evening had gone well, and not only by her assessment. The warm adieux she received from both Lady Matlock and Mrs. Granville told her she had made it through her debut without committing a major faux pas and disgracing the Darcy, Matlock or Granville name.

She leaned her head against the sofa and replayed the night in her head. When they had first entered the ballroom, she had been almost too nervous to walk. Never had she witnessed such grandeur, nor been in the presence of so many esteemed people. She had always known Darcy moved amongst the first circle, but she had not appreciated what that meant until last night. Earls, countesses, marquises and wealthy merchants were all eager make her acquaintance or boast a connection.

Thank goodness Darcy had been there! His quiet manner, but strong presence, had put her at ease.

Once in the thick of things, she had relaxed. It was true, there were plenty of whispers - and she had over overheard a fair number of them - both bad and good. Indeed, how could she have missed them when at every turn there was a gathering of women speaking behind their fans? The disappointed matrons were not as awful in their judgements as she had anticipated, and the others had been downright humorous. They believed Darcy to be completely besotted!

Recalling the way he had hovered around her - as if he was afraid she might disappear - coupled with his usual reticence, it was not difficult to understand how others might misconstrue it for love.

She, however, knew distraction did not keep him nearby. Fitzwilliam Darcy was a protective man, and knowing her apprehension over the evening, he had taken it upon himself to see nothing went awry. It was duty, not love, which had him at the edge of the floor after every dance to receive her; and obligation, not bewitchment, that kept him by her side, warding off unwanted advances with his stern glare. Anyone who knew him would know he would have done the same for his sister.

She found herself both amused and relieved at having such a constant companion.

Thoughts of constancy brought Bingley back to the forefront of her mind. As far as she was concerned, both he and his sister could go to the devil. How dare he ruin Jane's evening! Was it not bad enough he broke her heart? He did not need to flaunt it in front of her! At least she was able to have her say during their dance.

Their set had begun with several moments of awkward silence, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Unwilling to pass up this opportunity, Elizabeth finally spoke. "It is good to see you again, Mr. Bingley We have not had a chance to speak since last November."

Bingley attempted a smile, but Elizabeth thought he looked ill.

Realizing he was not going to say anything, Elizabeth continued. "I do hope your business that kept you from Netherfield has been completed to your satisfaction."

Bingley stared at her for a moment, nearly missing his next steps, which only confirmed Elizabeth's belief that there indeed was no business at all. Immediately, the anger she felt last December returned in full force.

"I do hope you are enjoying the evening, Mr. Bingley."

Bingley spoke his first words since the dance began. "I am. Mrs. Granville has done superbly."

"Do you think men enjoy balls more than women?" She smiled innocently. "Knowing, Mr. Darcy's opinion on the subject, I thought I would ask someone more popular amongst the ladies."

Bingley flushed in consternation. "I think both find it equally enjoyable."

"I have always believed a man must enjoy them more. A man may come and go as he pleases, and dance with whomever he desires. A woman, however, could never be so bold and must sit idly by, waiting and hoping. Surely the ability to manipulate the situation to one's liking must add to its merriment."

"But a woman may decline the request," Bingley offered, uneasily.

"Yes, but only with the penalty of refusing all others for the evening. If the night is young, the punishment is rather severe." She shook her head. "No, the greater portion of pleasure must go to he who can follow his whims."

Bingley's silence, and inability to look at her, told Elizabeth he had understood her perfectly.

She smiled with satisfaction, and took some comfort in the idea that at least Jane would be returning to Hertfordshire soon and would no longer have to suffer the Bingleys. She, on the other hand, would not be so fortunate. Mr. Bingley was her betrothed's friend, and as such, she would have to suffer his company, and likely Miss Bingley's as well.

A giggle escaped her at the remembrance of Miss Bingley. The woman was insufferable, but her gaudy appearance last night was almost laughable. She could not recall Miss Bingley dressing so ostentatiously while in Hertfordshire, but then again, perhaps their country manners were not so deserving.

She yawned and stretched, much like a cat. Then, noticing the hour, returned to her room. It was time to dress. She was expected at Lanelle House to receive calls with Mrs. Granville and Lady Matlock later today.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Posted on: 2008-09-11

The day after the ball, calls at Lanelle House were cut short as family matters took the forefront. Colonel Fitzwilliam announced he was headed to the continent with the rest of his brigade, and his departure was only a few days away. It was therefore understandable that Lady Matlock was not in a sociable mood.

The moment Elizabeth heard of Colonel Fitzwilliam's deployment, her thoughts were of Darcy and Georgiana, wondering how they fared with the news. Later, she would be surprised her thoughts had turned immediately to the occupants of Arryndale, rather than towards her sister, but such reflections would have to wait, as the carriage was pulling up in front of the large house. Before she could contemplate the rudeness of arriving without notice, Cardwell had the door opened, and was patiently waiting for her ascent.

The commotion her arrival had created did not escape Darcy's attention, and as any good master, he had come to investigate. "Elizabeth!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Are you well? Is your family well?"

Elizabeth fumbled for a moment. "Yes. Forgive me, I had heard Colonel Fitzwilliam's news, and wondered how you fared." She quickly added, "How is Georgiana?"

Darcy grasped her hand and placed a quick kiss on it, touched by her concern. It seemed that with every interaction, he would fall deeper and deeper. It was dangerous, but it was futile to fight it; he knew that now. At the same time, his resolve was but hours old and still but a thought, a wish, and a dream. Until he had a plan of action, it was better to simply love her in secret. "Georgiana, I am afraid, did not take it well. She has locked herself in her room." His brow showed his concern.

Elizabeth squeezed Darcy's arm. "I shall look in on her."

"Thank you." The relief he felt was evident in the breath he released. "I shall have some tea sent to the small parlour in a bit."

As expected, gaining entrance to Georgiana's rooms was not easy. Elizabeth had knocked twice and waited a good ten minutes before Georgiana's maid opened the door and admitted her.

Elizabeth had barely reached the sofa on which Georgiana was lying, when the girl pulled her into a tight embrace. "Is it not awful, Elizabeth?" she cried. "What if he is hurt or never returns." A fresh set of sobs was released.

Elizabeth returned the hug. "It is sad business, indeed, but you must have faith." After several more minutes of comfort, and some conversation, the young girl calmed, and was convinced to join Elizabeth and Darcy in the parlour for some tea.

Darcy was relieved to see his sister emerge, if not in slightly better spirits. After an hour or so of playful conversation over details of the ball, Elizabeth took her leave.

Darcy took it upon himself to see her out. "Thank you, Elizabeth. I am afraid when it comes to tears, I am rather ill prepared."

"With four sisters, tears are a regular occurrence at Longbourn." Elizabeth blushed. "I apologize for arriving without notice."

Darcy clasped her hand in his. "This will soon be your home. You are welcome any time." He then placed his usual kiss on it and held it for a moment between his own.

An awkward silence settled between them, until Elizabeth, trying to appear unaffected, said, "I will see you tomorrow evening?"

Darcy nodded. "If you are uncomfortable at my aunt's, you have but to say the word, and I will see you back to Longbourn."

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam, but I am sure all will be well. I am grateful your aunt has agreed to sponsor me."

Darcy placed another kiss on her hand and then watched as the carriage rolled away with her once again.

As planned, the following day, Jane departed for Longbourn. The departure was filled with the usual promises of letters and hugs. Jane assured Elizabeth she was well, and glad to be returning home.

Elizabeth thought she looked tired, and could not but agree that some time away from London might be just what her sister needed. There, she could forget Bingley. As for Colonel Fitzwilliam, well, they would have to wait and see.

Once the carriage was out of sight, Elizabeth returned to the house to make final preparations for removing to Lanelle House.

"Tell me, Aunt," Elizabeth said as they were packing the last trunk, "how did Jane take the news of Colonel Fitzwilliam? I did not have much time to speak to her."

Aunt Gardiner smiled. "I imagine she told you the same as me. She was saddened to see him leave for war, but would not begrudge him his duty to King and Country." Aunt Gardiner shook her head with motherly concern and amusement. "It has been an eventful few days for her."

Elizabeth nodded, guilt seeping through her. Had she made more effort, Jane would have shared more; she was certain of it. "I have been a wretched sister. I do not even know how much she favours the colonel. Nor did we speak much on what Mr. Bingley said at the ball."

"You are an engaged woman, Lizzy. It is expected you will be distracted. Jane understands that." Elizabeth protested weakly, but Aunt Gardiner assured her all would be well.

The last of Elizabeth's trunks were brought downstairs and loaded on to the carriage. With a final embrace, Aunt Gardiner said, "Our house is always open to you, Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled and kissed her aunt's cheek. "Thank you, Aunt. I shall visit as soon as I am able."

Elizabeth arrived at Lanelle House in the early afternoon. Expecting to be given time to settle in, she was surprised when Lady Matlock requested her presence in an hour's time in the drawing room. Unpacking was to be left to her maid.

When she arrived at the appointed hour, she was astounded to learn Lady Matlock had no intention of delaying her training. "We have a great deal to accomplish, and have not a moment to spare," Lady Matlock explained.

A few minutes later, Elizabeth was introduced to Madame____, who was to instruct Elizabeth on taking her bow. According to Lady Matlock, Madame ______ had worked in Queen Charlotte's court for a number of years, and was therefore privy to some of its inner workings and her Majesty's preferences and nuances.

She stood still as the women walked around her, commenting, as if she was a piece of art put on display. "Not as tall as I expected." "Stand up straight." "Hold your head up." "Do not smile so." "Lower your chin."

Elizabeth did her best to follow their instruction, while wondering if this was the curriculum of London's private seminary for girls. If so, she was glad not to have attended. She could not imagine trading her romps through the paths of Meryton for instruction on posture. Nor did she believe her interest in history and mathematics would have been tolerated.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Elizabeth was finally allowed to move. "Now let me see you walk," she was commanded. Elizabeth obeyed, confident in her abilities in this respect. She quickly learned of her misplaced confidence as another string of corrections and criticisms followed her.

By the time the dinner hour drew near, Elizabeth was exhausted and her rump hurt. How was one supposed walk backwards without tripping, when there was three feet of silk behind you? And what was wrong with allowing a footman to assist you in removing the obstacle?

Elizabeth blew out a tired puff of breath. Both Madame______ and Lady Matlock had been adamant. Assistance was for young girls who did not know any better. She was to be a Darcy, and above such assistance. She would learn to move her entire train with a single sweep of her arm, and exit the room backwards. Practice would become an integral part of her day until she could execute the moves with confidence and grace.

The entrance of her maid alerted Elizabeth to the hour. Georgiana and Darcy would be arriving soon.

As Elizabeth made her way to the parlour, she passed the dining room just off to its left. She was surprised to see the formal table settings; it was as though they were expecting company. Her surprise must have shown, because she suddenly heard, "While in town, you must always be prepared for guests." Elizabeth turned to see Lady Matlock looking over the table.

"Do guests often arrive unannounced?" Elizabeth inquired, with genuine interest. It was unseemly to arrive without invitation past the calling hour. Arriving at the dinner hour was simply not done.

"No, of course not. It would be uncouth to arrive at the dinner hour without invitation."

Elizabeth struggled not to let her confusion show, but Lady Matlock's next comment told her she had been unsuccessful. Something else she would have to work on...

"Appearance is everything, Miss Elizabeth. It only takes being caught unawares once, and you will spend the rest of the season correcting for that mistake. A guest must always feel welcome in your home, no matter the terms of their arrival. As a lady of quality, especially in Town, the table you keep speaks volumes. It must always be presented advantageously."

Elizabeth nodded. No wonder her father did not care for town. All these unsaid rules, all this keeping up of appearances; it was already tiring, and she was still on day one.

Thankfully, the rest of the evening progressed with relative ease. The friendly faces of Darcy and Georgiana helped ease the tension, and minimized her feeling of inadequacy after the day of lessons. Lord Matlock, while not overflowing with welcome, was no longer indifferent to her, and the others continued to warm to her. She had hope that by the end of the month, she would be accepted as part of the family, and not be the interloper she was currently.

That night, alone at a small oak writing desk, Elizabeth surveyed her rooms, in an attempt to capture them with words. Across the room was a large four-post bed. The décor was fine, but not ostentatious; the coverlet was a stiff, embroidered silk that looked as though it had never been used, and the matching bed curtains were lined with expensive Belgian lace. It was almost too pretty to disrupt.

From her position, she could see the oak sofa in her sitting room, and briefly considered sleeping on that instead. That was more fitting of Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn. Knowing Lady Matlock would take news of her sleeping on the sofa as a personal affront, she decided against it.

After finishing a brief note to her aunt, assuring her that she was well settled, she climbed into the large bed and under the mountain of blankets, missing the natural warmth that came from sharing her bed with her sister. She closed her eyes, telling herself she needed to get used to such accommodations, and more importantly to sleeping alone. She could not bring Jane with her to Pemberley, after all, and doubted Darcy would look favourably upon her sleeping with Georgiana.

The following day started surprisingly early. Rather than the slow progression towards the day's duties, as she was accustomed to at Longbourn, Lady Matlock lost no time in resuming Elizabeth's preparations the moment they finished breaking their fast. After assisting in determining the dinner menu and table setting, a large portion of the morning was dedicated to her presentation at court, with more walking and bowing practice. When Madame _______ departed around the lunch hour, Elizabeth thought she would have some respite, and was looking forward to a few hours of solitude. It was not to be.

After lunch, Lady Matlock insisted on preparing for Elizabeth's portrait. The afternoon was dedicated to Elizabeth trying on gown after gown, having her hair styled, cheeks pinched, settling into multiple poses, and moving from room to room. It was finally decided that Elizabeth would be painted in the front parlour, wearing a white printed gown. She was to be settled upon a sofa, holding a colourful sampler.

By the time the evening came, Elizabeth was exhausted. She began a letter to Jane, but soon caught herself nodding off. Deciding to finish the letter another time, she turned in for the night.

While Elizabeth toiled away at Lanelle House, Darcy was busy at Arryndale, addressing the usual items of business that came with running an estate the size of Pemberley. Also atop his agenda was speaking with Bingley. He had promised Elizabeth; Bingley owed him a reason for his behaviour at the ball, and he would beat it out of him if need be. On to that end, he made his way to Boodle's for dinner with his friend.

"Bingley!" Darcy greeted, genuinely pleased to see him. He noted Bingley's affable demeanour had returned. "I hardly see you these days."

"I have been where I always am," Bingley replied with a smirk. "I believe it is you who has been difficult to find."

"So I have been. Duties of a fiancé, I am afraid," Darcy replied, not at all apologetic. Polite inquiries regarding family were exchanged, and the two settled into a corner that afforded them some privacy. Through the meal, the two fell into easy conversation, discussing a particularly diverting fencing match at Angelo's and the recent horse races. Cigars were ordered to go along with the remainder of their bottle of wine. After taking the time to savour them both, Darcy shifted his seat, ready to begin his inquisition.

He realized he was being all too easily read when Bingley chided, "Just spit it out, Darcy."

"I have heard some disturbing rumours about you, Bingley. And then there was your behaviour at the ball. Is everything all right?" He locked eyes with friend, trying to impart the gravity of the situation.

"Rumours? What kind of rumours?" Bingley was all attention.

"Nothing for the scandal sheets; just that you have been keeping unusual company, have been visiting Watier's more than your wont, and are often heavily in cups."

The instant Bingley averted his eyes, Darcy knew everything he had heard was true. If anything, Wesley had kept silent on the worst of it. Something indeed was wrong. Expecting Bingley to confess, he was taken aback when Bingley snarled, "And so my big brother feels obligated to check up on me?"

"No! Of course not!" Darcy replied, not understanding the sudden venom in Bingley's voice. It was true their relationship had some parental aspects to it, but Darcy had never held it against his friend. He simply provided advice when he saw Bingley in need of it. "You are my friend, and the rumours concerned me, as they seemed a bit extraordinary."

"I am perfectly fine. It was a few nights with some old friends. Perhaps we got a little carried away, but not everyone is as staid as you, Darcy."

The pleasant mood was gone. Darcy did not quite understand it, but he was suddenly feeling defensive; as though he should apologize for his concern. Not wishing to cause a scene or provoke Bingley's ire further, Darcy held up his hands in surrender. "I only wanted to offer you my assistance, should you require it." At Bingley's curt nod, Darcy attempted to change the subject. "Will you be travelling with the rest of the party to Hertfordshire for the wedding?"

"No. I am headed north on some business, but I will attend your nuptials."

"I am glad to hear it." Darcy replied, his voice markedly lighter. "It would not be the same without you. I was concerned when I had not received your response."

"I suppose my secretary has been a bit negligent." With a twitch of his mouth, Bingley added, "And do not worry, I will not bring Caroline."

Darcy did nothing to mask his relief. "I am sorry, Bingley, but I will not allow anyone to disrespect my fiancée. I simply cannot allow her to ruin the wedding. I had hoped not inviting the Hursts..."

Bingley held up his hand. "No need for explanations. I understand perfectly."

A bit later, the two parted on pleasant terms. Darcy wished Bingley luck in his business endeavours, and Bingley returned the well wishes on the upcoming journey to Hertfordshire.

Darcy walked away from dinner even more confused than when it had begun. Bingley was not himself, but what had changed, he could not exactly say. There was a disgruntled edge to his friend that he had never noticed, and Bingley was being purposefully tight-lipped about his business.

With Bingley headed to the north, and himself firmly fixed in London, there was nothing Darcy could do but wish his friend good fortune. He consoled himself with the knowledge that Bingley was his own man, and would come to him when he needed to.

In addition to practicing for her coming out, Elizabeth's third day at Lanelle House was spent with a variety of masters. Lady Matlock had hired them to evaluate her capabilities in all the usual accomplishments of a well-bred lady. Unfortunately, reading and witty discourse were not amongst the list, but painting, drawing, playing the pianoforte, and several other items were. In the end, Elizabeth learned her years of half-hearted execution of these arts had caught up with her, and she would have to spend many hours rectifying the situation. As Lady Matlock was always quick to remind her, she could no longer hide away in the country; she was to be Mrs. Darcy, and was a reflection of all that the Darcy name stood for.

The remainder of the week was much like the first days. It seemed there was no limit to the activities Lady Matlock had planned. When Elizabeth was not practicing for her presentation at court or the other accomplishments of a lady, she was entertaining callers, or learning about keeping books, interviewing, hiring, and overseeing servants.

Though Longbourn boasted a housekeeper, a cook, a groom for the stable and a few other servants, it was nothing compared to the staff that ran Lanelle House. There was a servant that brought the water in the morning, another that collected the laundry, and yet another that distributed the clean linens. There were upper servants, lower servants, maids for the family wing, others for the guest wing, and kitchen servants. Elizabeth did not attempt to keep them all straight, but knew she must find a way to do so at Fitzwilliam's homes.

It had been two days since the dinner at the Matlocks'. Darcy had not seen Elizabeth since, and was growing agitated. He needed to see her, if only for his own self assurance that she was well, and was marrying him.

His aunt was still receiving calls; Elizabeth could become enamoured by one of those guests. Foolishly, he had promised his aunt that he would not intrude on her plans with frequent visits. And even if he had not, he had yet to devise a plan for winning Elizabeth's heart. Until he had one, it was imprudent to see her; else he was apt to send her running with an ill timed display of affection. The other day, when she unexpectedly arrived at Arryndale, had proven that.

As a means of distraction, he had heartily accepted Blakeslee's invitation to see the latest boxing match that was taking place just outside the city. It was unlikely they would actually see much of the match - these things always being over crowded - but the possibility and general excitement always proved to be intriguing.

"I still say Richard could have earned a better living as a roaming milling cove than a soldier. His height advantage alone makes him formidable opponent." Blakeslee opined.

"Perhaps, but I doubt his lordship would have provided funds for his training. Why do you not sponsor Julian in such an endeavour? His stature is nearly that of Richard's."

Blakeslee shook his head. "The Pierce line was bred for charm, not brawn." He tipped his chin as if to prove to his point.

"Nor modesty," Darcy added dryly. Both men shared a chuckle.

"Is Miss Elizabeth not joining us? I can not believe the sport would be too much for her delicate sensibilities." Blakeslee snickered. "She used to have a fine right, herself."

Not wishing to discuss his betrothed with his friend, Darcy clipped, "She is with Lady Matlock."

"Another shopping excursion? You shall be a pauper within a year of your marriage at this rate. That being said, I should like to visit Bond Street myself when we are finished here."

Darcy stared at his friend for a moment, trying to ascertain his motives. "Elizabeth," he said, putting a slight emphasis on her given name, "is at Lanelle House. My aunt is assisting her with her presentation at court."

"And Miss Darcy is entertaining Miss Bennet, while her sister is practicing her curtsey?"

"No, Georgiana is busy with her studies. Miss Bennet has returned to Longbourn, a few days ago." The pursed lips showed Blakeslee's evident disappointment.

"I never knew you to be so easily turned by a pretty face, Wesley. Besides, she has no dowry or connections."

"And yet that did not stop you from falling for her sister."

Darcy gently cleared his throat, the only indication that Blakeslee had hit his mark. "There are plenty of pretty faces amongst the ton. I always thought you to be looking for someone with a little more substance; someone that could provide insightful conversation, hold her own opinions, and read more than fashion catalogues and ladies..." He stopped abruptly, realizing he was describing everything he admired in Elizabeth.

"There is more to Miss Bennet than a pretty face," Blakeslee replied seriously. "You have been too distracted to notice." He shrugged. "I suppose I shall have to wait until your wedding."

Darcy shook his head as the crowd roared and the fight began.

Finally Sunday arrived, and following the strictures of the church, the day promised to be Elizabeth's first real reprieve. There would be no practicing or work today. Not only that, but she was to see Darcy and Georgiana for the first time since dinner the other night.

As planned, Darcy and Georgiana joined the Matlock party at their church, and then for a simple meal. While Elizabeth was pleased to see them, the previous week had worn on her, and it was all she could do to affect high spirits. Those that did not know her would not see anything was amiss. Darcy, however, saw the change in her immediately. Unfortunately, it was not until afternoon that he was able to speak with her.

While Georgiana graced the family with a musical piece, Darcy took the opportunity to speak with his betrothed. "You have been so good for her, Elizabeth," Darcy whispered. A proud smile touched the corner of his lips as he watched Georgiana's fingers flow up and down the keyboard. "Never before would she have attempted such a difficult piece in company."

Elizabeth blushed demurely. She could think of nothing to say that would not betray the envy that had surfaced. Georgiana, a girl several years younger than herself, was more accomplished in almost every way. Unlike her, Georgiana had required but a little encouragement and friendship to become a woman worthy of the Darcy name. Now, more than ever did she wonder what had possessed Darcy to choose her as his wife; she had nothing to offer but a friendly face.

Though the music continued, Darcy's attention was drawn from the player to the woman sitting beside him. She looked smaller somehow, and a shadow haunted her usual cheerful mien. "You are not well, Elizabeth."

"It is nothing, Fitzwilliam. It is just taking me a bit to... adjust to my surroundings." There was no way she was going to tell him all that she had been doing the past week. He would not understand. How could he? He was born to his position; he had been trained since infancy to be Master of Pemberley. How could he understand how much she had yet to learn? Even she was unsure what was yet to come. She smiled, but it did not extend beyond her lips.

"Elizabeth..." Fitzwilliam implored, his brow creased in concern. Before he could protest any further, Elizabeth placed a hand on his arm. "Truly, Fitzwilliam. I shall be well. But if you insist, I will retire a little early this evening."

"A wise decision. Mr. Linnell shall want to begin your portrait early tomorrow. I do not think you wish to be painted ill."

"Why, that is a fine compliment, sir!" Elizabeth laughed, finally showing a spark of former self. "I had no idea how blue-devilled I appeared. Perhaps I should leave for the sickroom now."

Darcy coloured. "I did not mean..." He broke off and raised her hand to his lips. "You always look lovely, Elizabeth." The gentleness with which he spoke caused Elizabeth to blush deeply and look away. "You have acquitted yourself well, sir."

At the end of Georgiana's piece, the afternoon came to a close. As everyone stood to say their farewells, Darcy reminded her, "Get your rest. I shall see you tomorrow."

Lord and Lady Matlock saw Darcy and Georgiana out. Still unsettled by Elizabeth's appearance, he inquired after her to his aunt. "How is Elizabeth's presentation coming? She is not overwhelmed, is she? She looked a bit fatigued this afternoon."

"She is doing well, but there is a great deal to accomplish." Lady Matlock smiled indulgently. "She is, as you say, a quick study, and has shown more aptitude in dealing with servants than I expected."

"I am pleased to hear it," Darcy replied wryly. "She is a gentleman's daughter."

"Yes, but sometimes that term is used too liberally."

Changing the subject, Darcy said, "I trust with the initial planning over, she will be available to spend more time with Georgiana?"

"I suppose. Perhaps the two could practice the pianoforte." At Darcy's questioning look, Lady Matlock added, "Oh, come now, Fitzwilliam. I merely suggested she practice. She will be expected to entertain her guests with more than just witticisms."

"Very well," Darcy replied, bristling at his aunt's criticism. "I believe Georgiana would very much enjoy playing with Elizabeth. Do you have any objection with her practicing at Arryndale? It would be good for Elizabeth to become more acquainted with the staff."

"I have no objections, but please keep in mind, Fitzwilliam, there is still much to be done. Her time away from here will be limited."

"I understand." He placed a kiss on his aunt's cheek. "Again, I thank you for your assistance."

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Posted on: 2008-09-17

Darcy returned to Arryndale, his head and heart full of Elizabeth. He felt alive. He had been too long out of her company, and just as a tree needs sunlight to grow, he needed his Elizabeth to function. Now that he had fed that hunger, he could resume his other orders of business with relative peace.

In his mind, the wedding could not come soon enough. Then, he would not have to be mindful of social edicts, like acceptable calling hours.

But propriety was not the only problem he faced. One unresolved issue hung around each of their interactions, like a bothersome fly that would not go away. If he did not win her heart soon, he might burst - or do something worse. How he might go about performing that feat, however, still eluded him.

With any other woman, the connection to his name and a few baubles would be enough to have her pledge her undying love. Elizabeth, however, was not so easily persuaded, and he loved her all the more for it. At the same time, he could not help wishing she was just a little enamoured with his status and money. It would definitely make things easier.

He pulled out three quills and examined their tips. Seeing one in need of mending, he pulled out a pen knife. Armed with three sharp pens, he reached to uncork the ink bottle.

Unable to help himself, he picked it up and traced the foreign letters carved into its sides, momentarily distracted by what they meant. Perhaps they were his initials, or maybe something else. Did Elizabeth know? He searched his list of associates for one who might know, but came up empty. With a shrug, he turned to examine the other carvings on the bottle. There was a crane and a mountain landscape. He chuckled, wondering if the strange characters merely spelled the name for those items. It was something Elizabeth would have done just to taunt the purchaser.

With a shake of the head, he cleared his mind of such idle thoughts, and set the well down. He had work to do, especially to prepare for the coming week. The only part of his plan he had worked out thus far was to spend more time with Elizabeth, as much time as he could.

As if fate was on his side, this week, she would be a captive audience, and even his aunt could not complain with him keeping her company during that time. To that end, he had cleared his appointments and informed Cardwell he was not home to the public. With any luck, the rest of his plan for winning Elizabeth's heart would just come to him.

As promised, Elizabeth did retire early that evening. Being Sunday, there was little to do, and therefore no protest from Lady Matlock.

After dismissing her maid, Elizabeth settled on the settee with a bookmark she had begun. She examined the pattern, and began passing her needle and thread through the linen. It was not an intricate pattern -- just an outline of prancing horses with a few flowers -- but she smiled, knowing Fitzwilliam would like it.

She huffed in frustration, and angrily pulled out a few errant stitches. Feelings of insecurity welled once again. Could she not do anything well?

She consoled herself by insisting that Fitzwilliam had known of her deficiencies when he proposed marriage. He was not looking for an accomplished lady, or romantic love. He simply needed a companion for his sister, someone to placate his family's demands, and someone who shared some common interests with him.

She let go of her consternation with a loud exhale. She may not be as accomplished as others, but she could offer genuine friendship, both to him and Georgiana. From that perspective, she had fulfilled her duties admirably. Their friendship, if anything, had become stronger, and Georgiana was blossoming into the young lady she was meant to be.

Feeling better, she finished a small flower, and then put her sewing away. After a good night's rest, she would feel even better.

As promised, Mr. John Linnell presented himself at the Matlock abode promptly at nine the following morning.

"Ah, the future Mrs. Darcy," he said with a flourished bow. He looked over his subject, and for a fleeting moment, Elizabeth believed he might deem her not handsome enough, and reject the commission. The man, however, returned a pleased smile.

"I trust your ladyship has determined the setting?" he asked Lady Matlock.

"The front parlour. It gets a great deal of natural light, and I particularly like the idea of seeing the town through the window in the background."

"Of course, your ladyship. A splendid suggestion." The man demurred.

Elizabeth swallowed a snicker. His mannerisms reminded her all too much of her cousin, Mr. Collins. It would prove to be difficult week if this continued, but it would be imprudent to offend the man with an ill-timed outburst; he might paint her with three eyes or a horrible wart.

Still, her eyes danced with amusement as she watched Lady Matlock continue discussing the portrait, the setting, and the background, while Mr. Linnell extolled the lady's artistic eye. The exchange was interrupted by the appearance of Mr. Darcy.

"Mr. Darcy," Mr. Linnell greeted with a low bow.

"Fitzwilliam!" Lady Matlock's surprise at seeing him was mixed with an ounce of annoyance. "I had not expected you this morning."

His gaze settled on Elizabeth for a moment, and then he looked back to his aunt. "I thought I might entertain Miss Elizabeth while she is having her likeness captured." He looked to Mr. Linnell. "That is if you have no objections, sir."

"Of course not, Mr. Darcy."

Thus, while Mr. Linnell arranged his paints, easel, and canvas, the furniture of the room was adjusted to seat Darcy near Elizabeth. Once everything was settled, Lady Matlock removed herself, and Elizabeth and Darcy settled into easy conversation.

"So Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth challenged, "you have come to entertain me?"

"I thought it best you did not find yourself bored."

"You appear to be ill equipped to amuse me, but I am fortunate enough to have this needlework. The good book does say to be wary of idle hands." She batted her eyes coquettishly and affected her best simpering smile.

Darcy could not but laugh, as his heart thumped in his chest. No one could make him laugh like her, nor with such ease. He produced a tome and the day's paper. "I thought reading would be a comfortable order of the day, unless you would prefer something else."

"Anything I wish?" Elizabeth replied coyly. Familiar with that look, it took Darcy a moment to reply in the affirmative. "Whatever the lady wishes." He stared at her, trying to convey more than just his acquiescence.

Elizabeth tapped her chin thoughtfully, her lips pursed tightly to hide her mirth. "I believe I shall be quite enthralled to listen to you read, while I tend to this sampler," she finally said. She leaned over and whispered, "It would not do to scandalize Mr. Linnell the first day..."

Darcy had to bite his cheek to quell the outburst in his throat. "As you wish." Beginning with the news from the continent, he read aloud. He did his best to remain focused on the news, but could not help peering over the top of the paper and stealing looks at her. She was beautiful. The sun coming in from the windows behind her danced in her hair, making his fingers itch to test its softness. Then there was the way her tongue peeked out of the corner of her mouth, and the way her brow creased, just a bit, as she concentrated on her stitches.

When she looked up questioningly from her work, Darcy realized he had been silent for quite some time. He dropped his gaze to the paper in front of him, roughly cleared his throat, and began reading again.

Together, they discussed the latest performance of the Italian Opera, the use of the militia to quell rebellions in the north, and the latest news on the war. Darcy also shared with Elizabeth, the letter he had received from Colonel Fitzwilliam. His brigade had reached the Cinque Ports, and would be setting sail soon.

Luncheon was declared ready shortly thereafter, and the three in the front parlour joined Lady Matlock in the small evergreen drawing room. Though she did her best, Elizabeth could not help the way her stomach knotted in presence of her mentor. She could handle the criticism when alone, but feared what might be said in front of Darcy. At any moment, she expected the lady to comment on the number of cucumber sandwiches she ate, or the manner in which she bit into the apple slices.

She did not notice the way she had withdrawn from the conversation, until Darcy sent her a beseeching look. Doing her best, she returned a vibrant smile and forced herself to engage in the discourse.

After lunch, Mr. Linnell, Elizabeth and Darcy returned to the front parlour, while Lady Matlock saw to other matters of the house.

As they settled in once again, Darcy offered a volume of Walter Scott's most recent publication, The Lady of the Lake.

"Mr. Scott? Are you becoming a romantic, Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth teased. "Shall I find ladies novels amongst your collection next?"

Darcy raised an admonishing brow, but could not suppress the amusement that suffused the rest of his face. "And if I owned to such a thing, would you break our engagement?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Certainly not!" she replied with feeling that even surprised her. Her discomfort was compounded by the manner in which Darcy's eyes grew wide. "I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love!" she blurted out, trying to dispel the awkward moment.

"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love."

"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Everything nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away." This was all said with her eyes firmly fixed on the sampler she had once again taken up.

Darcy only smiled, not quite trusting his tongue. Her reaction had given him hope. He was desperate to inform her that his love was able to withstand much more than poetry. Unable to find the words, and unwilling to risk such a chance, he simply opened the volume and began reading. He would consider her expressions in depth, later.

The remainder of the day passed with the two betrothed reading passages of Scott and exchanging a combination of serious debate and light banter. Unaware of the passage of time, it was with some surprise when Mr. Linnell declared the light too poor to continue. "We shall begin again tomorrow, the same time," he said.

Automatically, Darcy and Elizabeth stood, as the man left. Neither was quite ready for the day to end, and unsure what to say, they simply stared at each other.

"How long do you imagine this shall take?" Elizabeth stammered.

"It takes about a week, depending on the artist."

"Shall you come every day and entertain me?" She dropped her eyes to the floor, feeling suddenly shy. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, inexplicably hoping he would say yes.

Darcy bowed gallantly, dispelling the intimate air that had engulfed them. "If that is your wish, my lady. What shall it be tomorrow? Piquet or Wordsworth?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Are those my only choices? I was so hoping for charades, or perhaps you could play for me." Darcy arched a brow in her direction, causing Elizabeth to laugh some more.

"Whatever the lady wishes," he reiterated, punctuating it with a kiss on her hand. "However, I must warn you, I am ill prepared for any great performances."

Elizabeth flushed. "Very well, then Wordsworth it shall be."

After seeing him to the door, she escaped to her room to prepare for dinner.

The next two days progressed much as the first. Georgiana accompanied Darcy on one of the afternoons, and Lady Matlock and Lady Fitzwilliam joined them on occasion. In general, however, the engaged couple were left to entertain one another.

The fourth morning, and what would be the final day of sitting, Elizabeth sat at the vanity, impatient for her maid to complete her hair. She had expected to feel relieved -- as she would finally be free to take walks and leave the confines of the room -- but grateful, could not describe her mood.

The moment her maid had declared her ready, she hurried downstairs to wait. She felt like a child on her birthday, expecting a pony. Mr. Linnell was punctual as usual, but there was no sign of anyone else. Dutifully, Elizabeth took her place on the sofa, but could not help jumping at the sound of every carriage or horse that passed the house.

"Miss Bennet, you must sit still. I can not capture the shadows properly if you do not." Hearing the annoyance in the man's voice, Elizabeth turned an apologetic smile and resumed the rehearsed pose. With nothing else to do, her mind wandered.

Where was Darcy? She was certain he intended to visit. Surely, he would have sent a note if he could not. She heard another carriage roll by the house, but it did not stop. Disappointed, she sighed softly, and then scolded herself, realizing how ridiculous she was being. He would arrive when he was able. Besides, they were only friends. He had no obligation to be with her. Still, she could not help the feeling of loneliness that persisted.

She had rationalized her loneliness was due to boredom, and had settled on the idea that business had kept him away when she heard a commotion at the front entrance. It took all her power to remain seated and not to leap from her seat. Finally, she heard the sound she had waited an eternity to hear. He had come! Unable to help herself, she stood, waiting to greet him.

"Elizabeth," he said in a rush, as he entered the room. "I apologize. I was unavoidably delayed." He handed her a small nosegay of carnations and violets.

"Think nothing on it, Fitzwilliam," she replied, with more nonchalance than she felt. A brilliant smile lit her entire being. There was an exchange of pleasantries and explanations, and then, after apologizing to Mr. Linnell for the interruption, the two took their usual seats.

Friday, things returned to normal. With Mr. Linnell no longer requiring her presence, Lady Matlock insisted on resuming Elizabeth's previous activities in earnest. The first item on the agenda was the dinner in London she was to host as Mrs. Darcy.

An intense few days passed as Lady Matlock and Elizabeth discussed at great length the china, the silver, the crystal, the flowers, the linens, and the place cards to be used.

Elizabeth sat at the table, overlooking the invite list she and Lady Matlock had drawn up. She had been left to make the seating arrangements. It had seemed simple enough at first, but she was now on the third iteration.

Each time she had thought everyone well placed, Lady Matlock had found something to criticize. "You can not seat the Fullers next to the Wadners. I am certain I told you how ill Mr. Wadner treated the Fuller daughter." She shook her head, much like a disappointed parent might. "It is not just idle gossip that is discussed in drawing rooms." There was an underlying sneer in her tone. "If you do not remember these things, you will spend your evening mediating between families, instead of entertaining guests."

She let out a heavy sigh. What was wrong with her? Why could she not accomplish such a small task? How she longed for a return of the ease of the previous days. What she had expected to be days of mindless sitting, flew by in the blink of an eye. Darcy had played the role of suitor and entertainer well; but he was not here now.

She stared blankly at the seating arrangements in front of her, willing a suitable grouping to appear. Once she was finished, perhaps Lady Matlock would approve of a trip to Arryndale to practice the pianoforte. She always felt better after some time with the Darcys.

After the issue of her debut dinner was closed, Elizabeth spent much of her time practicing the many arts she had yet to master. To that end, she sat at a writing desk in one of Lady Matlock's smaller parlours. She had been at the desk for an hour, and her fingers were stained with ink.

Another piece of crumpled paper went by the wayside with an unladylike grunt of frustration. Carefully, she began again with a fresh sheet, tracing the letters out, one by one, making certain they did not run together, just as Lady Matlock had instructed. So engrossed was she, that she forgot Darcy was to fetch her for an afternoon on the promenade; nor did she hear him enter the room.

"What has you so enthralled today, Elizabeth?" he asked, intrigued by the studious look on her face.

Elizabeth blushed, and did her best to quickly cover the well inked paper and broken quills. "Oh, nothing. Just writing." She stood in front of the desk, attempting to obfuscate Darcy's view of the desk. "Forgive me, I lost track of the time. I need but a moment to ready myself."

Darcy nodded. As she left the room, he could not help a curious glance at the covered papers. He would have simply walked away, but his attention was captured by a particular scrawling.

Curiosity overtook any misgivings he might have about invading her privacy, and he picked up the page. Over and over she had scrawled her name -- well, her future name -- ‘Elizabeth Darcy' and ‘Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.' He could not help the broad smile that split his face. After passing a dreamy moment, the other ink scratching came into focus. It appeared as though she had been practicing her letters.

Realizing she would return at any moment, he folded the piece of paper and stuffed it into his pocket for safe keeping.

Elizabeth did return soon. Not wishing to discuss anything within earshot of his aunt, he led her outside to the waiting carriage.

"Will you tell me now, what had you so engrossed you nearly missed our outing?" His tone was light.

"Truly, Fitzwilliam. It was nothing. Only some scribbles."

Sensing something was not right, Darcy pressed her. "Scribbles? I must be a frightfully poor suitor if you resort to such dissembling. I must own I am all anticipation to learn what had captured your attention so fully. Might you share it with me? It might prove useful to me in the future."

Elizabeth turned away for a moment. Realizing he was not likely to relent in his questioning, she daringly, she stuck out her chin. "Very well, if you must know, I was practicing my letters." She schooled her tone to hide her embarrassment.

"Your letters? I was certain you learned to both read and write ages ago."

"Is there anything wrong with practicing my letters? Did you not know all accomplished young ladies are judged by their writing?" She arched her brow in challenge, causing Darcy to chuckle.

"No, I was not aware of that."

"Well, then, I have let you in on one of our secrets."

Darcy studied her for a moment, knowing she was not speaking the truth. "I will have to speak with Mrs. Annesley then. It seems she has been neglectful in the area, as I have not seen Georgiana practice her letters since she was ten."

"Yes, well, Georgiana is a very accomplished young lady."

"I see. Only very accomplished young ladies do not have to practice writing?" He grinned. "Then I suspect that this shall be the last time you shall feel such a need."

Elizabeth could not help the blush that formed in her cheeks. "I can hardly be considered accomplished, Fitzwilliam."

"I have long considered you one of the most accomplished ladies of my acquaintance, Elizabeth."

The blush that had only been present in her cheeks, overtook the rest of her being, and she had to look away.

After taking a moment to enjoy her bloom, Darcy roughly cleared his throat and began to discuss places they might visit that day. He would think more on this later. Elizabeth was not one to resort to such an activity without prompting. She was more likely to bury her nose in a book, or even needlework. Perhaps his aunt could shed some light on the situation.

That night, Elizabeth sat curled up on a chaise, making mental notes of all that had to be done on the morrow. There would be the day's table settings and dinner to plan. She needed to practice the pianoforte, but that would have to wait one more day, until she could go to Arryndale. The language master would arrive at eleven to assist her with enunciations. In the afternoon, however, she was to go to Gracechurch Street for a long overdue visit to her aunt. She smiled at that thought. It would be good to be back in the bosom of her family, safe from prying eyes and judgemental remarks.

No one in Cheapside would tell her she did not walk as a lady, or that she smiled too much, or that she wrote ill. There, she did not have concern herself over her skill with charcoal, or matching table linens with china patterns.

Though she enjoyed the diversions of London, she would easily trade them for her little Meryton. She missed Jane, her father, and the familiar paths of home. How she longed for a rush of the fresh, clean air in her lungs, and to hear the morning song of the birds from her window. There, she could be just Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, not the future Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

She sighed heavily, considering not for the first time, the imprudence of the match. The more she thought on the past few weeks, the more she came to understand she simply was not cut out to be a woman of high society. Darcy could certainly find a more accomplished woman, with a substantial dowry and connections that would not be considered a disgrace.

By breaking the engagement now, in spite of the scandal which would follow, she would spare them disappointment in the future, would she not? After all, sooner or later, Fitzwilliam would learn what a mistake he had made. Surely, Fitzwilliam would understand her misgivings, she reasoned.

Oh, he might attempt to deny it at first, but sooner or later, he would have to face the truth; she was no proper Mistress of Pemberley. If they married, little by little, they would grow apart. He would spend more time in London, or away on business. In his loneliness and regret, he would seek comfort in the arms of another woman, and take a mistress. Eventually, there would nothing left between them; even their friendship would be gone. They would be as two strangers passing in the night, and merry days, like the ones they passed while Mr. Linnell captured her likeness, would be but a memory.

An unconscious tear rolled down her cheek.

Dreamily she remembered how the time had flown by, and the feeling of disappointment she had felt when Mr. Linnell announced he was finished each day. And then, when she learned Mr. Linnell had finished earlier than expected, how she wanted to protest. She wanted to holler at him, make him understand that his efficiency was robbing her of another day of bliss.

Her thoughts turned sharply. Bliss? When had time with Fitzwilliam become that? They were friends. Time spent together was fun... amusing... enjoyable... definitely not blissful. It was no crime to enjoy time spent with a friend. Fitzwilliam was... well... a friend. A close friend... that she... well...

She forced her thoughts back to the issue at hand. Should she break the engagement? How could she let Fitzwilliam do something that would make him miserable for the rest of his life? On the other hand, if she broke the engagement now, he might become angry, and never speak to her again. An unfamiliar, almost suffocating pain once again gripped her chest.

Could she give up him up for the sake of his happiness? Instantly, tears returned, and a few managed to escape. Over the last few weeks, she had become used to his company, nay, had relied upon it. His confident, strong manner coupled with his quiet assurances. During bleak moments, she imagined his friendly face, urging her on. In her moments of woolgathering, she remembered his humorous anecdotes or conversations they had shared.

She sighed wistfully, as his rich, warm laugh echoed in her ears. How she loved the way his brows shot upward as she teased him or professed opinions not her own. And the way his whole face lit up when he smiled. He was very handsome at those times. She had even grown to love the menacing glare that spoke of his unease.

Her eyes widened, and jaw dropped realizing the direction of her thoughts. "No... no... no!" she whispered. She clapped both hands over her mouth to silence the protestations. Perhaps she could take the thought back. But, like a thick fog, the idea hung in the air.

She screwed her eyes shut, and then opened them again, hoping to prove herself dreaming. She was not.

Slowly, cautiously, she said the word, "love." An inner warmth began to glow, and a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I love Fitzwilliam," she mouthed, not daring to give the words sound. A giggle escaped. She said the words again, this time as a barely audible whisper. Another mirthful giggle broke loose, and she closed her hand over mouth before it became a bubbling joviality within her breast. It was true! She was in love. She breathed out a deep sigh and basked in the idyllic moment.

It did not take her long to sober though. How had it happened? She and Fitzwilliam were supposed to be just friends! When had it turned to love? There were supposed to be warning signs, painted in big letters - Turn this way for love! How had she missed them? More importantly, what should she do now?

She could not walk away from him. Somehow, he had become a part of her. Leaving now would be akin to death. She had but one choice -- to become worthy of him!

With new resolve, she vowed to be more diligent in her studies. Even after she returned to Longbourn, even after they were married, she would continue until she became worthy of the Darcy name. She would not give him reason to regret their marriage, and perhaps somehow, along the way, he might even return the sentiments.