Beginning , Section III

Chapter 13

Posted on October 2, 2009

Lucas Lodge shone with the light of a hundred candles, adding to the warmth of the summer evening. Taking a cooling sip from his glass, Darcy was a little surprised to see Bingley standing alone in the doorway, his eagerness for conversation readily apparent. Even from across the room, Bingley's expression conveyed a clear message that something of importance had occurred.

Unfortunately, Darcy was stuck in conversation with Mrs. Goulding, a stout, talkative woman with much to say about the accomplishments, beauty, and deportment of her only daughter. "Not like some of the young ladies in the neighborhood," she was saying, looking him over much like a tabby eyeing a bowl of fresh cream. "My Marianne is so well-mannered, and so very accomplished! Did she not play beautifully tonight, Mr. Darcy?"

Held in place by an earnest effort to correct his past offenses in Hertfordshire, it took Darcy a few moments to politely extract himself from the conversation. Once he did so, he moved quickly in Bingley's direction, his curiosity aroused by the anxious aspect of his friend's smile.

"I am sorry for interrupting your commendable efforts to be social, Darcy, but I did not think this could wait."

"A welcome interruption, my friend," replied Darcy with a small smile. "While I am discovering country society to be as agreeable as any other, I must still assert that a certain lack of variety is to be found in the conversation of all mothers with daughters of marriageable age."

Bingley chuckled. "I am afraid that is a burden you must bear until you please one such mother by courting her daughter, thereby destroying the hopes of all the rest."

"Speaking of courting, what takes you from Miss Bennet's side? What is it that cannot wait?"

"Miss Bennet has remembered something that may help us. I should like you to come and hear what she has to say."

"Has it to do with Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy struggled to temper his eagerness.

"It does; but I believe you should prepare yourself, for I do not think it will please you altogether."

"Any new information will make me happy. We have had little enough so far. Please, lead the way."

The two men made their way back to the main drawing room where Jane was waiting, her expression calm and composed. Darcy approached her with the hope that her news would be good in spite of Bingley's ominous prediction.

"Miss Bennet, I understand you have something new regarding your sister?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy. I remembered something Lizzy did…" Jane hesitated, suddenly embarrassed. "Now that you are here, I begin to feel a little foolish. Perhaps it means nothing; but with so little information as we now have, I suppose anything might help."

"We can only determine its usefulness if you tell me," Darcy coaxed lightly.

"Oh, yes – forgive me. Well, I was talking with Mr. Bingley and happened to look up just as my sister, Kitty, was coming in from the terrace with Mr. Dermott, one of my Uncle Phillip's law clerks. Kitty sometimes reminds me of Lizzy at first glance, so it brought Lizzy to mind as a matter of course. But it was only when Mr. Dermott whispered something to Kitty that I remembered an identical scene only a few days before Lizzy went away. I saw her come through those same doors, as Kitty did, only Lizzy was with Mr. Wickham."

Darcy's reaction was so immediate, he could not conceal the violent response. "Wickham!? Are you certain?"

"Quite certain." Jane's eyes went to Bingley's in silent alarm as she cautiously continued. "With the militia gone to Brighton, I had quite forgotten about it."

Lost in bitter disappointment, Darcy did not hear anything beyond her affirmation. It was clear he had failed to change Elizabeth's opinion of Wickham. Their being seen together was evidence of that. He castigated himself for the anger that had permeated the words of his letter. If he had couched his censure in more temperate terms, would she have been more willing to believe his disclosure of Wickham's duplicity? The notion of Elizabeth welcoming the company of a rake such as George Wickham was nearly too painful to bear.

Drawing a deep breath, he braced himself for answers he did not want to hear, and pursued their only clue. "Was she often in company with Mr. Wickham, then?"

"Not at all. She did enjoy his company for a while, but after her return from Kent, she seemed eager to find fault with everything he did. Now that you mention it, she was very little in his company of late, if at all. I believe she was trying to avoid him, but I cannot say what he did to offend her, nor why she looked so distressed that night."

The relief that washed over Darcy was so profound that it took several breaths before his mind caught up to Jane's final words. "Distressed? You say she looked distressed?"

"Yes, but only for a moment. I remember seeing them come back into the room together. He seemed quite amiable, but I could tell Lizzy was not at all pleased; in fact, she looked rather annoyed. And then he whispered something in Lizzy's ear, and she became even more upset. Mr. Wickham walked away after that. When I caught her attention to see if everything was all right, she only looked at me as if to say that Mr. Wickham was being ridiculous. Do you think it means anything?"

"I believe the exchange you witnessed between your sister and Mr. Wickham means a great deal, Miss Bennet," Darcy's voice was ominously quiet. "I do not wish to alarm you, but George Wickham is no gentleman."

"Surely he would not harm Miss Elizabeth – and at a dinner party yet?" Bingley was incredulous.

"Except for those few moments, Lizzy seemed quite herself. I think if he had actually done something, she would have told me right away," Jane offered. "Now that I think of it, though, there must have been more than she let on; but it was so late when we returned to Longbourn that we did not talk that night, and the next morning, she was out walking before I had a chance to speak with her."

"She walked out early after such a late night?" Darcy examined the possibilities of this new information.

"Yes, but that is not unusual for Lizzy. She nearly always walks in the early morning if the weather does not keep her indoors. She enjoys it very much and I believe it lifts her spirits. Only this time, she seemed more agitated than revived when she returned. She hardly said two words and went straight to her room."

"Did she give a reason?" asked Darcy .

"No, she begged to be let alone at the time and I was called away. Then Father announced Lizzy's plans to travel for the summer and it was all forgot in the excitement." Jane was visibly disturbed. "None of it seemed out of the ordinary at the time, but now it all seems so very odd!"

"It does seem as if something is not quite right," Bingley concurred, "especially where Mr. Wickham is concerned. Do you not think so, Darcy?"

"Given my experience with the man, I am convinced he is involved in some way. In fact, it is very likely we will find him at the bottom of this whole affair, and I believe it began with whatever transpired on the terrace."

His disturbing conclusion was too much for Jane, who paled visibly. Bingley quickly stepped in, offering his arm for support, which she gratefully took.

"Mr. Wickham and Lizzy?!" she whispered faintly. "What is to be done?"

"We will do everything possible," Bingley assured her, covering her hand with his own, "and we shall not rest until Miss Elizabeth is found."

"Everything shall be put to rights soon enough," added Darcy encouragingly. "We now have a solid direction and I know how to deal with Mr. Wickham." His voice was steady and strong, but his optimism could not dispel the deep sadness in Jane's eyes nor could it erase the turbulence in his own. His private look to Bingley reflected a grave concern that cast a heavy shroud of worry over them all for the rest of the evening.

At length, the gathering came to an end and they parted company, Bingley once again assuring Jane that all would be well.

As the gentlemen made their way to Netherfield, the waning moon cast a feeble light on their somber mood. Bingley and Darcy rode slowly side by side in dismal silence. Bingley had long lost any idea of what to say and Darcy was too engrossed in bitter reflection to notice.

All at once, the silence was shattered when Darcy's anger exploded into the night air, sending the horses skittering sideways in alarm.

"If anything has happened to her, I shall never forgive myself!" he cried. "I should have taken care of Wickham when I had the chance!"

"It cannot be as bad as that, can it? Surely Miss Elizabeth has more sense than to place herself in the hands of such a man? And it is not even certain that is what happened."

"You must trust me on this, Charles. I know Wickham is connected to her disappearance in some way. As for her not placing herself in his hands, you do not know him as I do. You will remember how very good he was at convincing everyone to fall in love with him last year, and he would certainly use her generous nature to insinuate himself. The fact that he was seen with her shortly before her sudden departure means something, I am certain of it. I would give a king's ransom to know what happened on that terrace and what he said to her when they returned!"

Bingley sighed in the dark. "I think the answers will have to wait until we find her, though I do wonder at his reasons for such behavior."

"Financial reasons, you can be sure. I know Wickham. His greedy nature would not permit him to exert any great effort without a promise of financial gain – something Miss Elizabeth cannot offer. The Bennets have no great fortune, nothing of any consequence to tempt him. That is what I cannot understand. Why her?"

Bingley had no answer and silence descended once again as the two men came within sight of Netherfield. For Darcy, the question continued to hammer mercilessly in his mind, driving a terrible foreboding deep into his heart. If Elizabeth was indeed under Wickham's influence, and far from the protection of her friends and family, then finding her was now a matter of the very greatest urgency. He could only pray that he was not too late!

Pushing his unfinished plate away with a sharp thrust, Darcy dropped his head back against the chair and stared at the open sea shimmering outside his window. He had little appetite for food and even less for this unexpected delay.

Four days earlier, he had arrived in Brighton ready to force a confession from Wickham's own lips, but it was with bitter disappointment that he found the man gone. The entire regiment was gone – called out on maneuvers. It was not known exactly when they would return, and as Darcy had no acquaintance in Brighton aside from Colonel Forster, he had been forced to employ other means of gathering the information he sought. He knew there was a connection between Wickham and Elizabeth's mysterious absence – he just couldn't find it.

A low growl of self-reproach rumbled in Darcy's chest. His precipitous departure from Hertfordshire without first making the proper inquiries was a mistake. He had allowed his anxiety for Elizabeth to cloud his judgment; but he could not afford another miscalculation, no matter how slight, if he was to outwit Wickham.

Desperately needing a focus for his tortured thoughts, Darcy retrieved a paper from the stack of documents lying on the table and re-examined his notes for the third time in as many days. So intent on finding something new in the information he had gathered on Wickham, he barely heard the light knock above the constant, rhythmic crashing of the waves outside.

"Come," Darcy answered, dropping his notes back onto the pile. His face registered a mild surprise as Denham entered the room, returning much sooner than expected. The surprise quickly turned to satisfaction, however, as an almost imperceptible change in the valet's naturally impassive expression told him there was some success at last.

"I see you have something for me," Darcy smiled expectantly.

"Yes, sir. I have just returned from the Scarlet Feather, one of the local establishments. At first I thought to only stop in for a drink and ask a few questions. I was regarded with a bit of suspicion at first – me not being a soldier and all - but I had the feeling there was information to be had, and so I decided to take more refreshment. After I ordered a three course, they warmed right up. As the meal required several trips to my table, I was able to strike up a conversation with the serving girl. Her name is Millie and, with the help of a few coins, she had an interesting tale to tell."

"Excellent! What is it?"

"First, she was able to tell me that the regiment is expected to return the day after tomorrow."

"Two days! I am to remain in this useless state for another two days?" Darcy protested. "Well, I shall bide my time for now, but I will not waste another minute once he is back! What else did this Millie have to say?"

"She tells me she is well-acquainted with Lieutenant Wickham and his companions. They are regulars to the establishment, every Wednesday and Saturday night when their presence is not required elsewhere. She remembers him in particular because when the regiment first arrived, he proved to be a very charming officer full of empty promises and empty pockets. She was left to pay his bill out of her earnings more than once."

"Unfortunate for the girl, but nothing new for Wickham," Darcy snorted in contempt.

"That is just it, sir. Things are quite different now. He pays his bill in full – every time – and even buys a round for all on occasion. He tips quite generously as well."

"Is that so? I wonder how he came to be so generous on an officer's pay?"

"That I do not know. After the girl told me that much, she looked to think the better of it and had nothing more to offer – even when I hinted at a larger tip. I am sorry, sir, but I couldn't get another word out of her." Denham produced the remainder of the coins Darcy had given him that morning for his foray into town and placed them on the table.

"You have done well enough, Denham. I thank you. At least I have a few more pieces to this infernal puzzle."

"Very good, sir," Denham replied just as another knock sounded on the door. He opened it to find one of the inn's menservants holding an express letter addressed to Mr. Darcy. Taking it from him with a "thank you" and closing the door, the valet silently placed it on the table next to the coins.

Seeing Georgiana's graceful hand flowing across the face of the letter, Darcy took it up with great curiosity. Why would she be writing him now when she knew he had planned to return within the week? And it was sent express – it could not be anything good. Breaking the Darcy seal made by a smaller version of his own signet, he read the contents with growing concern:

My Dear Fitzwilliam,

I trust this letter finds you well and that you have finished your business in Brighton. I am hopeful that you have accomplished your purpose as I must implore that you return to Netherfield Park at once. A report of a most alarming nature, which I dare not commit to paper, has reached my ears. Mr. Bingley is doing all he can to aid Miss Bennet and her family, yet I cannot help but think you must investigate and so I urge you to return with all haste.

Affectionately Yours, etc.

Georgiana

Darcy stared hard at the letter. An alarming report? Involving the Bennets? His worst fears began to grip him, tying his stomach in knots. Did that idiot Collins say something before he left? Whatever it was, there was no time to lose.

"Denham, please make preparations for our return to Hertfordshire at once," he commanded.

"Sir?" Denham was puzzled. "What of Mr. Wickham? He will be back in two days."

"Wickham will have to wait. Miss Georgiana has need of me and there are other matters that need my immediate attention. Please have us ready to leave within the hour."

"I'll see to it right away, sir."

With Denham's prompt withdrawal, Darcy began his own preparations. Gathering up the stack of letters he had been reviewing the past four days, he placed Georgiana's note on top and tucked them all into his writing desk. He then took out some fresh sheets of paper and quickly penned a note to Colonel Forster requesting an interview as soon as the commander was returned from the field. Sealing the note, he set it aside for Denham to have delivered. After a moment's hesitation, he took another sheet and wrote a much shorter message. When he was done, he took a half-crown from the table and folded the coin into the letter before setting his seal to it. Turning it over, he wrote "Millie, in care of the Scarlet Feather" across the front and then placed it to be delivered as well.

Chapter 14

Surreptitiously lowering the pages of The Times, Robert Grissholm quietly observed the activity at the other end of the breakfast table. Newcomb was standing next to Elizabeth, holding out a silver tray which contained a single letter. Grissholm noted the spark of anticipation in Elizabeth's eyes as she eagerly took it up, looking at the directions with elated anticipation. A fleeting look of disappointment and the barely visible droop of her shoulders told him that she had realized it was not what she had been waiting for. Quickly setting the letter aside without opening it, she turned back to her breakfast, poking at the food on her plate, without ever actually raising any of it to her lips.

Grissholm continued to watch her for some minutes. The letter now sitting on the table in front of her was from Wickham. It had come the day before, addressed to Elizabeth in Wickham's careless scrawl, and Grissholm had given Newcomb instructions to deliver it to her this morning. Her disappointment was not unexpected. Grissholm was fully aware of the arrangement that kept Elizabeth at Everton Manor. Without having to read it, he knew, just as she did, exactly what the letter contained – another of her sister's passionate letters.

While Elizabeth Bennet could be irritatingly obstinate at times, he knew the necessary tempering of her spirited nature to conform to the rigid requirements of her position was not an easy task for her, in spite of Wickham's ever-present threat. Even more commendable was that she would attempt to do so for the sake of a sister. It showed an extraordinary sense of duty and loyalty which told him there was more to her than the already pleasing aspects of her person. Retreating back behind his paper, Grissholm's lips quirked in silent approval.

"Miss Bennet, are you ill?" Rebecca ventured quietly. "Is anything wrong?"

"Not at all," Elizabeth forced a reassuring smile. "It is nothing of any consequence, really."

"You do look a little pale. Perhaps a walk would do you some good. Shall we venture to the pond after breakfast? The rain has stopped and it would be lovely to be outdoors, even for a little while. If we go right after breakfast, we shall still have time for some painting before lunch."

"An excellent suggestion, Rebecca. As a matter of fact, I believe I will join you," Grissholm announced, startling the two women with a snap of his paper.

"I thank you, Miss Ballard, but I must ask you to excuse me this morning. I feel a little tired and would like to rest in my room; but I shall join you for some painting a little later."

"Nonsense," Grissholm insisted. "A brisk morning walk would do you more good than sulking in your rooms. You must join us."

"Your lordship, I think it would be better if you and Miss Ballard went without me. At the moment, I am very poor company."

"I insist, Miss Bennet. Please be so good as to fetch your bonnets, ladies."

Dismayed and a little nervous at the viscount's unexpected interest in their outing, Rebecca hurried out of the room. Elizabeth, bristling at his commanding tone, snatched up her letter and followed the girl out, but not before throwing him a look that conveyed exactly what her feelings were on the matter. She did not know if he saw it, nor did she care.

Within a few minutes, the two ladies were making their way down the cobbled path, Rebecca casting an occasional furtive glance to Lord Grissholm who was following a few paces behind them. Elizabeth kept her eyes resolutely ahead. All three were silent, leaving only the sound of their steps on the stones to break the stillness.

Nearing their destination, the path gave way to a rather steep incline which in dry weather did not pose a problem; but now the stones, wet from the recent rain, looked to be quite treacherous. Rebecca paused, uncertain if she wanted to descend. Stepping forward, Lord Grissholm offered his arm, which she timidly took, and escorted her safely to the bottom. Turning to render the same service for Elizabeth, he found she had already started down and was nearly half way to the bottom when he reached her.

"Miss Bennet, allow me to assist you."

"No, thank you, my lord. I can manage on my own," she replied coolly just as her foot slipped out from under her, throwing her off balance. Instinctively, she reached out to grab his extended arm.

"Pride goeth before the fall, Miss Bennet," he chided gently. "I happen to know this particular stretch can be very hazardous after a heavy rain. It would defeat the purpose of the exercise if you were to take a fall, would it not?"

Elizabeth caught her breath but said nothing as his hand came down over hers and secured it tightly to his arm for the duration of their descent. As they reached the bottom of the hill, Elizabeth tried unsuccessfully to reclaim her hand.

"I believe I can manage now," she said lightly. "I should catch up to Miss Ballard."

Grissholm smiled pleasantly, but did not release her. "Please allow me to take you as far as the bench. It is still rather wet here and I would not want my efforts to be in vain."

"I wonder that you do not take as much care of your ward, Lord Grissholm."

"I would had she remained where I left her, but as you see, she has scampered ahead, heedless of the danger."

Grissholm steered her forward in spite of her obvious reluctance. Their encounter in the east wing had been sudden and awkward for them both, but now that the initial contact had been made, it was time to move forward with his plans. She would have to become accustomed to a certain degree of intimacy if he were to have any success, and Rebecca's suggestion for a walk had been an excellent opportunity.

During the past few weeks, he had found many opportunities to close the distance she tried to keep between them. A brush in the library as he reached around her to retrieve a book from the shelf; the nearness caused by his leaning in to examine a particular passage as she sat at the piano forte; all were calculated to unbalance her. They had not effected him in the least; but actually touching her again was another matter. Just move slowly and stick to the plan, he reminded himself as he felt the warmth of her hand beneath his own. Resolutely, he held on to her until they reached the small, stone bench that sat in a spot offering the best prospect of the pond.

"Here we are then!" Elizabeth declared a little too lively as she finally pulled her hand free and stepped away. For a moment, it was clear the close proximity had flustered her. In the next breath, however, she rallied herself and called after Rebecca. "It is lovely this morning, I must admit. And it presents a very pretty picture, does it not, Miss Ballard?"

"One of my very favorite places, Miss Bennet. I spent many happy hours here with Mrs. Holiby."

"It looks very old. Has it been here a long time?"

"That I cannot say. I only know it has been here as long as I can remember."

"It was here when I was a boy," Grissholm informed them. "It has been a part of Everton for four generations now. My grandfather's father had it made as a gift to his first wife."

"Oh, look!" Rebecca cried, pointing to the far side of the pond "there are violets. Imagine that! Did you know they represent faithfulness and affection? I read it just last week in La Belle."

"You put too much stock in your London magazines, my dear," Elizabeth smiled.

"All the same, I should like to get a better look. Will you come?"

"Thank you, no; but do be careful. The banks are still wet and I would not want you to fall in," Elizabeth cautioned.

"Very well, but you will be sorry you missed it," declared Rebecca with a knowing grin.

"I shall have to live with my misery, then," Elizabeth retorted as the girl scurried away. She followed Rebecca's progress around the small pond to a striking display of deep purple violets tinged with brilliant yellow and set against the soft green grass. "Is it not unusual, my lord, to find violets so late in the summer?" she asked with a slight frown.

"Not at all, Miss Bennet. Our climate here in the north allows for a much longer season. My great-grandmother was very fond of violets and they were planted for her benefit. The original design died out long ago, but there is an occasional showing of wild violets, particularly if the summer is very rainy."

"A bit of paradox, is it not? Wild violets and faithfulness – that is, if La Belle Assemblée can be believed."

"Flowers and someone's notion of their meaning are of little interest to me," replied Grissholm flatly.

"Miss Bennet," Rebecca cried excitedly, "here is the stony shelf, just like in the painting!".

"So it is!" Elizabeth called back before turning to Lord Grissholm in surprise. "The picture in the east wing was painted here?"

"Yes, I believe it was."

"I never would have guessed. Was it your great-grandmother who painted the picture?"

"No, it was not."

His unexpectedly dismissive manner brought a blush to Elizabeth's cheeks, provoking her to respond in kind.

"I beg your pardon if I have said anything amiss."

For a few minutes, the two watched in awkward silence as Rebecca explored the far side of the pond. Taking a deep breath, Grissholm came to a decision.

"It is I who must beg your pardon for my rudeness, Miss Bennet. You could not know what discomfort the subject brings."

"Whatever the disappointment, it must have been very great if it is the cause of so much pain even after three generations. I wonder that you would keep the painting on your wall."

"And I wonder that you would express your opinion so frankly."

"You are right. I should not have said that."

Digging at the gravel with his walking stick, he waiting a long time before speaking. "Again, I apologize. I do not speak of it easily. It was not my great-grandmother that painted the picture. It was someone else – a woman, I knew a long time ago."

"I see," was all Elizabeth could say in response to the obvious ache in his voice.

"Well," Grissholm said, banishing all signs of emotion. "The clouds are gathering once again. We should get back."

The trio reached the steps of Everton just as the rain began in earnest. Lord Grissholm went directly to his study without saying another word. Elizabeth and Rebecca made their way to the library for another painting lesson. Rebecca was excited to recreate a landscape from the pond. Elizabeth sat with brush in hand, staring at a blank paper as she wondered about the woman Lord Grissholm had spoken of and the anguish her memory had elicited from the normally dispassionate viscount.

Looking in the mirror with a critical eye, Elizabeth made one final adjustment to the rose-colored lace trimming the sleeves of her gown and tucked an errant curl back into the weave of the matching ribbon. Deciding she had done all she could to look presentable, she made her way downstairs. The dinner bell would ring shortly, but there was time enough for the brief detour she had in mind. Since Lord Grissholm's revelation at the pond several days ago, she could not stop thinking about the watercolors and the woman who painted them.

Her pale pink slippers made no sound on the carpet as she crossed the sitting room and stared at the brilliant washes of color hanging in precise formation. There were six paintings in all, each capturing a still-life of Everton's beauty as seen through the eyes of a hauntingly enigmatic woman. Lord Grissholm's reluctant explanation of the paintings' origin had only served to increase Elizabeth's curiosity. A closer examination of her favorite piece, the wild violets, revealed the initials "CM" woven into the curl of leaves and stems.

Elizabeth stood for some minutes lost in speculation as to what kind of woman "CM" had been when footsteps in the hallway alerted her to the approach of someone. The steady, measured steps told her it was Lord Grissholm. Quickly Elizabeth crossed the room and was nearly to the door when it opened abruptly. Once again, she caught a fleeting glimpse of his deep sadness before the mask of indifference descended.

"Lord Grissholm, I was just leaving," she murmured.

"Miss Bennet! Please stay. I should like to speak to you."

Taken aback by the surprisingly gentle tone of his request – for it was definitely a request rather than an order – she followed him back into the room. When he motioned for her to sit in the chair she had already surmised to be his favorite, her wonder grew. He paced in front of the paintings seemingly unaware of the effect his behavior was having on her. Every minute that passed in silence heightened her curiosity until she thought she would burst. It was obvious he was deciding what he wanted to say and took several turns before he finally came to a stop in front of her.

"The woman who painted these pictures was Catherine Monroe. Rebecca is her sister."

Elizabeth was stunned. "I do not understand. Rebecca's name is Ballard."

"When she became my ward, she was given her mother's maiden name."

"May I ask how she came to be your ward?"

"There was a fire when Rebecca was seven. Three houses were destroyed, including that of her family. She was the only survivor."

"But why change her name?"

"That I will not go into," he replied grimly. "Suffice it to say that it was necessary. I had a particular interest in Rebecca's elder sister who was ten years her senior. Miss Monroe visited Everton one summer and that is when the paintings were made."

"I see. And the fire?"

"It occurred later that same year. Miss Monroe was away from home at the time. Her parents died in the inferno but the neighbors managed to save Rebecca. There were no relations to take her in; so I offered, thinking that I would reunite her with her sister, only to find several months later that Miss Monroe had fallen ill and died as well. By that time, it was too late to do anything with Rebecca but keep her."

"Miss Ballard is very fortunate to have you."

"It was a foolish thing to do. A single man has no business raising a female. It has been difficult, I assure you; especially since she has grown to look so much like her sister. She is a painful reminder of what I have lost."

"She does not deserve to be shunned for bearing her sister's likeness. She cannot help what she is."

"You have been very adept at pointing that out, Miss Bennet. I am endeavoring to correct my past mistakes. I hope that you will continue to be a friend to her as I come to terms with the circumstance and move to make amends."

"I shall do my best, your lordship."

"Good. Shall we go to dinner now?"

Elizabeth took the offered arm and accompanied him to the dining room where Rebecca was already waiting. The surprised look on the girl's face did nothing to alleviate the swirl of emotions Elizabeth felt. Taking her seat, she struggled to understand Lord Grissholm's candid revelation and surprising amiability. It did not seem possible that this was the same arrogant, pretentious man she had encountered when first coming to Everton Manor two months ago.

Chapter 15

Posted on October 5, 2009

Placing the ribbon to mark her place in Hegel's Aesthetics: Lectures on the Fine Arts, Elizabeth stretched her shoulders and neck, trying to ease the stiffness from an hour's worth of attentive reading. A casual glance through the open door to Everton's main hallway gave way to a more interested gaze as she watched Newcomb, Lord Grissholm's butler, examine the stack of letters waiting to be posted. Seeming to find one of particular interest, he removed it and returned the remaining letters to the silver tray. With amazement, she realized the one he had retained was the very letter she had deposited in the tray earlier that morning.

Elizabeth's astonishment grew as she watched the butler turn and walk away, taking the letter with him. She was incredulous. What was he doing? Jumping to her feet, she muttered a hasty excuse in Rebecca's direction and hurried out the door, intent on discovering what Newcomb was about.

Is THIS why I have had no letters from home? And to think I blamed Father's lamentable procrastination for the scarcity when all the while it has been MY letters that have not been received! He must be worried sick by now. Her astonishment warmed to indignation. Why has Mr. Newcomb been helping himself to my letters? What could he possibly want with them?

She saw her quarry disappearing down a corridor and quickly followed, rehearsing the scathing speech she meant to deliver once she caught up to him. Rounding the corner, she was stopped in her tracks by the astounding sight of Newcomb entering Lord Grissholm's study. She was still trying to comprehend the meaning of it all when the butler re-emerged moments later, empty-handed, and departed in the opposite direction.

Indignation exploded into passionate anger and a devastating sense of betrayal as she stared at the door shielding the viscount from her fury. So this was the reason for his cordiality and improved manners! Elizabeth felt the heat rise in her cheeks. His attempt to distract her from the fact that he was confiscating her letters had failed miserably and she would tell him so! With deliberate steps, she crossed the hallway and heralded her presence with a forceful knock.

"Come," Grissholm's commanding voice sounded from inside the room.

Elizabeth entered the room and stood trembling with outrage. "I should like to speak with your Lordship, if I may."

More than a little surprised, Lord Grissholm rose from his seat behind the desk and waved his hand in the direction of the mahogany armchair that sat facing him.

"Of course, Miss Bennet, please have a seat."

"I thank you, no. This will not take long," she said icily. "I only came to say that I find your behavior highly offensive and very ungentlemanly. That you would presume to – "

"Sit down, madam," he asserted in a tone quite easily more commanding than her own.

Elizabeth dropped into the plush cushion of the armchair, silenced by his stern expression. Silenced, but not intimidated. She met his steady gaze with fierce indignation as he slowly resumed his own seat.

"Before you vilify my character completely, please be so good as to explain the reason for this outburst."

"Your lordship knows the reason very well! It sits right there before you." Elizabeth pointed to her letter accusingly. "And to think I believed you to be an honorable man!"

"Your letter? How could your letter be the measure of my honor?"

"A gentleman of honor would respect a lady's privilege to correspondence and not intercept her letters. Instead of being posted, I see that my letters find their way to your desk!"

Grissholm lips curled mockingly. "Yes, Miss Bennet. It is my ungentlemanly custom to frank a letter before it is posted. Perhaps you feel it is a privilege for the recipient to be graced with your letter and therefore require them to pay the postage?"

"Of course not, but that is beside the point. I – " her words caught in her throat as he offered up her letter for examination. "I beg your pardon."

"Indeed."

"It is just that I have sent letters home nearly every week since my arrival. I have been at Everton above two months now and have not received a single reply. When I saw Mr. Newcomb bring my letter in here – well, I naturally assumed..."

"Do not lay the blame at my door. Every letter you have written has been posted, madam. Your family's dilatory response is not my concern. But if I had to offer an opinion, I would say that it is quite possible your parents are happy they have one less daughter to worry about and are too occupied with so many still at home to send a reply."

The coldness of his words hit Elizabeth with as much force as if he had reached across the desk and struck her. She looked away, desperately trying to prevent the sudden fullness in her eyes from spilling over. Embarrassed by the insolence of her accusation and the tears threatening to betray her, she quickly rose, continuing to avoid the piercing gaze that would have unraveled her completely.

"I am so very sorry, Lord Grissholm. I had thought…I just…I beg your pardon," she stuttered awkwardly. "Please excuse me, I have something I must do." Without waiting to hear his response, she turned and fled the room.

Mortified at the thought of encountering anyone in her current state, she instinctively ran to the closest place that would afford any privacy. Struggling to contain the devastation that threatened to burst her lungs, she reached the small sitting room and quickly slipped inside, collapsing against the door as it closed.

The weeks of worry at not receiving any letters from her family, the frustration of not knowing the reason for the silence, and the humiliation of her deplorable outburst in Lord Grissholm's study all came crashing down on her. A great sob escaped as she sank to the floor.

She wept waves of tears that went from misery to mortification to desolation; and when there were no more tears, she huddled in mute misery heaving great sighs that racked her entire body. At length the sighs subsided as well, leaving her utterly exhausted and alone. Yet even in her shattered state, tortured thoughts of failure continued to assault her.

"What have I done?" she whispered in agony. "Oh, why can I not hold my temper? Wretched, wretched creature! He shall send me packing, and everything will be ruined. I have destroyed Lydia's reputation, and Jane's hopes along with it!"

Lord Grissholm sat staring at the door Elizabeth had just exited in a frantic rush of green and yellow muslin. Forcing himself to remain seated, he realized with a growing consternation that he wanted to follow her. He wanted to ease the tears he had seen pooling in her deep brown eyes; tears that by now had surely found their way down cheeks flushed a soft crimson by his harsh words. He knew he should not have spoken so callously. She was obviously at her wits' end with worry about her family and her situation; but her maddening way of challenging him had once again provoked his anger.

For one brief moment, he thought of sending his own dispatch to Hertfordshire demanding an explanation for her family's neglect. Something that would bring relief to Elizabeth's restless worry. But it could not be done yet. It was too soon. He needed more time with her. A letter from her family could very well end his own plans, and he would not allow that. He had the opportunity to exact his revenge on Fitzwilliam Darcy, and he was going to take it, no matter what the cost. Elizabeth Bennet is a means of repaying Darcy and that is all, he thought bitterly. She is no different from any other woman. In the end, they are all the same!

He closed his eyes and a vision of Catherine Monroe came unbidden to his mind. He should have pushed it away, but it was not possible. His carefully-crafted, impenetrable barrier that had protected him for so long was now gone. Slowly, with great care, he examined the feelings that had been buried deep in his heart for nearly ten years; feelings that Elizabeth had unconsciously exhumed.

He had loved Catherine. She had been charming and witty and spirited – everything that Rebecca was not. Much like Elizabeth Bennet, she had challenged him, teased him, forced him to see himself as others did. She had encouraged him to be accountable to his position in life, even though he had yet to assume his role as master of Everton. In short, she had made him want to be a better man. And then Darcy had come along and destroyed it all!

Grissholm shot from his chair and paced the room madly, seeking to escape the painful memories; but he could not. Instead, he was inexorably drawn to the small, elegantly-carved chest that lay hidden behind a stack of books.

He placed it on the desk and retrieved a small key from its silver case in the depths of a side drawer. A faint click broke the silence of the room as he unlocked the chest. It was some minutes before he took a deep, fortifying breath, then slowly raised the lid. Knowing what the box contained was not sufficient preparation for the rush of melancholy that wrenched an involuntary sigh from him.

Gingerly he lifted out a lock of golden hair, feeling its silky softness as he raised it to his lips and breathed deeply the faint traces of her perfume. He gently fingered the bit of faded blue ribbon, conjuring up memories of that day he had taken the token from her. He smiled at the vision of her sitting by the pond, so intent on her task of painting the violets that had defied the lateness of the season. Her bonnet hung down her back, giving the sun full access to her shimmering locks. The afternoon breeze had tugged playfully at that very curl and the temptation was too great to resist capturing it for himself.

With a start, he shook his head to clear the now painful memory and exhaled deeply. Setting the golden tress aside with great care, he endeavored to quell the trembling in his hand as he reached again into the chest and drew out a letter which bore the unmistakable signs of having been crushed and then smoothed out again. With a heavy heart, he unfolded the single sheet of paper, now somewhat brittle and yellowed with age. The nearly ten years that had passed since he first received the communication did nothing to lessen the profound grief caused by its contents.

"…The matron of Magdalene House could not tell me the name of the seducer, but said he was rumored to be the young heir of a very wealthy family. I questioned the servants and other intimates of the house, and found that one of the upper floor maids had formed a close acquaintance with Miss Monroe, and had heard more of the story from the lady's own lips.

Having no additional information to present, this completes the investigation you requested and I enclose a summary of expenses..."

Grissholm stared at the letter for some time as a new plan formed in his head. He had at first thought to mete out to Elizabeth the same fate Darcy had inflicted upon Catherine; but now he had a much better idea. He could not help the smirk of anticipation that was growing on his face. He would deliver a greater disappointment to Darcy that would be an exquisitely painful reminder of his loss every day for the rest of his miserable life!

Elizabeth hesitated outside the breakfast room and shot a brief smile to the doorman, trying to contain the tinge of pink that rose in her cheeks. She could not dismiss the memory of yesterday's outburst in Lord Grissholm's study, and knew what awaited her on the other side of the door. She had avoided his lordship at dinner with the excuse of a headache, but there was no point in avoiding the inevitable any longer. She would have to face him and the dismissal that was certain to come. Now was as good a time as any. Straightening her shoulders, she entered the room as the clock on the sideboard sounded its seventh chime.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet," Rebecca smiled warmly. "I hope you are feeling better this morning."

"I am, very much. Thank you." A quick look to the head of the table brought both relief and concern at the same time. Lord Grissholm's chair was empty! Was he angry? Did he refuse to sit at table with her after her disgraceful behavior? Rebecca was obviously not informed of the incident and for that Elizabeth was grateful. Trying to keep her voice from betraying her thoughts, she asked, "Is his lordship ill this morning?"

"No, not at all! He said had some kind of important business to attend, and left early." Rebecca's eyes held a hint of mischief. "If the cat's away, I think the mice should play! It is too beautiful a day to stay indoors. Shall we go on a picnic?"

"And what if his lordship should return and find us out on a lark? You know he dislikes it when we go out alone."

"Oh, he will not be home until this evening. He is always late when he is away on business. He will never even know we were gone. Please? I know how you love to walk and it has been days since we have spent any time away from the house."

Elizabeth paused to consider how much her charge had blossomed in the past few months. The extreme shyness was now replaced with a quiet assurance that put a gentle glow in the girl's face – that is, when Lord Grissholm was not around. With a slight sigh, Elizabeth consented to the plan. She could not resist Rebecca's pleading look nor her own desire to be out in the fresh air. The weather was pleasant, much cooler than August weather in Hertfordshire, and it was sure to be her last opportunity to enjoy it before leaving.

"Very well. I shall ask Mrs. Moore to fix us a lunch basket. We can leave after breakfast and be home before dinner."

Rebecca clapped her hands in anticipation and eagerly turned her attention to finishing her breakfast. Elizabeth ate her own breakfast with a determination to enjoy the day ahead. She was sure she would not have many more days with Rebecca, if any.

It did not take long for the arrangements to be made and very soon the two women set out from Everton, a small picnic hamper on Elizabeth's arm.

For three quarters of an hour they followed the path leading eastward, away from Everton and through the stretch of forest visible from Elizabeth's bedroom window. Gradually, the trees gave way to open fields that rolled into the gentle foothills of Grey's Fell. They continued on for another hour, taking the path leading to the top of the fell before Rebecca finally cried out in good-natured protest. Elizabeth halted abruptly, embarrassed by the tortuous pace she had unconsciously set in her eagerness to be away from Everton and the unhappy future it now represented.

Taking a blanket from the hamper, she laid it on the ground and the two sat down, admiring the view spread out below them. All they could see of Everton was its two topmost chimneys rising above the edge of the forest, but the Irish sea was clearly visible on the horizon.

"I am sorry to drag you along so rudely. It has been a long time since I have had an opportunity to take a walk such as this. It is breathtaking, is it not?" Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with excitement. "There is a place in Hertfordshire – Oakham Mount – that is very much like this. Excepting, of course, we have no view of the coastline."

"Do you miss it terribly?" Rebecca leaned back and stared at the sky. "Home, I mean."

Elizabeth raised her face to the breeze and gazed into the distance for a few minutes before answering.

"At times," she admitted. "I do miss my family; but I miss my sister Jane the most. The two of us are very close and not having any news from her has been difficult."

"No news at all?" Rebecca turned to her in amazement. "But why?"

"The situation is…a little difficult." Elizabeth hesitated, unsure as to how much she should tell Rebecca. "There was a great deal happening when I left home and I suppose there has been little time for letter writing. At least that is what I am hoping. There is a gentleman involved, you see."

"Oh. A gentleman! How wonderful for your sister. Or is it?" Rebecca was suddenly alarmed that she may have said the wrong thing.

"Yes, it is a wonderful thing," Elizabeth laughed. "I am very hopeful. When I left Hertfordshire, it was not entirely settled, but I believe they were very much in love and well on their way to becoming engaged."

A comfortable silence descended as thoughts of love and marriage drifted through both their minds in very different ways.

"Miss Bennet?" Rebecca murmured at last. "I should like it if you would call me Rebecca. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all! In fact, I would like it very much. And will you call me Elizabeth?"

"Oh, yes! That would be wonderful. It is almost like I have a sister again!"

Rebecca's wistful tone brought Elizabeth a twinge of guilt that she had enjoyed the company of so many sisters when others like Rebecca had none. "Do you remember your sister?"

"Only a little. She was much older than I, and always coming and going. But I remember she was very beautiful. Sometimes she would read to me at night. I do remember that. And I believe she would take me on walks – to the park, I think. Sometimes I cannot tell if the memories are real or something I have dreamed. I was so young and it was a long time ago."

"Does Lord Grissholm ever mention anything about your family?"

"His lordship? Most definitely not!" Rebecca grimaced. "Until you arrived, he hardly ever acknowledged I even existed – which is just fine with me. He frightens me so."

"Try not to judge him too harshly. Many times people are affected by circumstances we know nothing of. They carry a great burden that makes them appear much worse than they are. Trust me, I know. If you judge a person too quickly, you may live to regret it."

"Do you have regrets, Elizabeth?"

"Everyone has regrets of one kind or another," Elizabeth replied playfully. "And this conversation is getting far too serious! We have come on a picnic to enjoy ourselves. Shall we see what Mrs. Moore has put in the basket?"

"Oh yes!" Rebecca sat up and peered into the basket, the conversation instantly forgotten. "I find I am quite famished after our walk."

They enjoyed a leisurely meal of fruits and cheeses and cold pies while Rebecca related what she knew of the neighborhood, pointing out landmarks visible from their elevation. The landscape was much more severe than the verdant countryside of Hertfordshire, but Elizabeth willingly conceded Cumberland held a peculiar beauty of its own.

After lunch, Rebecca took up pencil and paper that had been packed as well, eager to sketch the scene before her. Elizabeth explored their surroundings a little more before settling down on the blanket with a book of poetry. Before long, the warm sun and gentle breezes lulled her into a pleasant slumber.

The sun was sitting low in the sky when Elizabeth woke with a start. Shaking her head to clear the wispy, tangled thoughts of Jane and Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy and Lord Grissholm, she saw Rebecca, still absorbed in her sketching.

"We should be going," Elizabeth announced as she looked at the sky. "We have been out much longer than I planned. Mrs. Moore will worry if we are too late getting back."

"What?" Rebecca remarked absently, then looked up as well. "Oh, yes! I see what you mean." Hurrying to gather her several sketches, she quickly tucked them into her notebook and stood with a joyous smile. "This has been a wonderful day. Thank you, Elizabeth!"

"You are quite welcome, but we should hurry. If Mrs. Moore sends someone out looking for us, his lordship is sure to find out and then we shall be in for it!"

Rebecca froze in horror. "Do you think he will find out?"

"There is no need to worry; but we should hurry all the same."

Gathering their things, they started back to Everton, making good time with the help of their downhill course. Soon they were approaching the first scattered trees that marked the edge of the forest.

Elizabeth looked to the sky again, gauging the sun's position. With any luck, they would be home and dressed for dinner before anyone would have time to be alarmed. She made a mental note to talk with Mrs. Moore. It had been an innocent venture, but all the same, it was probably best not to bring it to Lord Grissholm's attention. Not that it really mattered for herself, she thought ruefully. She would be leaving soon anyway; but she did not want to make things any more difficult for Rebecca.

Coming around a bend in the path, Elizabeth came to a sudden halt causing Rebecca to bump into her.

"Elizabeth! What are you do-ing…" Rebecca's voice trailed away as she followed Elizabeth's frozen gaze.

"Lord Grissholm." Elizabeth made a nervous curtsey. "What a surprise to see you! We were just on our way home. Are you on your way to Everton as well?"

She knew he was not. If the look on his face had not told her as much, the fact that he was holding the reins of a gig instead of his great black horse would have been enough.

"No, Miss Bennet, I am not. I am looking for a pair of females who have foolishly gone out alone."

"Really, my lord," Elizabeth bristled. "I do not see the harm in a pleasant walk."

"Please get into the carriage, madam. Rebecca."

Elizabeth wanted to say more, but the look of devastation on Rebecca's face stopped her. She would not do anything more to anger the viscount as Rebecca would surely feel the repercussion.

The gig was barely large enough for the three of them, but small enough to negotiate the path through the forest. The canopy of treetops overhead filtered the sun's rays, casting a gloomy light all around. Elizabeth could not decide if the unease she felt was from the lack of sunlight or the man sitting next to her, but the sudden darkness of the forest made her more than a little glad they had not been obliged to walk through it.

The small coach sailed through the forest with breakneck speed. Somewhat alarmed, Elizabeth looked to Lord Grissholm who sat between the two women. He seemed unaware of anything but the road ahead. She then looked to Rebecca, sorry that she could not be next to her and offer some comfort. The girl was gripping the edge of the carriage with both hands, eyes closed in terror. Just then, the gig found a rut, jostling its passengers violently. Rebecca stifled a cry and Elizabeth winced in pain as something hard struck her hip. Looking down, she was surprised to see the handle of a pistol jutting out from beneath Lord Grissholm's coat. The viscount glanced down in time to see the shocked look on Elizabeth's face, but his only response was to quickly close his coat over the pistol and flick the horse to a faster pace.

When they emerged from the forest, Lord Grissholm slowed the horse somewhat, still keeping a brisk pace which did not encourage conversation. Not that Elizabeth was eager for any. She rubbed her bruised hip, wondering why he would be carrying a weapon and why he would be out looking for them at all. He was obviously displeased, but she would not let Rebecca take any blame for their breach of conduct; not if she could help it.

Coming to a stop in front of the manor, Lord Grissholm wordlessly handed the reins to the waiting footman and helped the ladies down, then led them up the steps. Elizabeth was reminded of the day she had come to Everton and first ascended these very steps. She was confident that she would only see them once more – as she was leaving. Reaching the main hall, she was startled from her thoughts when Lord Grissholm suddenly turned and addressed them.

"Rebecca, you look a fright. Freshen up before you come to dinner. Miss Bennet, come to my study. I would have a word with you."

"Of course, my lord," Elizabeth answered quietly as Rebecca scurried away. "I have something to say as well."

"This way, if you please."

He took Elizabeth's elbow and steered her down another hallway. Although he was by no means pleased with her recent behavior, he was happy to find that she no longer flinched at his touch. Her arm sat comfortably in his hand as he guided her to his study and sat her in a chair near the hearth. His happiness, however, was fleeting, and his satisfaction dissolved into an impatient sigh when he saw the familiar, obstinate lift of her chin.

"Miss Bennet, I wish to discuss your position here at Everton – and with Rebecca."

"My lord, I realize that after my, um, display yesterday, I have not met your expectations of a companion for Rebec, I mean, Miss Ballard; but I pray you do not allow it to reflect upon her. Our outing today was entirely my doing. She has done nothing wrong."

"Miss Bennet…"

"I know she should have been doing things more befitting a lady, but it was such a beautiful day and it seemed a pity to waste it in…"

"Miss Bennet, it is not the fact that you went out for a picnic. It is that you went alone."

"But I walk alone quite often at home. I cannot see why that should be such a problem."

"I will tell you why that is a problem, madam!" Grissholm exploded in a tightly controlled anger. "You are not in Hertfordshire, you are in Cumberland. If you were not so confoundedly independent, you might have taken the time to enquire as to the appropriate route for your outing this afternoon and not place my ward and yourself in danger."

"Danger? It seemed harmless enough. Grey's Fell is not so steep as to be any real danger."

"Have you considered there are other dangers besides the possibility of taking a fall? Imagine my concern when – directly upon returning from a meeting with my neighbors to discuss the problem of a band of Irish gypsies in the neighborhood – I find the two ladies under my protection have gone out on a picnic – alone! Are you familiar with Irish gypsies, Miss Bennet? Have you any idea what they might do to a young woman they find alone and unprotected? The gypsies were seen within that very forest not three days ago!"

Elizabeth paled, thinking of their wild ride and the pistol Lord Grissholm had carried. "I had no idea."

"That much is obvious," Grissholm said coldly. "You and Rebecca were very fortunate this afternoon."

"Thank you, my lord, for coming after us. I am very sorry for the inconvenience I have caused. If you will tell me what arrangements have been made, I shall pack my things."

"Arrangements? Pack? What are you talking about?"

"Considering my impertinence yesterday and my reckless care for Miss Ballard's safety today, I naturally assumed that I would be leaving."

"You are not leaving."

"But, sir, you said you wanted to discuss my position here."

"I do. Until now, your duties have been confined to that of Rebecca's companion. There is now a need for additional responsibilities. I am having a dinner party in three weeks and she will need to learn her duties as a hostess. It will not be a large affair – something small and private. Just enough to give her a taste of what will be expected of her in the future. Are you able to instruct her in this?"

Elizabeth was stunned. "A dinner party? Then I am not dismissed?"

"Of course not. Your questionable – shall we say conduct – of yesterday and today are forgotten," Grissholm gave her a crooked smile, but the eyes beneath his arched brows were serious. "However, I will not tolerate any repetition of these failings. There are certain standards expected of all the members of my household – you included, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth's head was spinning. His forbearance was beyond anything she ever expected from him. She was not dismissed! There was yet time to ensure Jane's happiness! He had forgiven her impertinence and reckless behavior. How was this possible? Her heart swelled with relief and gratitude.

"Well, Miss Bennet?" Grissholm called her back to the conversation. "Is it possible for you to have Rebecca ready for a taste of society in three weeks' time?"

"Yes, Lord Grissholm, Rebecca is still very shy in company, but I believe she is up to the challenge. I would be happy to assist her."

"Your – enthusiasm – is appreciated. Now that that is settled, I am sure you are wanting to prepare for dinner."

Grissholm held out his hand to Elizabeth and helped her to her feet, holding on to her hand a bit longer than would have been considered polite; but she was too happy at the unexpected turn of events to notice the liberty he had taken or the shrewd smile that tugged at his mouth when she did not pull away.

Chapter 16

Posted on October 11, 2009

Rising from her chair, Kitty stifled an impatient groan as she went to fluff her mother's pillows for the fifth time in almost as many minutes. Jane gave her sister an understanding smile and turned her gaze back to the view outside their mother's bedroom window. A great sense of loss tore at her heart as her eyes followed the path winding through the rose garden below. She could not stop her mind from reliving those moments when she and Mr. Bingley had walked that path a few short weeks earlier.

He had very nearly declared himself, and she had been too afraid of being hurt by his impetuous nature to encourage it. If only things had turned out differently, perhaps his affection would have proved true. But she would never find out now that the cruel, ruinous gossip had reared its ugly head. She stared pensively at the roses, their faded and wilted state seeming to reflect her family's own declining fortunes.

Jane's melancholy thoughts were interrupted as Kitty dropped back into her chair with a discontented sigh. Jane sighed as well. A dreadful gloom had settled over the entire household.

As if realizing she was no longer the object of their attention, Mrs. Bennet gave a low protracted wail and began her catalog of ills once again.

"What a dreadful state I am in, my dears – I am frightened out of my wits; and have such tremblings, such flutterings all over me; such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night nor by day."

"Do not distress yourself so, Mama," Jane reassured her in a calming tone as she moved to the chaise where her mother lounged amidst the lace and ribbons of her dressing gown. "Uncle will be here in a few days and he will know what is to be done."

"Oh, I do hope so, for I cannot bear this much longer. That your father should be so ill was bad enough, and now to have such a calamity be brought upon us by my own daughter! I told your father she was always far too independent for her own good, but he would do nothing to curb her! And now look at us! We are shunned by all– not one visitor this whole week save your Aunt Phillips." The recollection of their degraded social standing brought on a fresh volley of moans. "Oh, it is too much, too much indeed!"

"Perhaps some fresh air will help you feel better," Jane suggested.

"I do not want any fresh air," her mother muttered crossly.

"We could see how your new jasmine and honeysuckle plantings are doing," Jane pressed softly. Trying to lift her mother out of the mire of self-pity was a necessity if she were going to retain any sanity at all, and her mother's pride in her carefully-planned gardens was the only thing she could think of that would rouse sufficient interest. "A turn in the garden would help, I am sure. Kitty and I will help you dress."

Drawing her mother up in spite of the half-hearted protests, Jane motioned for Kitty to bring some fresh clothes. Together, they worked quickly, Jane coaxing and praising her mother in a distracting manner as she would a small child.

They were very nearly done when Hill knocked at the door and announced there was a visitor downstairs. Surprised at the announcement, all three women stopped what they were doing and turned to the housekeeper in unison.

"A visitor? Who is it?" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed with a mixture of wonder and anxiety.

"It's Mr. Bingley, ma'am. He's waiting in the parlor."

They all stared at Hill in stunned silence. In the next moment, Jane saw her mother's dark despairing mood transform into an air of pure ecstasy.

"Hill, tell Mr. Bingley we shall be down directly," her mother quickly instructed the housekeeper, then gleefully snatched the shawl from Jane's outstretched hands. "Oh, Jane! We are saved! Look smart, my dear; and pinch your cheeks a little for you look quite pale. You must look your best."

"Mother," Jane's voice held a note of disapproval, "I am sure Mr. Bingley has come for another reason altogether."

"That may be or not. The point is, he has come. And there is a possibility that he is ignorant of our troubles. If you could get him to propose right away, there may be some hope for us yet."

"No!" cried Jane, stepping back in horror. "I could never do such a thing to him."

"You must do as I say," there was a desperate, almost hysteric edge to her mother's voice. "It is the best chance we have of keeping this family from total ruin, no thanks to your sister. Would you break my heart as well? Now come along, Mr. Bingley is waiting!"

With trepidation, Jane silently followed her mother down the stairs and into the parlor where Mr. Bingley was found waiting with an anxious smile upon his face. At their entrance, he eagerly stepped forward to be received. Her mother did not waste a moment in welcoming him.

"My dear Mr. Bingley, how good it is to see you!"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bennet, Miss Kitty…Miss Bennet. I hope you are all well."

An attractive blush washed over Jane's face as soon as Mr. Bingley spoke her name, effectively dismissing any concern her mother might have had for the state of her complexion.

"Well enough, Mr. Bingley, well enough." Mrs. Bennet replied, encouraged more than ever by his warm greeting. "It is so good of you to visit us. Do sit down."

"Thank you, ma'am." He cast a cautious glance in Jane's direction before sitting. "And may I enquire after Mr. Bennet?"

"He is much better, thank you; although not as well as we would like. His speech is still very much impaired and he has not yet regained the use of his limbs." Mrs. Bennet allowed a small, martyred smile to cross her face before brightening visibly. "And what of you, sir, have you been away – to London perhaps? We have not seen you for some days now."

"Mary and I saw him just yesterday, Mama," Kitty declared. "In the village. Did we not, Mr. Bingley?"

Mrs. Bennet shot her daughter a quelling glance.

"What did I say?!" Kitty complained. "It is the truth!"

"Yes, so it is, Miss Kitty," Bingley smiled a little nervously. "On the square, I believe. I was very happy to see you both."

There was an awkward lapse in the conversation as Mrs. Bennet appeared to be re-ordering her thoughts. Mr. Bingley cleared his throat quietly and studied the handle of his walking stick. Jane blushed again, hoping Mr. Bingley did not comprehend that Kitty's unwanted interruption had mired her mother's original plan, whatever it had been.

At last, Mrs. Bennet seemed to have found a new direction and pursued it enthusiastically.

"And have you done much fishing since your return?" she inquired.

"Fishing? Er…why…no, ma'am…I have not. I…that is to say, I have yet to learn the best spots at Netherfield."

"I am not certain what you have at Netherfield Park, sir; but Mr. Bennet could tell you, if he were able, that we have the best spot in the county for trout right on our very own property. Yes, we do!"

Jane was mortified at her mother's effusive liveliness, but Mr. Bingley seemed not to notice.

"I am happy to hear that," he answered. "I shall ask Mr. Bennet if he is willing to show me the spot as soon as he recovers."

"Oh, no! You must try it out now, for the season is at its peak. It is not known when Mr. Bennet will recover enough for such an outing. Jane and Kitty can show you the way. It is a charming spot on the river just before it turns toward the village."

"I would not want to inconvenience the ladies," Bingley stammered.

"Nonsense! They would love an outing on such a lovely day. Right, girls?"

"Mama," her mother's transparent maneuvers brought a deeper color to Jane's cheeks, "perhaps Mr. Bingley does not have the time for such an endeavor."

"Oh, but I do!" Bingley replied quickly, holding Jane's embarrassed gaze. "As a matter of fact, I have all afternoon."

Jane looked to her mother and saw her beaming with the satisfaction of a job well done. She could do nothing but agree to the outing. It only took a few minutes for Jane and Kitty to retrieve their bonnets, and then their mother was joyfully waving them off at the front door.

The party left the gates of Longbourn and traveled along the lane toward Meryton at a leisurely pace. After nearly ten minutes, Bingley began to despair of having any opportunity to speak with Jane privately. The time had been passed in stilted conversation as Kitty commented on the weather and other trivial subjects while he and Jane offered what little observations they could bring to mind.

Things improved, however, when they left the lane and turned toward the river, following a path which divided Longbourn's lands from those of Lucas Lodge. Kitty begged leave to visit Maria Lucas. When Jane hesitated a moment too long, Kitty hurried off across the field before she could be told no. Looking to Mr. Bingley with a nervous smile, Jane slowly walked on in silence.

"Miss Bennet," Bingley began. "I know this is a difficult time for you and your family."

"So you have heard the rumors."

"Yes, I am afraid there are few in the neighborhood who have not."

He pulled idly at the leaves of a nearby shrub as they walked on silently, considering what might be going through her head.

"And you came anyway?" Jane commented quietly.

"Of course I came. This does not change anything."

"But it does!" Jane's arms stiffened at her sides. "Mr. Bingley, this changes everything, and you know it."

"Miss Bennet, please do not listen to idle gossip. I do not."

"It does not appear to be idle," Jane whispered. "As much as it pains me to say it, I fear what little hope there was for us is now gone."

"You cannot mean that! We can get past this. I can help, if you will only let me."

"And how will you help?" Jane turned to him in heated anguish, the pent up emotions of the past days finding a crack in her reserve. "Can you bring Lizzy home and wipe away her shame? Can you turn back time and prevent her ever leaving? No, there is nothing you can do."

"Yes, there is," Bingley's words rushed out before he could stop them. "I can marry you!"

Jane froze in her steps and Bingley turned to her with an embarrassed smile.

"This is not quite how I pictured I would say it, but, dearest Jane, will you marry me?"

With great effort, Jane managed to stay standing. Her heart pounding wildly as simultaneous waves of joy and doubt coursed through her body.

She felt the joy, blossoming into a beautiful, exquisite vision she feared to embrace. Was it real? For months she had hoped and prayed for just such a proposal from this man standing before her. Words she had heard in her dreams a thousand times had finally been uttered, and all the imaginings of her heart she had thought forever lost were now within reach All she had to do was stretch her hand out and take it. All she had to do was say "yes."

For one glorious moment she stood poised on the brink, ready to step into his arms and the safety she knew she would find there. She could at last be shielded from all the troubles that had turned her world upside down.

But a thin, cold mist of reason slowly seeped into her mind, swirling around the happiness, obscuring the vision. Try as she might, she could not push away the realities that crowed in. Last November, she would have joyfully accepted Mr. Bingley's proposal; but then the circumstances were so very different. Her father's poor health and the threatened loss of their estate were ills enough, but now the destruction of their reputation loomed over everything, ready to descend and destroy the lives of all it touched.

She knew the Bingleys' newly found status in society was still very fragile. Many would never forget that their wealth came from trade. Connecting himself to her family and their disgrace would certainly separate him from any polite society. Bingley's friends would be forced to abandon him – even the Hursts would be unable to receive them. And as for Caroline – any hopes of her securing an advantageous marriage would be dashed as well. She would remain forever a bitter spinster in their home, resenting Jane as the destroyer of all her hopes. Jane could not ruin the lives of so many. She could not be so selfish.

Doubt now rose from the depths of her mind, shrouding the memories in uncertainty. If his affections had not been strong enough last November, when he had been so easily persuaded against her for reasons much less significant than her present circumstances, then how long would it be before his love grew cold in the face of such opposition as he would face were she to accept him now? And was it even affection that moved him to propose? He made no declarations of love. He spoke only of helping – not of love. Doubt and reason at last intertwined into a thick, suffocating vapor, slowly extinguishing her joy completely.

With one last look at the destiny that could have been hers, she stepped back from the brink. Fighting the sob that ached in her throat, Jane gave him an answer. "No, Mr. Bingley. I will not marry you."

Bingley was dumbfounded. "Why?"

"Because I will not have you marry me out of pity nor would I have you and your sister partake of our disgrace."

"It is not out of pity and you well know it!" Now he was angry. "And as far as my family is concerned, I am an independent man and able to make my own choices. My sisters will have to live with my decisions." His voice softened and he took her hand. "Darcy and I will find Miss Elizabeth. Marry me and when she does come home, we shall embrace her. The gossip will eventually be forgotten and we will bring her back into society."

Jane slowly pulled her hand from his grasp. "I am sorry, I cannot. You are a kind and gentle man, but you are also impetuous, by your own admission. Your regard may very well fade with time and circumstance. You would then undoubtedly regret your rash decision and you would be left with nothing but feelings of indifference for me. I could not live with that."

She walked on, leaving Bingley to stare after her. In two strides he was beside her again, his hand on her arm.

"Jane…Miss Bennet…hear me out! You once accused me of not being steadfast; and now when I am here disproving any degree of unreliability, you reject me. If you would just – "

"I cannot…" Jane began, faltering as her heart shattered within her at the words she had to speak, "I cannot give you the answer you seek. Please, I beg you, do not make this any harder for the both of us!"

He didn't. They walked side by side in silence for a time.

"Is there not anything I can do for you?" he asked softly.

Jane chewed on her lip before answering. "I still would very much like to find Lizzy. Of course, I will understand if you have changed your mind."

Grasping desperately at the one slender thread that would keep him bound to Jane, Charles replied, "I have not changed my mind in the least! We will find her. I promise you that."

An astounded Darcy stared at Georgiana in disbelief, the fatigue of his recent journey vanishing in an instant. Her urgent message calling him back from Brighton had in no way prepared him for what she had just related.

"Georgiana, what you are saying is absurd! There is some mistake."

"No, Fitzwilliam," she replied quietly, but firmly.

"Are you quite certain? There are any number of young women in Hertfordshire who..."

"Yes, quite certain. I asked Mr. Bingley to look into it before I sent my letter."

Darcy spun around to look out the window so that Georgiana would not see the panic in his eyes. It was not possible! Not Elizabeth! This was some horrific nightmare from which he would soon awake. It had to be. Feeling Georgiana behind him, he drew a steadying breath.

"I am sorry," Georgiana whispered as she gently touched his arm.

"And what has been done?"

"Mr. Bingley tried most valiantly to contain it, but the gossip spread so quickly, it was impossible. Miss Bennet and her family are feeling the effects already. Can they be helped?"

"I do not know. I will have to talk to Bingley," Darcy breathed evenly through clenched teeth, "but if there is any way to disprove it, I shall see it done if it is the last thing I do."

"I hope you can, dear brother. Miss Bennet's family has suffered so much in the past weeks and is in great need of any support we can offer."

Darcy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I shall do my best, I promise. Be off with you now while I make myself presentable. Bingley is due back from Longbourn soon and I want to talk with him before dinner."

Darcy bent his cheek for her kiss and then gently ushered her out, drawing a troubled breath as he closed the door and leaned against it. He was still trying to take in what Georgiana had said when Denham emerged from the dressing room. Keeping his eye on his valet, he shrugged away from the door and moved across the room. He knew the quiet, efficient man to be a very reliable source for any information to be had in any given household.

"You bath is ready, sir."

"Denham, have you been told the rumors concerning Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

"Yes, sir."

Darcy was not surprised. Bad news always travels fast, somehow much faster than any good news, he thought acidly. "And?"

"Sir?"

"And what exactly are they saying below stairs? I am certain you have a much less polished version than was told my sister."

"Yes, sir. I believe so."

"I want to hear it. All of it."

"Now, sir? Shall you wait to bathe?"

"No, I need to wash the road off before I see Bingley; but you will give me all the details while I am at it."

Quickly Darcy shed his dust-laden clothes and stepped into the polished copper tub, exhaling deeply as the first ewer of cool, clear water was poured over his lowered head. Without looking up, he motioned for another drenching and then another. As heated water was neither necessary or wanted in the heat of summer, Denham was able to maintain a more or less steady flow for his master.

Feeling the waves of water course down his back, Darcy wished the agony of the news he had received on his return to Netherfield could be washed away as easily as the dirt and sweat of his journey. At length, he straightened. He was reluctant to add to the pain already stabbing at his heart, yet driven by the need to have any detail that might help save Elizabeth. With an unreadable expression, he finally looked up and wiped the last rivulets of water from his face.

"Tell me."

Denham smoothly began his report as he continued in his duties.

"One of the house maids returned from the village with the story. It spread through most of the staff before Mrs. Middleton could put a stop to it. She informed Mr. Wilson, who then informed Mr. Bingley. I believe Miss Darcy overheard some talk after church services and insisted Alice tell her what it was about."

"From whom, exactly, did it originate? How is it possible that everyone has jumped to this outrageous conclusion so quickly?"

"Mr. Bingley sent Mr. Wilson to dispel the rumors as soon as he learned of them, but unfortunately it was too late. It all started with a guest at the inn, sir. It seems a woman arrived in Meryton the same day we left for Brighton. She was rather fussy and very particular about her accommodations. In fact, she insisted the bed be made up with fresh linens in her presence. Put the chambermaid right off as she had just changed the bedding that morning and had to do it all over again."

"Denham – "

"Sorry, sir. While the maid was attending to the linens, the woman kept talking to her, warning the girl about how a young lady should always take care to guard her virtue. Saying it was a very fragile thing that, once lost, could never be recovered. She let the maid know the advice was given on good authority for she observed the results of many a girl's poor choices every day in her position."

"Did Wilson confront this woman? What is her position?" Darcy asked impatiently.

"The woman had already gone by the time Mr. Wilson was sent, but he did question the girl. As she was leaving the room, the maid observed the woman shuffling some papers about on the desk and muttering something about having the heavy responsibility of dealing with the families, relating heartbreaking news, finding out the circumstances; that sort of thing."

"Is that all?"

"No, sir. The girl showed him a pamphlet she found in the room after the woman had gone."

"Pamphlet? What pamphlet?"

"Well, sir," Denham cleared his throat gently. "It was from Magdalen House, in London, and very clear as to the purpose of the institution. Anyone unfamiliar with the establishment would be left in no doubt of its purpose after reading the tract."

"I do not see how any of this could be connected to the Bennets."

"According to Mr. Wilson," Denham continued slowly, "the woman had asked the girl if she knew of the Bennet family, Miss Elizabeth Bennet in particular, and where they lived. She also asked if Miss Elizabeth had been known to spend a lot of time with any of the young men in the local militia."

Darcy sprang out of the tub with an oath, unable to contain his rage, and Denham was quick to hold out a robe. "This is preposterous! And from this, Miss Elizabeth Bennet is to be condemned? Where is the pamphlet now?" Darcy's voice hardened. He refused to acknowledge the ominous dread that was closing around his heart.

"Mr. Wilson took it away with him; but the girl had already shown it to the other chamber maid. The pamphlet and the fact that this stranger knew of Miss Elizabeth AND the time of her departure was too much of a coincidence. I am afraid, too much for anyone to resist drawing the obvious conclusion, sir."

"Obvious conclusion," Darcy muttered fiercely. "And what of the Bennet family?"

"Miss Bennet is beside herself and Mr. Bingley is á perte as to what else can be done."

"I can imagine," Darcy's lips pressed into a tight line. "Get my clothes, Denham. I need to talk to Bingley as soon as he returns."

"Yes, sir; right away."

Denham managed to have Darcy dressed for dinner in less than half an hour. Making a final adjustment to the fit of his master's dark green coat and green-flecked vest, he opened the door wide and wished his master the best.

Descending the stairs, Darcy was just in time to see Bingley enter his study. The look on his friend's face was not encouraging. His hope that Bingley may have some bit of information the others did not was fading fast. He approached the door and knocked softly. At Bingley's bidding, Darcy entered the room and found his friend slumped in an armchair, steeped in misery.

"All hope is gone, Darcy." Bingley's lifeless tone was barely audible. "I have just returned from Longbourn. Miss Bennet has refused me outright."

"You made an offer?" Darcy stared at him.

"Yes, I did. I thought that if, or when, we find Miss Elizabeth, it would shield her somewhat; having some connections. It would give her a way back into society, once the gossip died down."

"Bingley, you amaze me."

"What would you have me do? I could think of nothing else. I was so certain she felt as I did, that she just needed a little time to know I was earnest."

"What happened, if I may ask?"

"I am not certain. We were walking and talking, and before I knew what I was doing, I asked her to marry me. There was a moment when I thought she would accept; but in the end, she refused me."

"Did she give you a reason?"

"Darcy, she actually believes I offered out of pity."

"Surely you told her otherwise."

"It seems I have not been able to controvert her notion of my changeable nature. Once she refused me, she would not speak of it again."

"What will you do now?"

"For now, my cause is all but lost. I can only hope time and tenacity will change her mind. She did not reject my company altogether. She would still like our help in finding her sister. Which reminds me, did your journey to Brighton turn up anything?"

"No. The regiment was out on maneuvers – due back tomorrow."

"Will you go back then?"

Darcy studied the candlestick above the hearth for some moments before uttering quietly, "I think not."

"But you must! Wickham is sure to have some knowledge of what happened. That night on the terrace has to mean something."

There was no answer.

"Darcy, you cannot mean to abandon the search."

"I do," he said flatly.

Bingley's astonishment at his friend's abrupt capitulation turned to an uneasy frown.

"Miss Elizabeth still needs our help. If nothing else, to ensure she is cared for properly. She – and her family – deserves at least that much, and I have come to see that I cannot do it alone. You have resources and connections that I do not; you said so yourself when Jane first came to us for help – when you were so resolute on having a hand in this."

"It is impossible now!" Darcy exploded in anguish. "I cannot!"

"Darcy, you must!" Bingley responded with equal force.

Bracing himself against the mantelpiece, Darcy rested his head wearily against his arm, fighting the despair that had been unleashed inside him. "Can you not see, Charles?" he whispered. "The circumstances are wholly changed! How can we find her and bring her home to her family in shame? Obscurity is the best she can hope for now! No one would thank us for bringing her home in her present circumstance."

"Jane wants us to bring her home! Perhaps we can find something to…that is, I refuse to believe Miss Elizabeth would…I mean..."

"I envy you, my friend. You always want to credit everyone with goodness. But sometimes, as much as you would like it to be otherwise, the truth contradicts that goodness. And in this case, it cannot be avoided." The words he spoke ripped at his heart, but he continued, forcing himself to acknowledge the truth as well. "Look at the facts, man! She is gone suddenly, without a word to any of her acquaintance, but with her father's full knowledge and consent. She travels to a place, hidden, unknown, and far from home, with a supposed relative who we find does not even exist."

"There could have been a misunderstanding somewhere – " Bingley argued.

"No, Charles!" Darcy lashed out. "You cannot explain it away! Even before this unknown woman showed up in Meryton, we were fighting the inevitable questions regarding Elizabeth's sudden disappearance. And now, when her name is so clearly connected with a house for fallen women…" He could not finish the thought.

"All the more reason, I say. Would she not still be in need of our aid and support? Surely, you would not refuse in this time of greatest need? Not when you feel as you do."

"When I feel as I do? When I feel as I do?!" Darcy laughed bitterly. "For the love of heaven, Bingley, have you not figured it out yet?"

"Figured what out?" Bingley stared at him blankly.

"The difficulty here! From all that we have discovered, the logical source of her ruin is almost certainly George Wickham! Wickham, for heaven's sake! Can you not see? She was partial to him for months, she was seen speaking privately with him just days before her departure – she even eagerly defended his character to me while we were in Kent!"

"Yes, but not now. Since her return, she seemed opposed to his company. Perhaps your letter did some good after all. Jane is certain her sister no longer welcomed Wickham's attentions."

Darcy closed his eyes against the tormenting vision of Wickham and Elizabeth together. "It is evident that even if she did believe me and changed her mind about him, it was too late. The result is the same. She is disgraced, Charles – and with the man I justly despise above all others in the world! Can you expect me to simply ignore that fact?"

"I expect you to be true to your heart! But perhaps that is too much to ask." Bingley's eyes flashed with anger. "Where are all the pretty speeches of steadfastness now? Or was that only for my benefit? Jane may have rejected me, but I love her still, and I shall not allow circumstances to sway me. If you love her sister as you have claimed, you would do the same…or do you even know your own heart?"

"I know my heart," Darcy's icy stare into Bingley's eyes gave no hint of the searing pain he felt within. "She made her choice, however naïve, and it cannot be undone."

"Yes, and you have made your choice. I thought you a better man than that," Bingley's chin lifted in bitter disappointment, "and now I see I was mistaken. I cannot force your hand, Darcy; but you must know that I shall do all I can to find Miss Elizabeth – with or without your help!"

Darcy sat staring out the window of his room at Netherfield, seeing nothing as his fingers idly stroked a length of rose-colored ribbon, waiting for the time when he could escape.

For the past three days, thoughts of Elizabeth's disgrace had sent him riding into the countryside with reckless abandon, attempting to shake off the ghostly specters of blame that haunted him. But he could not ride far enough or fast enough to keep them from returning again in the long, agonizingly sleepless nights.

Every night was the same. As he twisted and turned among the bed sheets, the questions returned again and again, slashing at his tortured mind. Was his letter of warning to Elizabeth too angry, too prideful – too late? Could he have worded it differently so that she understood the danger of Wickham's company? Worst of all, if he had exposed Wickham as soon as he discovered him in Hertfordshire and not hid the truth from the world, would he have prevented this disaster?

Every morning, with the light of day, came the horrifying realization that his pride had condemned the woman he loved to a life of ridicule and destitution. His heart would constrict with the unbearable thought of her wretched condition and his torment would begin all over again. The frenzied forays into the Hertfordshire countryside were his only escape.

This morning had dawned exactly as the others. Darcy now sat in his chair, sheltered from his pain by a protective numbness, waiting to be gone. He did not notice that Denham worked at a snail's pace to complete the necessary preparations nor did he hear the soft knocking on his door.

The knocking persisted, creating an irritating distraction at the edge of his consciousness which finally ceased when Denham moved to the door, opening it only wide enough to greet the visitor.

"Miss Darcy, good morning."

"Good morning, Denham. May I please see my brother?"

"I am sorry, Miss. He is unavailable at the moment."

"I insist upon speaking to him," her voice carried a more demanding tone that was edged with frustration. "Since he has refused to come to me, I am coming to him."

Darcy continued to stare out the window as Georgiana's voice drifted across the room, seeping into his lethargic mind. He knew he should not ignore her. He knew he should do more to help her understand his behavior. He should, but he could not summon enough energy to throw off the suffocating guilt that engulfed him.

The evening he and Bingley argued had been followed by days of icy silence. An unnatural stillness had settled over Netherfield, causing everyone to seek relief in their own way.

Bingley had busied himself making attempts to gather more information regarding Elizabeth, writing letters, and making frequent visits to Longbourn. The rare moments when they had crossed paths, there were only silent, angry looks and the rift between Bingley and himself deepened with each passing day.

He had thwarted Georgiana's efforts to intercept him as he made his daily rides. He was in no mood to face the questions he knew she would have for him. Another measure of guilt was added when she had finally given up, turning to her music for the comfort he could not give her. She played at the piano-forte every morning for hours, but this morning she had come to his room.

"I beg your understanding, Miss Darcy. Mr. Darcy has left specific instructions not to be disturbed."

"Very well," Darcy could hear the hurt in his sister's voice. "Would you be so kind as to inform my brother that if he shall not talk to me, then he shall not mind if I accept Lieutenant Saunderson's invitation for a picnic this afternoon."

"I shall relay your message, Miss Darcy," Denham responded evenly and quietly shut the door.

Darcy's mind struggled to comprehend what he had just heard. Picnic? Lieutenant? What did Georgiana think she was doing? She had no business accepting invitations, least of all with an officer! He jumped from his chair with a low growl before Denham could begin.

"Denham, what was that about a picnic?"

"It appears Miss Darcy has accepted an invitation."

"Is that right? And who is this Saunderson?"

"I couldn't say, sir."

"Well, I will have something to say. Get my clothes and be quick about it!"

"Very good, sir," Denham replied in the same even tone.

Within twenty minutes, Darcy was hurriedly descending the stairs. At the bottom, he stopped, calculating where he might best find his sister. Soft strains of piano music sent him in the direction of Netherfield's drawing room. Still driven by the anxious concern that had pulled him from his stupor, he marched into the room and halted next to the piano-forte.

"What is this about a picnic?" Darcy demanded harshly.

Georgiana stopped playing, her hands poised above the ivory keys as she greeted him coolly.

"Good morning, Fitzwilliam."

"And who is Lieutenant Saunderson?"

"Lieutenant Saunderson? Whatever do you mean?" Her voice remained distant as she resumed playing very softly.

"You know exactly what I mean, Georgiana. Who is this person and what do you mean by agreeing to a picnic without my permission?"

"I am sure I do not know what you are talking about."

"Do not pretend you were not at my door but half an hour ago talking about plans for a picnic with Lieutenant Saunderson this afternoon!"

Georgiana stopped once again, this time turning to face her brother.

"There is no Lieutenant…and no picnic."

"But I distinctly heard – " Darcy stammered, suddenly confused.

"What you heard was my attempt to get you to talk to me. Remind me to thank Denham for his help," the corners of her mouth turned up in a wry smile, but her eyes held a deep sadness.

Darcy blinked with sudden understanding.

"I am sorry to have exposed you to such misery, Georgiana. It has just been so unexpected and so very difficult," he explained as he sat down next to her, taking her hands in his. "Please try to be patient with me. There are circumstances, which I cannot reveal, that make this all so unbelievably complicated."

"It is not your fault, you know. You cannot continue to blame yourself."

"It is my fault! You do not understand. I failed Bingley, Miss Bennet – everyone," Darcy muttered as he turned from her. "She did not comprehend how perilous the situation was. I should have acted sooner. I could have prevented it!"

"How could you? You and Mr. Bingley offered to assist as soon as Miss Bennet asked." When he hesitated in his answer, she watched him closely for verification of what she already knew. "It is not Miss Bennet, is it?"

"Of course it is Miss Bennet…and her family."

"Admit it, Fitzwilliam."

"Admit what?" Darcy felt himself growing uncomfortable. "There is nothing to admit."

"There is!" Georgiana declared with assurance. "For as long as I have been old enough to pay attention to such things, I have never known you to show more than a passing interest for any woman, let alone be so passionate as when you offered your assistance to Miss Bennet."

"If you think that I have any attraction for Miss Bennet, you are very much mistaken, dear sister. I am not in the habit of interfering in my friends' interests."

"You know full well I am not talking about Miss Bennet. I am talking about her sister."

Darcy escaped to the window, looking outward but not seeing anything beyond the smooth surface of the polished glass. This was beyond belief. Why did Georgiana choose now to be so perceptive – now when he was most vulnerable? The past three days of punishing physical exercise and sleepless nights had left his wounded heart raw and bleeding. To speak of Elizabeth now could very well sever his precarious hold on sanity.

"Georgiana – "

"I am not a child any longer," she spoke softly, coming to stand beside him. "Last summer was…was difficult; but I believe I learned something very important. Matters of the heart cannot be taken lightly."

"Indeed they cannot." He straightened and turned to face her with hooded eyes, masking the pain that was his constant companion. "And that is why I will tell you that even if I had any interest in Miss E…Miss Bennet's sister, it would not matter. Not now."

"Not now? And what if there were no rumors, no gossip connected to Miss Elizabeth Bennet? What then?"

"Scandal or no, our circumstances were already separated by an impossibly wide gulf. Even before this business, her situation in life was wholly unsuited for any possible alliance with Pemberley."

Georgiana looked at him with a gentle frown. "You cannot be serious! What is so very different that would prevent you from pursuing a woman of your liking? She is a gentleman's daughter and you are a gentleman. As far as I can tell, you are equals. You have not the restraints of most men in search of a wife. You are your own man, Fitzwilliam, independent in family and fortune, and you need not answer to anyone."

"It is all quite meaningless now, my dear," Darcy sighed. "Present circumstances will not permit me to even entertain such an alliance."

Taking one large hand in both of hers she gently pulled him to the sofa, her heart pounding with the effort it took to be so bold. Knowing his feelings ran much deeper than she had suspected, she sat close and spoke quietly, "Your happiness is the most important thing to me. Surely there is a way for you to attain it."

"No, there is not. I do not expect you to understand, but as master of Pemberley, I have certain responsibilities that must be considered. My own desires cannot overshadow my obligations to Pemberley – to you." A tinge of regret crept into his voice as he raised his free hand and touched her cheek. "Even if there were the slightest possibility, and the family's poor situation could be overcome, this new matter makes it impossible for me to marry her. I could not expose you to that."

Georgiana raised herself to look squarely into her brother's eyes. "Fitzwilliam, you once saved me from a scandal and your love has not diminished, much as I do not deserve it. Surely you can do the same for the woman I believe you love."

Darcy studied his sister with new eyes. When had she come to be so grown up? He shuddered at the thought of last summer's near-tragedy. Wickham's callous manipulation of her heart could have haunted them both for the rest of her life; but no, she had weathered the storm and somehow emerged stronger for it. Strong enough to challenge his own heart.

"If you cannot forgive her and help her, then I wonder what would have happened had George Wickham succeeded with me. Would you have cast me off? Would I have never seen you again? Is your love truly love or merely a conditional sentiment?"

Georgiana rose, giving a kiss to the hand she still held before releasing it.

"My love for you is unconditional, Fitzwilliam. Whatever happens, I will always love you and stand by you; but you must make your own decision. Only you can say how much you truly love Elizabeth Bennet."

With a low moan, Darcy rolled onto his back, wincing at the pain in his leg. He was obviously injured, but he could not think clearly enough to determine the extent of the harm done. His head was spinning and he had the sensation of a great weight sitting on his chest which prevented him from drawing a full breath. Absently, he noted that the ground beneath him felt soft and cool. He raised a hand from that coolness to clumsily brush away the dirt and leaves clinging to his cheek and brow.

After some minutes, the spinning began to recede and he opened his eyes, slitting them against the sunlight that filtered through the branches he lay beneath. He tried to recall what had happened, but his mind was still too addled to make much sense. He settled for lying still and concentrating on his breathing.

There was an odd silence, as if every creature ceased their movement at the same instant. He thought perhaps he had lost his hearing until a faint sound reached his ears. It was the sound of voices, steadily growing louder – high-pitched, female voices whose tenor rose and fell with excited chatter. As they neared where he lay, he discerned two women of a mature age, evidently on their way back from the village.

Still dazed, Darcy wondered if he should call out for help, or if he was even capable of making a sound loud enough to be heard as the ladies passed within ten feet of his resting place among the undergrowth.

"…she hadn't any notion such a place existed until she read about it. Can you imagine? And to think Elizabeth Bennet would end up among the fallen angels," the first woman clucked. Her voice had a sharp, penetrating quality and Darcy's mind conjured up a thin, pinched face to accompany it.

"Such a shame," a much gentler voice replied. "She was a lovely girl, she was; always kind to my David. She never made him feel bad about his being so shy and all."

"Well, maybe so," came the first voice again, "but she was more free-spirited than a girl ought to be, in my opinion. Walking about the countryside by herself all the time. I always knew it would come to no good."

"Oh, yes, you may be right there. A girl can't be going about so unguarded, she could put herself in the way of danger quick enough."

"I am not one to be making judgments, mind you, but who is to say she did not go looking for it?"

"Oh, no, Mattie! I can't believe that of Miss Elizabeth. Not in a thousand years!"

"Well, you can think what you want, Annie Price, but you know what they say – the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Er, yes, I suppose; but…um, what does an apple have to do with Miss Elizabeth?"

"What I mean, dear friend, is that there may be more than one Bennet who has been stepping out, so to speak. I happen to know that my sister has been getting letters addressed to Mr. William Bennet at Granley Cottage – in a lady's hand, no less! I don't think the Mrs. would be sending letters to him there. They been coming steady for weeks now. I'll wager he's got himself a lady on the side. And if the father is a wanderin', then the daughter might not be so very different."

"Letters, you say!? My goodness, who would have thought…"

The voices faded as the women turned a bend in the lane and moved beyond Darcy's hearing.

Darcy had tried to rise at the sound of Elizabeth's name, but the tilting of the landscape had kept him where he was. With the ladies' departure, he let his head fall back to the sodden ground with anguish as his memory of the day came into focus.

It had begun with Georgiana's clever ploy to draw him out of his room and confront him. She had forced him to face the reality he had tried so hard to avoid since his return from Brighton. It was too painful and he had sought escape once again in a mind-numbing ride through Hertfordshire.

Emerging from a stand of hemlocks at breakneck speed, he had urged his horse into the open field beyond. It was a heady, reckless feeling. For a few moments, horse and rider became one with no other thought than that of the ground falling away beneath them. They crossed the field and charged into the next stand of woods without slowing. But the pounding hooves could not drown out the pounding thoughts that had invaded Darcy's head nor the visions of Bingley and Georgiana. The more he had tried to push them aside, the more they had multiplied into a throbbing, excruciating tangle of guilt.

Still lying in the shrubbery, Darcy held his unsteady head with both hands as the horrible thoughts came once again. He could not escape Bingley's angry words nor his sister's searching questions.

'I shall do all I can to find her, with or without your help'… 'That night on the terrace has to mean something'… 'Would you have cast me off?' …'Is your love truly love or merely a conditional sentiment?' He grimaced at the memory of the unrelenting words. 'She still needs our help. If nothing else, to ensure she is cared for properly'… 'Only you can say how much you love Elizabeth Bennet'.

And then he remembered how he came to be lying in the woods, injured and alone. Unbearable pain tearing at his heart and mind, he had ridden on in a blind stupor, not really seeing where he was going, nor even caring. He had not seen the lane cutting across his path nor the hedge bordering it until it was too late. The horse, having insufficient footing for the jump, had balked at the hedge, skittering sideways and unseating its rider. The forward momentum launched Darcy over the hedge, landing him unceremoniously amid the shrubbery beyond.

Idiotic! Darcy's anger at his own reckless behavior cleared the remaining fog from his head and he slowly rose to a sitting position, taking inventory of his injuries. Except for a dull ache at the back of his head, he seemed to be in full possession of his senses. Cautiously, he stretched his shoulders up and back, one at a time, and found no serious injury there. When his movements caused a fresh throbbing in his ankle, he carefully examined the painful limb. It was not broken, only sprained; but still unable to bear any weight.

With a snort of exasperation, he looked around for his horse, hoping it was standing nearby. It was nowhere to be found. Muttering angry words at his own careless stupidity, he searched about for something substantial enough to support him. At last he found a suitable piece of wood and raised himself off the ground. With halting steps, he made his way to the lane and began the long journey back to Netherfield.

Having nothing but the efforts of his steps to occupy his mind, thoughts of Elizabeth returned. He recalled the words of the two women and how quick they were to believe the worst. His anger flared at the injustice of it. If they knew her, and it seemed they did, how could they judge her so cruelly? To think she would seek out disgrace was outrageous; and as for her leaving herself unprotected, many a young woman could easily be flattered by a man's handsome face and charming manners and be misled into trusting him.

His thoughts went to his own sister and her candid words earlier that day. Had Wickham succeeded last summer, would he have turned away from her? Would he have stopped loving her? The thought was too painful. No, he would not. He would always love Georgiana, no matter what. He would do anything for her, even if it meant accepting George Wickham into his life.

The realization of what Georgiana had been trying to tell him struck Darcy with a sudden, violent force, stopping him dead in the middle of the lane. Did he truly love Elizabeth? He caught his breath at the thought of her. Her captivating smile, her deep brown eyes that brightened with the exercise she was so fond of or equally so when she was provoked, the softness that transformed her face when she spoke of her sister, her discerning measure of his character and teasing manner that urged him to be a better man – all this and more cried out to be loved. Yes, he acknowledged that he loved her even as he saw with vivid clarity what a proud, arrogant fool he had been!

Darcy's epiphany was interrupted by the sound of a carriage coming down the lane. Hobbling to the side to make way, he looked up to see Bingley's anxious face leaning from the window.

"There he is! There he is! Stop the coach, Rochester!"

In a flash, Georgiana's worried face appeared in the window beside Bingley's, the sight of her brother bringing a wash of relief.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam, we have found you!"

Georgiana bounded out of the coach as soon as the footman had the door open, running to Darcy and throwing her arms around him.

"I have been frightened out of my wits! When the stable master said your horse had come back without you, I was so afraid that something had happened. I am so sorry! Please forgive me. It was all my fault for foolishly interfering this morning, and…"

Darcy held his finger to her lips. "It is all right, Georgie. I am fine; just a slight sprain and a few well-deserved scrapes and bruises. And you did nothing wrong. It is I who am sorry for behaving so badly these past few days."

"Darcy, you look a mess!" Bingley eyed him with dismay. "You sit a horse better than anyone I know. What in heaven's name happened to you?"

"It was a humbling experience, but I believe that I have had some sense knocked into me today – in more ways than one."

He laughed grimly at the confusion on both their faces. "I have a lot of repenting to do and will begin as soon as I can get cleaned up. Shall we go?"

Casting the make-shift crutch aside, Bingley eagerly helped his friend into the carriage and they were soon on their way.

"What happened to you?" Bingley repeated as he observed Darcy's impatient gaze.

"What happened? I have come to realize that I cannot stand by and allow Miss Elizabeth Bennet's reputation to be ruined. I have a plan."

Chapter 17

Posted on October 18, 2009

Coming to a halt in front of Burnham House, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam lit from the carriage and took the few steps to the door in a single stride. Ignoring his cousin's inhospitable failure to put out the door knocker, he rapped on the door with his bare knuckles. Having no immediate answer, he knocked again more loudly. A tenacious third try was finally rewarded with a greeting from Jamison. Richard knew that the opening of the door signified Darcy had finally agreed to see him, and he made a direct line for the study where he knew his cousin would be entrenched.

"Richard." Darcy's greeting was unquestionably chilly.

"I am obviously intruding," Richard smiled placidly, "but I have come at mother's bidding, hence the motivation for my persistence, you see. She is quite unhappy that you have not accepted her invitation to dine at Tipton this afternoon. Of course she was hoping you would attend church with the family beforehand, as well. She sent the invitation two days ago."

"Yes, I know. Please extend my regrets to her ladyship. I am only in town for a few days on pressing business. Georgiana is not with me and I have a previous engagement that prevents me from attending either church or dinner today. Another time, perhaps."

Darcy's distracted manner did not go unnoticed. From their boyhood days, Richard had discovered an uncanny ability to read his cousin's moods, something that was always vexing to Darcy, but very useful at times such as this.

"Hmm, I detect a definite note of evasiveness in you, Darcy. Is there anything you care to tell me?"

"No, there is not."

"Hmm," Richard mused again. "Quite unlike you to turn down one of mother's invitations. This engagement must be very important, indeed."

"It is none of your business, Richard. I thank you for coming, and I am sorry to upset Lady Eleanor's plans, but it cannot be helped. If you will excuse me, I must be going. Once again, please give my apologies to my aunt and say that I shall visit her when I am next in town."

"Very well, if that is your final word, I shall convey the message; but be prepared to explain yourself when next you see her," he warned.

Richard stood deceptively idle as Darcy gathered a few papers from his desk, looked them over briefly, and then tucked them into the pocket of his coat. The action was not wasted on his cousin, who had caught a discerning glimpse of the topmost paper and realized it was some sort of communication from Magdalen House. Richard's astonishment was immediate. What sort of business would take him to THAT place? To be charitable is one thing, particularly after Georgiana's disastrous brush last summer, but to patronize such a charity in person? What could possess him to do such a thing?

Richard had never been to the infamous institution in St. George's Field himself, but he had heard enough of the dissolute form of genteel entertainment from some of the other officers to make him wonder at his cousin's purpose. It was not like Darcy to mix with the coarser elements of the ton who thought nothing of ogling penitent prostitutes and fallen innocents of society as they attended Sunday services.

Thoughts of pressing the matter were promptly abandoned at seeing Darcy's increasingly guarded look. Besides, Richard smiled to himself, there was a better way to really find out what his cousin was up to.

Tense and anxious, Darcy sat forward in the modest, nondescript hack and watched his progress through the open window. He had purposely chosen to hire out in order to remain as inconspicuous as possible when he arrived at his destination. Absently, he observed the view as it changed from affluent neighborhoods and manicured parks into a jumble of crowded shops and dingy warehouses, and it was not long before the carriage crossed over the Thames at Blackfriar's Bridge, bringing St. George's Field into view.

The concern in Darcy's brow deepened as he recognized the moment they crossed the invisible line dividing the affluent lifestyle that abounded north of the river from the squalor and poverty of London's south end. The streets were dirty and ill-maintained – evidenced by the sudden jolt as a rear wheel struck a deep rut. The same desperate neglect was reflected in the faces of the people Darcy saw outside the carriage.

Obvious poverty and hopelessness pressed down on the people wandering the streets – the unwanted dregs of society. A fresh pang of acute guilt stabbed at his heart. That his pride and arrogance had brought Elizabeth to such a place was intolerable. He silently renewed his vow to make amends – whatever the cost to himself.

Within minutes, the driver slowed the carriage in front of the address Darcy had given him. They passed in front of a line of trees, obviously planted to prevent the prying eyes of those passing by from observing the activity of the large, two-story structure behind, and then turned in at the first of two stone gates. Darcy saw that the building facing the street was one of four which formed a quadrangle with a spacious center containing well-kept grounds and a large fountain.

The carriage's progress was reduced to a crawl when it joined a long line of slow-moving carriages that were carrying their occupants toward the octangular chapel erected at one of the back corners of the square. Darcy's stomach tightened in disgust at the number of supercilious church-goers. It mortified him that he would be numbered among them.

He waited impatiently as one by one, the carriages deposited their occupants, then moved on to find a place along the broad, cobbled drive that circled back to the second gate before opening again onto the tumult of the street beyond.

When it was his turn, Darcy exited the carriage with a staid countenance and moved toward the chapel doors. He had not taken three steps when he heard a familiar voice beside him.

"I see you prefer the repentant ramblings of – who is it today?" Richard whispered conspiratorially while reading the pamphlet placed in his hand by the footman posted at the door, "Ah, Mr. Roberts – than make her ladyship happy? Rather hazardous, is it not?"

"What are you doing here?" Darcy hissed.

"I might ask the same of you," his cousin retorted. "I did not know you had such an eager interest in charity work. Perhaps it would be interesting to see what it is you do."

"I do not take kindly to being followed, Richard. You would do better to employ your time elsewhere."

"On the contrary, my dear cousin! I have nothing better to do than see what you are about – and it does look intriguing."

Darcy gave him a withering look. As usual, Richard was tenaciously stubborn when he was on the trail of a mystery, and the timing of his cousin's interference was disastrously awkward.

"Look, just go away and I will explain everything tomorrow."

"I think not, Darcy," Richard's face turned uncommonly serious. "An institution for penitent prostitutes and misguided maidens is not the best place for any respectable gentleman to be seen. The sight of a uniform by your side may draw away some of the speculation since a soldier's – experience – in these matters is something to be expected."

"I am well able to take care of my own reputation; but I will not draw any further attention by arguing the point. Just stay out of the way."

The two men filed into the spacious chapel with the flow of the crowd. Taking their place, they found themselves seated but three rows back from the low railing that separated the curious onlookers from the fair residents of Magdalen House. The pews in which the visitors sat were not set to face the pulpit, which rose to a lofty height above the congregation, but instead put them in direct view of the unfortunate young women placed on display. Darcy's jaw clenched with renewed disgust as he noted the blatant appeal for sympathy – and financial support.

"Good heavens!" Richard blurted in a low tone, "that young girl on the end there is Lord Marlborough's niece! She cannot be more than fourteen years! I met her at a Christmas dinner last year. Quite pretty, but very shy, as I remember. I could not get her to speak more than two words to me."

Darcy raised his eyes briefly to the girl. Even with her golden-brown hair pulled back into a simple knot at the nape of her neck, she was indeed very pretty – and young. A fleeting frown crossed Darcy's brow at the sudden thought of how close in age she was to Georgiana. Clothed in the dull, grayish-brown gown worn by all the girls, she seemed quite small and pale. The ordeal of the public display was obviously, and quite naturally, overwhelming to her. She did not look at anyone, but kept her eyes fixed upon the low railing that divided the room, trying her best to ignore the unrestrained, gaping stares of the visitors.

Turning to look at the rest of the girls assembled, Darcy quickly searched their faces. He did not want to see Elizabeth's face among them, yet he could not stop himself from looking. That she was not there did not ease his pain. Those assembled for the afternoon's sermon were only a representation of the more than 200 girls living there. It was almost too much to contemplate the combined misery Magdalen House represented. He pulled his mind away from what Elizabeth must be suffering and tried to concentrate on what Richard was saying.

"She was visiting from the country – Norfolk, as I recall. Her family must have given her up. She was under Marlborough's protection. He should have done better by her, but then he never has been one to show much understanding beyond his own interests. Tragic for the poor girl."

Darcy's mouth hardened bitterly. "Innocents thrown in with practiced prostitutes – what hope have they of ever overcoming their error when they are forced into such company?"

"Actually," Richard whispered, "they are divided by classes of sorts. I doubt the niece would be exposed to the, um, more experienced ones." He caught Darcy's questioning look out of the corner of his eye. "I do not have it first hand. Some of the officers have talked on the subject from time to time."

The commencement of Mr. Roberts' discourse prevented further conversation and Darcy spent the duration of the sermon with eyes focused on the back side of the bench in front of him. The petition for the penitent souls to turn from their sinful state and be redeemed pulled at his heart. Yes, a soul as precious as Elizabeth's deserves to be rescued from the hell to which Wickham has consigned it.

Adding a generous sum to the collection as it passed in front of him, Darcy glanced once again at the girls now singing hymns, and shuddered to think how close Georgiana had come to sharing that same fate. Not that she would have been consigned to such a place; but she would have shared the same fallen state all the same.

As Mr. Roberts came to an end of the services, Darcy breathed a slow, deep breath. The assault his senses had just experienced would be nothing compared to the interview that was about to follow. For all the time he had had in the three days since leaving Hertfordshire, he still did not know exactly what he would say to Elizabeth when he faced her. He could only hope his willingness and good intentions would be enough to overcome her previous objections to him.

Quitting the chapel and its atmosphere of entertainment, Darcy made his way to the administration offices in the main building, Richard following silently beside him. After a quick inquiry of an elderly man at the door, they found the offices of the governors with little difficulty. As they entered the anteroom, a nervous young clerk with spectacles perched atop his long, narrow nose rose from an equally narrow desk and greeted them. After introductions were made, Darcy stated his business and then waited as the clerk announced his arrival at the door of a Mr. Charles Wray.

Ignoring Richard's entreating look, Darcy left his unwelcome companion standing in the anteroom and entered Mr. Wray's office. The governor, a man of some years, with graying hair and a rotund figure, rose from his desk and came forward a little too eagerly to meet Darcy.

"Mr. Darcy, please come in. I am pleased to meet you. Pleased, indeed! It is an honor to have a man of your position and place in society show an interest in our humble endeavors. May I introduce you to Mrs. Gilman, our head matron?"

"How do you do, madam."

"Very well, thank you, Mr. Darcy," the tall, thin woman replied crisply in spite of the governor's meaningful look. "Mr. Wray tells me you are here to inquire after one of our girls."

"Yes, I am," Darcy began. "I would like – "

"Before you go any further, I must tell you there is a strict policy of no contact or communication between the girls and anyone outside her ward – not even servants or apprentices – without a leave first had and signed by either the president or two members of the committee of governors."

Darcy shifted impatiently at the woman's evident sense of self-importance. "Very well, what needs to be done?"

"Under normal circumstances, it could be accomplished in very little time, once you have established your connection to the lady in question. However, those circumstances would be at our regular meeting of the committee, which is the first Thursday of every month. That is when they review the petitions for new girls. Unfortunately for you, Mr. Darcy, that was Thursday last and the president, as well as most of the governors – except for Mr. Wray here – have already left. They will not reconvene until next month."

Darcy was stunned. Next month! He could not wait that long. He worked to contain the exasperation at having endured public speculation and a very contrived sermon only to be disappointed now. Bitter frustration drove him to his feet, but common sense kept his voice calm and even.

"Look, I understand the need to protect these young ladies from the outside world, but it is very important that I speak with someone in particular. I am sent by her family who wish for her return." He looked from one to the other with a meaningful pause that would not be mistaken. "Surely there is something that can be done; an exception under the circumstances?"

Darcy had not been mistaken in his appraisal of the situtation. The portly governor and head matron exchanged a significant look.

"Mr. Darcy," Mr. Wray gave him a toothy grin. "You seem to be a man accustomed to action. We do not wish to disappoint you. I believe there may be a way in which we can help."

"I would be most happy to hear it," Darcy replied.

"Ahem…well, we do have instances where certain exceptions are made for an elite assembly of our patrons."

"I see," Darcy smiled tightly. "And how elite are these patrons? I assume they are highly valued for their contributions."

"Oh, yes, to be sure," Mr. Wray smiled in anticipation. "It varies, of course, depending upon the situation of the patron, but they are often as generous as, say, one hundred pounds."

There was not the slightest change in Darcy's expression, causing Mr. Wray to wish he had named a larger sum.

"I trust you will accept my draft, Mr. Wray?"

"To be sure, Mr. Darcy; most happily! While you are fulfilling your generous contribution, I shall have Mr. Pratt retrieve the required information. What is the name of the young lady to whom you wish to speak?"

"Her name is Elizabeth Bennet."

Mr. Wray lowered a pudgy hand onto the bell sitting on the corner of his desk, summoning the clerk from the anteroom. Immediately, the young man was at the door, holding his hands nervously in front of his chest.

"Mr. Pratt," the governor said, "be so good as to fetch the records for Elizabeth Bennet."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Wray; and the date?"

Mr. Wray raised a bushy eyebrow at Darcy.

"I believe she arrived sometime the middle of June," Darcy reported.

"Very good, sir. I shall only be a moment."

The young man then ducked back through the door, muttering Elizabeth's name to himself. In a surprisingly short time, he reappeared and whispered softly into Mr. Wray's ear, to which the portly gentleman responded with his own whisper to Mrs. Gilman. Darcy watched with growing concern as the clerk and matron left together. An even shorter time lapsed before Mrs. Gilman stepped back into the room with a frown and gave Mr. Wray a slight shake of her head.

"Well, sir," the older man turned apprehensively toward Darcy, "it appears we have a bit of a problem."

"What is it? Has something happened? Is she well?" Darcy asked anxiously.

"That I cannot say, Mr. Darcy. The young woman for whom you are searching is not here."

"Not here? Do you mean she has left?"

"No, sir. I mean we have no record of her ever having been at Magdalen House at all."