I

Posted on Wednesday, 7 June 2000, at 3 : 06 a.m.

Miss Lucy Steele stretched luxuriantly...

"How much I love my husband!!" sighed she, looking at a large ruby ring on her third finger, an emerald on her second, a diamond on her first, and a small sapphire jammed haphazardly on her thumb. And that was only the left hand. Robert continued to snore, oblivious of his wife's tender glances. His nose quivered slightly every few seconds, and by the smile on his face, it was probable that he was dreaming of cottages. Or possibly he was drunk.

"Darling!" cooed Lucy softly. "Wake up, sleepyhead!!!...your luvvie-pet is lonesome..."

"Whaa....?" muttered Robert sleepily. "What did you say?"

"I just wanted to tell you that you are the biggest, strongest, sweetest man in the whole of London...how was I ever lucky enough to end up with you?...Robbie, your luvvie-pet's feeling a bit down tonight...maybe my trinkets..." she gestured in the direction of a huge oak-chest "aren't big enough for a man in your position...I feel awful..."

"You're right, Lucy. Always thinking of me, my luvvie-pet, aren't you? Don't worry your pretty head, we'll pick more tomorrow..." Robert was back asleep. Smiling, Lucy got up and decided to write a letter to her best friend, Mrs. Clay...

II

Mrs. Clay was far too busy to read a letter, even from as old and as established a friend as Lucy. Today was her wedding day after all!

There were days when she despaired, she remembered. That poisoned soup almost ended the thing right then and there. Luckily, she gave her portion to the cook. The rabid dog that Elliot tried to lock her in with was an even more recent stumbling block. And when William Walter gave her a collapsible bed, one would have almost thought he did not love her as passionately as might be wished.

But, true love will prevail, thought Mrs. Clay triumphantly. She was driven to the Church, and the minister began the ceremony. It was beautiful. The only downside was that Elliot remained singularly quiet throughout. "Well, I suppose he is more quiet now. But it's a small price to pay for a wedding ring," thought Mrs. Clay. Nerve gas down the chimney had unexpected benefits. Provided it got into the wrong bedroom.

III

Mrs Elton, a charitable woman, a kind and thoughtful woman, according to her friends, looked at her husband accross the table. "Caro Sposo..." with a wild incoherent cry, Mr. Elton bolted from the table, ran into the woods and was never seen again...

IV

"Wickie...la, what fun!" thrilled Lydia "The regiment is going to be here tomorrow....what an ugly bonnet that woman is wearing...I could honestly die laughing when I think of the look on the housekeeper's face when we told her we had nothing to pay her with...I wonder if Saunders is back yet...what is that strange old fellow carrying...Mrs Lely told me that her husband's nephew is about to be married...Wickie...come to bed!"

The still figure did not move. George Wickham was dead, the first man to be talked to death.

IV

Fanny was busy contemplating the Crawfords' shortcomings. And Edmund was becoming every day more frivolous, just like them, she though bitterly. If only she had someone strong, manly, upright to guide her, to love her and protect her...

She was interrupted in her reverie by a sight of a man, clad in black, descending the hill with some rapidity. His carriage seemed to have overturned. He stopped stock still when he saw Fanny. The earth trembled between them. It was love at first sight for both. Breathless, they ran into each other's arms. "So that is how happiness feels," thought Fanny, hugging tighter and putting her head on the manly shoulder of Mr. Collins.

VI

It was the first week of the wedding of Mr. Darcy (who by unexpected chance became an heir to a viscouncy 10 days earlier) and Miss Bennet. He seemed to be fortune's favorite. The viscount-presumptive did not look like a happy husband. After all, a man tied with four stout ropes with a gag jammed in his mouth was bound to be uncomfortable.

"I've got me a man at last!" giggled Isabella Thorpe.

THE END