Beginning, Section II

Part 4: Animals, Wild and Domestic

Posted on 2013-04-03

The next day was Sunday and there was no contact between the two parties. All the young people felt it acutely. On Monday, Darcy and Bingley went to finalize the paperwork on the house Bingley intended to take for the summer. Bingley's discreet inquiries had elicited the information that Mr. Gardiner himself would need to return to London and his business in another week, but his wife and children intended to remain for as much as a full month, depending on how quickly Edward regained his strength. His two nieces had the option of returning with their uncle, or waiting with the others.

"I must write Caroline to speed her plans," Bingley was saying as they rode home. "The Season isn't over yet, but if Morecastle really is to become the new fashionable bathing place she says it is, she can have no objection. If Louisa and Hurst come with her, it would be perfectly proper for them to ask Ja--Miss Bennet to remain as well, as our guest, for the rest of the summer--or until we have to go to Pemberley. They'll be delighted to have her company, I know; she was the only one they regretted not seeing any more when we left Hertfordshire, although of course they didn't feel that they could say that. But Caroline will understand when I explain that--"

"Bingley."

"Yes, what is it, Darcy?"

"Ah… your, ah... I fear you are being overly optimistic."

"Why, what do you mean?"

Darcy sighed. "There's something I feel I ought to tell you. Miss Bennet was in town over the winter."

"Yes, I knew that." Now Bingley just looked puzzled. "She told me. I asked her why she never wrote my sisters of it, and she said that she did write, but the letters must have gotten lost in the mail."

Darcy sighed again. It appeared that Bingley and Miss Bennet both were so innocently trusting it was absurd, but it was not for him to expose Bingley's sisters. Instead he said, "I knew of it."

"What, you mean over the winter you knew?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I heard of it." That was as close as he would come to explaining his source of information--Bingley would have to make the inevitable deductions himself. "I chose not to tell you because I feared the information might bring you pain, or else you might decide you had to see her and… and that, too, could have caused you pain. I believed I was acting in your best interest at the time, but in light of recent events it appears singularly officious and not particularly wise."

Bingley's blue eyes were clouded over now, and his brows drawn low with confusion. "You… concealed something you knew I would wish to know."

"Yes."

"You... disguised it?"

"Yes."

"You hate disguise."

"I do, but in this case I condescended to adopt at least some slight measure of it."

They rode on quietly. "I would never have thought it of you, Darcy."

Darcy winced but didn't say anything.

"You know…" Bingley was speaking softly, "You know that if I had met Miss Bennet in London a few months ago and she had appeared as glad to see me as she did here, I must have tried again. We could have been married by now--that is, presuming she would have had me."

"I'm sorry, Bingley."

He went on after another moment. "If I had stayed in Netherfield in the first place we could have been married even longer."

"I'm sorry," said Darcy again.

But Bingley shook his head. "That I cannot blame you for. I am the one who left."

"I advised you badly."

"Yes, but… I'm the one who left." He felt silent again. "Really… it's astonishing she should even speak to me. I paid her marked attentions, went off promising to return in a few days, and then never did. I treated her infamously, and that's the truth."

"You would have returned if it had not been for me."

Bingley paused for a long moment. "You always told me that I let myself be too easily persuaded by others, although I don't suppose you meant yourself."

"I meant persuaded without reason, while I hope I have always used reason--but in this case, my reasoning was faulty. I was wrong to claim Miss Bennet was indifferent to you on so little acquaintance."

"And I was wrong to accept your judgment over my own, when I knew her better."

The friends smiled ruefully at each other. "Can you forgive me?"

"Since you have been so kind as to assist me this time around, I suppose I must."

"I may have some need of your assistance, too."

"Why, what do you mean?" But before Darcy could explain, they arrived at the Black Horse Inn. Just at that moment, a rather large and opulent coach swept past them into the yard. "Hallo," said Bingley. "That looks like my coach. And that for sure looks like my coachman."

Their suspicions were confirmed a minute later when the steps were let down and Miss Caroline Bingley descended. "Charles!" she exclaimed upon seeing them. "And Mr. Darcy!"

"What are you doing here, Caroline?"

"Why, I came because of your letter, of course."

"My letter?"

"Yes, you said you had found a house."

"We did find a house, but we can't move into it yet. I just signed the final papers today, and it won't be ready for two weeks at the earliest. I thought I told you that in my letter!"

"Oh." She shrugged carelessly. "You know I can never make out half your words through all those blots. You should get Mr. Darcy to give you lessons in how he makes his pens, as I am sure yours are never trimmed properly. Either that, or it is how you hold it. Do you suppose you could teach my poor, sad brother how to hold a pen properly, Mr. Darcy?" She smiled flirtatiously at him.

"Your brother does not lack technique but patience, Miss Bingley."

"I hope you don't think we share that quality. I have infinite patience."

"I have no doubt," he muttered.

"You've always said that you hate staying at inns, Caroline, but you'll have no choice now."

"Then I shall just have to endure until the house is ready."

"What happened to staying in London until the end of the Season?"

"Oh, London. I'm so terribly bored with it."

"Well what about Louisa and Hurst? Are they coming too?"

"Presently, my dear Charles. Presently." She slipped one hand in her brother's arm and the other in Mr. Darcy's and led them expertly on.

Approximately half an hour later, Darcy was reading in their private parlor when Miss Bingley entered. Immediately she shut the door and came close. "My dear Mr. Darcy, what an unpleasant shock! I came as soon as I heard, to assist you in any way I can."

He raised his brows. "Assist me? I'm afraid I do not understand."

"Those dreadful Bennet girls! You must have been so vexed to have met them, and at the most unlikely of times! Whatever are they doing in Morecastle, of all places? And what did they mean by imposing themselves on your notice? If it were possible I would suspect Jane Bennet--or perhaps Elizabeth, she's the more conniving of the two--of having discovered you were to come here, and bringing her family expressly to meet with Charles again."

"Considering that they arrived before we did, it would appear more likely that we followed them."

She laughed a tinkling little laugh. "I did not say I actually thought it possible! No, it is only the most ill luck imaginable. You must be displeased with me for suggesting Morecastle in the first place, but truly I had no idea that one could encounter such plebeian company here!"

"Miss Bingley," said Darcy, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I must tell you that I have decided to support your brother in his renewed pursuit of the eldest Miss Bennet."

"But--but--" she gaped at him. "I don't understand."

"We were mistaken in our belief that she did not favor him. If you had seen her when we first encountered them, or in the time since, you would realize as I have, that she is, in fact, most sincerely attached to him."

"But her family! Her connections and fortune!"

"Are not ideal, I grant you. However…" he paused. "However, there are other considerations which any man of sense must place above mere station. If your brother sincerely believes that Miss Bennet is the only woman capable of making him happy, then there is nothing for us to do but wish him success."

Miss Bingley was trying desperately to regain her equilibrium. "You've always been such a loyal friend, of course. Did you… um, do you know if dear Jane has happened to mention our meeting in London to him?"

"She has not. I think her delicacy prevents her from relating events which would inevitably appear unflattering to his sisters."

She flushed.

"Neither have I said anything to him about it, but I did feel obliged to relate my own knowledge of her presence in town, and it is likely that he will realize my information must have come from you. I am sorry if it causes trouble between you, but my conscience would allow me to be silent no longer. It was beneath me to conceal it in the first place."

"Well of course it was beneath me too! Why, I would not snub or mislead a friend for the world--except out of dire necessity. My brother's happiness appeared to be at stake, after all. My dear Mr. Darcy, you must have endured so much over these last few days; not only Miss Jane Bennet but that impertinent shrew of a sister, and their lowly Cheapside relations!"

"Actually, I have found the Gardiners to be intelligent, well-informed and amiable. I have enjoyed their company very much. And," he added, "the company of their delightful children."

The lady seemed to be having some difficulty speaking. "Miss Eliza's manners must surely have offended your fastidious taste! A more forward, unlikeable girl I have yet to meet!"

Darcy stood up abruptly. "Miss Bingley, if I offered you any encouragement to break off your acquaintance with Miss Bennet, then I am truly sorry. However, the Bennets--and their relations--appear likely to become your relations soon, so I would advise you to treat them with civility. Good morning." He walked out of the room before he said something that he regretted.

Miss Bingley's coming threw the gentlemen's schemes into decided disorder. Both open and covert wooing could benefit very little from the addition of a fifth to the party. Darcy had the uneasy feeling that, once convinced she could do nothing to prevent her brother's match with Miss Jane Bennet, Miss Bingley would expend the majority of her energies on him. His opportunities to have private conversation with Elizabeth had all but disappeared entirely.

Feeling slightly guilty, he did manage to persuade Bingley that it was his duty to take his sister to tour the new house immediately. As soon as they left, he got on his horse and made his way over to the Gardiners' current residence. There, he found everyone except Mrs. Gardiner preparing to visit the menagerie, which reputedly housed an astounding array of exotic beasts that the children were wild to see. This expedition he joined cheerfully, no longer even amazed at his broad-mindedness. The smile Elizabeth gave him as he handed her and two of the children into his carriage sent him to quite absurd heights, and the more she blushed at his smiles, the more he found himself smiling at her, not broadly, like a fool, but in a quiet, deliberate fashion. The two children chattered on around them, listing the animals they hoped to see, but the two adults said little. Elizabeth kept her eyes mostly fixed on her cousins, with the occasional furtive glance to confirm that, yes, he was still watching her with warm, purposeful eyes, and that knowing smile.

The menagerie, it turned out, was not all that reputation claimed, and would hardly have impressed anyone who had enjoyed a trip to a proper zoological garden, such as they had in Europe. Even the children were unimpressed by the worn out lion and mangy camel, having seen better specimens of both at the Tower of London. In addition, there were several colorful birds missing some of their plumage, snakes, log-like crocodiles in fetid water, and a variety of antelope and mountain goats, all kept in close pens. The star of the show was a single aging elephant, who seemed to lack the spirit to do more than occasionally raise its trunk enough to consume a little hay.

Darcy watched Elizabeth's face as she inspected the curious creatures. "Have you ever seen a lion before?"

"Only in pictures." She smiled slightly. "Even my cousins have broader experience than I."

"It's not a very impressive lion."

"So I gather from Maggie's and Andrew's rather disparaging comments. He is not, to be sure, so fearsome looking as the illustrations I have seen. Neither is the elephant."

"I suspect, however, that you would rather see a live elephant that is like this one, boring though he may be, than one charging in full battle rage."

She laughed. "True. Although… although I do think it would be a magnificent sight."

Darcy longed to tell her that he would take her anywhere in world, to see anything, but it was too soon, of course. The proposal he had never yet made ached within him, but the memory of Elizabeth's scathing words in the boat was too recent. They had come a long way, he knew, in the days since, further than during their entire previous acquaintance, but she wasn't ready to receive his addresses just yet. "Should we ever encounter a charging elephant," he managed to say, "I will be certain to retire and leave you the best view in the house."

She shook her head. "Mr. Darcy, I begin to suspect you of teasing. It is a skill I had not known you possessed."

"One, perhaps, I am learning from you." He met her eyes. "You have given me many lessons which I am endeavoring to learn."

At that her eyes grew very wide. He was just casting around in his mind for some further expression of regard which would not be too forward when a voice sounded from across the room. "Yoo-hoo!" Mr. and Miss Bingley had arrived.

"My dear Mr. Darcy!" cried Miss Bingley as she hurried close. "The moment we returned to the hotel and found out you had gone to call on the Gardiners we felt we absolutely must do the same, and then when Mrs. Gardiner told us you had all come here, why, of course we followed!" She latched onto his free arm. "What a nasty, smelly place! I can't think why anyone should ever want to look at wild beasts, but of course it was so good of you to indulge the others." She gave Elizabeth a condescending glance. "Miss Eliza."

Elizabeth began to quietly withdraw her hand from Darcy's arm, but he pressed it against his side with his elbow and gave her a beseeching look. Again she colored faintly, but made no further attempt to leave. "Miss Bingley. How surprised I was to hear from Mr. Darcy that you had arrived, and just this morning, too! Are you not fatigued from your trip?"

"Not at all, I assure you. And you may imagine my surprise when I learned that you and your… er, delightful relatives are staying here in Morecastle, of all places!"

"Indeed. It's a remarkable coincidence, is it not?"

"Remarkable."

Darcy rolled his eyes in Bingley's direction to find him predictably preoccupied with his Miss Bennet. The children were all clustered around their father, pointing at a bedraggled-tailed ostrich, but then Andrew turned and came their way. "Do come look, Mr. Darcy," he begged. "And you too, Lizzy. It's the biggest bird I ever saw and they say it lays eggs as big as my head!"

"Well, perhaps not quite that large," answered Darcy, willingly leading (or in Miss Bingley's case, nearly dragging) the ladies in that direction. "Ostrich eggs are certainly large though, and very tough. I have some at Pemberley. Perhaps you'll get a chance to see them some day." Miss Bingley started quite noticeably at this hint, and Elizabeth almost did the same.

In looking distastefully away from the ungainly bird, Miss Bingley got her first truly good look at Elizabeth's face. "Why, Miss Elizabeth!" she exclaimed with malicious pleasure. "My dear, what happened to your face? You must be so mortified to appear in public like that!"

"To tell the truth I mostly forget about it. My companions, after all, do not mind, and what does it matter what anyone else thinks?"

Miss Bingley looked honestly shocked at such a view, but Darcy smiled and said, "You told me once, I believe, that your courage rises in the face of possible intimidation."

"Indeed it does. My walking in public with bruises on my face is one more proof of my general brazenness, I suppose."

Miss Bingley opened her mouth to agree as to Miss Elizabeth's brazenness, but Darcy spoke before her. "Not at all. You are not brazen, but sensible, and lacking in that superficial vanity which so many women allow to control their every action."

Elizabeth looked at him a moment with a curious little smile around her lips. "Well," she replied slowly, "I was only tolerable to begin with."

This time when Mr. Darcy opened his mouth, Miss Bingley cut him off. "I wish you would take me to see the lion, Mr. Darcy! I do adore lions! Such magnificent beasts of prey!"

"You won't adore this one," said Darcy.

"Do you find you have a special affinity for beasts of prey, Miss Bingley?" asked Elizabeth.

"Affinity?" repeated that lady, as Darcy strove to hide a smile. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Eliza."

"My mistake… Caro."

At this point Darcy felt it wise to seek conversation with the larger group.

The trip to the menagerie proceeded along rather comical lines for Elizabeth, as she watched Miss Bingley attempt to anticipate Mr. Darcy's opinion on each of the animals they viewed. The lady could scarcely contain her natural disgust, but would immediately wax eloquent on their beauty or strength or grace if she thought it might earn his agreement. If he went on to disagree with her, she reversed herself without the slightest blush, forgetting her past opinions as effortlessly as she discarded them. As tenaciously as Miss Bingley clung to Darcy's arm, so he clung to Elizabeth's. If Bingley's sister was determined to make her preference known, then so was he.

The afternoon ended with eating ices at a local confectioner's shop. There, conversation went merrily and Darcy continued to direct his attentions pointedly to Elizabeth. Even Mr. Bingley was beginning to wake up to the nature of his friend's interest in Miss Bennet's sister, and Elizabeth found herself blushing rosily at all the knowing and amazed looks directed their way. Yet she began to realize that she was jealous for his attention, and whenever he was drawn into conversation with someone else she had to fight the impulse to interject, just to bring his eyes back on her. How such a complete reversal of sentiment had been effected in such a short time she couldn't tell, but the more Miss Bingley attempted to dig her polished fingernails into his arm and his heart, the more determined she became to assert her own claims. Miss Bingley, she thought, did not know at all how to do it. She was too obvious and flattering. Mr. Darcy did not like flattery, he liked an honest challenge, a quick wit, an original opinion. He liked to be laughed at--something Miss Bingley seemed to regard as sacrilege--provided it was done cleverly, and did not wish for dishonest praise.

"I wonder you have never sought a seat in Parliament, Mr. Darcy. I would feel so much better about the future of our nation if I knew it was in your hands."

"I don't care for speech making, ma'am."

"I am sure your speeches would be superlatively excellent!"

"Though filled with four-syllable words, if his friend is to be believed. You don't suppose it would try the intelligence of our MPs to decipher them, do you?"

"Try the intelligence of our MPs indeed, Miss Eliza! Why, the most brilliant minds in the nation are in Parliament. Just because you would struggle to understand Mr. Darcy does not mean that they would."

"Actually, Miss Bingley," said Darcy, but looking at Elizabeth, "I think the case is in the reverse--I think Miss Bennet understands me perfectly well. It is I who must struggle to keep up with her." He cocked an eyebrow. "Perhaps you are the one who should run for Parliament."

Miss Bingley turned an unattractive shade of red and gave a slightly hysterical laugh. "Women run for parliament? Mr. Darcy, you're only funning!"

"I'm sure he is," agreed Elizabeth, her eyes still locked with his. "Astonishing, isn't it?"

With such exchanges as these, it's not surprising that Miss Bingley did not enjoy the stay in the confectionary shop as much as the others. It further infuriated her to see Miss Maggie Gardiner treat Mr. Darcy with such familiarity and occupy his attention for a full five minutes on the subject of which flavor of ice was the best, an exchange which ended in the most ridiculous fashion, with Mr. Darcy ordering a whole round of fresh ices in every flavor so that they could taste them all! Mr. Gardiner shook his head at such extravagance but allowed it, and the whole table participated in the tasting except Miss Bingley; what did she care about ices when Darcy was paying attention to everyone but her?

"Well, Mr. Darcy," concluded Elizabeth, as she sat back with a sigh, "you are right."

His brows shot up. "I am?"

She laughed at his surprised tone. "Yes. Strawberry is definitely the best."

"Ah. Well, it is a comfort to be right in something, I suppose."

"Mr. Darcy is always right! How can you insinuate that he is not always right?"

"I insinuated nothing."

"No man may be always right, Miss Bingley."

"Well, you are right as often as it is possible for any man to be!" she declared. "Any time you are wrong, it is not your fault at all, I am sure."

"I need not ask you if you agree with Miss Bingley's assessment of my rightness," he said, addressing Elizabeth.

She blushed a little. "I do not believe my opinion on that subject is worth seeking."

"Why not?"

"Because it is constantly changing. Indeed," she almost whispered, looking into his eyes, "I know not what to think from one moment to the next."

Darcy smiled, looking well satisfied.

Miss Bingley jerked her hand up suddenly, knocking one small bowl, with its remaining puddle of cherry red liquid, right into the front of Elizabeth's dress. "Oh, Miss Elizabeth, I am so sorry!"

Elizabeth jumped a little bit, and pressed a napkin fruitlessly against the brilliant stain. "Oh dear, Lizzy," said Jane sympathetically. Bingley reproached his sister for her carelessness, and Darcy just glared.

Miss Bingley apologized profusely and charmingly offered to accompany her back to her house to change her attire. Darcy insisted on escorting them, then Mr. Gardiner decided it was time for the children to go home, and soon enough everyone was piling back into the carriages. There was little Elizabeth could do about her immediate appearance; although she had been wearing a spencer, the sticky juice had landed just below it. It was somewhat mortifying and rather uncomfortable. She did not know if Miss Bingley had done it on purpose, but it was impossible not to feel that her clumsiness must have been in proportion to her jealousy.

The whole way back Miss Bingley chattered brightly to Mr. Darcy, who answered only in monosyllables. Upon arrival, she followed Elizabeth up the stairs and into her bedchamber, despite her insistence that she required no assistance.

"No, really, my dear," she said, "I simply must help you. I can't think how I came to be so clumsy. You must have been absolutely humiliated--especially when you consider the state of your face. Why, I would have died of shame!"

"Miss Bingley," said Elizabeth, reaching the end of her endurance, "women die from many causes, but not, I think, from shame! While I am aware that you think me shameless, there are certain things which I would personally feel far more ashamed of than an appearance which has become marred through no fault of my own--if," she glared at her, "you take my meaning!"

Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes. "I haven't the slightest idea."

"I think you do. Now if you please, I require privacy!" And before she knew what was happening, Miss Bingley found herself alone in the hallway.

She went back downstairs, where she found Mr. Darcy standing in the hall. He scowled at the sight of her. "That Eliza Bennet," she sniffed, "has no concept of forgiveness. I said I was sorry, but she practically shut the door in my face!"

He stalked away, even as a bevy of children and adults erupted through the front door. The entire time that the four Gardiner children were being ushered upstairs by their nanny and Jane, and Charles and Mr. Gardiner, both talking rapidly, took off their coats and repaired to the parlor, Mr. Darcy retained a firm and forbidding demeanor. Miss Bingley tried making a few remarks which she fancied were particularly Eliza-like in their sprightliness, but he did not respond. In the end, he left her alone and joined the others.

When Elizabeth came back downstairs attired in a fresh gown, Mr. Darcy was lounging in a chair listening to the other men's conversation. Upon her entrance he stood quickly to his feet, and went to inquire after her wellbeing and escort her to a seat near him. Neither Mr. nor Miss Bingley had ever observed him pay any woman other than his sister such attention, and Mr. Bingley was so surprised that he stopped talking mid-sentence and sat with his mouth open--that is, until the other Miss Bennet appeared behind her, at which event he also sprang up and went to attend her. Miss Bingley screwed up her mouth like it had a bad taste in it.

Elizabeth was also very conscious of the deliberate and pointed attentions that were being paid her by the tall and usually taciturn gentleman. A day ago they would have still flustered her, but today she could only feel happiness. "Well, my attire is fixed even if my face isn't," she said lightly.

He smiled at her, a warm look in his eyes. "Your face will heal soon enough. I think you must fear it looks much worse than it does." He leaned forward a little. "It is still a source of distress to me that such a thing happened when you were under my care. I assure you," he paused, "I make it a point to be very attentive to those under my care. They usually have no cause for complaint."

"I am sure you do, Mr. Darcy," she murmured. "I do not hold you responsible for what occurred."

"You are generous."

"Sometimes. Other times," she looked into his eyes seriously, "I have been known to be very ungenerous--even without cause."

He swallowed. "I am sure you would always have cause, Miss Elizabeth."

"So, Miss Eliza," interjected Miss Bingley in an overloud voice at that precise moment. She sat down as close to them as she could get. "I understand you have been from home for quite some time!"

"Not as long as my sister, Miss Bingley. But then, I'm sure you know that."

"Tell me, is the regiment still at Meryton?"

Darcy frowned.

"Yes," said Elizabeth carelessly, "but they are to remove to Brighton shortly, so I expect they shall be gone by the time we return."

"How sorry your family will be, to be sure! You don't suppose your sisters will utterly break their hearts over it, do you?" Miss Bingley dearly wanted to mention Mr. Wickham, but dared not do so in Darcy's presence.

"I imagine every young girl thinks herself heartbroken at some point, but it is a form of heartbreak that rarely lasts."

"Have you?" asked Darcy suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"Have you ever thought yourself heartbroken?"

"Well…" she pondered this. "There was that one shopkeeper's son…" she saw Darcy attempt to conceal his dismay and laughed. "He was all of five and twenty and I was only ten, but he was terribly handsome and romantic looking. I was thoroughly smitten with him, and when I heard he had married the butcher's daughter I was as heartbroken as you please, for a week at least. I believe these days he is running a shop of his own in the next town over, with his wife and several children; the last time I saw him, he had lost three of his front teeth, and was sporting a truly impressive and ever increasing girth. My escape was fortunate indeed."

"Is that truly all?" he asked. "Are the squires in Hertfordshire so slow that not one of them has courted your interest?"

She studied her hands for a moment. "I believe it is more that they are so poor that not one of them could afford to court my interest."

"Such a pity for you," said Miss Bingley. Elizabeth flushed--she had momentarily forgotten the other woman's proximity. "I feel sorry for your situation, I really do."

Elizabeth did not reply, mortified, and Darcy looked angry. Miss Bingley attempted not to smirk.

"Miss Bennet," said Darcy unexpectedly, "I wonder if you would be interested in visiting the Lorreys with me this afternoon."

She perked up. "This very afternoon?"

"Yes. If your uncle agrees I could take you--with a maid to accompany you, of course--to check on the welfare of his sister. Your assistance would be invaluable in talking with Mrs. Lorrey and determining the family's needs."

"Why, Mr. Darcy," said Miss Bingley, "you need not disturb Miss Bennet, who, after all, is a relative stranger to us. If you need a woman's advice, I would be pleased to accompany you."

"Thank you, but Miss Bennet is already aware of the particulars of the situation, and I believe her unique conversational gifts and charm may be just what is required."

"I would be honored," affirmed Elizabeth.

An hour later they were setting out. The carriage took them through the middle-class part of town, towards the docks. Gradually the homes grew smaller, the buildings dingier, the air more acrid. Elizabeth shivered slightly.

"There is nothing to alarm you." Mr. Darcy spoke softly.

"I am not alarmed for myself, but for the people who live here--the children especially."

He sighed. "I will not tell you that the misery of the lower classes is not real, for of course it is, and it is a shame on our society that it is allowed to continue. But they are not all miserable. Contentment is often relative to what a person is accustomed to. What might be miserable living conditions for you, as a gentlewoman, can appear comfortable and even pleasing to someone raised differently."

She was silent for a little. "Somehow I think that reflects better on them than on us."

He smiled. "I am sure you are right."

The pulled up eventually in a narrow street, before a house with one door and one window, and another window set directly above. Mr. Darcy instructed his coachman to return in half an hour, and rapped on the door.

It was opened almost immediately by small Tom. "Ma!" he yelled. "It's Mr. Darcy and a lady!"

Elizabeth glanced at Darcy, wondering if he would be offended at such a greeting, but he did not appear to be. "How is your sister, Tom?" he asked, removing his hat and stooping to enter.

"The man wi' the potions came yesterday, and Ma said she slept good."

"I'm glad to hear it."

Just then a slight woman, tired looking but still young, came down the steps. "Oh Mr. Darcy, sir, it's so very kind of you to come callin' on us again." She bobbed a curtsey.

"May I introduce Mrs. Lorrey to you?" He said to Elizabeth. "Mrs. Lorrey, this is Miss Bennet, who came with me today."

"Madam." She bobbed another curtsey.

"Please tell me, how is your daughter?" asked Elizabeth.

"A little better since we got the medicine." She rang her hands nervously. "I would offer you some tea if I had any, but I'm afraid--"

"Please, no!" Lizzy laughed lightly. "I have drunk all the tea I can hold today. But I did bring some things from our kitchen, for the children, if you do not object--?" She held up the basket she was carrying.

Mrs. Lorrey assured her that she did not, and together they unpacked the basket, which held a variety of fresh fruit, some meat pies, a bottle of milk, and a few pastries for the children to enjoy. Tom immediately demanded one and was scolded for his impoliteness, but received it anyway and promptly ran outside with it. His mother looked apologetically at her visitors. "He's a bit rough in his manners, but he's a good boy."

"I know that he is," said Elizabeth. Dredging her mind for information about illnesses, she inquired after the girls' symptoms, listened to a list of them, and eventually was invited upstairs to visit the invalid herself. She was very glad to do this, and found the girl looking pale and listless and a little feverish under her thin blanket. "Do you need another blanket?" she asked the mother.

It was a bit difficult to get Mrs. Lorrey to admit that what their needs were, or to agree to accept further assistance, but Elizabeth held firm and eventually prevailed through appeals to the wellbeing of her children. Then little Nancy woke up and required some assistance with her intimate needs, and Elizabeth went back downstairs on her own.

She expected to find Mr. Darcy waiting in the room below, looking magnificently out of place, but instead, there was a strange and rather large man. He was untidily dressed and helping himself to the food that had so recently been put away in the cupboard.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Elizabeth without thinking. "That is not for you!"

He turned around, and his eyebrows rose. "Well, lookee there," he drawled.

He had a red, unshaven face, and a belligerent look about him. Elizabeth's heart rate increased, but she spoke firmly. "I do not know who you are what you are doing in this house, but those groceries are for Mrs. Lorrey and her two children."

Ignoring her words, he came closer, still holding a half-eaten apple in one fist. "You must be the finest and prettiest young lady I've ever seen 'round 'ere. Wot's yor name?"

"That is none of your concern," she said coldly. "Where is Mr. Darcy?"

"Mister who?" He came closer still, until Elizabeth felt the need to retreat a step. She could smell the liquor on him.

"Mr. Darcy, the gentleman who was here. What have you done with him?"

"I ain't done nothin.' Why don't ya come a little closer, lovey?" He put the hand with the apple, which was attached to a meaty arm, on the wooden rail and leaned into her. Elizabeth turned to run back up the stairs, but he caught her roughly by the wrist. "Do ya know what I think?" he asked, as she struggled to free herself. "I think this mister wotever isn't real. I think yor here all byaselves."

It would have been an excellent time to scream, but Elizabeth didn't think of that. "Unhand me, you cur!" she hissed at him.

He curled his fat lip. "Cur I am, eh! You'll be singin' a different tune soon enuff!"

He set his foot on the step next to Elizabeth's. She promptly stomped on it, as hard as she could, but her soft shoes made no impression on his cracked boots and he laughed. He tried to put an arm around her and she slapped him, again as hard as she could. That replaced his laugh with an ugly scowl and a curse. He pulled her in and Elizabeth, still fighting, braced to scream as loudly as she could.

Mr. Darcy had been outside in the street, interviewing Tom about his education and interests, trying to determine what trade he might be best fit for. His manner was clipped and direct and Tom answered with wide eyes, but at the end the severe gentleman unbent, smiled at him, and gave him some pennies to buy a further treat at the bakery some time. After this Darcy stood surveying the street with a critical eye, his landlord's mind chronicling the various repairs and improvements it required but would never receive, until finally he turned with a sigh to reenter the house.

It wasn't until he was pushing on the door that he realized there were strange sounds within. It swung open and to his horror, he perceived a strange hulking figure of a man standing on the stairs with Elizabeth in his grasp. He could not see her very well, but she appeared to be struggling, but was hopelessly outmatched. It took him a few seconds to absorb was he was seeing, then he reached for the handle of his walking stick with a hand that shook just slightly, twisted it, and pulled out the blade within. In a few steps he was across the room, and he pressed the tip of the blade into the man's ribs. "Unhand her, you cur!" he forced through his teeth.

The ruffian glanced over his shoulder and let Elizabeth go so abruptly that she stumbled back and nearly fell. "Now, now then," said the man, putting his hands up and backing away. "I didin mean no 'arm."

Darcy didn't even deign to answer that, just maneuvered the man back against the table Unconsciously, he raised an arm behind him, taking on a fencing stance. "Do you have any idea," he asked harshly, "what would be done to you if you despoiled a gentlewoman?"

"I jus' wanted a kiss," the other protested.

"You assaulted the daughter of a gentleman," he insisted, applying a little more pressure.

"I didin mean no 'arm," he repeated.

Just then there was a small shriek from the top of the stairs, where Mrs. Lorrey had finally appeared. "Joseph!" she cried. "What have you done?"

"Do you know this man?" asked Darcy, his brows furrowed and his lips drawn tight in concentration.

"He's my brother," she admitted, wringing her hands. "I told him not to come around no more. He's a terrible bad influence on Tom." She saw Elizabeth, standing with one hand cradled in the other. "Oh miss, he's never gone and hurt you, has he?"

"I am well," said Elizabeth. Her voice was steady.

Mrs. Lorrey marched down and faced her brother angrily. "Why do you always have to be bringing trouble on our house?" she demanded bitterly. "Mr. Darcy, sir, my family's always been decent, respectable folks, all except him. He about killed our mither with his ways."

"That's not true!" protested Joseph hotly.

"It is and you know it!" She turned to Mr. Darcy. "He's brought shame on me all my life. Ever since he was a boy he's been gettin' in trouble, and nothin' has taught him a lesson yet."

Darcy's eyes had strayed to her face as she spoke, and all at once the large man leapt at him, knocking the swordstick across the room. He was hopelessly outweighed but grappled with him, aware for a few moments of nothing more than his large hands and Mrs. Lorrey's scream. Then, as swiftly as it began, it was over. Joseph crumpled into a heap at his feet and he looked up to see Elizabeth, eyes blazing like a vengeful amazon, brandishing a heavy iron poker. His mouth dropped open.

"Oh, well done, Miss Bennet!" cried Mrs. Lorrey. "I've often wanted to do the same thing," she assured them.

Darcy shut his mouth with a snap. "Why in the blazes didn't you scream?"

Elizabeth looked at him in astonishment. "I beg your pardon?"

He took the poker from her almost roughly. "Did it even occur to you to call for help--to raise your voice at all? Or were you simply going to let him have his way with you while I never even knew you were in distress?"

"I didn't know where you were."

"Did you seriously think that I would have gone far? I was right out there"--he pointed with the poker--"talking to Tom."

She seemed confused. "But--how did he get in then?"

"They do have a back door." He gestured sweepingly.

Looking to her right, Elizabeth saw that, indeed, there appeared to be a back door to the small house, leading undoubtedly to an alley. She turned her eyes back to Darcy, who was still looking like a thundercloud. "I was about to scream," she said weakly.

"Oh, really? How--"

"Mr. Darcy?" asked Mrs. Lorrey.

He glanced at her impatiently.

"He's beginning to stir." Sure enough, Joseph twitched and groaned.

"Oh, good heavens!" said Darcy. "I'm not going to hit him with this again, if that's what you're hoping." He set the poker down and retrieved his sword from the corner. "We had best decide what to do with him."

Elizabeth looked dubiously at the body of her attacker. "He was drunk."

"A poor excuse." He turned to Mrs. Lorrey. "Since he is your brother, and it is you who must live either with or without him, I will give you the choice. If you wish, I will have him taken before the magistrate and prosecuted. Or, he can be left in the gaol overnight to sober up, and be released in the morning."

The lady didn't answer for some time. "They would hang him, wouldn't they?"

"He would be hanged, deported, or set free."

"I can't say." She wrung her hands. "I can't say what should be done. He's a mean drunkard, and that's the truth, but he's my brother. I can't tell you to have my brother hanged!"

"Of course you can't!" cried Elizabeth. "Surely, Mr. Darcy, there is another option!"

"There is deportation, as I mentioned. He would live, but his life would not be an easy one. Or I could try to have him prosecuted on a lesser charge. That would get him a whipping, or the stocks."

"He's had those before, and they didn't do no good."

"Then it must be deportation or nothing." Seeing her struggle, he spoke gently. "No one shall blame you, either way. He is, as you say, your brother, and childhood bonds can lead one to overlook a great deal."

Suddenly she straightened her back. "No. No, he's been given one chance after another, all his life, and he's done nothin' but take advantage. He's not learned better, and I can't have him comin' around and corruptin' Tom--nor doing harm to others." She looked at Miss Bennet. "You're not the first, Miss. None of the others could afford to take him to court."

Darcy's look had grown respectful. "I will take care of it, Mrs. Lorrey. Is there any way to get a constable here quickly?"

"I'll send Tom," she said, and went to call him. The lad had heard nothing of the rumpus within, and his eyes grew wide with excitement at the sight of his uncle on the floor.

"Is that a real sword? Cor!"

"Tom, I would like you to--"

"You laid 'im out real good, Mr. Darcy!"

"Actually, it was Miss Bennet who had that honor. Now, we need--"

"Miss Bennet?" Tom looked at her with new respect. "Did you really?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth, unaccountably blushing.

"Wait until I tell the boys!" He turned as if to run off.

"Tom!" said Darcy commandingly. He halted. "Tom, we need you to fetch a constable for us. Now. Do you know where to go?"

"Yessir. There's one that alwas patrols down the street over there, and the lock-up's just some blocks t'other way. I knows cause I watch 'im take 'im in all--"

"For heaven's sake, Tom," said his mother. "Stop jabbering and listen to the gentleman. Your uncle'll be awake before you know it, and then where will we be?"

"Will Mr. Darcy hold his sword on 'im again?" he asked hopefully.

Darcy drew himself up to his full and imposing height. "Tom. The constable. Now!"

When he had gone at last, Darcy looked at the ladies. "I wish you both to go upstairs until he is taken away."

"But--" protested Elizabeth.

"He could regain consciousness at any time. I do not wish to worry about your safety."

"What about your safety?"

"I have a weapon. I can handle him."

"Like you handled him last time?" She put her hands on her hips. "May I remind you that it was I who rescued you?"

"After I rescued you."

"Which suggests that it is unwise for either of us to be alone with him."

"That was before he was injured. He will be disoriented and likely have a headache of terrific proportions, while I will be calm and prepared. Your presence could only be a distraction."

"I have no intention of distracting you."

Darcy looked at her for a moment. "You always distract me, Miss Bennet," he said softly.

He found it rather gratifying that this sentiment discomposed her so much that she agreed to go upstairs without further argument.

It seemed an eternity before young Tom returned with a broad shouldered constable in tow. Joseph came slowly and blearily to consciousness, but the sight of Darcy's gleaming blade and grim face seemed enough to subdue him for now. Then Darcy's carriage arrived, and his horrified servants came hastily to his aid--all but the young maid, who threatened hysterics. By the time the ruffian had been carted off--in Darcy's carriage--Mrs. Lorrey had taken the girl upstairs, if only to remove her from Darcy's annoyed notice.

When Darcy came back from watching the carriage roll off, Elizabeth was alone, and sitting at the table. She looked vulnerable and young, and all the anxiety and stress of the last hour sent emotions rushing through him in uncontrollable waves. He opened his mouth and, "As for you, Miss Bennet," he began, prepared to bitterly castigate her on the subject of girls who accosted strange men while alone--to say absolutely anything that would prevent her from ever doing such a dangerous thing again--but broke off abruptly. For the first time he had noticed her hands on the table, fingers curled protectively around one wrist. In another instant he was by her side, peeling them back with a very gentle touch. When he saw the finger-shaped bruises, he swallowed hard.

Elizabeth eyed him uncertainly. Was he still angry with her? She realized that he had some cause.

For some moments he stood completely still then, with a sudden motion, covered his face with his hand. He was fighting for composure, she realized, and without thinking, turned her hand on the table into his other one, and clasped it. They remained like that for some moments, then Darcy lifted his head. "And to think that earlier I was boasting about my ability to take care of you!" he said bitterly. "Now I think that for your own safety you ought to stay as far away from me as you can!"

She sighed. "What happened was not your fault."

"You said that before, yet how is it, then, that I take you on a carriage ride, and the axle breaks, you are thrown to ground and suffer a cut and bruised face--and then I take you to visit a widow and her two children, and you are attacked and have your wrist brutalized?" His mouth twisted and he looked away. "Your uncle will certainly never let me near you again."

"You were right when you said I should have screamed. The only reason I can say that I did not was that I did not really believe that he would harm me--and I truly was preparing to scream when you came in."

"If I had remained in the house you would not have had to suffer such an indignity at all. It was unpardonable of me to leave you alone like that."

"You had no reason to believe me in danger."

He shook his head emphatically, as his early anger at her turned quickly on himself. He looked down at the bruised limb, turning it over again, more touched than he could say that she was allowing him that liberty. "Does this hurt?" he asked, sitting down and moving her hand gently.

"A very little."

"You may have a mild sprain. It would not be surprising." He sighed again.

Elizabeth reached as if to touch his face, stopping herself just in time. Seeming to recognize the gesture, he quickly caught her free hand and kissed the fingers. "I am well, truly," she said.

"How are you are not weeping or having hysterics? Any other woman would require a week at least to recover from such an ordeal, yet you sit here calmly."

She smiled faintly. "Perhaps it is further proof of my lack of refinement."

"Or your courage and strength of spirit."

Suddenly her smile deepened, and she raised an eyebrow provocatively. "Or perhaps it is just that I am still in a state of astonishment over your having a sword."

He flushed red. "My cousin the colonel gave it to me some years ago," he said. "Though I fear my performance was sadly lacking in comparison to yours." His gaze moved pointedly to the hearth. "I almost thought Hippolyta herself had appeared to defend me."

Now it was her turn to redden, though she looked pleased. "A woman does what she must."

"No, an ordinary woman does what she must. You, my dear Miss Bennet, do so much more."

She grinned back at him, and somehow their hands met again, and clasped. "I am so deeply sorry that this happened to you," he said with earnestness.

"I shall recover, I believe. I only wish you would not blame yourself too much."

"I fear that is a futile wish--the blame ought to be mine--but I will try not to distress you by constantly bemoaning my guilt, as some do."

"Yes, that would be considerate of you."

He had to smile, but it did not last long. "Mrs. Lorrey has put me to shame today, I think."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that she had the courage and clarity to do what I never have."

Elizabeth frowned, studying his face. "I don't understand."

"Wickham." He spoke the word softly. "He has no doubt done more harm than Joseph ever did, though with greater finesse. And I, who had the power to stop him, have rather chosen to pay his debts and keep his viciousness secret, for the sake of guarding my own privacy... and because I still remember when we were friends."

He looked so very vulnerable then, so handsome and sad and unexpectedly young, that Elizabeth would surely have done something bold and surprising which would have resulted in it all being settled right then, but Mrs. Lorrey came back downstairs with Hannah, and the carriage returned, so there were no more confidences that day.

Part 5: Flowers and Ruins

Posted on 2013-04-08

The Gardiners were aghast when Mr. Darcy related what had occurred at the Lorrey's house. Darcy humbly begged their pardon for not taking proper care of their niece, and while they assured him that they did not blame him, he found it difficult to fully believe it. Who would not blame him?

He was almost beside himself. He wanted desperately to speak to Elizabeth again, to profess his love properly and beg her to marry him--to offer his affection and name and fortune as some compensation for what she had suffered. But the very fact of her recent travails kept him silent. How could he press her, at a time like this--when her bruises had not even faded yet? Surely it would be ungentlemanly to importune her with his addresses. And yet it hurt to be around her and remain silent. While he did not know what answer she would give him, just to speak his feelings would be a relief, and she deserved to know how ardently he loved and admired her.

When Bingley and he called the next day, Darcy found that Elizabeth had been ordered by her aunt to remain resting in her room until dinner. He was glad of that, even as he longed to see her and to ascertain for himself that she was well. He sat morosely through most of the visit, making little conversation. Then he looked up to find Jane Bennet's soft gaze on him, and a few minutes later, she made some excuse, and came to sit near him.

"I am sure my sister would wish me to give you her greetings," she said.

"How is she?" He leaned forward in his seat. "Tell me, truly--you know her better than anyone else, Miss Bennet. How is she recovering?"

She smiled understandingly. "I am not sure recovering is a proper word, unless you refer to her very slight injuries. Lizzy declares that she is perfectly well, and that being confined to her room on a beautiful day in a seaside town is a punishment she has done nothing to warrant."

"Of course she would say so, but you must be able to see beyond that. I cannot imagine her surviving yesterday without some ill effects."

"I looked in on her shortly before you arrived and she was asleep, so I think that she was rather tired, but her spirits are excellent. Lizzy…" she hesitated. "You cannot expect Lizzy to react as other girls might. She is strong and brave, and she can never remain unhappy for long."

"You really believe her to be well, then?"

"I do."

He sat back, feeling a little reassured. Although he did not place the highest trust in Miss Jane Bennet's perceptiveness, her certainty was calming. The call ended shortly thereafter. As much as both men would have preferred to have remained for the day, the Gardiners had other things to do besides entertain their nieces' callers.

Miss Bingley appeared to be in a sour mood when they returned, but Darcy did not stay to hear why. Summoning Winker he went out again. He went by the Lorrey house to check on its occupants, and, having discovered the address of the local magistrate, called to give his evidence and discuss fobbing off the brutish Joseph on to some other poor continent. After that he went into the more fashionable shopping district where he acquired a shameless pile of bribes--trinkets and sweets for the children, French bon-bons for the ladies, and high quality cigars for Mr. Gardiner (who smoked them furtively in the garden when his wife was distracted). For Elizabeth he purchased the most luscious arrangement of spring blooms he could find, and had them delivered with a card bearing his initials. He did not trust himself to write more. Passing a jeweller's shop, he went in and could not help choosing one or two pretty things he thought would look well on her, while not knowing if she would ever be willing to receive them from him. Any fashionable young woman of the ton would regard such gifts as suitable homage, but Elizabeth would see a greater significance in them and, he knew, would not accept them unless she was willing to accept him too.

Thinking fondly of his sister, he bought a pearl hairclip for her, and asked that it be sent to her house in London. In the next shop over he found some pretty little boxes whose lids had been painted with scenes of the Morecastle beach, and, without noticeable hesitation, chose three, thinking that Elizabeth could not refuse to take one if the other ladies did too. Belatedly, and with reluctance, he returned for a fourth, knowing that it would be simply too rude to exclude Miss Bingley. While her recent actions had not left him feeling charitable towards her, she was a friend of some years, and had been a very gracious hostess to him last fall. He could not slight her so openly.

This orgy of spending having somewhat relieved his feelings, he climbed back into his laden carriage, and directed them to drive towards the ocean. There, he spent some time walking along the seawall, watching the waves crash and the seagulls circle overhead.

Back in her rented bedchamber, Elizabeth woke up. She lay on her side for a few moments, letting her eyes adjust. It was brighter than when she had fallen asleep, even with the curtains drawn. Checking the watch on her nightstand, she found that she had been asleep for quite three hours. It seemed Aunt Gardiner had been right when she said she needed rest.

As her eyes moved around the room they came to rest on a large vase overflowing with flowers; someone had placed it on the dressing table. They had not been there before. She sat up, and approached curiously.

It was truly a magnificent arrangement, and all the blossoms seasonal. There were lilies of the valley, pale and regal and spikey; some tall, white narcissi, with their yellow, cup-like centers; hyacinths heavy with crowding blossoms, deep purple pansies, and forget-me-nots like tiny blue stars. With a rapidly beating heart she touched the pansies and forget-me-nots. They were well-known symbols of fidelity and love--as was the ivy that trailed down the side. Something stiff brushed her fingers--it was a heavy, cream-colored card with her name on one side, and the initials F.D. on the other, all written in a firm, precise hand.

She remembered now that Lady Catherine had once informed them that her youngest nephew had been named after his mother's family, the Fitzwilliams. Fitzwilliam Darcy, she thought, tracing the letters. The name was as elegant and aristocratic as he was.

She had received flowers before, small bouquets from local boys after a dance. There had not been many, but enough that she did not feel it outside her experience. No man, however, had ever sent her anything like this, lush and vibrant and entirely extravagant. She knew he must still be suffering guilt over the events of the previous day, but it could not be only her fancy that told her he meant more by it. His behavior over the last few days had been so particular as to raise the hopes of any woman. In fact, she verily believed, as she fingered one velvety petal, that she had the power, if she chose, to bring on a proposal of marriage.

Throwing open the drapes, Elizabeth sat down at the dressing table and scrutinized her countenance in the mirror. It was now five days since the curricle accident, and the bruise on her right cheek was fading into splotches. To her eyes it did not look attractive, but then, Mr. Darcy had never found her beauty arresting. She could only accept his word when he had said he still found her appearance charming. Charming, she thought. Not handsome, charming. Brushing her hair out, Elizabeth pulled it up with a ribbon and wondered if that fashion could be considered charming.

"I say, Darcy," began Bingley almost as soon as he reentered the inn, "Miss Bennet and I were speaking today, and we would still like to visit those ruins we set out to see on Wednesday."

"No more curricles, Bingley," said Darcy wearily.

"No, no, of course not! With my sister here it would not be convenient anyway. We thought perhaps we could take the barouche, if you don't mind. Surely it would seat five."

"Are the Gardiners still set against going?"

"We asked them, of course, but Mrs. Gardiner said it really was impossible at this time. Mr. Gardiner does not wish to be parted from his family when a separation is expected."

Darcy thought about that a moment. "They really are terrible chaperones."

Bingley laughed. "I know, but that's convenient for us, isn't it?"

Darcy agreed without thinking, and then colored when Bingley laughed even harder. "Come now," persuaded his friend, "you need not pretend. You are as set on Miss Elizabeth as I am on her sister."

"Yes," he admitted.

"That is excellent! How long have you felt this way?"

"For far longer than I have been willing to acknowledge. And when we met in Kent, my feelings increased all the more, but she left before I could act."

"Did you know she was here?"

"No, not with any certainty. I knew she was going with her uncle to the coast, but that was all."

"Then it was the most marvelous of coincidences, for both of us."

Darcy smiled wryly. "Except that you have not managed to upset your Miss Bennet in a carriage, or to take her somewhere she might be assaulted by ruffians. She has emerged unscathed from your courtship so far, while Elizabeth has suffered nothing but disaster from practically the first moment we met them on the beach."

"Oh, certainly she does not regard it in that way! Why, if you ask me, Darcy, Miss Elizabeth likes your company much better now than she did when we were in Hertfordshire."

He frowned. "Was it apparent to you, then, that she did not like me?"

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that. She seemed inclined to be offended by you."

"Inclined to be offended," he muttered. And he had been inclined to be offensive.

Bingley went on, explaining the details of what he and Jane had discussed, and Darcy had little to do but agree. They would go the following day, provided Miss Elizabeth felt well enough. There had been some tentative talk of dining together that evening as well, but the Gardiners had felt that a quiet evening was desirable before an all-day outing, especially for Elizabeth. So Darcy and Bingley, Miss Bingley and the two Miss Bennets would all go together in one carriage tomorrow, with yet another picnic lunch stowed away. They would explore the ruins, eat, and return in a leisurely fashion when everyone was ready. "What could go wrong?"

"What could go wrong?" he repeated. "Do you remember our first trip out there?"

Mr. Bingley laughed. "Very well indeed. But we shall be very well prepared in case of rain--not that I think it shall rain--and for the rest, you cannot possibly think it will happen again."

"I think it all too likely that some other horrible accident will befall us."

"Nonsense! You mustn't let a couple of mischances spoil your humor. All will be well, you'll see. It shall be the most delightful day possible!"

Elizabeth certainly looked delightful, when they finally saw each other the next morning. She was wearing a hat he hadn't seen before, of blonde straw, with a wine colored ribbon that somehow made her eyes more vibrant and her skin more delicate. He found himself staring with fascination at where the ribbon fell, over the dark tendrils at her ear and the line of her jaw, down her neck.

Beneath the hat, Elizabeth wondered at Mr. Darcy's mien. He looked so solemn; she wanted to make him laugh, or smile at the least. She hoped the events of the last few days had not irrevocably convinced him of her unsuitability; after all, what kind of lady hit men over the head with pokers? Their eyes met and she smiled shyly at him; to her relief, his countenance softened noticeably, and he came to her side. "Miss Elizabeth."

She liked the way he said her name; it seemed not so ordinary as she often thought . "I hope you are well, sir."

"I am, but I have been very concerned about you." He looked at her penetratingly. "Did you receive adequate rest yesterday?"

"Indeed I did! I slept for so long I felt positively indolent and spoiled when I finally rose. And..." she paused, growing more self-conscious. "I must thank you for the flowers. They are"--she searched for the right word--"exquisite."

"Then they do you justice," said Darcy, and she felt suddenly breathless.

"All ready, now?" Mr. Bingley was as cheerful as ever, with Jane smiling sweetly on his arm.

They all clambered into the carriage and set off. The barouche was commodious enough to admit all three ladies across the forward seat. Somehow Miss Bingley ended up uncomfortably situated in the middle, but it wasn't so bad; she was almost amiable to Jane and nearly polite to Elizabeth. Across from them, Mr. Bingley was in high spirits, and even Darcy, though as composed as ever, smiled more than usual. Seated directly opposite him, Elizabeth felt an irresistible urge to try her power. He was not always sedate--she had seen him angered, seen him passionate, seen him act and labor and even fight a man for her sake. He was too calm now; she wanted to disturb him. And yes, though she hardly could admit it to herself, she wanted to allure him.

"I trust your journey along this road will be more pleasant than your last, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Bingley. The carriage shook violently as they jostled over dried mud and ruts.

"I do not know that the last was so very bad," she answered, and gave Darcy the briefest, but most flirtatious of looks. He had been about to speak, but paused, his own eyes widening. Suppressing a satisfied laugh, she turned back to Bingley and continued talking, but every few sentences she would cast Darcy another furtive, provocative look, sometimes very bold, sometimes through her lashes. He did not answer--did not speak at all--but sat in his place, legs elegantly crossed, one arm resting along the open edge of the carriage, his gaze fixed with focused steadiness on her face. This was something--to flirt with only her eyes, to converse with perfect sobriety with one man, while enticing another with glances. The drive took over an hour, and only when the inevitable silence fell did she venture a longer, more proper survey. The only signs of her success were his silent attention and a certain rigidity in his seemingly relaxed posture, but she knew all at once that she had done something that would have certain consequences.

The Bleydon ruins represented the remains of a fifteenth century castle keep, surrounded by a few peripheral structures such as a chapel and a stone-worker's cottage. It was mostly fallen down and over-grown with ivy, featuring primarily a single romantic-looking tower and some picturesque arches. Currently, carpets of bluebells and columbines, foxgloves and celandines filled every cool corner and sunny patch. The ladies could not help exclaiming over the prettiness of it all as the carriage drew up.

When Elizabeth exited, Darcy was there to hand her down. His fingers gripped hers tightly, but Miss Bingley was still waiting for assistance behind her. (Bingley had helped Jane out on his side and then promptly forgotten anyone else.) After giving her a long look, he turned back and did his duty, for which he was rewarded by Miss Bingley taking his arm. "Why, what a charming spot," she said. Darcy turned to Elizabeth, clearly wishing her to have the other arm.

She didn't mean to be contrary or coquettish, but delayed embarrassment swamped her and she could not interpret the expression in his eyes. Had she disgraced herself again by her brazenness? Her uncertainty, his proximity--it was all more than she could handle in the bright sunshine with Miss Bingley looking on. Declining his arm, she walked rather primly beside them, avoiding his direct gaze.

Darcy was exasperated. All his feelings of ardor and tenderness had been aroused to fever pitch by Elizabeth's unmistakable looks, and he had been ready to drag her to a secluded spot at the first opportunity. But now he was stuck with Miss Bingley on his arm and Elizabeth, in bewildering reversal, would neither touch him nor look at him. Bingley, blast him, was off wandering around with his Miss Bennet, blissful and oblivious, while he was left with his sister, and the most teasing woman on the face of the earth!

"Mr. Darcy," said Miss Bingley, as they wondered slowly amid the ruins, "I wonder if you can tell me the name of this lovely flower here. Your knowledge of botany is so extensive!"

He gave it a cursory glance, and his lips twitched. "I believe, madam, that that is Honesty."

"Well of course it is! I need not lie to compliment you!" She caressed his forearm and smiled intimately.

"He means the flower," said Elizabeth in her ear, and she jumped.

"I beg your pardon?"

"The flower. It is called Honesty."

Miss Bingley's bewildered gaze went from her amused eyes to the purple clusters to Mr. Darcy, who seemed to be looking anywhere but at them. "You are joking me."

"No," said Darcy, staring at something in the region of his toes, "Miss Bennet is correct."

"Well I never heard of a flower called Honesty. It is a most peculiar name for a plant." Her cheeks were flushed, but she held her head up.

"I believe it is not so common in the north as it is here," conceded Elizabeth. "Oh, look!"

The group all directed their attention through the next archway, where Mr. Bingley could be seen solemnly studying some pattern in the stones over the arch itself, while Jane read from a guidebook in her soft voice.

"Jane is addicted to guidebooks," Elizabeth said. "Any time we travel anywhere at all she buys at least three, and must read aloud the entries for every old building or interesting field we pass."

Darcy remembered that he had seen her with one at the menagerie, and smiled. His quest for Elizabeth's affections was necessarily bringing him into the company of her sister, and he found he liked Jane Bennet very well. She became more interesting on closer acquaintance. "She will undoubtedly do wonders for my friend's education. I do not believe I have ever seen him evince an interest in archaeology before."

"Oh, Charles won't remember one thing in ten later on," said Miss Bingley crossly.

"Perhaps not, but even that one may represent an improvement."

Miss Bingley took stock of his complacent expression and attempted to modify her attitude accordingly. "Dear Jane will be good for him, I'm sure. Shall we join them?"

Join them they did, and the group strolled about for a few minutes, weaving between shadow and sun, breathing honeyed air and touching ancient stones with fingers curious or careless by turn. Elizabeth wondered off on her own eventually, and Darcy was not long in excusing himself from Miss Bingley's side. After a short hunt he found Elizabeth standing in a tiny, crumbling chapel, staring at the engraved cross over the altar.

"You need your sister's guidebook." His voice echoed a little.

She started and turned. "It does not require a guidebook to explain the purpose of this place, or the meaning of that symbol."

"No," he agreed. "They are known to all Christians."

She turned back without answering, and he moved to stand next to her. "You're determined to drive me mad, aren't you?" he said conversationally.

"Mad?" She seemed startled. "You cannot think so. I have no such ambition."

An eloquently raised eyebrow was her only answer. She blushed vividly then, torn between mortification and gratification, and cast about for a change of subject. "Please tell me... that man--Joseph. Has it--"

"He has been remanded to prison to await trial."

"So soon?"

He nodded. "The magistrate saw him yesterday, after I gave him my testimony, and also my support for extradition over hanging. It will not be long--he will see a judge and jury within a day or two."

"Oh." They shared a sober silence. "It's disconcerting to think how suddenly a man's life can change forever."

"Yes, and even faster. Men have died with more speed."

Something about his tone caught her attention. "Your father. How did--forgive me, I should not ask."

Darcy smiled wryly at her perceptiveness. "He was thrown from his horse, riding out to see his tenants one day. They determined later that the beast had been stung by a hornet that got caught in the saddle blanket. One day I was in London, with no greater concern than which balls I should attend, and the next I was master of all Pemberley, and guardian to my sister."

"I'm so sorry." The sentiment came simply and naturally. "I had not thought before, what a heavy thing it might be, to be a man in your position. And I know your father was a very good man--my aunt has often spoken of it, since we met you again."

"He was everything kind and amiable," said Darcy. "I miss him often."

Elizabeth thought of her father, how dear he was to her, and how much she would miss him when he, too, was gone.

"I often wonder," began Darcy again, after a minute or so of silence, "how it would have been for Georgiana if my mother were still alive. My sister is... well, she has not your liveliness. Not that I would wish her to be like you, of course, but I fear she may have suffered for--" he paused at her expression. "No, no, I meant no insult!"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Of course I would not wish my sister to be like you! She's... my sister, and you're... not." He gestured futilely.

It was so hard not to laugh. "It's quite all right, Mr. Darcy. You need not explain." He began to look relieved, and she tried to keep a straight face while playing with her gloves. "I am well acquainted with your opinions on my inferiority--I lack true accomplishment, I am merely tolerable--"

"Enough!" he cried, recognizing the half-concealed smirk at last. "Must you insist on mentioning that remark again and again? What is it that you wish? For me to admit that you are the loveliest woman I have ever known?"

Elizabeth gaped and stammered. "Of course not! I--I--"

"Well, you are, Miss Bennet." He stepped towards her. "Although I may have been too blind to perceive it the first night I saw you, I began to admire you almost immediately afterwards, and since then I have come to think of you as, not only one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance, but beyond any question, the most enticing." He stood over her, clasping his hands determinedly behind his back, staring at her with those intense, dark eyes. "If I have been overly silent in your presence in the past, Elizabeth, it is because I have been too busy contemplating the expression in your eyes or the shape of your lips. If I have appeared cold or curt in my manner it was because I was restraining a desire to say and do things I should not. Your beauty has been a constant presence in my thoughts for months now." He seemed to lean a little closer, as if about to close the space between them. "Now have I said enough, or do you require further reassurance?"

Elizabeth's face was burningly hot by now, her eyes wide. Speechlessly, she shook her head.

"Good." He smiled slightly, ran his eyes lingeringly over her, and turned away. She looked around faintly for a place to sit.

The moment he began to move away from her, Darcy began to fear that he had been too forward, and that she would now avoid him like the plague. She had driven him to it, stubborn and impertinent woman that she was; it was intolerable that she should believe herself anything less than wholly attractive and enticing to him. But he was unhappily aware that in declaring himself so frankly he may have pushed her too far and lost the rapport they had established in the last few days.

As he emerged through the doorway, the figure of Miss Bingley appeared briefly through the trees opposite. Grimacing, he made good his escape, returning to where Bingley was still listening dutifully as Jane read something about Saxons and Normans--although Darcy noted wryly that his gaze, glazed and mooncalf-like, seemed fixed solely on the curls which caressed the narrator's ear. Miss Bingley reappeared shortly, but as the minutes went by without Elizabeth he began to wonder anxiously if he should have left her, and if he should go back. When she finally walked back through the arch, he breathed an audible sigh of relief and moved towards her without even realizing what he did. For a moment it seemed as if she wasn't going to meet his eye, but then she did, and smiled almost shyly at him. Relief washed through him.

All this time the footmen had been busy arranging blankets and plates and food, and now John appeared to politely indicate that their repast was prepared. He offered Elizabeth his arm, and saw with pleasure how readily she took it. Together they climbed the hill.

It was a delightful spot, under a spreading tree and just elevated enough to afford an excellent view of the ruins. The cold meats and cheeses, the pastries, the delicate strawberries and sweet oranges that left their fingers sticky were all well consumed. Even Miss Bingley seemed to mellow beneath her broad-brimmed hat, and much wit and laughter flowed.

"We ought to play a game of some sort," said Bingley lazily, as the plates were removed. "For I'm sure I shan't be ready for more walking for another half-hour at least."

"I know," said Caroline unexpectedly. "Let's all play a game of Consequences."

"Consequences? I haven't played Consequences in years."

"All the more reason to do it now! What better occupation at a picnic? Here, I shall direct. I even have an old letter in my reticule that shall do to write on!" She searched it for a moment, and produced not only a sheet of paper, half written on one side, but a pencil. "What order shall we go in?"

"I'll go first," volunteered Jane. Elizabeth, for her part, had little interest in what she viewed as a rather silly game, and she could guess from the look on Darcy's face that he felt the same, but of course neither of them could be so rude as to refuse.

"Excellent. Anyone else?" She looked around invitingly, and when no one responded immediately declared, "I shall follow dear Jane, and Mr. Darcy, you must go next, and then Miss Elizabeth, and finally you, Charles. Do you all recall what it is that you must write?"

Darcy cleared his throat. "You may have to refresh my memory as to the rules, Miss Bingley."

"It is very simple. Each of you write down something that I tell you at the top of the sheet, and then fold it over so that the next person after you cannot see it. There will be eleven entries in all. Then when we are all finished, I shall open the paper and read what you wrote like a story. The results are always most amusing, I promise you."

"We shall endeavor to amuse then," said Elizabeth.

Miss Bingley handed over the paper and pencil to Jane. "You must write down an adjective--that is a word that describes--for a man."

Jane looked at the paper, sighed a dreamy little sigh, and wrote down gentlemanly.

"Now fold it over," instructed Caroline, "and hand it to me. I am to write a man's name." She looked deliberately at Darcy and wrote down William. Folding it briskly, she handed it to him with a satisfied smile. "Mr. Darcy."

He took it gingerly. "What am I to write?"

"An adjective to describe a woman." She tried to look at him significantly, but his gaze had moved to Elizabeth beside him. Without hesitation he wrote teasing, and passed it to Lizzy. Their eyes met as their fingers brushed together.

"Miss Elizabeth, you must chose a woman's name," said Miss Bingley.

Elizabeth thought about that for a moment. Then, suddenly remembering what Darcy had called her, she put down Hippolyta, with a mischievous smile.

"And now you, Charles. You may write down the place where they met."

Bingley looked longingly at Jane's beautiful face. At a country ball, he scrawled.

"It is your turn again, Jane." She waited impatiently while Bingley slowly gave Jane the paper, getting lost in her eyes several times in the process. "Say what the man wore."

A blue coat, printed Jane, with another sigh, and gave the paper back to Miss Bingley.

"I will write what the woman wore." With some deliberation she wrote, an aurora silk gown trimmed with Brussels lace, and a saffron turban. It was what she had worn the last evening Darcy dined at their house in town. "And now, Mr. Darcy, you must tell us what the man said to the woman when he met her."

He took the paper without comment (and without returning her look again). They were getting down nearer the end of the sheet now, and he, using his knee as a writing surface, took his time. He looked rather grave as he folded it and handed it to Elizabeth again.

"Miss Elizabeth!" Miss Bingley's voice came out a bit sharp. "It's your turn to write what the woman said to the man."

Elizabeth's eyes remained locked with Darcy's for just a moment before she looked down. She held the paper in her open hand, a bit awkwardly, close to her face so that she could not be seen, and wrote against her palm. For some reason, there was tension in the sunny air.

Bingley was very enthusiastic in his writing--"You must say what the consequence of their meeting was, Charles"--and pierced the paper with the pencil three times before he was through.

"Oh, is it my turn again?" asked Jane. "Or is that all?"

"There is one more, but perhaps you'd prefer I took the extra turn." Miss Bingley reclaimed the paper quickly. "I did choose the game, after all. I," she announced, "will answer the question of what the world said." She wrote with a flourish, and smiled around the circle. "Now, shall we not open it and see what our story says? I fancy some might find the content most interesting." She looked significantly at Darcy again, but he missed it for a third time.

Bingley rubbed his hands. "I say, I'm quite excited about this now!"

Caroline unfolded the sheet, now creased in many uneven lines. In a clear, well-modulated voice she read aloud, "Gentlemanly William met teasing Hippolyta at a country ball. My, what an odd name choice, Miss Eliza." Darcy smirked and Elizabeth merely smiled. "William wore a blue coat"--Jane sighed dreamily again--"and Hippolyta wore an evening gown in aurora silk trimmed with Brussels lace, and an aurora turban."

"Somehow I doubt that," murmured Darcy, only loud enough for Elizabeth to hear.

"He said to her, 'If I had it all to do over again, I would do it differently.' She said to him, 'I should have looked harder--I should have seen who you really were.' And the consequence was, they were perfectly, rapturously happy together all the days of their lives. And the world said, 'It is a most fitting match, between those who are equals in every way." She looked up to find the eyes of both couples fixed only on each other.

The silence was broken by Miss Bingley. "Do you know," she said, standing up abruptly, "I do believe I'm growing rather warm. And I really should get out of the sun--unlike some I have a care for my complexion. If you'll all excuse me, I think I'll wait in the carriage."

"But we haven't even visited the pond yet," objected Bingley. "Miss Bennet expressly wanted--"

"I doesn't matter, I don't need to--"

"You may take as long as you please," said Miss Bingley coldly. "But I would prefer to sit in the carriage. I've had enough of dirt and insects for one day."

Watching her walk away, Elizabeth felt some pity for her, but did not know what to do. Her distress was of her own making.

"Perhaps we ought to visit the pond now," suggested Darcy.

They all agreed, and the gentlemen helped the ladies to their feet. Past the main ruins was a small path running between some trees that took them down to the pond. It was very pretty, with trees that overhung the bank, and thick rushes along one end where the water flowed out into healthy stream, heading towards the sea. A small dock stood in the water a little way from them, though there were no boats in sight.

The ladies made some pleased exclamations, and their swains obligingly followed them as they wandered about the banks, looking at the water and waterfowl, admiring the trees, and generally enjoying the unique blessings which nature provides.

Elizabeth paused by the dock. "I wonder if anyone ever uses this."

"Perhaps not any more, but once, yes. I'll bet there's some excellent fishing to be had here."

"Do you think so?" They walked out and peered into the water.

"Look," said Darcy, "in the shadows there--a fine, large perch."

"Oh yes, I see," she said after a moment.

"There are probably pike in a pond like this too, and perhaps the odd trout."

For a few minutes they walked around the edge of the dock, pointing out fish and turtles and one exceptionally fat frog who swam by. The quiet of the place was seeping into them, and the warmth of the sun and the glare off the water put them into almost a haze. Eventually they found themselves at the end of the planks, standing not more than three feet apart, just looking at each other. They had stood together on a dock just the week before, but it had not been at all like this.

"Miss Bennet," said Darcy, slowly. "Elizabeth..."

"Hi, Darcy!" Bingley called from the bank. "Come here and take a look at this, will you?" He and Jane were standing a little away, looking towards the sun.

The cheeks of both those standing on the dock colored, and Elizabeth looked away to compose herself. Darcy muttered an apology and walked off.

"Well, what is it, Bingley?" he asked crossly when he reached them.

He gestured towards some pale, veined flowers growing in the grass. "Darcy, didn't you once tell me that these are called cuckooflowers? I remember it because of the odd name."

Darcy looked at him incredulously. "And this is why you called me over?"

"Miss Bennet wants to know," said Bingley, as if that was all the explanation required.

"I always thought they were called Lady's Smock," added Jane.

"It's called by both names, as far as I know," he said, testy in his frustration. "Really, Bingley, what is this sudden mania for wildflowers, and why am I the person to ask? If you and your sister are so fascinated by the names of common field flowers, you ought to buy a book--or hire a gardener to travel with you! But as for me I..."

At this moment, a gallinaceous racket behind him drew the attention of the party to the events taking place on the little dock.

While waiting for Darcy to return, Elizabeth had found herself accosted by a trio of belligerent geese, who, having often been fed by visitors who came to the ruins, had grown very bold. Their heads came as high as her waist, and though she was at first amused at their approach, she quickly became alarmed as they crowded around her, honking loudly. One of them snatched at her reticule and she pulled it back, looking futilely for something to defend herself with. Another nipped at her skirt, and she gave it a swift kick, but stumbled back a step as she did so. A third nip sent her jumping back the other way--but unfortunately, there was no dock left. Her foot landed more than halfway on air, she teetered, tried to regain her balance and finally, before Darcy's horrified gaze, tumbled ungracefully into the water with an impressive splash.

"Elizabeth!" cried Darcy, and lunged towards the edge of the pond.

"Mr. Darcy, do not!" cried Jane. "I do not believe it is very..." her voice faltered as he practically flung himself into the water, "deep."

Indeed it was not deep. Elizabeth came up sputtering a moment later, hat limp and hair in her eyes. She floundered for just a bit before finding her feet. She stood up just as Darcy reached her, and found the water did not reach above her waist.

"Elizabeth!" he gasped, seizing her by the arms. "Are you hurt?" Her only reply was a hiccup, and a futile shove at the water and hair in her eyes. "Oh, my love..." murmured Darcy, and, without further ceremony, picked her up in his arms.

Such a gesture was not strictly necessary, as Lizzy was unharmed and quite capable of walking out, but she could not find it in herself to object. Instead she clung to him as, holding her tightly to his chest, he began to wade back towards shore. Wading through thigh-high water is never easy, and her added weight caused his fine boots to sink into the mud, but he struggled determinedly on, clutching his prize. When they reached the shore he collapsed on the ground, still holding her.

Elizabeth's hat, which had been so jaunty that morning, was soaked and drooping now; plus, it had an annoying way of getting between her face and Darcy's. She tugged at the ribbons and when they would not give way, pushed it backwards on her head, making an even greater mess of her hair in the process.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth," Darcy was saying, his voice full of emotion.

"Why?" His face was so near, his eyes so full of feeling, and she could feel his heart pounding so clearly, that without even thinking about it, she wrapped both her arms around his neck.

"I have led you into one disaster after another! I am a miserable protector!" If possible, he drew her even closer.

"It was the stupid geese," she said. "I hate geese."

"I hate geese too," he answered, and kissed her.

All this was observed by a highly interested Mr. Bingley and a blushing but also interested Jane Bennet. They would likely have continued in their observations, except that just then a step was heard on the path behind them. Their eyes leapt to each other's, both thinking the same thing.

"Your sister!" hissed Jane, and looked pointedly at the embracing couple.

"I'll head her off," whispered Bingley back, and then added, just before he turned, "my darling."

That one word was enough to make Jane forget all about her sister and lapse into a happy daze of her own.

On the grass, Darcy drew his head back slowly. Elizabeth's head rested against his shoulder, her eyes shut and her cheeks flushed and damp. She still had a mark where her cheek had been cut, surrounded by the mottled remains of the bruise, and her hair was in sodden disarray, but he cared not. "I am surely the most incompetent lover who ever lived," he said, "but I do love you. You must see that."

Her eyes opened, and sparkled. "I got your coat wet, I'm afraid."

"I don't care about my coat! Elizabeth, I'm trying to ask you to marry me."

That made her grow serious again. "You need not, just because I fell into a pond."

"I don't care about the pond either! Or at least, I care, but that's not why I'm asking." He drew back a little further, just enough so that they could really look at each other. "I came to Morecastle on a foolish, improbable whim, hoping to somehow find you--and I did. I've bungled everything since then--I bungled everything before--but it was always--"

"You didn't bungle everything." She removed one hand from the back of his neck and placed it against his cheek. It was still gloved, and the glove was wet, but he did not mind. "On the contrary, you have done what I would never have believed possible." He held his breath, waiting. "In scarcely more than a week, you have effected so material a change in my feelings towards you, that I think... I am almost certain... that is, I believe that I..." She paused an infinitesimal moment, then spoke the word, even as it rose, formed and clear and adorned with truth, in her mind. "...love you." Darcy inhaled sharply. "I love you," she repeated, and smiled tremulously bright.

He closed his eyes briefly, looked at her one more time, and, finally able to do something other than just look, Darcy once again lowered his head and sealed her lips with his own.

"For the last time, Charles, I wish you to stand aside and let me pass!" Miss Bingley had reached a high point of exasperation.

"I can't," he repeated doggedly.

"I don't understand why not! Has the pond dried up all of a sudden? Or is there something shocking about the color of its water, or the ripple of its waves?"

"No, I just think you would prefer to wait in the carriage, as you said."

"It's those Bennet girls, isn't it? They sent you to turn me back! Why? What do they hope to accomplish?" She strained to look past his shoulder.

"Of course it's not them, but I just think, Caroline--" his thought was unfinished as she seized a small opening and darted past him. "No, wait, I really must insist--"

He had just caught up with her and placed a restraining hand on her arm when she burst out of the path into the clearing by the pond. Her gaze, like a homing pigeon returning to roost, lit immediately on the object of its greatest interest, and the clearing echoed, ever so briefly, with a clear, high-pitched shriek.

Miss Bingley did not remain hysterical for long, but it was sufficient to bring the lovers to themselves. Elizabeth blushed furiously but Darcy continued to hold her protectively, until Jane stepped up and delicately reminded them both that Lizzy was soaked and Darcy not much better. Bingley succeeded in sending his shocked sister back to the carriage to request blankets and whatever else might be available to warm and dry them, then volunteered his own coat to wrap the lady. Since Lizzy had become belatedly aware of how immodest a wet gown actually is, she was very grateful to accept it, and to walk with Jane to a more private spot.

Still watching her, Darcy climbed slowly to his feet. Bingley clapped him on the shoulder. "My warmest congratulations!"

"Thank you."

"I'll bet you never thought you would owe your happiness to a pair of geese, eh?"

Darcy's gaze turned dark as he peered around the pond. "Those birds ought to be shot."

"I daresay they shall be, one of these days."

"We shall have no geese at Pemberley."

"Of course not."

"Except on the dinner table."

Bingley just grinned. Coming a little more to himself, Darcy glanced ruefully down at his wet leathers and muddied boots. "My man is likely to quit my service when he sees me. He only this morning informed me that the boots I wore last Friday will never be the same again, despite all his efforts. I thought he was going to cry."

"Tell him he's to have a new mistress, and I am sure he shall forgive you."

That made Darcy smile again, his whole countenance lightening as he glanced towards where he ladies had gone. "And you, my friend? When do you intend to secure your happiness?"

"Soon. That is, if certain of my companions can cease drawing attention to themselves."

Rather than taking offense Darcy only laughed and then trudged off, boots squishing, to where Miss Bingley could be seen leading John, his arms piled high with blankets and carriage rugs. After he had done his best to clean himself up, and Miss Bennet had helped Elizabeth to do the same, they all came back together before returning to the carriage. Although drier than she had been, Elizabeth was still wrapped in a large blanket, for warmth and modesty. They had let down her hair, which was beginning to curl wildly as it dried. She looked, in truth, so very desirable, that Darcy could not forbear to take one of the hands that peeked out of her wrappings, and press it to his lips. She blushed happily and grinned at him.

"It would be better for my peace of mind if you were less pleasing than you are, but I cannot regret it," he said.

"Oh! You shall make a fine husband, if you will but continue with comments like that!" she laughed.

"Then I am assured of success." He kissed her hand again.

On the ride home no one objected to the two damp travelers sharing a seat, and if their hands sometimes found each other beneath the blankets, not even Miss Bingley commented on it. Elizabeth was deeply happy and almost as bewildered, unable to care how she looked, but electrifyingly conscious of the man beside her.

She was not so absorbed in herself that she did not notice the eager glances Mr. Bingley threw her sister. As these glances were made over the crown of his sister's hat they were not very effective, but she smiled to herself, knowing it would not be long before Jane joined her in her new status.

When they at last arrived at home it was growing late, and the dinner hour was nearly upon them. There were exclamations from Mrs. Gardiner on seeing how wet and bedraggled Elizabeth was, and a great movement to get her upstairs without delay, but somehow she managed a moment nearly alone with him, in the hall, still wrapped in her blanket.

"I will write to your father immediately," whispered Darcy. "In the meantime, may I speak to your uncle?"

She nodded. "You will return for dinner?"

"If your aunt will still receive me."

"Of course she will."

"If she objects, I have bribes."

"Bribes?" She raised her eyebrows, but he simply smiled a faint, mysterious smile. "You continue to surprise me, Mr. Darcy."

"Well, thank heaven for that, anyway."

They contemplated each other a moment longer, constrained by the company around them from further action, then Elizabeth was hustled away by her aunt. All the way up the stairs she kept looking over her shoulder, and her last glimpse of Darcy was of him standing with damp and tousled hair, a dark line of wet still marking his trousers above the knee, several water marks on his coat, and his eyes fixed with certainty on herself. He was, she thought, the most beautiful man in the world.

Yes, reflected Elizabeth before her mirror as the maid combed the tangles out of her hair, Mr. Darcy was the first man, the only man in all the world, she could ever be prevailed upon to marry. "Jane," she said aloud to her sister, making her own toilette across the room, "is there any felicity in the world compared to being in love? How glad I am that we came here! How glad I am we did not go to the Lakes!"

Honesty
Cuckooflower
Consequences

Epilogue

Posted on 2014-01-20

"And so then what happened?" asked Mr. Bennet for the third time.

"Then I fell in the water."

"And that's how you got the bruise on your cheek."

"No, Papa, weren't you attending? I got that when the carriage broke down."

"Ah. When it got stuck in the mud, you mean."

"No, that was the other carriage."

"The other carriage?"

"Yes, the one in the afternoon, when it rained."

"What about the carriage in the morning?"

"It broke down."

"In the rain?"

"No, of course not. It only rained in the afternoon, when we had the second carriage. The first carriage broke an axle, and of course we could not ride with Jane and Bingley in their carriage, so we needed a second one--or a third one, I suppose. That's the one that got stuck in the mud--not Jane and Bingley's, but the third one. Or the second."

Mr. Bennet rubbed his mouth perplexedly. "Which day was this, again?"

"The day we went to the ruins."

"So it was the same day you fell in the water!"

"No, Papa, did you not hear me explain it? The carriages broke down the first day we went to the ruins, and I fell in the water the second day."

"So you went to the ruins twice?"

"No, of course not. Why would we go twice?"

Mr. Bennet opened his mouth, closed it again, and stared at her. "I thought you said you fell into a pond at the ruins."

"I did."

"Was this before or after your carriage broke down?"

"Well--after, I suppose, but our carriage didn't break down at all that day."

"Which day did it break down, then?"

"The first day."

"The first day of what?"

"Of our trip to the ruins!"

He grasped the edge of his desk firmly. "Look here," he said, thrusting his finger in her face, "was the carriage you used the second day that you went to the ruins the same carriage you used the first day?"

"No, that was Mr. Darcy's carriage."

"Which one? The first carriage on the first day or the second carriage on the first day?"

"The first carriage on the second day--the only carriage on the second day. There was only one. The second carriage on the first day was Mr. Bingley's."

"You told me you couldn't ride in Mr. Bingley's carriage!"

"Only the first one he had. It wasn't really his. The second one, the one that was really his carriage, that one we all rode in. That's the one that got stuck in the mud."

"In the afternoon?"

"Yes, see, now you begin to understand!"

"And so Mr. Darcy's carriage was the one that broke down?"

"Yes--but no. It wasn't really Mr. Darcy's carriage either. Mr. Darcy's carriage did not break down at all. We took it to the ruins."

"It seems to me," said Mr. Bennet severely, "that it took you entirely too many carriages to get to the ruins! And none of this even explains how you came to get bruises on both your cheek and your wrist."

"Oh, that part is simple. I got the first bruise--the bruise on my cheek--when the carriage broke down--"

"Which one?"

"The first one on the first day we went to ruins. And I got the second bruise--the bruise on my wrist--when that man attacked me and Mr. Darcy fought him off."

"And which carriage were you riding in that day?"

"Mr. Darcy's--the same one we used the second day we went to the ruins. Anyway, Mr. Darcy rescued me--"

"With his walking stick."

"With the sword in his walking stick, yes."

"That's what he hit him with?"

"No, Papa, I hit him.

"You hit him?"

"With a poker. Because he was attacking Mr. Darcy."

"I thought he was attacking you."

"He was! Did you not understand the story when I told you the first time? First he attacked me, and Mr. Darcy fought him off with his sword stick, then he attacked Mr. Darcy and I hit him with the poker. But only after he gave me my second bruise."

"On your face?"

"No, my wrist!"

"How many bruises do you have?"

"Only two."

He frowned at her, rubbing his mouth harder than ever. "This was before or after you went to ruins?"

"Both."

"Of course," he muttered.

"It was after we went the first time--or after we tried to go but did not get there--but before we went the second time, when we actually did get there."

"And you--fell in the water?"

"Precisely."

"Because you were attacked by geese."

"Yes."

"Did Mr. Darcy fight them off with his sword stick too?"

"Of course not. But I did hit one with my reticule."

"Was that as effective as the poker?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"But when, daughter," he insisted, leaning forward, "when, in the midst of all these carriages and bruises and attacks and trips to the ruins, did Mr. Darcy make you his proposal of marriage?"

"Oh." She blushed. "That was after I fell into the water."

"After you got back to town, you mean."

"No. Just after."

His brows rose. "When you were still wet?"

"Well, yes, but he was wet too."

"Why, did he fall into the water as well?"

"No, he jumped in after me."

"I see." He sat back. "Well, it is quite of a piece with all the other proceedings. Lizzy, if Lydia had come back and told me such a tale, I would not have believed her. That you, my most sensible daughter, should come back from a mere holiday at the beach bruised and battered, with stories of attacks, dunkings, upsets, and soaking wet proposals, makes me doubt that any daughter I have should be ever allowed out of the house again."

Just at that moment, Lydia ran into the library. "Papa, Mrs. Forester has invited me to go Brighton with her!"

"Brighton?" he exclaimed. "Are you out of your senses? No, no, no, no!"

"But, Papa--!"

"I said no! No Brighton, no beach, no carriages or boats or ruins or attacking geese! And especially no officers! As for you, Lizzy, you may be thankful that your Mr. Darcy did propose, or we would be having a very different conversation. Now be gone from here! I have books to read."

"Yes, Papa," said a smiling Lizzy, steering her weeping sister from the room. At the last moment she paused to dart back and kiss his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Begone, before I change my mind," he insisted.

As the door closed he began to mutter to himself. "The second carriage on the first day! The first carriage on the second day! Mr. Bingley's but not Mr. Bingley's. Geese! Mud! Sword sticks! Biggest bunch of rigmarole I ever heard in my life. Hmmph!"