The Prudent Motive By Malini

Beginning, Next Section

A little bit of context: Some of you are familiar with this story, completed about a year ago, and it exists in completed version in the BoI archive. However, it has been some time now since I have contemplated revisions to it, and I have decided now to undertake them, partly so that I might have more impetus to complete the sequel, which seems to be withering away. How extensive the revisions will be remains to be seen, but as the story largely exists as a fait accompli I can safely promise that it will proceed at a brisk and regular pace as compared to my other stories, and that it will not detract from my writing of them. The opening, obviously, is not mine but Miss Austen's; the point of divergence should not be hard to locate.

Part 1
Posted on Wednesday, 7 July 1999 "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Elizabeth's astonishment was beyond expression. She stared, coloured, doubted, and was silent. This he considered sufficient encouragement; and the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for her, immediately followed. He spoke well; but there were feelings other than those of the heart to be detailed, and he was not more eloquent on the subject of tenderness than that of pride. His sense of her inferiority -- of its being a degradation -- of the family obstacles which judgement had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit. In spite of her deeplyrooted dislike, she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and she was sorry for the pain he was to receive. He concluded with representing to her the strength of that attachment which, in spite of all his endeavors, he had found impossible to conquer; and with expressing his hope that it would now be rewarded by her acceptance of his hand. As he said this, she could easily see that he had no doubt of a favorable answer. He spoke of apprehension and anxiety, but his countenance expressed real security. When he had done, she tried to compose herself to answer him with patience, as she formulated her answer.

"In such cases as these, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned. But I cannot -- I have never desired your good opinion, and you have certainly bestowed it most unwillingly But as she prepared to speak, Mr. Collins' words echoed through her mind. "It is by no means certain that another offer of marriage may ever be made to you." And she remembered Charlotte's admonishment; indeed, she would be a simpleton if she allowed her fancy for Wickham to slight a man of ten times his consequence. Perhaps Charlotte was right after all; she had accurately predicted Mr. Darcy's attachment, while Elizabeth herself had been utterly blind to his ardour. And Elizabeth recalled her friend's other pronouncements; "Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance." Certainly she had been proven incorrect about Mr. Darcy's indifference to her; was it that her rational philosophy was a liability in making her way through an irrational world, or was it simply that in taking one false step she had misjudged him entirely? No, she could not have been thus far mistaken. And certainly she did not reciprocate his sentiments. To accept him would be an act of bad faith. It would not do. And yet it was inconceivable on so many levels that she do otherwise. She turned toward him. "I thank you, sir, for your assurances, and I would be honoured to be your wife," she heard herself say, and bit her lip in disbelief. The gentleman was hardly surprised at her response, yet its effect on him was marked. "Elizabeth!" he exclaimed, and stepped closer to her. Elizabeth was afraid for a moment that he might forget himself, but much to her relief he exhibited his usual impeccable restraint, and moved on decisively to the more practical matters at hand. "Longbourn is but half a day's journey from here. I will leave tomorrow to speak with your father. You would, perhaps, like me to carry back letters for your family?" Elizabeth nodded, thinking of their reaction to his news. That her mother would be ecstatic she did not doubt, but she was concerned for her father. She wondered how she would justify herself to him. He knew her too well to imagine her attached to Mr. Darcy, and he could not be satisfied to see her married without love. "You are to dine at Rosings the day after. I will have returned by then, and informed Lady Catherine of our engagement. She will.. she must receive you with all the dignity due to my future wife," he continued, as much to himself as to her. Having said thus much, Darcy excused himself. He said he would come by the next morning for her letters, and in bidding her farewell, he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. He then bowed slightly, and left the room. Elizabeth wondered whether he had noticed how she had flinched at his touch.

Part II
Posted on Thursday, 8 July 1999 As Darcy departed for Hertfordshire the next day, he contemplated his situation. He had had a hard time of it convincing his aunt of the necessity of his absence without explaining his motive, and he knew that he must face her ire when she was confronted with it. He would make the necessary declaration immediately upon his return, that much he had already determined. Aunt Catherine must know that he could never marry his cousin Anne; it was imperative that he deflate her hopes on that count. He was more concerned about how she would react to the news of his engagement. The objections she would undoubtedly raise he was well acquainted with; he had grappled with them and far worse for many months now. Aware as she was of the inferiority of Miss Bennet's connections, she was necessarily ignorant of the lack of gentility of her family. Not that she had any rightful cause to complain of them; Darcy was well aware that his aunt's manners betrayed a dreadful lack of taste. He blushed to think of how dismissively she had treated his Elizabeth. That could not continue. It was not his aunt's wrath that concerned Darcy; it was the fact that she might refuse to acknowledge his future wife as such. Elizabeth must be received with due propriety at Rosings; any less would belittle him as much as it would her. As he thought of the task that lay ahead of him, Darcy shuddered. He could not but think that the Bennets would welcome the match, but that he was voluntarily subjecting himself to such connections was still almost incomprehensible. He winced as he imagined Mrs. Bennet's raptures when she found out that her daughter was to be so advantageously connected. Still, the lady herself rendered these concerns inconsequential. He could not wait to show her his home; he had no doubt that he had found a woman fit to be called the mistress of Pemberley. As for her relations, he had seen her too often mortified at the behaviour of her family to think that she would embarrass him with reprehensible connections at his home. About Miss Bennet, Darcy was more concerned. He was fair enough to admit that her behaviour had never been questionable, and he would not wish to deprive his wife of the company of her favourite sister. But he feared that his friend had not recovered sufficiently to be able to meet her as a common and indifferent acquaintance. And he was by no means convinced that she returned his friend's regard. That she would be prevailed upon to accept him, he did not doubt; she was of a temperament as pliable as that of Bingley, and her mother's wishes would hold sway. And he did not wish to see his friend married to a woman who, as much as she esteemed him, was unable to return his love. In his own case, a similar concern could not hold. Elizabeth could not have been prevailed upon to accept a man whose feelings she did not reciprocate; he was fairly certain that she had refused her cousin, and he was aware that her mother had been eager to forward that match. Although the comparison between himself and the obsequious parson was a laughable one, it did show that Elizabeth knew her own mind. That she had been anticipating his addresses had been long evident in the archness of her manner when they conversed. He suspected that she had been privy to his comment upon first meeting her. "She is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me." How laughable that now seemed. He was sacrificing his every

avowed intention in seeking to make her his wife. She was the only woman who had held her own against him; he remembered that she had in fact refused him a dance at the Lucas's party. He had been given a taste of his own medicine time and again; she had never found herself at a loss for words. And for her habit of showing him his place decidedly, but always in a manner that could not but please, she had won of him his heart. That she was his equal he had long acknowledged; that he could not bring himself to rejoice in her connections was only natural and just. And although his doubts on that score continued, he was no less confident that he would be compensated for them by a partner who must fulfil his ideal of marital felicity. That she returned his sentiments was of course evident in her spirited manner, and while he had not been blind to her hesitation at allowing his slight embrace, he acknowledged that such a reaction was a natural consequence of her modesty, and that with a closer acquaintance she would learn to be more comfortable with the intimacies which must ensue between them. As the carriage pulled into Longbourn, Darcy was drawn out of his pleasant reveries. He stepped out, and was announced to the lady of the house. "Mr. Darcy! You are welcome to Longbourn," she said, with more surprise than warmth in her manner. "Good Afternoon, ma'am," he responded, with a slight bow, "if I might speak with your husband? It is a matter of some urgency." "He is in his study," she said, "I suppose he will see you there. Hil! Show the gentleman to Mr. Bennet, will you!"

"Mr. Darcy! How may I help you?" Came Mr. Bennet's inquiry. Was it possible that they were so entirely ignorant of his intentions! "Mr. Bennet," he said, "I have come to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage." Mr. Bennet was utterly flustered at his request. Mr. Darcy had a partiality for his daughter! Which daughter? He had not seen them in at least two months. "My daughter..." "Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I spoke to her yesterday, and obtained her consent to solicit your blessing." "You have spoken to Lizzy? You have been at Hunsford, then?" "My aunt, Lady Catherine, is the mistress of a neighbouring estate, Rosings Park. I have been visiting there these last several weeks." "Lady Catherine is your aunt, eh! I understand from our cousin that she is a lady of great condescension," the older man replied, with a twinkle in his eyes.

Although he concurred with this opinion, Darcy flushed to hear his relation so described. He decided, however, to return to the more pressing issue at hand. "As I mentioned, sir, your daughter has permitted my addresses, and it remains only for you to authorise our engagement," he said, rather shortly, and then collected himself, as he saw that Mr. Bennet remained unconvinced. "Almost from the first moments of our acquaintance, sir, I have known that we were ideally suited for one another, and in our interaction with each other I have found daily confirmation of this. I admit that I was somewhat reluctant to allow an attachment to form, but I have come to realise that without your daughter my life must remain incomplete. I have been so fortunate as to have gained her acceptance of my suit, and I must ask you for your blessing." Mr. Bennet was looking at him thoughtfully. Darcy continued to speak. "I can assure you, sir, that I am well able to maintain her in the style in which she deserves to live. My fortune is sizeable enough that she can want for nothing material, and my affection and esteem for her must ensure that she will be treated with the utmost consideration." Mr. Bennet was perplexed. He saw before him a man violently in love, that much was certain. That he was, in sense and understanding, suited to Lizzy also seemed likely. But Lizzy had been so earnest in her protestations of hatred. It was almost inconceivable that she had accepted him. But of course she must have, or Darcy would not be before him now. He supposed that she must have come to value this man. She could not have accepted him on any other terms. "I have no objection to make, Mr. Darcy. If Lizzy has accepted you, I would not wish to lay any obstacles in the way of her happiness. I must say, I dearly wish I could speak to her right now." "Thank you, sir. I assure you that I will do everything in my power to further her happiness. She did give me a letter for you, sir, and one for your wife." Darcy handed him the letters, and took his leave. Mr. Bennet perused his letter thoughtfully. Lizzy corraborated everything Mr. Darcy had said, but there was an unusual lack of liveliness in her letter. It was only natural that she should have some concerns about so important a decision. He hoped, though, that she would not regret her choice. "You are determined to have him, that much I can see. He does deserve you, Lizzy, I hope you know that. I know your disposition. You could be neither happy nor respectable unless you truly esteemed your husband. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage."

Part III
Posted on Saturday, 10 July 1999

Darcy sighed with relief as the carriage pulled out of the gates of Longbourn. He had of course spent the night there, since Netherfield was unoccupied at present, and he had not wished to slight his future in-laws by refusing their hospitality. But it was impossible to deny that in staying with them the objections to his impending marriage had became, if possible, even more starkly apparent without the pleasantly mitigating effects of the object of his affections. He had been taking a stroll in the park when Mr. Bennet had informed the family of the forthcoming nuptials, but even at a considerable distance from the house he could swear that the words "ten thousand a year!" in Mrs. Bennet's habitually high-strung pitch had reached his ears. For the rest of the day he had been subjected to kind of deference that could not but offend; the younger Miss Bennets had, apparently at their mother's urging, endeavoured to ascertain his tastes in food, a circumstance that would have amused him had he not been always aware of the fact that such was the behaviour of his future relatives. Mrs. Bennet had been too much in awe of him to injure herself in his eyes any further; her sister, the unfortunate Mrs. Phillips, however, had not been able to resist a most tasteless inquisition on the subject of his material wealth. Lydia Bennet had succeeded in offending as well; she had announced the engagement in the most unguarded of terms to some of the officers of the regiment who had come around to the house. "Lizzy is to marry that proud Mr. Darcy. Could you have imagined such a thing? He must be very rich, for of course she can not love him!" He had heard her exclamations as he returned to the house, and the words still stung in his ears. As the carriage reached the vicinity of Rosings, Darcy realized that it was still some time before the Collins and their guests were to come to dinner. If he were to head back to the house now he knew he would have to explain himself to Lady Catherine. He knew that if she learnt of his betrothal she might very well refuse to receive Miss Bennet. And Darcy was determined not to allow her this option. For his cousin Anne's sake he would not make the declaration after Elizabeth's arrival. But he would wait until such a time when it would be impossible to cancel the engagement for dinner. For the present, he decided to stop the carriage and walk back to Rosings through the woods. This would buy him the time he needed, as well as the solitude he required to fortify him for his encounter with his aunt. And the woods of Rosings held pleasant associations for him. In his childhood they had been his only recourse against the tyranny of his aunt, and in the last few weeks, he had, on many an occasion, encountered his beloved walking through these very groves. He had met her in her favorite spots, and observed her growing perplexity at his continuing silence. That was all in the past now. He had overcome his doubts, and spoken his affection. They need no longer meet as strangers, and part in silence.

Elizabeth had spent a troubled night after Mr. Darcy's departure. The short letters she had handed him the next day had been the product of much thoughtful consideration; she could hardly express herself with anything approaching honesty without giving much sorrow to her family, or at least to her father. Many a time did she contemplate putting an end to this farcical engagement. Mr. Darcy had acknowledged his doubts about the match; he would certainly recover from his disappointment quickly. But she held back from this drastic step, and she could hardly express why. Though she could not admit to herself that she felt for him in the way she was convinced a woman ought to for a man soon to be her husband, she had an unshakable conviction that she could not bear to exist in the world and have him think ill of her. At times she would come

close to believing that she could be happy with him; his affection for her certainly boded well, and she had never questioned his sense and understanding. Then thoughts of Jane would intrude, and Wickham's words would come back to her, and she would clearly visualise the misery that lay ahead in a life shared with him. But troubled though she was by these thoughts, they could not persuade her to abandon the course she had chosen. The next day, she confided in Charlotte of her engagement. Elizabeth had thought that they would never again be as close as they were wont to be after her wedding, but under the present circumstances she was ideally suited as Lizzy's confidante. Charlotte was extremely pleased for her friend, of course, and not entirely surprised. She rejoiced that Lizzy had not allowed her romantic notions to overshadow what must undoubtedly be in her best interest, but she realised that Lizzy, despite her acceptance, might not be entirely reconciled to the match. She tactfully avoided any references to the material considerations that Lizzy had evidently taken into account, but might not be proud of, and spoke of how well the two were suited. Charlotte was a pragmatist, but she was not blind to the less quantifiable criteria for choosing a partner in life that her friend had earlier defended. Though it had been in her own best interests to settle down with a man lacking in understanding, she was happy that her friend had found a man whose consequence was no more admirable than his sense. Charlotte, like Jane, had always had a value for Mr. Darcy; his pride she saw as a natural consequence of his position, and she had not been so entirely comfortable in their Hertfordshire circle to be blind to its deficiencies he must have perceived in it. Lizzy's liveliness she saw as a fitting complement to his gravity, and she had hoped for this conclusion ever since Lizzy had been persuaded to dance with him at the Netherfield ball. Lizzy was much comforted by her conference with Charlotte; the marriage as her friend represented it to her seemed more than endurable, and Charlotte's recommendation of Mr. Darcy was so glowing as to make her think that she might almost be able to love the man. Certainly, if Charlotte could be content with Mr. Collins, her own chances of marital felicity must be high indeed. Mr. Darcy's attachment could not be the imaginary affection that Mr. Collins had first professed to her, and then almost immediately diverted to Charlotte; his own account of how he had struggled with his feelings were a strong testimonial in his favor. And her inability to terminate the engagement must signify some return. Her feelings were entirely unsettled. As she thought back to their every playful interchange, it became overwhelmingly obvious that he had long been struggling with his feelings for her. Her own actions, however, she was unable to account for. That she had been piqued at his dismissal of her at the Meryton assembly she understood, and this sentiment had coloured her view of him was clear. But she realised that her views had not remained so one-dimensional; she had come to respect his abilities, although his manner she was never comfortable with. His words from only a few days earlier came back to her. "We neither of us perform to strangers." Was it possible that their awkwardness had sprung from nothing other than unfamiliarity? As Lizzy deliberated over her future, she found herself once again in the woods where she had often sought solace in these last few weeks. It was only a short while before they were to leave for Rosings. After tonight, there would be no turning back. Her engagement would be as good as public, and she could not break it without exciting

comment, and inviting speculation. And at this crucial juncture, her feelings were a most inadequate guide. She could not quite reconcile herself to the match, but she was becoming powerless to break it off. Her family already knew of the engagement, which necessarily meant that the news had spread all over Meryton and the nearby villages. And tonight, his closest relatives would learn of it; in fact, had perhaps learnt of it already. She smiled, thinking of Lady Catherine's reaction, but grew grave again as she returned to her own dilemma. And as she walked through the woods, pondering the most important decision of her life, Elizabeth Bennet gave in to a sudden impulse, and, not quite knowing what she did, she wept from an uncertainty more troubling than any grievance she could name.

Strolling through the woods, Mr. Darcy found himself drawn once again to the nook Elizabeth had informed him was her favorite. It was, indeed, ideally suited to solitary reflection, although he could not but think of it without seeing her there with him. There were obstacles, no doubt, to their future happiness still, but the most important had been removed. Inevitable though his vacillation had been, he realized now that he could not have acted otherwise. If he had squandered precious time in reaching this conclusion, he would have a lifetime to make it up to Elizabeth, and have always the comfort of being secure in his decision. All that remained now was to announce his intentions forth to the world, and to carry them forth to fruition. He found himself almost anticipating his interview with his aunt. Whatever her reaction tonight might be, and he had no doubt that her opposition would be violent, she would not be able to prevent the wedding. His step quickened as he approached the happy spot, and his mind was agreeably occupied on a pair of fine eyes. So entranced was he in his mind's eye, that he very nearly did not observe the sight before him. Elizabeth stood there, a very short distance away, weeping piteously. "Miss Bennet,... Elizabeth," he said, and reaching towards her, he cradled her in his arms. She was yet to remark on his presence, and continued to shed her tears on his chest. And even as he realised that she must be suffering grievously, he knew he would not have it any other way, than that he should be there to hold her as she wept. He let her cry, and waited for the explanation that must follow once she had dried her tears. Elizabeth hardly knew what she did. She had not noticed his presence until he had reached for her, and for some minutes afterward, she continued to weep, unable to collect herself. As her tears began to dry, however, she began to see the impropriety of her situation. He had not interrupted her; for this she was inexpressibly grateful. But though he had not pressed for one, he would undoubtedly expect an explanation, and she had none to give. "Mr. Darcy, I... I did not see you coming," she said as she drew back. "Excuse me." She met his eyes once more, helplessly, not knowing what more to say, then looked away quickly. And with that, she fled in the direction of the parsonage. Darcy looked on, mystified.

Part IV
Posted on Tuesday, 13 July 1999 Charlotte was exceedingly puzzled. Lizzy had returned from her walk visibly shaken, with only minutes to dress for dinner at Rosings. Any confidences she might have been willing to share was necessarily postponed because of Mr. Collins' plaintive entreaties for a punctual arrival at Rosings. Her friend was very far from her usual self, but she had declined Charlotte's offer that she remain behind at the parsonage again. So evidently she was prepared to be presented as Lady Catherine's future niece. But such a presentation was yet to be made. It was obvious from Mr. Darcy's countenance that his affection for her friend continued unabated, but it was equally apparent that he was as worried about her as Charlotte herself. She was at a loss to account for the source of Lizzy's anxiety, or for Darcy's silence. She realised that the one must have brought about the other, but she could not imagine what the matter might be. Lizzy could not have broken off the match, or she would not have subjected herself to this ordeal. And surely there was no necessity for a secret engagement. Mr. Darcy possessed his fortune independently, so there could be no financial concerns. That his aunt would decry the connection seemed almost certain, but there was no real possibility of altering her opinion, and Mr. Darcy, having made an offer to Lizzy, was probably willing to brave her displeasure. Mr. Darcy continued discomposed. After his encounter with Elizabeth in the forest, he had found himself unwilling to make the necessary announcement to his relations before once more consulting with her. Unlikely as it was that she had any serious misgivings about the match, he found himself dreading the possibility that she might have reconsidered her opinion. He was glad that she had decided to come to Rosings tonight. It would have been intolerable to have speculated about her absence; as it was, the image of her fleeing from him, teary-eyed, was etched into his heart. It was evident that she was not yet entirely recovered from her outburst, but he also detected her puzzlement. She was evidently wondering at his silence, but she had to realize that he needed some explanation for her outburst. He found himself wondering how he could contrive an opportunity for them to exchange a few words privately without attracting the attention of their companions. It was Charlotte, however, who decided that the present situation could not continue, and set about taking the necessary steps to remedy it. As far as she was concerned, any delay would only breed anxiety and confusion. It was essential that Lizzy talk things over with Mr. Darcy; he was obviously the source of her discomfiture. And if they proved unwilling to utilize her opening, she would at least have the opportunity to extract Lizzy's confidence on what was troubling her. Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation, she said, "You haven't had an opportunity to look at the maze here at Rosings, have you, Lizzy? It is one of the most remarkable features of the Park. With your permission, Lady Catherine, perhaps we could take a turn there before dinner?" "My dear Charlotte," came her husband's reproof, "I should be glad to take cousin Elizabeth at any other time myself, but do consider. Dinner..." "Indeed, Mrs. Collins, you must show your friend around the park. Her complexion is quite pale; she would undoubtedly benefit from the exercise." Lady Catherine's

peremptory response found Mr. Collins turning his reproofs inward. He silenced himself with an exaggerated gesture. "Will you permit me to join you? I would not like you ladies to get lost inside so soon before nightfall. The maze is fairly intricate, and it is best that you are accompanied by someone experienced at finding his way through it." Darcy was grateful for Charlotte's opening. "I cannot contest that Darcy is an old hand at the maze, but I recommend that you allow me to join you as well. My cousin is as likely to deliberately throw you off as to guide you through it," Colonel Fitzwilliam rejoined. He was glad of any opportunity to escape his aunt's society, and included himself in this little excursion. The colonel had thought that he would accompany Miss Bennet, and was a little surprised when Darcy claimed that honour. He went up to Mrs. Collins, therefore, and offered her his arm. His surprise did not escape Charlotte, but she accepted, and they followed the other couple out of the french windows. "I see, Colonel, that you are disappointed in my society. But perhaps you ought to make the best of it. My friend and Mr. Darcy do not seem inclined to wait for us." She opened, cautiously, when they were out of earshot. He smiled disarmingly. "You mistake me, Mrs. Collins. I am surprised, that is all. Darcy has seemed less than eager to renew his acquaintance with Miss Bennet. I was wondering at his change of heart, although it might be more apt to wonder at his delay in approaching her." His reply left Charlotte uncertain as to his information. "Approaching her?" she asked. The colonel considered her question. Darcy had confided nothing in him, but he had his suspicions. "I only meant that they have sought each other's society very little. When Darcy spoke of her in London, I had assumed a much closer acquaintance." He stopped, wondering whether he had said too much. Charlotte had by now realised that the Colonel was not in Mr. Darcy's confidence, but she still hoped to learn more about his cousin's intentions. "Our social circle in Hertfordshire was very limited. They were much thrown together, but one could hardly have said that they sought each other out," she said, staying on safe ground, but reluctant to abandon the subject. "But I thought you knew this. Lizzy complained to you of your cousin's slight, did she not?" she added, smiling. Fitzwilliam chuckled, recalling her arch manner, and his cousin's discomfiture.

"Indeed she did. Perhaps we had best rejoice that they seem to have made up, then? I'm glad Darcy is remembering his manners; he is rather too apt to be shy in company. He does have the most extraordinary exchanges with your friend, though. I'm sorry I cannot eavesdrop on them." "In that case, Colonel, I'm glad I'm here to remind you of your manners." They laughed at Charlotte's rejoinder, and continued on companionably. But despite all of the ease in their interchange, his companion turned his own thoughts in a rather grim trajectory. He could not but wonder at her marriage to such a ridiculous husband, and the question nagged at him whether he would ever have to settle for so desperate a match.

Elizabeth and Darcy were well into the maze before either of them breached the silence. The one was too embarrassed to bring up their last encounter, and the other waited still to hear what his companion might have to say. At last she rounded up her courage and spoke, knowing that her words must be inadequate explanation, but hoping that he would ask no more. "Mr. Darcy, about this evening. Things have progressed rather suddenly, and I was overcome. I did not mean to importune you as I did." "It is I who ought to apologize, for bursting upon you as I did. I hope you will forgive the liberty, but I could not bear to see you in such a desperate state." She coloured slightly, and he continued, suddenly apprehensive, "You do not have any misgivings, I hope. If you would like to be released from our engagement..." Elizabeth held her breath for a moment. There could be no turning back after this. But had not affairs progressed too far already? She thought of her mother's response to this refusal. If the loss of Mr. Collins had been felt so deeply, what would be said now? By now all of Hertfordshire had probably had word of the match. Lizzy had never worried about what people would think of her, but to be surrounded by the gossip that must result if the engagement were to be publicised and then broken was not to be endured. And Mr. Darcy himself was lately so different. He had been uncommonly kind to her in the forest, and even now, his sentiments were surely irreproachable. Elizabeth could not repudiate the compliment of such affection; at that moment, she was almost convinced that it might be possible that she return it in kind. "I would not, sir. I am sorry to have given you cause to doubt my commitment. It is just that the thought of having to leave my home, and my family..." The light in his eyes on hearing her reply was all that any woman could have wished for in her professed lover, and his reply must also be deemed entirely satisfactory, although the most discerning might have noticed some slight hesitation in his manner. "I hope you do not think that I would ever wish to separate you from your family. They will always be welcome at Pemberley."

He took her hand in his and continued. "Elizabeth, it is my particular wish that you and my sister grow to be as close as sisters. She has not been in company much, and might perhaps be thought proud, but it is only her shyness which prevents her from expressing her amiability." Elizabeth wondered this was not an apt description of the brother as well, as he went on, "I know she wishes to make your acquaintance, and I hope to accomplish the introduction as soon as may be. I do not think it too much to hope that your own lively disposition may be a beneficial influence for her." "I look forward to meeting her." she replied, sensible to the compliment. They had reached the center of the maze entirely oblivious to their surroundings. "I have been remiss indeed as a guide." he remarked, with a small smile, "Perhaps you will be so kind as to lead us out of here." Elizabeth wondered at his easy manner, and found herself replying in her habitual tones. "That will not do at all. This must be the treachery the Colonel warned us of. I must decline the honour, sir; I had rather be escorted by an experienced gentleman than drag him around and have him laugh at my every misstep." He smiled at her as he offered her his arm once again. "So be it, madam." His gaze grew deeper as he looked penetratingly into her eyes. "You have made me a very happy man, Elizabeth. I hope I never give you cause to regret it." "Shall we return? Lady Catherine awaits." he continued, in a more collected manner. "I apologize for not having declared my intentions to her earlier, but after I met you in the forest, I could not say anything before I had ascertained your views on the matter. It shall be rectified just now, although it must be more awkward for cousin Anne, and myself. Still, the announcement must be made; Lady Catherine must acknowledge you." As they walked back to the house together, Elizabeth was uncommonly silent as she reflected on her situation. She was beginning to feel that she might have been very fortunate in her choice of a partner. Now that he had acknowledged her as a part of his life, Mr. Darcy's manner had lost its inscrutable quality, and gained an openness that she was drawn to. It was gratifying that her own open temper had thus influenced him, and that he had been willing to forego his prejudices against her and her family even thus far. And yet, she realised, she could not be entirely content. There was still an element of restraint between them. Elizabeth could not be entirely open with such a man; she felt as though he were judging her constantly, and that to fall short would be to risk losing his affection. And there was another matter that caused her no little concern; as she began to understand the extent of his feelings for her, Elizabeth was realising that in spite of her growing attachment, she could not match the intensity of his ardour. And once again she contemplated breaking off the match, but this time it

was not her own discontent that motivated her, but rather, her realisation of the inequity of their mutual attachment.

Part V
Posted on Thursday, 15 July 1999 As they emerged from the maze, Elizabeth and Darcy found Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam waiting for them. The colonel, thinking over his conversation with the parson's wife, and observing the demeanor of her friend and his cousin, was beginning to put the facts together, but nothing could have prepared him for the announcement that followed when they returned to the drawing room. While the others returned to their seats, Darcy and Elizabeth remained standing directly in front of the entire company. It was not until all eyes had turned in their direction inquisitively that Darcy began. "Aunt Catherine, I have an announcement to make. Miss Bennet has consented to be my wife, and we should both like your blessing." His quiet, understated demeanor was belied by the fire in his eyes. He was entirely conscious of the irony in his statement; he had no expectation of a blessing; he knew he had had issued an ultimatum of sorts. But it would not do for his wife to be dismissed by his aunt. He was determined to extract an acknowledgment, but he expected to have to battle for it. He was not disappointed. "That is absurd. I wonder that such a girl should have been able to trap you simply by dragging you into the shrubbery, but it is immaterial, for you are engaged to Anne." Lizzy drew in her breath sharply, and was about to respond when she heard Darcy speak. "I will not have my future wife spoken of in such a manner. Miss Bennet has not trapped me. My feelings for her of long standing. And there is no bar to the match. We have received the blessing of her parents, and there is no one to speak for me save myself." "And what of your mother's word? It was her dearest wish as well as mine that you and Anne would some day marry." "My mother would have wanted me to behave in a manner most conducive to my own happiness, without reference to the idle speculation she may have indulged in during my childhood, for I am certain that she meant it as no more. I am sorry if this causes my cousin some pain, but I have long known that we could never marry, and I suspect that her views on the matter are no different from mine."

"And so you have determined to wed a country girl of few manners and no breeding? This is how you discharge your responsibility to your family? Is this to be borne? Are the shades of Pemberley to be thus polluted?" "I will trouble you once again, Aunt Catherine, to remember that you speak of the woman who is to be my wife." Seeing that she was making little headway with her nephew, Lady Catherine deigned to turn to the lady under discussion. "I see you have cast your net quite well. I congratulate you on your conquest. Since my nephew will not listen to reason, I suppose I must persuade you, and I must add that I am not in the habit of brooking disappointment. This is an advantageous match indeed, but honour, decorum, prudence -- nay, interest, forbid it. Do not expect to be noticed by family or friends. You will be censured, slighted, and despised by everyone connected with him. Your alliance will be a disgrace; your name will never even be mentioned by any of us. If you were sensible of your own good, you would not wish to quit the sphere in which you have been brought up." Elizabeth, who had been standing by bristling with indignation in hearing herself spoken of in such a manner, could restrain herself no longer when directly addressed. "In marrying Mr. Darcy I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman's daughter. So far we are equal. And the misfortunes you have described are heavy indeed, but the wife of Mr. Darcy could, on the whole, have nothing to repine." "Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! Is this your gratitude for my attentions to you? Take heed, Fitzwilliam. This is the heartless creature you mean to make your wife. She refuses every claim of duty, honour, and gratitude. Has this shameless display brought you to your senses at last?" "Miss Bennet has said no more than I might have myself." Darcy, though slightly alarmed that she should speak thus to his aunt, was in fact gratified at the words of his affianced. Any last shreds of regret he might have had about the match were being laid to rest as he observed his aunt's shameless display. For the first time it struck him that his family and hers were not so entirely different. "I regret that you cannot take pleasure in our alliance, but I must ask that you acknowledge it." "I will do no such thing, Fitzwilliam. You must reconsider your responsibility to your family. Young men often suffer such lapses in judgment. When you realise your folly you will not hear me chastise you," she finished graciously, and turned away. Darcy was not at all inclined to test this particular resolve of his aunt's, although had he stopped to consider it he would have been very doubtful of her promise. "Then we can have nothing more to say to each other. Come, Elizabeth." Without waiting for any further response, they quit the room. Colonel Fitzwilliam hurried after them to offer his congratulations and his support. Anne was left looking

rather paler than usual, although she was by no means displeased at her cousin's pronouncement. Mrs. Collins' worried gaze followed her friend out into the garden, although she stayed by her husband's side as he attempted to console his noble patroness as best he could.

Part VI
Posted on Saturday, 17 July 1999 Having escorted Elizabeth back to the parsonage, Darcy waited in the parlour, contemplating the events of the night. He could not be content at the outcome, although he knew that his aunt had forced his hand. He had not intended for matters to come to such a juncture, and had hoped to have been able to extract an acknowledgment from her. And yet, he had been nothing if not moderate in his statements; it was she who had chosen to rebuff his every attempt. Perhaps if Elizabeth had not spoken.... He forced the thought to remain unformed. He could not reprove her for defending herself from such a vicious attack. The fault was his for having failed to approach his aunt in her absence. But even so, the outcome would not have been so very different. He would not have borne such accusations any more than she had been able to, all the more so because he could not entirely discount them. And yet, his response had only served to make her threats more real. He did not underestimate his aunt. She would do everything in her power to influence the family and his social circle against the match. Elizabeth's connections would necessarily be held against her; the additional circumstance of having alienated his aunt could not bode well for her. He repented of his anger; had he not chosen to turn his back on her there might have been a possibility of gaining some form of recognition. Still, he had weapons of his own to counter his aunt's offensive. After all, Elizabeth would have Pemberley behind her. After tonight, he could remain no longer in Rosings. He would remove to London immediately. Elizabeth, too, did not wish to importune her cousin and her friend by remaining long at the parsonage. That Mr. Collins would be uncomfortable harbouring in his house the object of his patroness's derision was inevitable, and Elizabeth did not want to make Charlotte's position any more awkward than it already was by virtue of their friendship. Knowing that she would be unable to arrange conveyance, he had felt bound to assist her, and they had arranged that he should take her to her relations in London. Even that arrangement could not meet with his entire approval, but for the moment the address of her London relations had to be a secondary consideration. He took comfort in thinking that she would never have to live in Cheapside again. Colonel Fitzwilliam had agreed to join them so that their departure together would not savour of impropriety. Darcy was not willing to risk Elizabeth's repute; their marriage would excite enough gossip even as the circumstances stood. As Elizabeth hurriedly packed her belongings upstairs, she too was reflecting on the events of the night. On their walk through the maze, for the first time, she had allowed herself to contemplate the possibility of marital felicity with Mr. Darcy, but the subsequent battle with Lady Catherine had done a great deal to dispel this vision. She had felt compelled to stand up to that lady, but she was no less aware than Darcy of the meaning of her rebuff. She had, in fact, been a little surprised to see him so eager

to stand up for her. It was not as though he and his aunt disagreed. After all, he had made it patently clear to her in his proposal that he did not consider their circumstances to be at all equal. But of course the insult to her now extended to him as well, and he had been compelled to defend himself. As Elizabeth contemplated her future, she realised that now, finally, she had reached the point of no return. He had been willing to go so far as to sacrifice his relationship with his aunt for her sake. For her to refuse him now would be expose him to the cruelest mortification, and this she could not do to him. As her doubts began to flow back into her mind, Elizabeth made a valiant effort to crush them. She thought back to his kindness to her in the forest, and his tender expressions as they had walked together, but her fickle memory now pointed out other circumstances. She thought of the unstated sorrow and resignation that had come to characterise Jane's letters, and the sincere regret with which Wickham had told her the story of his betrayal. Could these be the actions of the man who had looked into her eyes only a few hours ago and told her that he would never give her cause to regret linking her destiny to his? There was a voice within her that told her that it could not be so, that there must be some circumstance she was ignorant of, but as she thought back upon their acquaintance she saw there could be only one rational explanation -- that the man she was to marry was in fact the proud creature she had always supposed him to be, and that his recent tenderness and defence of her sprung from the fact that it would not suit his dignity that his future wife be treated otherwise. But the compliment of his affection was still strongly felt, and the transformation that had been wrought on her own feelings so recently had not yet worn off. Lizzy could not bring herself to humiliate Darcy by now refusing him. Essaying still to vanquish her lingering doubts, Lizzy concentrated on the short note she would leave for Charlotte, making her apologies for curtailing her visit, and informing her of her immediate plans. As she reviewed the letter, she noted with satisfaction that it was tolerably cheerful. She did not want to add to Charlotte's worries; these next few weeks would be hard enough for her between tending to her husband's plight and that of his patroness. She sealed the letter and left it with the housemaid, to be delivered to Charlotte upon her return from Rosings. She then joined Darcy downstairs. Colonel Fitzwilliam soon arrived from Rosings with his own effects as well as his cousin's, and they all departed for London together.

Part VII
Posted on Tuesday, 20 July 1999 When they finally drew into London, it was very late indeed. Elizabeth, exhausted after all the day's events, tried to sleep to fortify herself to meet Jane and the Gardiners. Her efforts were not entirely successful; she could sleep only fitfully, and it brought her little comfort. Darcy and the Colonel were both awake, though they spoke little, considerate for Elizabeth's rest. Darcy was glad for the silence. His eyes were on Elizabeth for the entire duration of the journey, studying the play of moonlight and shadow upon her features. He seemed entranced, and his thoughts seemed very far away, although it was obvious which way they actually turned.

The colonel was studying both of his companions. Although he had suspected Darcy of a partiality, he had been entirely unprepared for these developments. He had never known Darcy to be abrupt; he was wont to deliberate at length on any small decision. That he would take a step of such magnitude with alacrity was inconceivable; Fitzwilliam wondered how long thoughts of Miss Bennet had tormented him before he had allowed himself to speak. His defiance of Lady Catherine was equally shocking, and his disavowal of her favour entirely unprecedented. Fitzwilliam had often teased his cousin for his refusal to stand up to their aunt, and had predicted as the outcome Darcy's wedding to their unprepossessing cousin. But Darcy had outdone himself; he had stated the facts of the matter, and refused entirely to mollify the old dragon. Her expressions had been unpardonable, undoubtedly, but it was difficult to imagine that he had intended to renounce her favour. Fitzwilliam eyed his cousin remorsefully, and wondered whether he had hoped to bring Lady Catherine around. Now, of course, it was utterly impossible; there was no turning back from such a gesture as he had made in walking out of Rosings. A smile sprung unbidden to his lips as he reflected upon it; what an eloquent gesture it had been! For the first time in her life, Aunt Catherine had found herself entirely unable to speak. The obsequious parson had attempted to fill the silence with his expressions of apology, until he trickled into silence under his patroness's glare. Fitzwilliam had been glad to leave them and follow his cousin into the lawn. He only hoped that Darcy was not now remorseful about the projected match. Surely there could be no cause for such a thought; he could hardly regret his aunt's disapprobation when he had won such a prize as Miss Bennet. Fitzwilliam wryly admitted to himself that he could not but be a little jealous of his cousin's good fortune. To love such a woman, and to be certain of a return, must be the cause of the greatest felicity. And since the woman in question was Elizabeth Bennet, there could be no doubting a return. She was not a woman to covet his cousin's wealth. He hoped his cousin realised how lucky he had been to gain her favour; his manner, certainly, had left something wanting. That, however, had undoubtedly changed by now; Darcy was expressive enough with his intimate acquaintances, and this woman would be his wife. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to wonder what might have happened had his actions been unrestrained by his pocket book. To be loved by Elizabeth Bennet..... No, it would not do to think in such a way. He convinced himself that it would all have come to naught, regardless; after all, she must already have been attached to Darcy. The carriage pulled up at the Cheapside address Elizabeth had given, but neither Elizabeth or Darcy responded. Elizabeth had finally fallen asleep, and Darcy was lost in his reverie. The colonel coughed, hoping to rouse them. Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open, and Darcy averted his eyes when she blushed at finding them regarding her so intently. "We are in London already? Mr. Darcy, Colonel, won't you come in with me? I am sure my uncle will wish to meet you both." They nodded, and escorted her to the door.

Part VIII
Posted on Wednesday, 21 July 1999

It had been barely half an hour since a sudden knock on the door had roused them all from their slumber, and the Gardiner household was still in an uproar. Mr. Gardiner had himself answered; the servants' quarters were in the back of the house, and they had not responded to the noise. His astonishment had been great indeed, for as it turned out he had been left entirely ignorant of the circumstances that had prompted the visit. His sister, engrossed in spreading the happy news through Meryton, was yet to think of informing him, and although Mr. Bennet had sent word, the state of the postal system was such that it would not reach them for another day or two. Finding his niece accompanied by two strange men had done nothing to allay his anxiety. But now all had been explained. Darcy and the colonel had come in, and had sat for a little bit. The women had been roused, the story unfolded. The gentlemen had taken their leave, and nothing remained to be done but for them all to return to their beds. But the astonishment of all was such that Lizzy had to tell her tale over and over again. He chuckled thinking on it; certainly her description of Lady Catherine's ire had taken on a more interesting note after her betrothed had parted from her. But although he was happy for her, Mr. Gardiner could not be but a little concerned, and he saw from her face that his wife shared his opinion. It was not that they doubted the mutual commitment of the pair. The gentleman's affection was clearly spelt out on his face, and Lizzy would never have accepted him had she not returned his sentiments. Rather, it was the circumstances they had described prompted his concern. Lizzy's wealth and standing was nothing to this gentleman's; she would obviously face some resistance in the circles he moved in. And although he had been unfailingly polite, the Gardiners had detected in his demeanor something of the pride they had earlier heard Lizzy discourse on at length. She must have overcome her bias, but could this mean that she would henceforth be lost to them? Although they celebrated her good fortune, they could not be content at this thought. When they finally managed to draw the children away from Lizzy, and put them back in bed, the Gardiners returned to their own chamber, and exchanged a rueful smile. There was much to talk on, but it would have to wait. He had a day of work ahead of him, and she would be kept as busy tending to the children. As they drifted back to sleep, they each thought of Lizzy, and grew more sanguine than they had been. Lizzy would never forsake them; she must have found herself mistaken in her opinions. They were glad she had rectified her mistake; they knew their niece well enough to recognize her inclination towards stubbornness. It would have been a shame indeed if this tendency had prevented her from finding her happiness.

There was another member of the family party, however, to whom more than a simple recounting of the facts might be due, if only because of her close relationship to one of the parties in question. When the rest of the household retired again for the night, Jane came to Lizzy's chamber that they might talk in private. "Lizzy, I am so happy for you! Mr. Darcy must love you so very much!" Her sister smiled wryly. "Who would ever have thought of such a thing?"

"I confess I always had a value for him, if only because he was the friend of....." The sentence remained unformed, but sentiment was not uncommunicated. All of doubts Lizzy had been pushing from her mind came again to her in force. They must have been reflected in her countenance, for Jane suddenly said, "Do anything, Lizzy, except marry without affection. I know how much you disliked him. Do you now really love him?" But though her doubts lingered, Lizzy considered herself too far committed to allow for the possibility of a retraction. Being thus committed, she did not wish that her sister should have any inkling of her concerns, and affected a lightness she did not feel. "My dislike is all long forgotten. In such cases as these, a good memory is unpardonable." "Oh, Lizzy! Do be serious! Have you truly overcome it?" To this, at least, Lizzy could answer honestly; she certainly did not hate him as she once had. She attempted to allay her sister's concerns by telling her of his recent gallantry. Jane, who could never long continue to think ill of her sister, pronounced herself satisfied at Lizzy's response, and apologized for ever having doubted her. The sisters shared a close embrace, and Jane, once more congratulating Lizzy on her happiness, left the room. As Lizzy went to her bed, she found that sleep would not come. She thought back on her conversation with Jane, and wondered at her sister's evident satisfaction at what she perceived as a happy outcome. Surely she, who had directly suffered at his hand, could not acquit Darcy of having alienated his friend's affection? Elizabeth was grieved to see that Jane's affection for Mr. Bingley continued unabated, but she comforted herself that circumstances were now different. Having plighted his troth to her, Mr. Darcy could surely not continue to object to Jane as a suitable match for his friend. Once again she reiterated to herself the expressions that had so recently convinced Jane of her affection for him. As she thought of him, she was almost content. He had certainly stood by her through circumstances that could not have been easy for him; he had even endured the company of tradespeople from Cheapside. With herself, she had less reason to be content. Although she constantly rationalized her approaching marriage in every imaginable way, she could not contradict the fact that any happy circumstance she could recollect that had altered her opinion had been subsequent to her engagement. Lizzy was beginning to see that her intended spouse might well be worthy indeed; it was she who had entered the engagement for all the wrong reasons.

Part IX
Posted on Friday, 23 July 1999 The following morning found Darcy at his club, perusing the morning paper over a solitary breakfast. The Colonel had been too tired to join him this morning, but Darcy was habitually an early riser, and in spite of the previous day's exertions he had not

been able to stay in bed. The staff at the townhouse had been entirely unprepared for his arrival; he was not expected to return from Kent for some weeks. Georgiana had been delighted to see him, and could not contain her joy at his news. Truth be told, she had been rather anxious that he would attach himself to Miss Bingley, and that lady's information about the Bennets Georgiana had interpreted as the highest recommendation. Her alternating enthusiasm and apprehension at the impending introduction had kept her up most of the night, and when Darcy left the house in the morning she had only just fallen asleep. Darcy had not wanted to rouse the entire household so early, but he was also glad of the solitude afforded him by his club. Today he would finally be able to introduce the two most important women in his life, and he was somewhat apprehensive about the meeting. He dearly hoped that the two of them would be comfortable with each other. Elizabeth would be a very significant influence on Georgiana for the next few years, and he wanted very much that they should get along well together. Elizabeth would certainly take the effort to draw his sister out; he only hoped that her vivacity did not cause Georgiana to retreat still further into her shell. He had always wanted to give Georgiana a proper home, and with Elizabeth at his side, he would certainly want his sister to join them at Pemberley. As he glanced idly through the matrimonial columns, he noticed that his own engagement had been announced. Darcy smiled ruefully as he thought of his future mother-in-law; she had neglected to inform her own brother, but the news had been forwarded to the papers post-haste. The announcement, at least, did not embarrass him, though as he read through it the words "ten thousand a year" echoed through his mind. There was no indication of the disparity between his situation and that of Elizabeth; London might yet treat the match as one between equals. That would suit him admirably; he did not want to draw attention to Elizabeth's situation in life. As he paused to consider that possibility, he remembered that such an eventuality was wellnigh impossible. Now that he had disabused her of the notion that her daughter would be mistress of Pemberley, his aunt would have no compunction in vilifying his future wife. Familial loyalty, certainly, would not prevent her, and he had failed to mollify her. Though she was but rarely in London, she had strong links to the leading society gossips, and it would not be long before his engagement was discussed in terms of a disgraceful entrapment. And there were others here who would be only too happy to fan the flames. Darcy was not blind to Miss Bingley's aspirations; he had never intended to fulfil her ambition, but he had never taken the pains to undeceive her. Now, he knew, she would exact her revenge; her desire to deflect the gossip from her brother would add yet another motive. Bingley's uncharacteristic depression of late had excited a flurry of speculation that at times had reached painfully close to the truth. The ladies who had regarded him as a determined flirt were not pleased that he had discontinued his attentions entirely; they could no longer cherish the hope of helping him spend his five thousand a year, so they had sought solace in conjecturing as to the cause of his melancholy. Not for the first time, Darcy wondered whether he could have been wrong about Miss Bennet; he had always known her to be of a guarded demeanor, and it was not impossible that she had felt more strongly than he had realised. Observing her again last night, he had noticed a distinct difference in her; her countenance was serene as ever, but she was not the woman of whom he had once said, "she smiles too

much." There had been about her an air of melancholy. He would have to remember to discuss the matter with Elizabeth; she would undoubtedly have some inkling of the state of her sister's emotions. If the two of them were indeed mutually attached, it would not do to keep them apart. Darcy smiled, thinking of the other evils he had once perceived in the match. His own affection had not been able to withstand them; for his friend, the disparity could not be nearly as great. He put down his cup of tea, and made his way out of the premises of the club. There were many arrangements to be made for this evening. Elizabeth and her relations would be dining at his house. He thought with satisfaction of her relations. His experience of Mrs. Phillips and her erstwhile sister had prepared him for a very different brother from the pleasant and well-informed man he had found. To be sure, he had been caught rather unawares, but that was only to be expected, finding as he had his niece alone with two men he had not met. Afterward, Darcy had found him conversing easily with the colonel, and though he had not contributed to their discussion, he had heard the man's informed opinions with some astonishment. And his wife too had proved to be all that was gentile and elegant. To be sure, it would not do for Elizabeth to be seen at Gracechurch Street when she became Mrs. Darcy, but he could have no objection to her receiving such an aunt and uncle at their home. He decided that he would make an effort to improve his acquaintance with them tonight. It would comfort Elizabeth to know that he did not despise all her connections.

Part X
It was rather late in the morning when Miss Bingley descended from her chambers to the breakfast table. Her toilette had been of long duration, as usual, and a stranger would have thought that she had a busy day ahead of her. Such was not the case; Caroline Bingley had no engagements, but she believed in being prepared. And the fact that this philosophy allowed her to engage in one of the activities that brought her the greatest of pleasure, that of admiring herself in the mirror, was undoubtedly why it had not fallen by the wayside as had the numerous other more solemn notions she had professed as the height of their fashion. Charles, who was no stranger, was not in the least surprised at either her appearance or her tardiness. He greeted her listlessly, as he was wont to do these days. Caroline was dismayed at his behaviour; surely he could not continue to mourn that country girl. This was getting entirely too vexing. She was unfortunately still in London, and Caroline dreaded the possibility of their encountering one another. It would be the undoing of her dearest hopes. Though she habitually spoke of the matter as settled, Charles' reluctance to approach Miss Darcy was beginning to disconcert her. That Georgiana could be persuaded to accept her brother she did not doubt; she could only wish that Georgiana's brother would be likewise inclined toward matrimony. Hoping to rouse he brother, she asked after the day's news. Her efforts were frustrated as he silently motioned toward the morning paper, which lay untouched. Caroline sighed, and turned to the only sections that could hold her interest, and started reading aloud of their mutual acquaintances, thinking that she might be able to elicit some comment from her brother.

"'Mr. and Mrs. Weston, of Highbury, and Mr. Churchill, of Enscombe, are pleased to announce that Mr. Frank Churchill, of Enscombe, is lately engaged to Miss Jane Fairfax, of Highbury.' Shocking! It is not two weeks since his aunt was buried, and already he has formed an attachment. I wonder who the lady is. Miss Fairfax..... Is that not the name of Mrs. Dixon's little friend? She was at Weymouth with them, and the Campbells. A very elegant creature; such a pity about her connections." Then, as a naughty thought occurred to her, "Charles, I do believe they have been secretly engaged these several months!" "Thank you, Caroline, for your speculations." Caroline did not comment on his words, although she could not but wonder on the change in his nature. Sarcasm did not come naturally to Charles. It never occurred to her that she might be enhancing his agony. Charles Bingley was in no humour to hear of the felicity of other men. Caroline persevered. "Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, of Longbourne, Hertfordshire, would like to announce..." Caroline paused and looked up, apprehensive of Charles' response, but secretly relieved. This was the ideal solution. She bore Jane no ill will, and sincerely believed her to be a sweet girl. She wished her friend well settled with a man of her own station. She continued to read, as Charles refused to meet her eye. "the engagement of their daughter, Miss Elizabeth Bennet...." Eliza? Who would ever marry that little firebrand? She hastily continued. "to Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, of Pemberley, Derbyshire." Charles started at the news. "Darcy is engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet? He has been very sly with us! I must wish him joy. She is a pleasant spirited lady; he is a lucky man to have won her affection." He left the breakfast parlour and went to the study, to write a letter of congratulation to his friend. His pleasure at the news was entirely sincere; Darcy had been very good to him. As he wrote of Miss Elizabeth he could not but think of her sister; had circumstances been otherwise, he and his friend might now have been brothers. He sighed, and dismissed the thought. It was not to be; she had never loved him. For this information too he had his friend to thank. And yet, as he wrote, a flicker of hope was reborn in him. He and Darcy had long been close; after the marriage it was likely that he and Miss Bennet would be much thrown together. And given time, was it not possible that she might learn to love him? After all, she had always appeared to enjoy his company. He allowed himself to hope that her good will might someday give rise to a stronger feeling. Caroline was left to contemplate the news alone. Mr. Darcy? It was inconceivable! And yet, she recollected his praise of her fine eyes. He had undoubtedly been taken by her. But that he would be so far taken in; was it to be borne? And how had such a thing happened? Had he returned to Hertfordshire? That could not be; he had been visiting his aunt, Lady Catherine. Eliza Bennet had obviously followed him. But that he should have succumbed to her artifice! Caroline shut her eyes in mortification as she realised that all of London society would be laughing at her. She had never

obscured her intentions, hoping to secure Darcy with her deference. But she would not allow Eliza the satisfaction of triumphing at her expense. No, she could fight that woman, especially given her many handicaps. There was still time; the wedding could not be for some weeks. Eliza Darcy would certainly make a splash in London when she arrived for her first season; she, Caroline Bingley, would not have it otherwise.

Part XI
Posted on Sunday, 25 July 1999 As he conversed with the Gardiners, Darcy had every cause for satisfaction. Mr. Gardiner was indeed everything he had hoped for, and he was beginning to realise that he might have been prejudiced in deeming such genteel people to be so entirely beneath him. But then, that was a lesson he had learnt already; he had after all overcome his doubts and made an offer to Elizabeth, and he had had no cause to regret his decision. He learnt that Mrs. Gardiner hailed from Lambton, a village in the close proximity of Pemberley, and they exchanged reminiscences of a particular tree by the smithy. As he glanced across the room, his contentment was enhanced. Georgiana and Elizabeth were intently conversing, as Miss Bennet looked on, silently. Darcy remembered his resolution on her behalf, and turned back to his sister, with happier thoughts. He noted in his sister's manner an ease of expression that was rarely present when she was in company. Yes, he had chosen well indeed. Elizabeth, for her part, was extremely pleased with Miss Darcy. Wikham had prepared her for an entirely different sort of creature, but she perceived that the girl before her was nothing other than shy. "Miss Darcy, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I have heard so much about you." "And I about you. But it must be Georgiana to you. For we are to be sisters!" This last sentiment was said in a gleeful manner of a child. Elizabeth was gratified at her enthusiasm. "Then you must address me as Elizabeth, or Lizzy. That is how my sisters refer to me." "I have always wanted a sister," Georgiana said, a little wistfully, "I have been blessed with the best of brothers, but he is almost the only family I have ever known." Elizabeth was touched, and tried to cheer her up. "You make me quite envious. I have no brothers, only four sisters." "I shall be very pleased to have you as a sister. You have made my brother a very happy man; he can hardly speak enough of you. You must play and sing for us tonight. My brother says that he has rarely heard anything more beautiful."

"I must warn you that your brother has grossly exaggerated my talents, no doubt for some mischievous purpose of his own. From what I have heard of your proficiency I know my own efforts can merit little praise." "Oh, no! My brother always speaks the absolute truth. Although he is sometimes a little too kind to me." "An ideal elder brother, then." "I could not wish for a better or a kinder one. And now that he will marry, and stay more often at Pemberley, my happiness is complete. You must be very happy; he loves you so very dearly." Elizabeth blushed at Georgiana's innocent expressions. Did it really make her so very happy to be loved by such a man? She still did not know. "Your brother, Georgiana, can be a very charming man." She wondered at her statement. It was true enough. Why had she taken so long to admit it? His sister eagerly assented. "I am so glad that you are able to see him thus. There are some who think him reserved, and proud, but he is truly amiable. It pains me when he is thus misjudged. I am glad it did not prevent him from finding his happiness with you." Looking away from her, Elizabeth made some slight reply as she pondered Georgiana's words. It was becoming more and more apparent to her that a great deal of what she had perceived as hauteur was in fact a reflection of Mr. Darcy's reserve. And yet, even now, there was in his manner a certain condescension that she could not be comfortable with. She resolved to talk to him openly at the earliest opportunity. It would not be right for them to marry if he remained entirely ignorant of her scruples. Elizabeth turned back to Georgiana, and found two eager eyes regarding her with a bemused expression. She coloured slightly as she realised that her gaze had been locked all this while with the object of her musings. Turning back to Darcy, she found a slight smile gracing his features; he had evidently marked her embarrassment at being caught staring at him in the very manner she had often noted in him. He was really quite handsome when he smiled.... She checked herself. These thoughts would not do at all; she had to wonder whether he would even have her when he learnt of her questionable motives in accepting him. It was imperative that she communicated her concerns to him before the matter went very much further. But there could be no occasion to make such a revelation to him this evening, for it would be most irregular for them to abandon the rest of the party together. For now, Elizabeth contented herself with her newly formed resolution, and hoped that her courage would not fail her when a suitable moment presented itself. For now, she allowed herself to experience something approaching satisfaction at her condition, though she remained not entirely without concern at the tenuous basis of her

contentment. Soon afterwards, dinner was announced. Mr. Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm as he led the way to the dining room.

Part XII
Posted on Tuesday, 27 July 1999 Mrs. Bennet chattered on excitedly about the wedding, now less than a week away, but Elizabeth hardly attended to her words. Some weeks had passed since she had dined at the Darcy town house, and she was yet to act on her resolve. The very next day, she had journeyed home to Longbourn, where she had been carried away in the flurry of preparations. Mr. Darcy she had seen but intermittently since then; Mr. Bingley had offered him the use of Netherfield Hall, but he had been much in London, making his own preparations for the upcoming wedding. Today he would accompany the Bingleys back to Netherfield, and they were all to stay there until the wedding. Georgiana, who had shown an eagerness to contribute in the arrangements, had returned with Elizabeth to Longbourn. She and Elizabeth had grown very close in these weeks, and she had found friends also in the other Bennet sisters. Today would be the day, Elizabeth decided. She could not go the altar and carry through the deception. Elizabeth felt something very like regret at her decision. The brother of whom Georgiana spoke so affectionately, the man who had comforted her so undemandingly when she had needed it most, had grown to be a figure she thought of with some warmth. Perhaps he would find it himself to forgive her. She would not expect such consideration. She had treated him infamously; she would only have her own behaviour to regret if he were to cast her off. But somewhere within her, she knew that if he were to treat her thus she would not regret him. From the parlour came the bustle of company. Could it be them already? Surely not, London was not so small a distance. Then she recollected that the gentlemen of the militia were to call to take their leave. They were departing from Meryton the next day, and were to spend the summer at Brighton. Lydia's friend, Mrs. Forster, had invited her to join them, and she would leaving soon after the wedding. Kitty had been much disappointed that her sister had been thus singled out, but in the excitement of the wedding preparations she had soon forgotten her slight. Lizzy's conjecture proved correct, and she and her mother stepped into the parlour to receive the gentlemen. All the members of the party had been eager to see her, and they offered her their congratulations and their regrets that they would not be able to attend the wedding. As she conversed casually with the Colonel and his wife, she noticed Wickham standing idly by, alone. Since her return to Longbourn, she had had very little contact with him; it was almost as though he were avoiding her. As she saw him now, his words came back to her, and it occurred to her that here was another matter that must be clarified before the wedding. Excusing herself, she went up to him. "Good morning, Mr. Wickham." His expression on being thus approached momentarily resembled something very like alarm; then, as he saw the friendliness in her manner, his gaze softened, and he replied in his habitual manner. Elizabeth, who noticed his initial hesitation, was very much

affected by it. What he must think of her, for succumbing to the temptations of the very man whose infamy he had laid before her! Her manner, however, remained light, and she resolved that they must part as friends. "Miss Bennet, It has been some time since we met. Allow my to offer my congratulations on your impending nuptials." "Thank you," Several of the officers had headed out into the gardens, along with Kitty and Lydia. As they talked, Lizzy led Wickham out as well, hoping to converse in a slightly more private setting. "I trust that Darcy is well. I would hope that he is somewhat changed since I last saw him." "Yes, very well," she replied flushing. His import was not lost on her, but she could not bring herself to respond to it. She changed the subject a little abruptly. "He will be joining us today. Miss Darcy has been staying with us these few weeks. Perhaps you would like to renew the acquaintance?" The look of alarm returned as he declined. "No, I think it best that I should avoid the Darcys entirely. How do you find Georgiana?" "She is charming, though a little shy, perhaps." As she remembered his comments, she could not but remark, "Not at all what I had been led to expect." "Yes, she would be charming enough with you; the Darcys have an extraordinary sense of family loyalty, and you are soon to be one of them." He paused, and looked at her searchingly, but she refused to meet his eye. "Their friends, perhaps, they do not use as well." "I hope that you and I shall continue to be friends." A rather strange and distant smile appeared on his features. "Indeed, I should like very much for that to be the case." The two were accosted by Lydia and the other officers, whom she had cajoled into some frivolous game. Wickham joined them, gallantly, and Lizzy stood by, watching. Soon after, the officers took their leave. Lizzy was glad to have finally been able to speak to Wickham, and was relieved that they could still be friends.

Part XIII
Posted on Wednesday, 28 July 1999

Caroline Bingley was very vexed indeed. It had been barely six months since she had convinced Charles to quit the wretched house he had taken in Hertfordshire, and managed to tear him away from that quite unsuitable young lady who had captured his fancy, and now, in midsummer, she was compelled to return under the most mortifying of circumstances. Mr. Darcy, who had been her ally in the removal, was the cause of their return; having successfully extricated her brother, he had himself fallen prey to a Miss Bennet. That he should prefer that impudent Eliza to a woman of the world such as herself was unbearable. She had nothing to offer him, certainly no fortune, and the most despicable of connections, and yet he seemed quite bent upon carrying through this ridiculous scheme. Caroline could not resist taking some rather pointed shots at Mr. Darcy's new relations, but she soon found herself silenced by her brother. It was not hard for her to guess where his thoughts were turning. But though she had lost a crucial battle, she was not willing to forsake the war. Already, she had mobilized forces against the future Mrs. Darcy. It had not been hard to do; the society dowagers had been influenced by Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and the younger ladies were insensed at their own dashed hopes. Caroline had not been the only woman who had hoped to be Mistress of Pemberley. If Eliza knew her own good she would drop her pretensions. It was obvious that a country girl could have no idea of what such a position would entail. She would carry the day yet. She would show that Eliza Bennet that she had no business marrying Mr. Darcy. Having alighted at Netherfield, Darcy and Bingley had been surprised to find that Miss Bingley intended to call at Longbourn immediately. She had made her excuses about being eager to see dear Jane and Miss Eliza, and of course, darling Georgiana, and not wanting to appear rude, they had allowed her to proceed without troubling her with any further questions. Darcy did, however, wonder about her actual motives. It would have taken a very dull man to ignore all her quips and scorns at his expense and Elizabeth's, and neither gentleman had been able to do so. Mr. Bingley had eventually silenced her as tactfully as possible, and an uncomfortable silence had prevailed for the rest of the journey. Now that it appeared that she had had a change of heart, Darcy had to treat her motives with scepticism. He determined that he would leave for Longbourn as soon as he could. That Miss Bingley's intent was mischievous was clear to him, and he hoped to be able to forestall her. He asked for a horse to be saddled, then went into the house and splashed cold water on his face. He then changed out of his travelling attire, and shortly thereafter, made off in the direction of Longbourn. It was early afternoon when a carriage arrived at Longbourn. Lizzy stiffened as she heard it pulling in. They were here; it was time for her to have it out with Mr. Darcy. As she went into the parlour to greet them, however, she was surprised to find that Miss Bingley had come alone. "Miss Eliza. How good to see you again. It has been many months since I had the pleasure of your company." Her manner was all that was affectionate and insincere; it was entirely unremarkable. Elizabeth, however, was unable to fathom what reason she had in coming.

"Likewise, Miss Bingley. If I might enquire...." "Forgive me for trespassing upon you just now, Miss Eliza. I could not wait to offer my congratulations. Perhaps you would oblige me by taking a turn with me in the shrubbery? It can be no great exertion for you; you are quite the walker." Still at a loss, Lizzy followed her outside. "I do confess, I was quite surprised to see the announcement in the papers. I had not anticipated that Mr. Darcy would forget himself so entirely." "Miss Bingley, are you insinuating that I trapped Mr. Darcy into this wedding?" "Come now, surely you will not pretend that it has always been your objective to have him if you could. Why, your mother practically announced her intentions from the roof-tops! Do you think your beloved Mr. Darcy was blind to her impropriety? It is remarkable that you were able to take him in regardless." "However reprehensible my mother's behaviour may have been, it cannot compare to your audacity at addressing me thus in my own home. Why are you even here?" Caroline seemed to recover herself slightly. "I am here, Miss Bennet, to warn you that it is not so easy as you think. Do not think that I have given him up. You are not yet married, you know." "I am well aware of that fact, Miss Bingley. Allow me to remind you that I am engaged to him, not you," "That sort of wit may stand you well in Hertfordshire, but if you think that you are equipped to take your place in London society then you are very mistaken. If you knew what was good for you, you would not hesitate to give him up. He may be infatuated right now, but do you really think that he will always be yours? Renounce your claims, Eliza, you will save yourself much mortification." "I tend to think, Miss Bingley, that it is you I will save from mortification. I assure you that the prospect does not tempt me. If you will excuse me, there are preparations I must see to." "Excuse my interference, Eliza, it was kindly meant. You will live to regret your obstinacy. I pity Darcy; he does not know what he has let himself in for." Miss Bingley headed back towards her carriage. Elizabeth, shaken by the encounter, did not immediately return home. Hostility she had expected, but that the veneer of gentility and pretension would be so entirely eroded she could not have foreseen. Without thinking where she went, Elizabeth found herself walking away from the house on one of her favourite trails through the woods around Longbourn. She desperately needed some fresh air and solitude. The gall of that woman! To think that she could barge in and demand that Lizzy break her engagement. Why, her impunity exceeded even that of Lady Catherine! What right could she possibly have to speak

thus? And her manner, her insufferable presumption in believing that she knew what was best for Mr. Darcy. What right did anybody have to speak for him, save himself? And he had made himself abundantly clear; he had defied his family and his personal scruples for her sake. They could not belittle his decision thus. She would not allow it. Without quite knowing what she thought, Elizabeth rejected any idea of confronting Mr. Darcy. He had chosen to marry her, and she had accepted him. That was how it would be. And no one, not Lady Catherine, nor Caroline Bingley, would have the satisfaction of any other outcome.

Part XIV
Posted on Friday, 30 July 1999 As Darcy cantered along the path that led to Longbourn, his mind was once again agreeably occupied. Although he was concerned about Miss Bingley's intentions, he did not expect her to have much of an impact on Elizabeth. Certainly any woman who had been able to hold her own against Lady Catherine could not be deterred by Caroline Bingley. What perturbed him was not the immediate encounter, however, but rather the consequences it would have after their wedding. Darcy was not unaware of Caroline's campaign against Elizabeth in London, and the prospect of it bothered him, not only in that Elizabeth would be forced to counter some degree of social resistance, but also in that he was frankly unable to gauge what her response to such a situation might be. It would not do to have her create additional fodder for the gossips; her very presence would do enough. For the present, they would remove to Pemberley as soon as possible, although the claims of his business demanded that he stay in town a few weeks at least, but when such matters were taken care of he was eager to show her his home, and acquaint her with her new responsibilities as mistress of his estate. By the time they arrived in London later in the year, he expected that his marriage would be stale news, and that his wife would be familiar with the manners of his circle. Her own manners were always impeccable, and he was sure that it would not be long before she learnt the greater degree of restraint that would be expected in a woman married to a man of his standing. He rather hoped that she would retain some of the archness that had bewitched him, if only in private. There was still some awkwardness in their interaction, but that would surely wane as their familiarity grew. He looked forward to spending some time with her over the next few days before their wedding. They had not been alone together since that day in Rosings, when first, in the forest, she had wept inconsolably in his arms, and then, in the maze, had once more affirmed her willingness to be his wife. For a moment, he wondered what would have happened had she refused him. Would they have gone their separate ways, never again to meet? Could the woman who would so shortly be his wife have walked out of his life so easily? No, it was inconceivable. They were meant to be together, and he had known it almost from the earliest days of their acquaintance. Fate had played a fine jest on him, placing the only woman in the world that he could marry in almost insupportable circumstances. But it was he who would have the last laugh. He had not dismissed this treasure, and soon she would be his wife. What could her fortune or her family matter? He was in the happy position of giving her a better home than the one he had found her in.

As he entered the woods near Longbourn, his pace quickened in eager anticipation. It had been some weeks now since he had seen either his sister or his betrothed. From all accounts, they were extremely pleased with each other, and Georgiana seemed quite taken with the other Bennet sisters as well. This had certainly been a good idea. Georgiana was too often alone; she needed more society. That situation would soon be altered permanently, but the present interlude had still been valuable. Georgiana was very pleased to be so closely involved with the arrangements for the wedding, and it had helped take her mind off more unpleasant matters. Darcy had grown quite concerned about her spirits after Wickham had imposed upon her so infamously, and he had been reluctant to send her away with Elizabeth to a neighbourhood where the chances of encountering him were high indeed, but he had counted on the fact that Wickham's diminished influence on Georgiana and his fear of Darcy's wrath would induce him to stay away from her, as indeed he had avoided him when he had been in Hertfordshire. And in this guess he had been proven correct, and Georgiana's letters of late had been all that was light-hearted and cheerful. Elizabeth had been a good influence indeed. He proceeded, lost in thought, when he realised that he was not alone in the woods. Could it be her? She was fond of walking, but at such a time, surely there would be plenty to occupy her. No, his mind must be playing tricks on him. Thank goodness he would soon be in her presence! But the encounter happened sooner than he had anticipated it: at the very next bend in the path, he came upon Elizabeth. He dismounted, and inquired after her health. She did not appear to be entirely well, but she answered evasively, refusing to meet his eye. Though she attempted to be her usual self, she was evidently discomposed. It must have been Miss Bingley's doing. But what could she have said that would so affect Elizabeth? Tentatively, he asked after her. "I was just coming to see you... all. Miss Bingley, I believe, has already called at Longbourn?" "Indeed, I was just with her. I believe she has departed." "She did not stay to see Georgiana?" he asked, his manner faintly ironic. He had wondered whether Georgiana would cease to be so very dear to Miss Bingley after his wedding. His sister, certainly, would not miss her attentions. "No, her business was entirely with myself." She attempted to return his banter, but the serious import of her words crept through. "Her business?" he asked, stepping closer to her. As she still refused to meet his eye, he reached for her chin, and gently raised her gaze to meet his own. She coloured, but managed to preserve an even, ironic tone. "Twas an errand of mercy, sir. She thought to save me from myself." He sighed in exasperation.

"I beg you will not let her importune you thus. She knows not what she speaks of." She attempted once again to alleviate the tone. "You may rest contented, sir. She imposed upon me, but she did not injure me." "I am glad to hear it. I know what I am about, regardless of her opinions. Elizabeth..." This last word he uttered tentatively, drawing closer still. Once again, she flushed, but she did not resist. She stood there, her features a most becoming crimson shade, her face slightly averted in spite of his touch. It was too much for him. He drew her near him, and lightly brushed his lips on her cheek. He heard her release her breath, but she did not shrink from his embrace. Without quite knowing what they did, his lips sought after hers, and they met. Briefly, for but a moment at first, but then the kiss lengthened with his increasing ardour. He was gratified to find her so responsive; he had hardly known what to expect. At last he drew back, if a little reluctantly, and gazed intently into her eyes, allowing himself to drown in them. He knew not how long they stood there thus entranced, and locked in each other's gaze. At last she turned away, and attempting to speak in her light-hearted tones she observed that her family had enough to do preparing for the wedding without having to send out a search party for the bride and groom. He smiled, and offered her his arm, and they walked back to Longbourn together, the horse following behind.

Part XV
Posted on Tuesday, 3 August 1999 An exhausted Elizabeth Bennet entered her bed chamber, shutting the door behind her, and looked contemplatively into her mirror. Outside, she could still hear her mother and Hill scurrying through the house, straightening a curtain here, changing the water for the flowers there, in the final arrangements before the wedding, since breakfast would be at Longbourn, immediately after the ceremony. Tomorrow, she would marry Mr. Darcy, and forever resign the Bennet name. Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. To be forever subsumed in his name, in his life. There was no future ahead of her independent of him. Once again, Elizabeth could not help wondering whether she had made the right decision. Now, at the eve of her wedding, she was convinced that she ought to have made a clean breast of the matter to him while she had had a chance of it. Miss Bingley's interference had reduced her decision to the level of a petty rivalry in which she had determined that she should emerge the victor. And the victor she would be, for the wedding bells were irrevocably to ring out on the morrow. But surely these were no terms on which the most important decision of her life was to be based. Not that she had had any cause to regret her choice. Over the last week, especially, Mr. Darcy had been everything that she could have hoped for. He had been generous and attentive to her, and had borne her mother's excesses better than she had thought possible. If he had been sometimes a little vexed at her manner it had been no more than her own discomfiture at her mother's outrageous hints. Elizabeth was very far

from doubting that he would indeed do everything in his power to further her happiness, and she was flattered and pleased at the extent of his devotion to her. A thrill ran through her as she contemplated the little intimacies they had come to share, and she coloured slightly as she thought of her own boldness in permitting, and even encouraging, such liberties. There had of course been no question of anything that might be deemed at all compromising, rather, she dwelt upon pleasant memories of touching fingers, held hands, and furtive kisses stolen in the woods. Over the course of her engagement she had gradually come to realize and admit to herself how strongly she reacted to Mr. Darcy's sheer presence, and the brief caresses of the last week had taught her that her anticipation of the natural conclusion to such intimacy was not coloured by apprehension, at least, though she could not pretend to dissect the actual state of her emotions on the subject. Her concern for their future was at an altogether different level. Growing up in a household where her mother's frantic cries ran through the house and her father shut his library door and remained aloof, Lizzy had had daily proof of the tribulations arising from infelicity in marriage. In her own case, the situation would be somewhat different; Mr. Darcy and she were well-matched in sense, and their tempers were complementary to each other. But Lizzy knew her father well enough to realize that the fundamental tragedy of his life was that his wife had not been capable of sharing the depth of his emotion. Mrs. Bennet had been, in her day, lively and vivacious, but he had withdrawn from her once he had understood her motives. And what could be said for Lizzy's own motives? She had been exactly what all of society would see in her, a determined husband-chaser. And though she had seen much to vindicate her choice, she was entering the married state still uncomfortable to communicate freely with the one person she had always imagined she would be able to share every thought and every feeling with. She had come to esteem and respect Mr. Darcy, and she felt also gratitude, that he had been able to love her in spite of the dismissive and contemptuous manner which she had affected. She saw that they were in many ways perfectly suited to one another, and that her vivacity had already revealed in him a more open temper than she had expected. But there was still a barrier between them; he saw her as an unlikely product of her environment, to be humoured, and sheltered, and protected, not as a partner with whom he could share his life on equal terms. He was proud that he had found himself such a wife, but he had not reconciled himself to the setting he had found her in. And she was well aware also that the feelings he had for her which had motivated him to accept such an alliance were stronger than those she was able to own to for him. Lizzy had at one time fancied herself in love with George Wickham. When he had turned his attentions to Mary King she had realized that he had never actually touched her heart. She feared now that she might be incapable of the kind of love she had always hoped to find in marriage, even as she had acknowledged it to be unlikely. And devoid of such a love, what would become of her life? Mr. Darcy's ardour would cool as he saw her disaffection -- he would grow distant again, and withdraw into the aloofness he had so recently broken out of. And she would be left to the tribulations of managing a great estate and raising a family without his love and support. In such circumstances, would it be wondered at if she were to grow shrewish, and crave attention? On the eve of her wedding, Elizabeth Bennet finally fell into a disturbed slumber, contemplating the dreadful eventuality of transforming into her mother.

Chapter XVI
Posted on Thursday, 12 August 1999 As she joined Mr. Darcy into the open phaeton which would convey them to his London home, Lizzy was still unable to fully accept the day's events. Overwhelmed, and preoccupied by the bustle and activity, she had thrown herself into the motions and put aside their import, but now she was at leisure to contemplate what had happened, and it seemed inconceivable that she should be already married. She could not say that she felt any different, but surely such an important step must occasion some change. And yet the facts were incontrovertible; she was married; the moment was branded in her memory. It had gone off extremely well, and no doubt the neighbours had all been suitably impressed. Mrs. Bennet had been determined to spare no expense at so eligible a marriage, and tempered with the superior taste of her eldest daughters and her brother and his wife, the arrangements had been quite suitable for all parties concerned. Jane had stood up for Elizabeth, and Mr. Bingley for Mr. Darcy. Her best friend, Mrs. Collins, had been in attendance with her husband. The vicar of the parish of Longbourn, an elderly gentleman who had known Elizabeth as a child, had performed his office irreproachably. Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had a strong penchant for showmanship, had made a memorable toast at the wedding breakfast. And now all was said and done, and bride and groom were off to London, where they would spend some weeks before retiring to Pemberley for the remainder of the summer. Aware of a pair of dark eyes regarding her intently, as they had long been wont to do, she knew that some response was required of her and smiled tentatively. He smiled back, reassuringly, and took her hand gently in his, drawing her closer to him. She turned towards him and started to speak, but fell silent as he leaned towards her, and gently placed a kiss upon her lips. Then he drew back, and earnestly looked upon her. "Mrs. Darcy. Shall you like to be so called?" "Very much," she replied, but her voice faltered. He interpreted her anxiety as stemming from her unfamiliarity with her new responsibilities as Mistress of so large an estate, and assured her that there was no cause to worry. Mrs. Reynolds, his Pemberley housekeeper, would be only too happy to help her master her duties, and were there any serious concerns he would take care of them himself. Elizabeth could only smile in reply, and inwardly it occurred to her that once again she was being taken for a child. Both fell silent. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows with mirth, and Elizabeth, agitated and confused, rather knew she should be happy than felt herself to be so.

Part XVII
Posted on Monday, 16 August 1999 When they arrived at the townhouse in London, the entire staff had congregated to greet them, and Elizabeth painstakingly put herself to the task of acquainting herself

with them. These introductions made, they partook of a small meal before retiring for the evening. Darcy was amused and somewhat touched by how little his wife was able to eat, and how she failed to meet his eye. He attributed her feelings to the natural anxiety of a new bride, and sought to compose her by engaging her in some slight conversation. He himself could hardly be described as perfectly at ease, and the distraction was in reality as much for his benefit as for hers. To this end, he was started speaking of the wedding arrangements that morning. Mr. Darcy had been rather anxious of Mrs. Bennet's intentions, and had been extremely gratified at the simplicity and taste of the arrangements. He now spoke extensively on the subject, his nervousness lending him an unlikely garrulousness. His bride spoke hardly a word or two. Elizabeth was a little surprised at Mr. Darcy's sudden proclivity for conversation, but for the most part, she continued preoccupied with the concerns that had been haunting her throughout her journey to London. Slightly as she attended to her husband's words, they could hardly fail to exacerbate her anxiety. His lively description of the horrors he had anticipated could hardly have failed to divert her under other circumstances, and such indeed was her husband's intention. She had over the last week apologized to him so often for her mother's follies that he had no cause to think her unaware of them, and it did not occur to him that he could give offence by putting into words what they were both aware of and agreed upon. She grew increasingly mortified that at such a time he could be so thoughtless in speaking of her closest relations, and did not stop to consider how far she agreed with him. As they concluded their supper, he rose and escorted his bride to her bedchamber. Elizabeth's horror was now heightened to the extreme. In Mr. Darcy's conversation she suddenly found little trace of the gentle forbearance that had been so very appealing to her over the last several weeks, and every misgiving she had ever entertained in taking the engagement to its natural conclusion returned now that there was no turning back. That she had ever allowed herself any pleasurable anticipation of the ordeal to follow suddenly seemed incredible to her, and her mother's admonitions about the fulfillment of her wifely duties loomed large. But though he was unaware of her growing discomfort at the content of his nervous monologue, Darcy was hardly unaware that his bride might have other sources of anxiety. Had he not already known it to be the case from her conversation and her very bearing, their furtive embraces over the last few weeks would have taught him that she was by nature a passionate creature. But her bashfulness under the present circumstances was entirely to be expected, and he could do little else but to attempt to alleviate it, and to overcome his own nervousness. As they paused outside the door to her bed chamber, he deliberately curbed his rambling tongue. This, at least, caught her attention, and she brought her eyes up to meet his, in silent inquiry. He held open the door for her, and motioned for her to enter. She did so, but it was with some hesitation that she turned back to him, and issued the inevitable invitation for him to follow her in. Though Elizabeth at this particular moment might have contested any claims her husband had to sensitivity, he was perceptive enough to realize that he was the source of her discomfort. Much as he wished to be able to hold her and banish her fears, as he had had occasion to do when earlier he had found her in a troubled state of mind, he instinctively grasped the paradox that the root of her hesitation lay in the fact that what it had earlier been in her power to grant as a modest liberty had now been transformed into an expectation, or

even a duty. She was afraid of what was expected of her. And for her to take comfort in him now, he could not have her think that he would impose upon her against her will. He made no immediate move to approach her, and instead absorbed that which constituted their immediate surroundings. She followed a similar course, and they spent a minute in silent contemplation of the well-appointed chamber. Then, seeing that his bride still held her silence, he spoke. "These rooms were my mother's, you know. It has been many years since I have stepped into them, but I see that they are very little altered. If there is anything at all that you would change..." "Not at all. They are magnificent..." She looked as though she would have elaborated on that theme, but suddenly she coloured and stopped, silent again, as though an unfortunate recollection intruded, as he continued to look at her in silent inquiry, but she would not return to the subject. In truth Elizabeth, mortified at the mercenary aspect of her choice, felt all too keenly how her enthusiasm at the finery might be mischievously constructed. Yet conversation could not be allowed to languish; she felt the expectations that silence brought about all too keenly. Desperately she cast her mind about for a subject on which they might converse, but it seemed as though there were a taboo on any subject she lighted upon. With an effort she recollected that Darcy had been speaking of her mother all this while, and she could not but think of his mother, who had once occupied these very rooms. "I hope your memories are happy ones." "Memories?" "Of your mother, I mean. Mama can be... You of all people must know what she is like; you have talked of little else all evening..." she could not help herself, and a note of resentment crept into her voice, then faded away as she went on in a wistful tone. "but her heart is in the right place, even if her nerves aren't." she stopped, with a wry smile, then looked away and continued, "I can't imagine what it would be like without her, without any of them." And though she would not meet his eyes it was apparent to him that she was blinking back tears, and though this was not the first time that he had been confronted with her strong feelings for her family it did occur to him to wonder whether he had succeeded in offending rather than amusing with his earlier comments. "You don't think that I... Elizabeth, you must know by now that it makes not the slightest difference to me who your family are or what their situation is." She turned away still further in despair; this much she did know. It made not the slightest difference to him who her family were -- it was up to him now whom she could or could not admit into her company. Her supposedly reprehensible connections were lost to her forever. But he was not done: he spoke again in a gentler tone, more slowly, and Elizabeth was astonished at his words.

"They are not lost to you, Elizabeth. I have told you this before, and if I have done anything to suggest otherwise then I am sorry. You family will always be dear to me for your sake, and they are very welcome in our home." He stopped. Only now, after he had spoken did he begin to realize just how necessary his declaration had been. He had assumed always that Elizabeth could only be happier as his wife, making his concerns her own, but it occurred to him now that the transition would involve sacrifices for her as well. Today of all days Elizabeth would feel the separation from her family, and it fell to him to offer her comfort. He looked at her, unsure of his reception, but he was gratified to see that she turned back in his direction, drawn by the note of sincerity in his voice. Yet she did not speak, and he knew it was up to him to continue. "What I said earlier was very insensitive of me, Elizabeth. I ought not have spoken of your mother in such a manner. I know it has not been easy for you, to leave all that you know and come away with me." He thought he saw a certain something in her eye, but though that look faded as quickly as it had appeared for once she did not look away. "You have no cause to apologize, Mr. Darcy. Another day I would have laughed at it myself." "But it is not another day. I ought to have known better." "Do not blame yourself. It is all forgotten." "No, Elizabeth." He paused, then after a moment he continued. "They are very happy memories. My mother doted on me -- on us, after Georgiana was born -- perhaps she even spoilt us a little, but we always knew exactly how much she loved us. Elizabeth, you are generous in forgiving me, but I cannot reconcile myself so easily. I cannot forget what I just said, and if it raised even the slightest inkling of a doubt in you, then I must say this. I do not know what it takes to be a good husband. I dare say I shall figure it out by and by. But I do know that I would make a sorry one indeed if I did not let you know how much I will always cherish you." Without quite knowing that she had moved at all, Elizabeth found herself much closer to her husband. Her earlier lively state of apprehension had left her gradually, as she had realized that her husband evidently appreciated her fears and was concerned for her comfort over his own satisfaction, and she had been assailed with guilt for ever suspecting otherwise. But her conviction in his pride had remained firm as ever, and it was some surprise that she found him capable of any apology whatsoever, let alone one couched in such graceful terms. It was the renewed avowal of his affection, however, that allowed her to overcome her own hesitation. Elizabeth had never doubted her husband's regard for her, but the current demonstration of his sensibility left her with the absolute conviction that she was capable of a return. If Wickham or Jane crossed her mind at all she dismissed such thoughts; she felt instinctively that the man before her was incapable of base treachery, and if he had alienated another through the fault of his pride she knew as well as anyone could that his pride was not insurmountable.

She looked at him again. His eyes had never wavered. She tried to form the words to convey some iota of what she felt, of the tumultuous revelations within her, but for once she found herself unequal to the task. She did see that words at the present moment were unnecessary, that he had seen something in her eyes that induced him at last to reach over gently and caress her cheek. But as he took her in his arms and she surrendered herself willingly, Elizabeth hoped rather than knew that her husband had any insight into her heart, or her mind.

Part XVIII
Posted on Tuesday, 2 November 1999, at 8 : 35 a.m. b As she drifted out of sleep the following morning, Elizabeth grew gradually aware of a gentle sounds of breathing emanating from beside her. She snuggled into the closest source of warmth, without yet realising that it was her husband of one day. As her eyes opened, Elizabeth grew aware of her surroundings, and she dwelt on the events of the previous night with some embarrassment, but she made no attempt to dislodge herself from her present comfortable position. If embarrassment still lingered, anxiety had faded away entirely, and she wondered when her husband would awaken, looking forward to their first day together as man and wife. She was a little flattered to find him still in her bed; it had occurred to her that he might prefer to retire to his own adjoining chamber that he might enjoy an undisturbed night's rest. She knew how matters stood at least with her parents, and she had no reason to suppose that other couples might have it otherwise, but for her part she thought that she would be entirely contented to differ from the norm if that was what her husband should choose. She shut her eyes again, knowing it to be early, and speculated absently on the state of her feelings. Excited she certainly was, to be starting on a new life, and apprehensive, being conscious that she was now subject to more severe expectations than had ever previously rested upon her. But none of this was any different from what she had experienced the previous day, or the day before that, or any day, in fact, since she had found herself responding positively to Mr. Darcy's addresses. Yet never, since that day, had she experienced anything close to her present nearly absolute lightheartedness, and this she could only attribute to the gentleman lying beside her. Somehow, her most particular concern, involving her now-husband's reaction to the various kinds of disclosures she had considered making at one point or another, had faded away entirely, and with it, her pressing need to make such revelations had ebbed as well. What possible justification could there be for bringing to light facts painful to each, and inconducive to their continued good understanding? And as for poor Jane, and Mr. Wickham, it occurred to her that she was best in the position of undoing the wrongs, or supposed wrongs, done them by remaining in the good graces of her husband. She was determined to intercede in some way on their behalf, and for her own part, she was as contented as she could possibly have been with the supposed perpetrator of such wrongs. His behaviour as far as she had observed it recently had been unimpeachable except in its reticence, and towards her it could not be faulted even on this count, since it had taken on all the shades of a man violently in love. And she had long been disposed to make light of his early slights, which could not continue to offend, nor to be recalled with anything other than nostalgic irony, as the depth of his affection became increasingly clear to her. Yet her feelings towards him did not stop with this absence of rancour; novel as that in itself was, there existed also

something far more positive. It must be love, she mused inwardly, opening her eyes once again, as if to ensure that it was all true, that she had not been caught up in some elaborate reverie and would awaken again as Miss Bennet. This time, as she gazed with wonderment as the embodiment of the changes in her situation, the object of all her reflections awakened as well, evidently somewhat amused to find his wife staring at him thus. "Good morning, dearest." Even now, she could not help but blush slightly as he addressed her in such a manner. "Good morning." "Have you been up long? I should have realised you'd be up bright and early." "Just a few minutes. I am sorry if I disturbed you. Do you usually sleep much longer?" "Do not be sorry. And no, I usually rise much earlier. This morning is rather an aberration. But then, I've never had such a lovely wife to wake up to." "Indeed, sir? I must say it rather vexes me that you've had any wife at all. What a thing to keep a secret!" He laughed delightedly. "I might have known you would have said such a thing! Indeed, my lovely wife, you need not be vexed, for there is no such secret, nor any other. My life is an open book, and one that I should be happy to share with you." "An open book, you say, sir? You must remind me to devote my hours to the extensive reading of it, and perhaps when I have done we might discuss our different opinions of it." He laughed again, and drew her closer, but all he said was, "When all is said and done, I hope our opinions will not be so very different." He then devoted his attention to things other than conversation, and if his wife revelled in these attentions it needs also to be said that though she felt herself genuinely attached to her husband, a certain degree of hesitation lingered. Even now, she could not but feel that he was attempting to mould her into his image of the perfect wife, and shelter her from the vagaries both of her world and of his own. But then, was this not a perfectly normal level of consideration that any husband would show for his wife? It was only flattering in its intention, if a little constricting in its implementation. And as for the intention to mould, she had to admit to the same herself, for was she not at this very moment wishing for him to change in some small particular or another? All things considered, Elizabeth decided, she was as contented with her situation in life as any woman had a right to be.

Part XIX

Posted on Thursday, 4 November 1999, at 4 : 26 a.m. Georgiana, who had been at Longbourn for a month preceding the wedding of her older brother, had remained there for one additional night before joining them at the London town house. The Bingleys, brother and sister, had offered to bring her into London with them and the Hursts. They had started from Hertfordshire remarkably early in the morning, ostensibly to complete their journey before the sun became too oppressive. But considering that Darcy and his bride had comfortably made the journey in the afternoon in an open phaeton, another explanation may perhaps be in order. That Miss Bingley had been insistent upon an early journey is another suspicious circumstance. There is a distinct possibility that the promptness of the journey was motivated by nothing other than an intense curiosity on the part of one member of the party into the affairs of the Darcy household, as well as a desire to disrupt the first morning a certain pair of newlyweds would be spending together. Or perhaps wrong the good lady is wronged by this such speculation, for one ought not discount the chance that she was motivated by no stronger urge than to return to her expansive London circle after the privation of restrictive company she had been forced to endure in Hertfordshire. Be that as it may, the incontestable fact is that the Bingley carriage drew up before the Darcy townhouse well before the hours conventionally set aside for morning visits. Georgiana, eager as she was to be seeing her brother and new sister again, could not help feeling a little awkward as she entered the house. Miss Bingley had been very vociferous in insisting upon an early journey, but it had struck Georgiana's more delicate sensibilities that her brother and his wife would perhaps prefer some degree of privacy on this particular morning. The delay that followed their announcement seemed to Georgiana to confirm this supposition, and she blushed, feeling that she had intruded upon them. This prompted from her friend an insincere inquiry as to the state of her well-being, and she was trying somewhat unsuccessfully to assert her continued excellent health when her brother and new sister entered the room. They greeted Georgiana with a fond display of affection, and their guests with every appearance of civility, perpetuating the illusion of an unremarkable morning visit. Elizabeth as mistress of the house called for a splendid array of refreshments to be served, pressing them upon her guests after their taxing journey. She thanked them for their consideration in bringing dear Georgiana home so very promptly, chattered amiably about their mutual acquaintances in Hertfordshire, and generally played the part of an agreeable hostess in society as though she they were the only manners she had ever known. Miss Bingley was disarmed; had expected her ingenuous hostess to display signs of veiled hostility or at least to exercise the sharp tongue which she had come to think of as complementary to her admittedly fine eyes, and such lapses she might have punished with her own subtle brand of ridicule. But she had been well enough taught to realize that to answer politeness with anything else could reflect badly only on her own breeding. Never exerting herself to be original or amusing when detraction was beyond her scope, she answered only as form dictated, and grew increasingly vexed and disaffected as the morning wore on. Her companions seemed unable to grasp the ridiculous pretensions of their hostess, and were entirely satisfied at the manner of their reception. Her brother especially was vocal in his congratulations and his good wishes, and moreover, was rash enough to propose a ball in honour of the recent wedding, entirely ignoring her feeble protests that they wait at least until the beginning of the season. No, it was bad enough that the wedding trip should have been

postponed, and the new bride brought to London because her husband had business to attend to; it was the least he could do to see to her entertainment and introduce her to such society as existed in town at the moment by means of a ball, not to mention the fact that it would provide a good excuse for her relations to visit her here in London. Miss Bingley could not help speculating on the selfish motives her brother might have in this last suggestion, and lament once more the loss of the precious ally she had counted upon in severing the reprehensible connection. What she might have hoped to find in bursting upon the Darcys at this early hour cannot be stated with any certainty, but might certainly be asserted that she had encountered something quite different. Pushed almost beyond endurance by the grating affability of her hostess she had to content herself with the meagre comfort she could derive from philosophy in observing that Darcy's country bride had become indistinguishable from the town coquettes who had so long surrounded him, and that he had nothing to show for the exchange other than a set of unenviable connections. The comfort she might have drawn from this notion was further diminished when she observed that Darcy himself appeared to be entirely contented with his situation, and seemed to be more proud than anything to see his wife comport herself in such a manner. The visit continued late into the morning, and might have continued longer had not Miss Bingley finally protested her exhaustion after the journey, and harried her brothers and sister out. Bingley and Louisa fell in with her wishes willingly enough, but Hurst, who had fallen into a soporific stupor on a comfortable chaise longue, vexed her still further with his pronouncement of her wishes as "Singular!" after she had forced upon them the unnecessarily strenuous morning journey. Thus ended the morning visit, with engagements on either side for subsequent meetings while they continued to be in town. The next few days for the most part brought about a repitition of this pattern at the Darcy home, albeit at more conventional hours and with other participants. Those who held that there was no one to be found in town at this time of year would have been surprised to observe the succession of carriages drawing up at the Darcy townhouse, drawn out of curiosity to see the bride that Darcy had chosen. And Darcy stayed home from his club, receiving these visitors along with his bride, and making the necessary introductions. If they came out of curiosity it is to be assumed that they came back from a different feeling, and Darcy was well satisfied to see his wife settling in so well to a social sphere so different from her own. In the afternoon he tended to his business affairs, and she was left to her own devices. For the most part she spent this time growing still further acquainted with her new sister, who was by now as dear to her as a sister ever could be, and he was pleased to see that they got on so well. And every so often she would exchange visits with her aunt, who also was well pleased to see her settling in so well into married life. The evenings for the most part the three Darcys would pass together, well pleased with their own company, and only rarely admitting into it the closest of their friends. Colonel Fitzwilliam, when he could be spared from his professional obligations, often made a welcome fourth on these occasions, and sometimes the Bingleys were invited. And at nights it had become an accepted fact among the servants that a fire would only be required in the mistress's chambers. Thus it continued for a few weeks. One morning, when Elizabeth was out, returning visits to some of her new friends, it occurred to Darcy that he was unusually unoccupied, and musing as to the cause of it he realized that he had grown curiously dependent upon his wife's society, and reflected with some wonder that he had not yet

had occasion to frequent his club since he had been in town. Knowing Elizabeth would not be returning for some time, and that Georgiana had accompanied her on her visits, he decided that his habitual haunt would be the perfect place to wile away his solitude. He set out promptly, and entering, was about to set himself inconspicuously in the corner of the smoking room with the morning broadsheet when he realized that he appeared to have attracted the attention of his fellow members to a previously unprecedented degree. He wondered briefly whether this might be the result of some conspicuous defect in his costume that had somehow escaped his notice, but coming to the happier conclusion that they were simply remarking on his long absence, he nodded briefly at his acquaintances and turned back into the broadsheet. But curious though he was as to how the British troops were faring in battle, it seemed as though the American question would not be allowed to hold his attention. Those with whom he was personally acquainted apparently felt obligated to offer their congratulations; those with whom he was not seemed to him to have nothing to discuss but his own situation. Those with whom he was intimate seemed extraordinarily inclined to conversation, and the subject through all of this was Elizabeth. His friends chafed him good-naturedly for being so besotted with his bride that he had quite abandoned them; his acquaintances pronounced themselves enchanted, and he could not rid himself of the impression that even those with whom he had but the merest nodding acquaintance had no other topic to consider but the charms of his own bride. How far they were sincere in all of this discussion he could not be certain, but he was astonished nonetheless at the apparent unanimity of opinion. He was not ashamed to admit to himself that as far as the discussion involved him they were right - he was certainly taken by the many charms of his wife - but he was embarrassed to be the object of their scrunity, or rather, its satellite, since it was his wife on whom the speculation centred. In all honesty, Darcy's imagination had exaggerated the matter to him, but the substance of it was in fact quite accurate. Darcy, in his impetuous choice of a bride who had recommended herself to him solely on her own charms had attracted more attention than he had ever before had cause to do. Hitherto he had been as every other wealthy and well-connected bachelor in town, an object of attention for the pretty young things and their mothers, none of whom had thought to look beyond the grounds on which he merited their attractions, and it had generally been assumed that he would, if he escaped the claims of his cousin, fall prey to the charms of one or the other of these fashionable young ladies. His recent marriage, by disappointing any such aspirations, might have been thought to have brought about an end to these attentions, but it had instead leant him a certain notoriety, which extended beyond the sphere in which he had previously been prominent. And if there are those who claim that such subjects are simply the stuff of wifely discourse, then they cannot at least contest that a husband might comprise his wife's audience, and might, as such, being privy to opinions on the subject, be not incapable of forming an opinion for himself. The Darcy marriage was frequently spoken of, even in homes where Darcy himself, and certainly his bride, had never set foot. Those who had had the honour of forming the acquaintance were pressed for their opinions, and new reports were constantly circulating. Opinions on the matter were in fact divided, and while most of their acquaintance had spoken favourably, there had been a few notable exceptions. The author's reticence upon this point does not prohibit her readers from drawing their own conclusions, and it must be admitted that any speculation they are likely to entertain on the matter is quite probably accurate. Darcy had drawn both admiration and

contempt, his wife the extremes of praise and censure. There were those who proclaimed her a charming young thing and him a lucky devil; others held that the luck was all on her side, and others that he had made a shrewd choice in choosing an unspoilt country girl. Still others called her a conniving termagant and him a fool. How long it might be supposed that their marriage would generate such interest could not be stated with any certainty, but it could not be supposed that they would reign dominant as a topic of conversation when the season brought other luminaries into town so that their various actions might be held to similar scrutiny. But however long it might prove to be, it would certainly be too long for Darcy. To him such attention was wholely unwelcome, and proud as he was of his beloved wife, he could not free himself of the supposition that such scrutiny contained an implicit criticism, both to the situation in life she was born to, and to his discretion in raising her to one much superior. For his own part he could vouch for the fact that any criticism that might be made of his marital situation were utterly baseless. The misgivings he had entertained prior to his wedding as to wisdom of his choice were daily laid to rest. Elizabeth remained as she had always been a woman who knew her own mind, and whose expression was tempered with that mixture of archness and sweetness which could not fail to charm him. Her open temper was an excellent example for his sister, and it seemed to him that she was benefitting already from the influence. She was a fair and considerate mistress to the servants, and was able to oversee the running of the household with admirable efficiency. And belying what had been perhaps his greatest concern, she had already, in the short time since the wedding, demonstrated herself as quite equal to making a place for himself in London society that was reflective of his own position. Yet ironically, if there were anything he would have altered to make his happiness more nearly perfect it would have been this. It seemed to him that Elizabeth was constantly preoccupied by her social responsibilities. She was always willing, at his slightest word, to accommodate his wishes, but he was beginning to feel as though his wishes were constantly set at opposition to the social calendar, and to realise just how much of a social hermit he had been, and could no longer afford to be, for his wife's sake. For he was certainly alive to the fact that their absence from society without due cause could only confirm the worst opinions, and establish that Elizabeth was not fit to take what was now her rightful place within that sphere. They would have to appear in society and endure its scrutiny, or turn their backs on it and confront its censure. And if the latter were insupportable, the former was hardly designed to give him any comfort. That there might be another reason for his uneasiness had not yet occurred to him. He had not yet realized that whatever attention he had commanded in the public sphere had transferred itself almost entirely onto his bride, or, if he had, this had not yet begun to disturb him. He knew only that blissful as his arrangements in the domestic sphere were proving, he found himself even less than usually at ease in the public realm after his marriage. He began to regret having deferred the nuptial journey, and made arrangements to hasten the business that held him in town, that he and his bride might retire, for the remainder of the summer, to Pemberley.

Part XX

Posted on Friday, 19 November 1999, at 8 : 50 a.m. Their stay in London had been of a few weeks by now, and Elizabeth, comfortable in her married life, reflected on its agonizing prelude as an indistinct blur of an overwhelming anxiety which had abated suddenly and entirely. She was conscious of being beloved, and to requite such affection seemed natural and just, and simple. She carried no longer a mantle of foreboding. Her new family were everything that she could have desired, and had they been far less deserving of her regard they would have earned it just for the devotion they lavished on her. Georgiana no less than her brother was eager that his bride's every need be accommodated and every fancy be indulged. They were fond of making her frequent presents, and took as much pleasure in Elizabeth's delight as she did in their thoughtfulness. They lavished her with praise, on her person, her musical abilities, her taste and discernment, and even on her fulfillment of her household responsibilities. They marveled at the ease with which she conversed with relative strangers, and at how rapidly she had found a comfortable niche within their social circle. Elizabeth was well aware of this particular distinction between herself and her husband and his sister. She had in the past grossly misinterpreted her husband's reticence; now she was saddened that others should have occasion to do so. She was, however, sensitive of their reserve, which recalled to her her own father, who was likewise disinclined or unable to mix freely in company. They shared, moreover, his penchant for the ridiculous; Darcy, she discovered with some astonishment, had a fine bent for sarcasm and irony when he chose to indulge it, and that he exercised caution in so doing could only raise him in her estimation; and even Georgiana, who could hardly be induced to speak a word in any company broader than that of her immediate family circle, was soon induced to some naughtiness by the encouragement and example of her new sister. For her part, though she found some friends in this extensive company to which her marriage introduced her, she would have been amply contented to remain within the smaller, more intimate circle of family and close friends. But she soon began to realise the obligations that bound her to this larger sphere. Elizabeth was not a vain woman, but in her position she could hardly have remained unaware of having made something of a splash, and she was not so retiring as to take no pleasure at the thought of it. But it became evident to her that such celebrity, combined with the demands of her position, had created a predetermined role for her which she was bound to fill. She was the first Mrs. Darcy in more than ten years. Georgiana, despite her long residence in London, had never really had to fill her mother's place, not being out. Elizabeth was a married woman, and the responsibility devolved upon her quite naturally. The wives of her husband's friends were disposed to consider her as one of their number, and called frequently after the initial congratulatory visit with their husbands. Young ladies, who had perhaps fancied themselves in her position, visited her for the solace of undermining her charms in comparison to their own. Old dowagers who remained in their townhouses for the summer left their cards, as much out of respect for the late Mrs. Darcy, whom they remembered fondly, as for curiosity as to the manner of bride Darcy had finally chosen. To have rebuffed such advances, to have neglected to return visits, to have refused the further invitations to soirees and card parties, would have amounted to an admission of her unfitness for their society, or to a presumption of superiority designed to offend.

She found herself getting drawn into this society, participating in its preoccupations and intrigues. Which is not to say that she found herself unopposed in this sphere. On the one hand she had to contend with a certain degree of opposition and resentment from those who would have been her rivals. Among these, Miss Bingley occupied a somewhat singular position. Elizabeth could see that her husband had been by no means unaware of her ambitions, but without intending to encourage such hopes he had regarded her as a friend, and continued to do so now, when it was obvious that she could be nothing more. She was bound to admit that he could hardly have disarmed her more completely had he deliberated on a scheme to do so, and indeed she was uncertain as to whether or not he had done so. Miss Bingley saw all the advantages of retaining the privilege of friendship in such a quarter, and if she never reconciled herself to Elizabeth's position, she paid every arrear of civility. As for the other unmarried ladies, Elizabeth was not the only recent wife subjected to their jealousy, and this only bound her more closely to those who were now her more natural companions. Hostility from another quarter she found more potentially threatening. She learnt that Lady Catherine would be making an unprecedented appearance in town with her daughter the following season, and she began to realise that there were houses from which she would be excluded so that they might be received. Several of the prominent dowagers among whom she was now associating were friends and contemporaries of that lady. For the moment they were happy to receive her niece by marriage, but Elizabeth did not imagine that Lady Catherine would fail to make her displeasure known. Among the younger set her popularity and her husband's stature would likely carry the day, but the snub would still be felt. She was determined, if she could, to avert such an eventuality, and to this end, made tentative overtures of peace toward that lady. She did not in this consult her husband in so doing, and, truth be told, would have experienced more than a little hesitation to broach the matter. He had not mentioned his aunt since the day they had walked out of her house together. She felt it best first to soften the aunt, and in so doing, eliminate the cause for the nephew's ire. That such a plan inherently involved a certain measure of risk she well realised. But she did not allow such concerns to diminish her present enjoyment. If she felt vaguely guilty to relish what she knew her closest family were unable to take equal pleasure in, she was no less convinced of the necessity of her involvement. Her nature was such that she lived in the moment, and in between the hectic demands of this broad sphere and the quieter ones of her new family, Elizabeth, with little opportunity for solitary reflection, found herself beginning to lose touch with her contemplative self. She could not have said at any given moment that she was malcontented, but she had a vague sense that there was something left to be desired in her life. She, no less than they, felt the desirability of retiring for the remainder of the summer to a more secluded venue where she no less than they would take comfort in the intimacy of a more restricted circle. For the moment, she looked forward to the Bingley's ball, which would bring her family to town, and after which they were projected to retire to Pemberley. She had of course maintained an active correspondence with them since her marriage, chiefly with her father and Jane, since they were the most assiduous in responding to her letters. She had not recovered from her guilt on Jane's account, and rejoiced when the forced cheerfulness in her letters gave way to occasional burst of real amusement. But though it was not in her temper to brood her letters still reverberated of a certain gentleman she did not inquire after. Lizzy in her responses was not so

circumlocutious, but she wrote of him only because she was convinced from his demeanor that her sister did not suffer alone. Her father's letters were of a different tenor. From him she learnt that Lady Lucas had followed her daughter's patron in denouncing her marriage (which Charlotte herself had not done, for Lizzy had had a warm congratulatory letter from her), that her mother had imputed her reaction to jealousy, and the two were no longer on speaking terms. That Sir William had become a study in confused affability, compulsively inclined to socialize with his nearest neighbours, and thwarted by his wife's hostility. That Mrs. Long's nieces were envious of Lydia, who had gone off to Brighton, and tormented poor Kitty, who had had to stay behind. That Mrs. Bennet's airs were quite the talk of Meryton, that she could not talk but of her dear Mrs. Darcy, that her ambitions for Jane had now quite overreached poor Bingley, of only five thousand a year, and no property but on leasehold. That she looked forward yet to the upcoming ball, and quite contradictorily had declared it once again a compliment to her Jane. That her sister Phillips felt quite unaccountably snubbed that the invitation to London had not included her, and had half a mind to appear despite the oversight. From his daughter in turn he received as pointed sketches of her new London acquaintances, and a most satisfactory report of her new home. Darcy, whom he had taken some pains to cultivate in the weeks before the wedding, had risen considerably in his estimation, becoming one of the few men the prospect of whose society he could tolerate with equanimity. He was not quite reconciled to losing his favorite daughter to such a man, but he knew of no one with whom she might have been happier. That the marriage had additionally secured the fortunes of his family in the event of his demise absolved him somewhat of his guilt in having failed to make an adequate settlement. All things considered, Mr. Bennet was well pleased with the fortunes of family. He looked forward only to an extended visit with his married daughter, and through his habitually sportive tone Elizabeth could sense a real contentment that had long been absent.

Part XXI
Posted on Thursday, 27 January 2000, at 9 : 25 a.m. "A ball in London, Mr. Bennet, only think what a fine compliment it is to our Jane!" "Much as I hesitate to differ with you, my dear, I do believe you neglect the fact that the ball is in fact a compliment to our Lizzy." "Oh, you and your Lizzy! Why should a man take so much trouble for the wife of his friend, I ask you? It is nothing but a pretext for him to have Jane in town, and had you not been so tedious in insisting that we stay with my brother, he would have had her a lot closer!" "Mr. Bingley is a perfectly able-bodied young gentleman. There is no reason to fear that the distance will prevent him from calling, should he so choose to do." "You do take it upon yourself to be tedious. You cannot pretend to mistake my meaning."

"Delightful as it would be to attempt to divine your meaning, I must remind you that we have little time for such diversions. Your daughter is expecting us to call by noon." "How late it is! Why did you not tell me so earlier? Make haste, make haste! Ask my brother, oh, there he is! Brother, have you called the carriage? We are to call at the Darcys by noon." "There, there, Fanny. The carriage is called. You are to leave as soon as you may." "Thank you, brother. How good you are! My nerves would not..." "Now, now, Fanny, the carriage is waiting." "Goodbye, brother!" The party from Gracechurch Street had made an extended visit at the Darcys' home, where they had been offered every manner of refreshment and conducted on a tour of the establishment. Mr. Darcy had not been present to greet his guests; his wife had offered urgent business as his excuse, and it may be inferred that she was not a little relieved that he had not been present to hear the exultation of his mother-in-law, and some of the pronouncements of two of his sisters-in-law. He had, however, returned by the time the party had gathered once again in the sitting room, and had engaged the attention of Mr. Bennet with every appearance of cordiality. Mrs. Bennet and Kitty remained too much in awe of him to injure themselves further in his eyes, and even Mary's sententiousness was somewhat alleviated in the company of her illustrious brother-in-law. Mrs. Darcy occupied herself with Jane, and she was sorry, though unsurprised, to find that her sister regarded the upcoming ball with some apprehension. The party returned to Cheapside in order to prepare for their subsequent meeting that night at the ball, though not without some pointed comments on the part of Mrs. Bennet on how much she would prefer not having to leave this lovely house so soon on subsequent visits to London. But the anticipation of their imminent meeting did not allow them to tarry long, and the Darcys were soon left to their own preparations for the night ahead. Though Georgiana was yet to be formally presented in society, the occasion being what it was she had sought and had been granted permission to attend the ball. In truth her brother and his wife were much relieved at her wishes in the matter, having feared that her natural shyness and hesitation would make for a difficult transition when it did come. Her guardian and cousin, the Colonel, on leave from his regiment for the occasion, had secured the first two dances with her, and her brother and her host had made similar arrangements prior to the ball, in consideration of her feelings. Georgiana had the comfort of going in to her first ball knowing that she would not be neglected. Still, Miss Darcy's first appearance in London society was likely to attract some attention, and it was likely that she would not find herself without partners unless she wished it to be so. Now, as Elizabeth's maid put the final touches to her hair, Georgiana turned to her sister beseeching her approval.

"What will they think of me?" "Dearest, they cannot do anything but admire you. You will have the young men flocking in droves around you, and your brother will glower, and want to call them all out." Georgiana blushed and looked away, her reaction betraying perhaps a little bit more than was warranted by Elizabeth's teasing. She recovered herself quickly, and looked at Elizabeth, returning her playfulness. "He will hardly have the occasion to do that. He will not be able to take his eyes off you." Elizabeth smiled an inscrutable smile, looking strangely thoughtful for a moment. "I will not disgrace him, do you think?" "Lizzy, you could never disgrace him! I have never seen two people so agreeably suited... perhaps not since our mother and father." It fell to Elizabeth now to be comforting, and she embraced the younger girl. "You do them proud, my dear. You will do both of them proud." They embraced again, and Elizabeth busied herself in straightening out the folds in Georgiana's gown that she had inadvertently crumpled. They were both nervous, and excited, in a measure almost disproportionate to the event at hand. Darcy handed both young ladies out of the carriage, watching as they took in the cool night air after the stuffy carriage ride. His mind was cast back to another occasion, another ball thrown by his friend, and he remembered Elizabeth in the very same posture, as he had caught her eye from an upstairs window. He had looked away then, chastising himself mentally for ever having looked. Now he had done with such restraints, and could look uninhibitedly. He met his wife's eye and found that they were waiting expectantly for him at the foot of the stairs. He went up, took each lady's arm, and smiling reassurance at them both, led them into the house. Bingley's man recognized them, of course, and they were announced without having to give their names. "Mr. and Mrs. Darcy; Miss Darcy." They went up to Bingley and his sisters, who were both enthusiastic in their greetings, if not uniformly so. The Hursts also were in the receiving line, and Mrs. Hurst echoed her sister's effusions; Hurst merely snorted. The Darcys then joined such other of their friends who had already arrived at the ball, leaving the Bingleys to their duty as hosts. Many of the friends Elizabeth had made came by to greet her, and Georgiana marveled at her wide acquaintance as she went through the rituals of introduction over and over again. Both women were pressed again and again for dances; Elizabeth had already reserved the greater number for her husband, and as a married woman, would hardly

stand up for all of them, but she bestowed the rest judiciously, chiefly among close friends and family; Georgiana was surprised and pleased at the number of applications she received, and hazarded to accept some of them, with the approbation of her sister. They had not been at the ball long before the Bennets and Gardiners were announced together, and Elizabeth turned to see them in the receiving line. Miss Bingley, she observed, made the most cursory of greetings, and Bingley's own natural exuberance was diminished somewhat by his discomfiture. He did appear to be staring somewhat fixedly at Jane, who was looking remarkably well, but Elizabeth fancied that she caught him steal a glance in the direction of her husband, which sent an unexpected pang through her. Notwithstanding his confusion he recovered admirably, and Elizabeth, when her family finally came up to her, was able to ascertain to her satisfaction that he had engaged Jane for the first two dances. Mrs. Bennet's exuberance ran rampant as always on such an occasion, but in a company composed almost exclusively of strangers her worst excesses were inevitably avoided. Elizabeth was happy to see that her mother remained almost entirely in the company of her aunt. Kitty was another matter, but in a venue where all had congregated for high spirits and dancing, she could not, at least for the moment, expose herself too grievously, especially with Lydia absent. The musicians congregated for the first dance, and Darcy returned to her side to claim her hand, for they were to open the ball together. Behind them, the other couples started falling into place. Georgiana took her place with the Colonel, and the Hursts stood up together for once. Darcy was a little surprised to see Bingley claim Miss Bennet's hand, and he noted her heightened color, and her unusually animated features. He remembered earlier occasions on which he had found her to be surprisingly morose in his absence, and was ashamed at himself for having disregarded all his resolutions on her behalf in his own happiness. He would have to speak about it to Elizabeth this very night. As the music commenced, Darcy found himself smiling at Bingley's perceptiveness: it could hardly have been a coincidence that the musicians struck up the chords of Mr. Beveridge's Maggot. He turned towards Elizabeth and found that her distracted, her attention also diverted entirely towards her sister and their host. "I believe we must have some conversation, Mrs. Darcy. A very little will suffice." She turned back to him in surprise, fighting back an appreciative smile. "Is it appearances that concern you, sir, or dare I hope that you exert yourself to elicit my actual impressions?" "Both, I imagine. It would look strange were we to stand up for half an hour together without saying anything, but I do not imagine it would be conducive to the happiness of either to converse by form. I will admit that the size of the ballroom or the number of couples are subjects that fail to animate me." "Then I leave to you to determine the subject of our tte--tte. With your excellent memory you will recall my singular lack of success in lighting upon matters suited to amiable conversation on such occasions."

"I seem to remember you finding a subject that suited your fancy admirably. If my memory does not mislead me you occupied yourself with the illustration of my character. Might I inquire how you get on?" "You will remember then also that you dissuaded me from the effort, sir." "And you heeded that admonition? Indeed, you amaze me, madam." "I imagine there's a first time for everything. I assure you, sir, it won't happen again." He caught her pert look, and smiled to himself. "Dare I hope that you would not dissuade me from a like effort?" "Do you care to take my likeness, Mr. Darcy? I assure you, sir, you are most welcome to make the effort, but I shall trouble you for your results." "Not at all, Mrs. Darcy. Shall I tell you how I get on? You take great pleasure in your propensity deliberately to misunderstand and to profess opinions that are not your own, but you do it deliberately to be misunderstood, and I do believe you attempt to despise those who do not penetrate your meaning. Above all else you like an enigma. Your liveliness of mind is sometimes interpreted as impertinence, but you are in fact more amiable than you would allow, despite the pains you take to conceal yourself." By now she was almost laughing. "Enough, Mr. Darcy! A month married, and already we are come to this. And to think that I had entrusted all my good qualities to your care!" "You may rest assured, my dear, that I make the most of them." "I am glad to hear it. And in return, it will comfort you to know that I have taken it upon myself to tease and vex you as often as I may." "I shall look forward to it." As the dance drew to a close, they parted, on each side satisfied. Darcy remained enchanted at his wife's vivacity, and was quite delighted at her ability to provoke in him a reciprocal levity; she, for her part, was beginning to feel as though all restraints between them were melting away in their prolonged intimacy, and could not fail to be contented at such a development. Bingley proposed a toast to the happy couple, and their mutual accord was plainly evident as they accepted the congratulations of all and sundry. "Lady Catherine de Bourgh." The unexpected arrival took the entire assembly unawares. Bingley and his sister rushed forward to greet their guest as Darcy stared at his friend in unconcealed amazement.

Lady Catherine nodded imperiously at her hosts. "Mr. Bingley, I imagine this is your sister. She seems a pleasant sort of girl." "It is gratifying to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Catherine." She cut off Miss Bingley's remarks, turning back to her brother, who was yet to speak, regarding his guest with something very near dismay. "How very kind of you to have exerted yourself over my nephew, Mr. Bingley." Bingley had finally managed to find his voice. "Not at all. We're only pleased that you were able to come. The distance..." She waved her hand dismissively. "It is a very easy distance. You may be assured that it is not the distance that keeps me in Kent when I am of a mind to travel." She turned away from her hosts in a manner that decisively put an end to any further conversation. If Miss Bingley was sorry not to be able to make the closer acquaintance of so illustrious a visitor, it may be safely assumed that her brother was more relieved than not to be freed of the burden of entertaining their honored guest. With a deliberate step and an erect carriage belying her years she made her way towards her nephew, who bowed impassively, very aware that all eyes were upon them. "Lady Catherine." "Yes, Darcy. If I didn't know better I'd say you were surprised to see me." "If I may ask to what I owe this unexpected pleasure?" "Oh, come Darcy. You cannot pretend to be unaware of what brings me here?" "Indeed, I must protest my ignorance, Lady Catherine." "Sometimes I think you take pleasure in provoking me, Darcy. I didn't know what to make of your petition. I am your mother's sister, Darcy. I gives me no comfort to quarrel with you. But to think that you would not speak for yourself - that she should write on your behalf!" He stared at his aunt in incomprehension. "Your wife, Darcy. Oh, I say nothing against her. I suppose I can hardly blame her that you were wild enough to marry so imprudently. I dare say she's doing the best she can under the circumstances. She's certainly kept her head far better than I would have expected. You, on the other hand, seem to have forgotten yourself most grievously. Oh, I forgive you. I'll expect to see you at Rosings again next year. And you may bring her, I suppose."

Darcy bowed. Seething as he was within, he knew better than to contradict his aunt openly. As she dismissed him and turned elsewhere, he approached Bingley in an inquisitive manner. "I didn't expect her to come all this way, Darcy. But she is among your closest relations." "And dear Eliza insisted that she should have an invitation. I must say I thought it very brave of her." Darcy turned to Miss Bingley and nodded tensely. She chattered on blithely, hardly appearing to notice. His attention had wandered, as he surveyed the assembly, wondering what they would make of the scene. The dowagers and society matrons had been nodding knowingly as they watched the exchange between nephew and aunt, and already the whispers were circulating. He imagined that they were well able to read between the lines and infer his wife's interference, and most, he imagined, were approving of what she had accomplished. He watched Lady Catherine spare a few condescending words for Elizabeth, almost grimacing at what he had to interpret as his wife's obsequiousness. He still could not quite countenance her role in this unsought-for reconciliation. It had been her dignity that he had sought to protect by effecting the separation. That she should have gone behind him in such a manner was unthinkable. And yet there was no reason why it should be so. She had succeeded where he had not. After all, his aunt had capitulated, and had at last accepted Elizabeth's position as his bride, which was all that he had ever required of her. And yet, to have it granted in such a manner could not fail to affront. He stood there, unable to determine which had pained him most, his aunt's superciliousness or his wife's duplicity.

Part XXII
Posted on Friday, 17 March 2000, at 9 : 33 a.m. Lady Catherine de Bourgh was a woman with a strong sense of social obligation, and it could never be said of her that she behaved in a manner that she considered unbefitting. In the present circumstance, she had arrived at the Bingley's at the advanced hour she considered suitable for making an appearance, and it behooved her likewise to make an early exit, if only to establish the privilege of rank, and to make it amply clear that her late arrival had not simply been contingent upon the sort of vagaries of travel which are indecently indifferent to superior birth and breeding. Her leaving perhaps facilitated somewhat the discussion of the remarkable fact of her arrival, although it is safe to say that her presence had not seriously discouraged this line of conversation. Perhaps the only person who seriously regretted her departure was her considerate hostess, Miss Bingley, who had quite enjoyed the distinction of her presence, if not the actual blessing of her company, with which she had not in any case been overly burdened. But if Lady Catherine's presence had been instrumental in lending the event greater social distinction, it did not in any case contribute to its conviviality. Although the supper was excellent, and the musicians lively, the order of the day was gossip, and the Bingleys' guests were quick to realise that the subject under consideration might best be pursued the following day over morning visits,

preferably with people who were not present tonight. Notwithstanding their appreciation of Bingley's hospitality, most guests were eager to take their leave not long after Lady Catherine had bid her host adieu, and even the Darcys, as the guests of honour, did not feel the need to stay for more than a half an hour after. Mrs. Bennet, unable to appreciate the alacrity of her companions since her own principal confidantes, her sister Phillips, Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long, were in any case removed from her, was indignant that her second daughter should remove herself at such an hour, but being more concerned with the fate of her eldest, she did not protest vigourously, and Elizabeth, her husband, and his sister, were allowed to remove themselves in peace. For this Elizabeth was thankful, for though she had not spoken to her husband since his aunt's arrival, she was not so imperceptive as to realise from his demeanour that her husband was not entirely satisfied with the progression of events, and to have had to subject him to the raucous entreaties of her mother would have been needlessly provoking. Georgiana too had observed her brother's discontentment, and in her quiet way she wondered if somehow she couldn't improve matters. The situation just now had been difficult for her as well. Georgiana of course knew something of the complications that had prevented her aunt from making an appearance at her brother's wedding, but her initial reaction on seeing Lady Catherine today had been to think that all such awkwardness had been forgotten. The conversation she had had with her aunt (or rather, the monologue to which she had attempted to contribute a few halting interruptions) had established that although her aunt had not rejected Elizabeth's overtures, she was very far from considering her a niece. Her brother, she knew, could hardly have been satisfied with such a partial capitulation, and she began to wonder if this might not be an issue of some contention between the newlyweds. If this in fact did prove to be the case, she was determined, despite her own dislike of confrontations, to intercede between them. From her vantage point it was clear that each had acted to protect the other, but that each was stubborn enough to protest the action without appreciating the motive. The short journey back to the Darcy townhouse was made in silence, and though this was not seldom the case, given the temperament of brother and sister, Georgiana wondered whether she were fanciful to imagine that their present disinclination for conversation had another altogether more eerie quality. The silence persisted as they dismounted the carriage and entered the house. Handing his hat and overcoat to the butler, Darcy headed towards his study in quick steps, leaving Elizabeth and Georgiana to look searchingly at each other. "Elizabeth..." "Don't worry, dearest. I'll go talk to him at once." Sending Georgiana upstairs to her room, Elizabeth went after her husband, deliberating as to what she would say. That he was dissatisfied with the present outcome was obvious, and unsurprising, for she had hardly expected him to be altogether contented with her having acted expressly against his wishes without so much as informing him of her intentions. But for the first time it occurred to her that he had been protecting her honour, and not his own pride, in having acted as he had. Truth be told, she had hardly expected her overtures towards Lady Catherine to be so

immediately fruitful, and that they were told her that her husband probably knew that he could have brokered a similar peace quite easily without his wife's interference. That he had resisted had been because he had sought something more than the grudging acceptance that had now been granted, and had chosen rather to sever himself entirely from that part of his family than to brook even a veiled insult to his wife. Knowing as she did how he valued his heritage, and his family, she could easily imagine what the severance had cost him, and it pained her to know that it was through her that his sacrifice was brought to nothing. He was in the small library adjoining the study, which led her to imagine that he expected her to join him, and did not absolutely shun it, and clutching this hope she entered the room. He had poured himself a drink and was seated in one of the armchairs, but he was not even pretending to read. When she entered his eyes were full upon her, and he continued to watch her as she took the seat towards which he motioned. "Fitzwilliam..." She paused, feeling the full weight of his attention, and knowing that all apologies and explanations fell to her. "Fitzwilliam, I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to have interfered." "No, you don't need to apologize for that. If this was what you wanted then I cannot think of anyone who had a better right to interfere. Your interference accomplished what I obviously was not able to do for you, and I congratulate you." She looked away, trying to conceal her hurt at his scathing manner. "I didn't expect her to come today, but really, don't you think that your aunt should have had an invitation?" "You didn't think she would come? Elizabeth, this isn't about her comings and goings, it's about us. When were you planning to tell me that you were writing to her?" "I don't know. I just thought someone ought to try..." "And since I obviously failed you, who better to take up the gauntlet?" "Fitzwilliam, that is not what I meant and you know it. Why does everything have to bend to your will and your honour? Can't you see that I was only trying to help?" This time she made no attempt to mask her emotions. Without waiting for a reply, she rushed from the room, and made her way up to her own bed-chamber. He remained there, watching the door for he knew not how long after she left it. He knew he ought to go after her, but he didn't know what to say. He could see exactly what she had been thinking. Having been the cause of the rift between him and his aunt, she had very naturally wanted to make amends between them. He could hardly blame her for not knowing what his aunt was - not knowing that she would like

nothing better than a properly humbled and submissive niece on whom to impose her wishes. The stance he had taken against his aunt had been long overdue: for too long the lady had been allowed to imagine that her nephews and nieces, and even her own daughter, were simply agents to carry through her every plan to fruition. But having once quarreled with her, and having established once and for all that Elizabeth, not Anne, would be his wife, he could hardly say that he was unhappy that the olive branch had been forthcoming. And yet, it rankled. Despite what he had said he hardly doubted that she had acted more for his sake than for her own, and yet it would have hurt him less had her anxiety been entirely selfish if only she had confided in him. And that was the nub of it. Having lived for a month in what he had hitherto considered the most absolute domestic felicity he could not now be contented to know that in all this time his wife had been nursing concerns that she had not seen fit to share with him. A gentle knock at the door roused him, and he looked up to see his sister, Georgiana, peering in. "Come in, dear. I thought you would be in bed already. What did you think of your first ball?" "Fitzwilliam, did you just send Elizabeth away? She's crying." "Did she go to you?" "No, she went straight to her room. You'd better go talk to her, Fitzwilliam. There's nothing I can say that will make it better." "I'm not sure if there's anything I could say." "You can tell her that you love her, which is a great deal already. Surely you cannot hold it against her that she was only trying to help?" "That is precisely what she said." "And what are you going to say?" "Georgie, this is between me and Elizabeth. I will go speak to her, and you will go to bed." "I know, Fitzwilliam, it's none of my business. But I only want you to be happy." "We are happy. I will go talk to her, and there will be an end to it. And perhaps you shall have your chance to spend the spring by the marvelous chimney-piece at Rosings after all!" They laughed, and rose together, making their way upstairs. At the head of the stairs, Georgiana wished her brother good night, and returned to her own room. Darcy paused for a minute, and knocked on the door to his wife's bed-chamber. He could not quite make out her muffled response, but entered regardless. She had obviously been crying, as Georgiana had said, and as he himself had suspected, but she had taken

some pains to conceal this fact, and was trying to maintain an impassive front. She looked up at him expectantly, and he sat down on the bed beside her, and took her little hand in his. "Look, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. It doesn't matter to me in the least what Aunt Catherine thinks, but if I'd known that it meant anything to you then I would have done something about it. It's just that, well, I wish you could have told me that this was bothering you at all." She did not say anything, and he could see that she was not yet ready to apologize again. He could hardly blame her for it, having mocked her previous attempt, and he chastised himself mentally for having said anything in the least accusatory. He tried again, this time lighting on an unrelated subject that he had long been intending to bring up with her. "I thought your sister Jane looked remarkably well this evening." "And I suppose you will say next that your friend seemed remarkably attentive." "Yes, well, that is hardly remarkable. He is in love with her." She looked at him, surprise evident in all her features at the frank admission. "He has been for some time now. It was never his intention to remove from Netherfield at all. I might as well tell you that it is all my doing. Miss Bingley had her own reasons for furthering the same end, but it was to me that Bingley actually looked for guidance. I believed at the time that your sister was indifferent to him. I have lately had cause to question that judgment. Your sister has been quite out of spirits every time I've seen her in the last several months. And tonight, well, she fairly glowed in his presence. If they are truly attached, it would not do to keep them apart." "And who were you to decide? Even if you felt that my sister was indifferent, would it not have been a better plan to allow Mr. Bingley to try his luck, and then help him overcome his disappointment as best he could?" "You... that is... I did not expect him to be refused, Elizabeth. I did not wish to see him in a marriage where all the affection was on his side. It is what I fear above all things." "You felt that my sister would have no qualms in accepting a man to whom she was indifferent? I wonder at your having had no such qualms in your own case!" "Come, Elizabeth, you know that is absurd! It is just that, well, your sister is not particularly demonstrative of her affections, and your mother was only too explicit about her ambitions. I admit I was mistaken." But Elizabeth was past all reasoning. "I should say you were mistaken! My sister has been heart-broken a full six month because of your officious intervention. You would have done better do have applied

your much-vaunted discernment in your own case. She would never have accepted a proposal for any reason other than love." "I don't pretend to understand your meaning, Elizabeth." "Why, you have said it yourself. How could any daughter of my mother's have refused the proposals of man with ten thousand a year? How much time did you spend analyzing symptoms of particular regard? Or did you suppose that the charms of a man who could not propose marriage without making it evident that any alliance would be a degradation were as irresistible as the lure of his pocket-book?" Darcy stood up, looking bewildered, and a look of pain and astonishment flashed across his eyes. His complexion became pale with anger, and the disturbance of his mind was visible in every feature. He was struggling for the appearance of composure, and would not open his lips till he believed himself to have attained it. Elizabeth, who was only now beginning to realize what she had uttered after many weeks of watching her words, found the pause dreadful. At length, he spoke, in a voice of forced calmness. "I suppose I ought to thank you for disillusioning me. You are quite right in supposing that I had imagined that matters stood quite otherwise. There is one small point I find I must press you on. If my proposals were so very offensive, did it never occur to you to let me know of your objections any earlier? We have been married some time now." This last was delivered in a sardonic accent, making it amply clear that he would not in any case have considered such a confession on her part before they were irrevocably bound together. Elizabeth, who had begun to feel something very like regret at her thoughtless words, was once again incensed. "Perhaps it was foolish of me to base an expectation of marital felicity on a declaration I neither expected nor welcomed. But I cannot imagine what your expectations were based on. It cannot have been my feelings, for if you had been at all considerate of them you could never have proposed in such a manner. I do not believe it ever occurred to you to think of anyone but yourself." "You have said quite enough, madam. I comprehend your feelings perfectly, and now have only to be ashamed of what my own have been." And with these words he hastily left the room. The tumult of her mind was now painfully great. She knew not how to support herself, and from actual weakness lay down and cried for half an hour.

Part XXIII
Posted on Monday, 10 April 2000, at 9 : 55 a.m. Entering his own bedchamber, Darcy collapsed on the bed, holding his head in his hands. The events of the past half-hour still defied comprehension. Was it possible?

Could he be a creature so repugnant to the woman he held dear above all else? Could Elizabeth, in whose every feature he had seen honesty, have been dissembling for so long? Had there been no feeling in her looks, in her words and caresses? Could he have been taken in by the artful coquetry of a husband-chaser? Anger welled up in him that she could have spoken thus of him. That she should have accused him of having treated her unfeelingly, when in fact it had been for her alone that he had thought and planned these many months now. How could she resent him for denigrating her family? Though she had never voiced it openly, had she not, in her excuses and her mortification, made a similar criticism? And had he not made it perfectly clear that these were matters to which he was perfectly indifferent? As for the charge of ruining her sister's happiness, had he not spoken only out of concern that her happiness ought not be compromised? But even as he continued to rationalize his actions, he realized that the affair was capable of a turn which rendered his conduct infamous. Elizabeth had been misguided in her accusations, but they were not entirely unfounded. She had called his behaviour ungentlemanlike, and he saw now that in the early stages of their acquaintance, he had used her ill indeed. It was a miracle that she had ever accepted a man who had treated her thus. But surely he had not been so callous since then. Surely she had seen how high a value he placed on her regard? He had defied family, fashion, and convention in choosing her.... Only now did it dawn upon him how galling it must have been to a woman of her spirit to be constantly reminded of his shallow sacrifice. And certainly the reminder had been present, if not in his words then in his actions and his very manner. Her mother had responded to these hints with a sickening servility; Elizabeth had been hurt, but had never spoken a word. As the first wave of his anger waned, Darcy was conscious of an enveloping melancholy and regret. Regret that he had been so selfish in his love, that he had not realized that he was indebted to her for his happiness while forcing her to acknowledge that she was dependent on him for her finances, her social status, and even her identity. But mostly he regretted that she, who was so ably equipped to be his teacher, had not spoken earlier, before the rift between them had widened to this extent, before he had betrayed how entirely he had misunderstood both himself and her. Had she but spoken sooner he must have seen the error of his ways and mended them. Had she spoken sooner these weeks of what he had considered perfect marital felicity might have engendered real understanding and trust. Had she spoken much sooner, his suit would have been rejected. He would have had to live with the agony of seeing the error of his ways without the slightest hope of ever being able to gain her good-will. In all probability she would never have come into his life again. As it was, he had at least the satisfaction of knowing that she would always be a part of his life, and that in time she might learn to forgive him. But how was this to be accomplished? He could not approach her again after he had left her so unceremoniously, As he recalled what he had said, he shuddered. He had confirmed her poor opinion of him in every particular. And what could he now say that would inspire her esteem? It had never occurred to him to doubt her regard for him, but he realized now that he had never exercised himself to earn her regard, or even to deserve it. Her affection he had lately attempted to purchase by lavishing upon her his attentions and his gifts, but what reason could she have to esteem a man who

had been so guarded with himself that his wife of more than a month should barely know him? He started writing to her, as much to release his own pent-up emotions as to offer her some justification of himself. But as he reviewed what he wrote his grievances returned to him and he could not help but believe that whatever the faults on his side had been he had been used excessively ill by her. And it occurred to him then that what she had not understood in living with him as his wife she was unlikely to glean from words committed to paper half in anger. He looked over the sheets one more time before he committed them to the fire. With sardonic humour he noted how low the fire burnt. Obviously, he had not been expected to occupy this room tonight. When the last shreds of paper crumbled into ash, he extinguished his candle, and made his way to bed, though sleep refused to come. He schooled himself not to turn in the direction of his wife's room. Had he done so, he would have seen a crack of light under the door. He was not sleepless alone. *** As Elizabeth's barrage of tears slowed and her weakness passed, she attempted to think rationally upon her confrontation with her husband. A part of her rejoiced that there was no longer any concealment, and that the pressure of playing a part had been lifted. But as she thought back over the past few months she realized that she had been playing no part that did not come utterly naturally to her, and that she had not been anything other than happy to be so doing. As her words came back to her, she felt increasingly remorseful. She had certainly never intended to brutally inform him that she had married him for no other reason than his wealth. And the words she had uttered in her desperation and rage were not even true. While Elizabeth was still unable to understand what had induced her to accept his proposal, she knew quite well why she had not broken the engagement, which she had certainly been inclined to do on more than one occasion. And it was not that she had been goaded into the marriage by the taunts of Miss Bingley and Lady Catherine, or even, as she had justified it to herself, to keep him from looking ridiculous after he had forsworn an important family connection for her sake. Almost from the beginning of their engagement he had surprised her with a warmth and an affection which she had been loath to reject, and which she now recognized had begotten a like feeling in herself. Indeed for some time now it had hardly occurred to her to wonder at her own feelings. She could not continue to allow him to feel thus rejected. He must know that even in spite of herself he had indeed grown extremely dear to her own heart. Elizabeth reached in the drawer and located some stationary. She saw that the paper had been embossed with their initials entangled, and once again tears crept unbidden to her eyes. She held them back and set about composing her letter. As she finished and waited for the ink to dry, the futility of her mission was driven home to her. Was it possible that a man so brutally rejected could still harbour any affection for her? His pride, always so strong, would soon conquer any tender feelings. And what had he said that she could rightfully hold against him? The low opinion in

which he held her family saddened her, but it was no different from her opinion of them. That her connections should repulse him was also unsurprising; Elizabeth had long known that they were unlikely to tempt a gentleman. Towards her sister he had undoubtedly meant well; it was she who had just now decidedly demolished her chance of happiness. It was impossible that Darcy now be persuaded that a Bennet girl could marry for disinterested love. Elizabeth experienced a heightened sense of loss for the love she had so proudly spurned. She began now to comprehend that he was exactly the man who, in disposition and talents, answered all her wishes. It had been a union that was to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind had been softened, his manners improved; and from his judgment, information, and knowledge of the world, she had received benefit of greater importance. But no such happy marriage could now teach the admiring multitude what connubial felicity really was. Her rash declaration had turned it into an union of a different tendency. She was married to the only man she could ever love, but in one fell swoop she had transformed her marriage into a hollow sham. What right had she to hope for redemption? With a sigh, she took the letter, and placed it carefully in the bureau. It was impossible that it would be sufficient to placate Darcy's pride. He would think it another move in the games of coquetry; that was the sort of woman he thought she was, one of Mr. Collins' elegant females. No, she could not give him this letter. Unless, unless she might know that forgiveness was forthcoming. But that was a vain hope. He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex, but while he was mortal, there could be no forgiveness for such a breach of trust as hers. Elizabeth could not bring herself to extinguish her candle. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. Afraid that she would spend the remainder of her life alone, tiptoeing through hallways so as to not disturb her husband, who would despise her for evermore. And as long as the candle burnt, she would not allow herself to sleep, and bring herself closer to this inevitable reality.

Part XXIV
Posted on Thursday, 27 April 2000, at 9 : 29 a.m. Despite a largely sleepless night, the morning saw Fitzwilliam Darcy rise early, as usual, and make his way to his club. This was a considerable deviation from his accustomed schedule of the last several weeks, Darcy having exhibited a marked preference for the company of his wife over that of his friends, but his staff were too well-trained to betray their astonishment. Nevertheless, he was well aware that his foray would excite comment in the servants' hall; he could hardly wonder at their expecting to find him otherwise occupied this, as on other mornings. But it could not be helped. To spend another moment in the house would have been insupportable. He cringed even to contemplate the agony of sharing the breakfast parlour with Elizabeth; the chasm between them now was far greater than that which he had once considered unbridgeable, that had caused him hours of agony, and that had caused him finally to tender a proposal set forth in mortifying terms to the woman he loved. In spite of all that she had said, she was still the woman he loved. The soul-searching of the night had left him as convinced of this as he had ever been.

It had also forced him to come to terms with many of her accusations. He could hardly deny that he had used her ill initially; at the Meryton assembly his comment had been prompted by what he could only explain as a boorish impulse, and his subsequent behaviour had stemmed from his wish to deny his attraction to her. But that she had failed to acknowledge any subsequent improvement, that she did not even admit the possibility of redemption was painful indeed. Had he not showed her, in word and deed, what she meant to him? He knew that he had tried at least to convey the depth of his emotion to her, and something inside him whispered that she had understood, that her smiles and caresses had not been born of a mercenary impulse, that words bandied in anger could not be allowed to stand between them when he had come to see the error of his ways. But no, she would not admit such a possibility; she could never think him worthy of her love. His blood rose in a jealous rage as he stopped to consider a possibility that had never crossed his mind before. Was it possible that he had failed to win Elizabeth's heart because she had already bestowed it elsewhere? But in her limited circle, the four and twenty families that her mother had held up so proudly to him, had he ever perceived her to regard anyone with more than ordinary feeling? As he searched his recollection he honestly could not recall any such signs. He remembered watching her dance with many of the local gentlemen, and rewarding them with her smiles and her pert conversation. Indeed, this had contributed something towards provoking him to ask her himself at the Netherfield ball, where she would be hard-pressed to refuse him as she had earlier. But nowhere had he noticed in her any marks of particular favour, nor had he, to be perfectly honest, seen any of the gentlemen with the exception of her cousin the parson of Hunsford, regard her in a like fashion. Admittedly, this had allowed him to despise her society still further. How could they be so ignorant of the presence of such a creature among them? Even with the arrival of the militia, when every girl for miles had fancied herself smitten by the red coats, Elizabeth had never been anything but uniformly friendly. He had, after all, seen her often among the officers. But unbidden, a recollection flashed through his mind, that of Elizabeth staunchly defending Wikham to him during their dances at the Netherfield ball. The subject had never been renewed between them, and he had long assumed that Elizabeth had learnt something of Wikham's true manner. But it occurred to him now that had that been the case, she would probably have acknowledged as much to him. It seemed more likely, especially after last night's revelations, that Elizabeth retained her sympathy for the one man in the world to whom without any exaggeration he could call an enemy. For a moment he was tempted to turn back, and to lay before her the true facts behind his long acquaintance with that blackguard. But in truth, what could that possibly solve? He could not in conscience clear himself absolutely of the charges she had laid at his door. Nor could he deny that he was still smarting from her admission. The fact that he still loved her with every fibre of his being did nothing to prevent his disillusionment. She had admitted last night that given her opinion of him she had had no reason other than the most mercenary for accepting his proposals, but he wondered now why he had ever gone to her without a doubt of his refusal. He had been under the impression, to be sure, that Elizabeth's arch manner and pert replies were intentionally bewitching, but he had never denied that she was equally friendly with others. It had been a particular charm to him that she did not flatter him in any obvious manner. It

was not then the case that he had intuited any especial regard. But he realized now that he had always carried with him the security of knowing that he would be making a proposal that would be impossible to refuse. The struggle, he had thought, was all on his side. Once he had decided to make his addresses, there was hardly a choice in the matter for her. And his security had rested firmly on Pemberley, the Darcy name, and his income. It was the only reason he had ever supposed any other woman would encourage him. Why, then, had he so readily assumed that in Elizabeth's case it would be any different: that she alone would see him for what he was? Perhaps it was not too unreasonable an expectation of the woman he loved, but it could not be an expectation that lent itself to any form of security. Burgeoning affections were always tenuous and fragile, and he had been too busy struggling with his own to have taken any particular care to recommend himself to her. His double surety now seemed like a laughable contradiction: to assume her acceptance implied that he was careless of her genuine regard. But surely he was not so. Surely the last month would not have meant half so much to him had he thought that she did not love him as he did her. And though she had never spoken the words she had given him every reason to believe it was so. Every consideration he had shown her had been reciprocated many times over, and it had seemed to him that without even thinking about it Elizabeth had often deferred her own wishes to his pleasure and his sister's comfort. But perhaps she was so considerate of anyone in her sphere. He could hardly ever remember Elizabeth being deliberately unaccommodating. It was he who was the selfish creature. Even now, he had to hope that he must someday be able to win Elizabeth's love. He would attempt to better himself for her sake, but there must be the hope of that reward. And yet, he could not continue to impose upon her. It was hardly likely that she would be very comfortable in his presence now, after her admission. Nor could he honestly say that he could be perfectly calm in her presence, for though he had begun to justify her feelings to himself, he was still hurt that she should have said such things. Perhaps it would be best to put some distance between them before they were equal to meeting again on neutral terms, and starting afresh. He would do what he could to hasten the process. Georgiana would once again be spending the summer at a seaside establishment. If Elizabeth were to accompany her, not only would Georgiana be safer from lurking fortune-hunters but they would also have the opportunity to further their friendship. Yes, he would plead that he had business in the North, and send them forth together. And perhaps, after a month or so, he might join them. As Elizabeth awakened, the bustling noises alerted her to an unfamiliar presence in her chambers. The events of the last night came back to her as she struggled to open her tired eyes, and for a moment she allowed herself to hope that her husband might have forgiven her, and returned to her. "Sorry, Ma'am, I didn't mean to awaken you, but I wondered if you might be needing me just yet." "Sarah," she said, seeing her new maid. Elizabeth had not been not accustomed to having a personal attendant; at Longbourn, Hill had been the domestic who had filled this role for her and all her sisters, and Elizabeth was used to fending for herself for

the most part. In her new status, of course, such a thing had been deemed unsuitable, and Elizabeth had interviewed several applicants, most of whom had appeared rather disdainful upon learning that Elizabeth had never engaged a maid, before Hill had mentioned that she had a niece who was looking to find a job. Elizabeth had been relieved to find someone with whom she would have to assume none of the false dignity she despised. "What time is it?" "A little past ten, Ma'am." "Good heavens, Sarah, why did you not summon me earlier? You know that Miss Georgiana and I have several engagements this morning. What will she think if I am not ready to leave with her?" "Pardon me, ma'am, but I did not think you would wish to rise early this morning." Elizabeth coloured at the implication of her statement, wondering how much of last night's fiasco had filtered through to the servants' quarters. Then, as Sarah continued in her soft, hesitant manner, she began to feel a little silly. No matter what the servants might discuss below stairs, they would hardly betray their knowledge to her. "You were out so late last night. Miss Darcy is only just waking up herself." "I suppose you're right, Sarah. I hardly realized how late it was. Is... Has Mr. Darcy had breakfast yet?" she asked, not wanting to reveal that she had no idea where he would be. "Yes, Ma'am. He rose early this morning and headed out for his club. He left word that he would be home in time for dinner." Elizabeth nodded. She could not wonder at his choosing to stay out of the house until he could be sure that they would not be alone. Poor Georgiana, who had so eagerly looked forward to the happiness that the addition of a new sister would bring to her life, and who had already proved herself so devoted and so dear, would be unwittingly called upon to act as a buffer between them. With an effort she rose, and with Sarah's help, readied herself for the day. She was just descending the stairs and to find her way to the breakfast parlour when she came upon Georgiana, who told her that she had been waiting upon the Bingleys, who had been with her this past half hour.

Part XXV
Posted on Friday, 19 January 2001 The greeting concluded, Elizabeth and Georgiana looked at each other, wondering whether they ought to comment on a rather conspicuous absentee. It was Miss

Bingley, however, who took advantage of this particular lull in the conversation and raised the subject that was undoubtedly foremost in the minds of all present. "I do not see Mr. Darcy, Eliza. I am excessively surprised, for I have known him always to be an early riser." "You are quite right, Miss Bingley, but since Georgiana and I permitted myself the luxury of late hours, we find that he has undertaken an excursion to his club. I expect he will not be long." she responded, hoping that this answer would content that lady. It was her brother-in-law who responded first. "Trust Darcy to stick to business as usual. Singular!" Mr. Bingley, appalled at Mr. Hurst's lack of delicacy, hastened to change the subject, and though his sister had had more to say, she was obliged to refrain from further comment. For some time he conversed laboriously with his hostess; with every moment Elizabeth grew more anxious for her husband's return, more persuaded that she had damaged their relationship irreparably, and more convinced that the shambles to which her marriage had disintegrated was apparent for all to see. Still she persevered, and they plodded through a series of unengaging subjects. Miss Bingley attempted frequently to turn the conversation in the direction of their unexpected visitor last night, but her brother was equally anxious to return to more neutral subjects. His bent of conversation turned often towards the subject of Elizabeth's family, and it was obvious, although he felt obliged to mention her parents and the Gardiners, that his mind was occupied principally by quite another Bennet. Finally, as the party was rising reluctantly to take their leave, the sound of the doorbell was heard, and the master of the house was announced soon after. Though Darcy had found himself stifled inside the house, and had felt the inexorable urge to leave, the club proved to be no less confining. His acquaintances, who generally saw no cause to inflict their company upon him, today felt compelled to comment on the previous night's engagement, and his aunt's singular appearance in town. Those who did not speak to him on the subject glanced frequently in his direction, and it became increasingly obvious to him that it was not simply their wives who engaged in gossip on his domestic situation. He took his leave very shortly after his arrival, and had started walking almost aimlessly, but his feet had betrayed him, and soon he had found himself almost at his doorstep. He had intended to walk away once again, but he saw the Bingley carriage awaiting, and realized that Bingley's overly nice sense of delicacy had brought him here for a wholly unnecessary apology, which he would have to accept for his friend's peace of mind. Difficult as it would be to face Elizabeth, it had to be done, and it would not do for her to have to entertain them alone. Trapped in a loveless marriage, her predicament was bad enough without the likes of Miss Bingley spreading rumours of their estrangement. It was essential that a united front be maintained. Whatever Elizabeth's faults may have been, she was his wife, and the woman he loved, and he would not allow her position to be undermined. The likes of his Aunt Catherine or Miss Bingley would not be allowed to see anything other than confidence and affection in their relations to each other.

Elizabeth's surprise at his relatively early return was so great as to be almost visible, but Darcy appeared to be entirely unperturbed. He greeted the Bingleys and the Hursts cordially and Georgiana affectionately; he insisted that his guests remain for dinner, and in the not inconsiderable period before that meal was served, he played the part of a consummate host with greater ease than Elizabeth had ever noted in him before. Bingley's stammered apology he waved away graciously, representing the entire episode as a necessary if unpleasant concession to family unity, without not once referring to his wife's culpability. Miss Bingley's tendency to harp on about the unexpected honour too he was able to quell with polite observations on the other distinguished guests she had attracted. Without monopolizing the conversation he managed to make his presence felt, and he certainly never appeared aloof or indifferent. And when his wife recovered sufficiently to join in the conversation once more, he proved quite as skillful in the art of repartee as she had ever been, and if the company had thought to take pleasure in the skirmish of wits that had so often typified the conversation of Darcy and his bride, they were far from disappointed; each participant proved to be in fine form. Georgiana and Bingley were rather astonished at the change in Darcy's manner; they each attributed it to marital felicity and rejoiced for him. Miss Bingley could not be so content; the exchange seemed to dismiss all her hopes that Darcy had come to regret his choice of bride. The other person who was particularly troubled was Darcy's bride. With an insight that had been denied even to his sister and his closest friend, she noted that his present demeanor was no more than a carefully studied pose. The pride of the Darcys would not allow a further scandal than the choice of an unsuitable bride; the appearances of a happy marriage were to be maintained at any cost. Elizabeth's heart chilled at the thought. How much preferable to this display of gallantry and affection had been his anger last night! How she wished that they could have it out again, that she could convince him of how much he meant to her! That avenue was blocked forever; she was trapped now in this world of appearances. There was no possibility that he could ever believe her protestations of love; most likely, she had lost her place in his affections. And as she made these mortifying discoveries, Elizabeth could hope for no solace, or even any solitude to contemplate her sorry state; she was engaged in as fine a performance as had ever won her a compliment from Mr. Darcy, and if the effort she was compelled to invest was mistaken by her audience to be her customary liveliness, it is a fair testament to her abilities, for they cannot be described as strangers. Dinner was a continuation of this trial; there was some respite in the segregation of the sexes after the meal, despite the unwelcome company of a certain lady, but when the gentlemen rejoined them the torment continued again. Mercifully, the party did not stay too long after dinner; their responsibilities as hosts the previous night had kept them up long after the Darcys had left, and were anxious for their rest. Their departure was a most welcome relief to Elizabeth, for there the performance ceased. After he had bid his guests farewell, Mr. Darcy turned to his sister, and discussed her plans for the summer. Georgiana enthusiastically told him of her choice of destination, and her brother readily assented without inquiring too far into the particulars. He mentioned also that her new sister would be joining her; he had business in the North which prevented him from taking her to Pemberley at present, and it would provide them with another opportunity to improve their acquaintance. Elizabeth's gloom deepened, as she realized that her fears were being confirmed; she was being exiled -- he could not even tolerate her presence. To Georgiana she professed her delight; her brother's eye she was unable to meet. With her assent given, it was a settled scheme. And so,

before the Darcys retired for the night, it was determined that Georgiana and Elizabeth would spend the summer together at Brighton.

Part XXVI
Posted on Sunday, 21 January 2001 This section was originally dedicated to Davidia, who suggested it. The song is a translation of the aria Elizabeth sings in P&P2, which I took way back when from one of the Deb's story Visits in the BoI archives (or the former DWG). Malini. Mumbling that he had business to attend to, Darcy reluctantly allowed Georgiana to draw him into the music room. He had been heading straight for the study after the evening meal, as had become his habit over these past few days. Today, however, his sister had waylaid him before he made good his escape. Georgiana, who spent a great deal of time alone with her new sister, whom she had come to call Lizzy, had newly she had noticed a listlessness that she had never before associated with her. Elizabeth had not confided in Georgiana, nor had Georgiana sought a confidence. But being privy to the initial cause of discord between them, she was inclined to lay the blame with her brother's stubbornness in refusing to forgive his wife for communicating with Lady Catherine. Georgiana had no way of suspecting what had really passed between them, but it seemed hardly likely to her that William was so grievously offended, and she concluded therefore that he was neglecting his wife out of sheer willfulness, being unwilling to make amends. It would have been too much of a liberty for her to speak to him about it, but she was determined to show him his error, for she was convinced that he could not long remain resistant if he were exposed to her company. His place was by Elizabeth's side, and to Georgiana, who was no card player, there could be no place more suitable for them to congregate together than the music room. She would admit no excuses, and since neither her brother nor his bride wanted to involve her in their quarrel, they had none to give. Elizabeth was stationed at the piano, William at a position suitable to observe her, and Georgiana, satisfied with her arrangements so far, went up to Elizabeth and gave her the sheets of music she had selected for tonight. If Elizabeth blushed slightly and glanced quickly across at her husband, Georgiana may be forgiven for neglecting to observe this; she had a great deal on her mind this night. Her brother's neglect is perhaps less easy to forgive, caused as it was by his schooled determination to avoid meeting his wife's eyes. Be that as it may, the opening bars of Elizabeth's melody caught him unawares, and his eyes instinctively searched for hers, foiling his intentions. You ladies Who know what love is, See if it is What I have in my heart. Elizabeth looked up from the sheets before her and found her husband's eyes upon her. It had been some time since he had allowed her to bask in his gaze; indeed, it felt like an eternity. Had there ever been a time when she had resented his attentions? Perhaps

all was not lost. Perhaps, in spite of everything, she still had some power over him. She met his eyes, refusing to release him from her thrall. All that I feel I will explain; Since it is new to me, I do not understand it. Georgiana turned from Elizabeth to William, to reassure herself of the success of her scheme. Their eyes were locked on each other; it was a gaze that made her feel like an interloper. Surely this was what she had intended. And yet, she got a sense that there was very little intimacy in their eyes; the very intensity of the gaze was a challenge of sorts. Georgiana shook her head; there could be no estrangement. They were oblivious to her very presence; could there be any greater proof of their mutual attachment? I have a feeling Full of desire, Which now is pleasure, Now is torment. I freeze, then I feel My spirit all ablaze, And the next moment Turn again to ice. I seek for a treasure Outside of myself; Darcy drew in his breath sharply, responding to the plaintive note in Elizabeth's voice. He had always enjoyed hearing her sing, but today, there was something more, an urgency which had never been there before. He recalled what he had said to her the day he had first heard her sing this song. "We neither of us perform to strangers." They were strangers no longer; for better or for worse, they had exchanged revelations exposing their strongest grievances. But would it ever be possible to heal the rift? Was that her message to him? Or was this just another performance, staged for his benefit? I know not who holds it Nor what it is. I sigh and I groan Without wishing to, I flutter and tremble Without knowing why. I find no peace By night or day, But yet to languish thus Is sheer delight. Elizabeth's lips curved into a slight ironic smile as she completed the catalogue of her symptoms. She had spent many hours agonizing over the state of her emotions. Now it was become so strikingly clear to her, yet she had never taken the opportunity to confess it to her husband when she had the chance. Now when it was too late she wondered how she had avoided saying the words which had animated her actions.

Now that she had thrown away her one chance at happiness and condemned herself to a marriage that could never be more than a farce, she recognized that she was deeply in love. But there could be no remnant of affection in him after her rejection. It could only be wishful thinking on her part. What a triumph for him that the affection she had proudly spurned only a few days before would now have been gratefully received! He was as generous, she doubted not, as the most generous of his sex, but while he was mortal, there must be a triumph. You ladies Who know what love is, See if it is What I have in my heart. As she completed the song, Darcy turned away, abruptly. Why did he tempt himself thus? There was nothing to hope for. It had not been a week since she had told him that she could never have loved him, and certainly he had done nothing to earn her affection in the interim. He wondered whether there was any possibility that she could ever love him, but he had schooled his emotions well, and they did not allow himself to indulge in such a fancy for long. But he could not help wondering whether the object of his affections was indeed the woman before him, or whether she was a figment of his imagination, whom he had cast in Elizabeth's image.

Part XXVII
Posted on Wednesday, 31 January 2001 Elizabeth was in her room, making the final preparations for her journey to Brighton. Sarah had packed her trunks, and they were being loaded into the carriage, but Elizabeth surveyed the room once again, consciously delaying her departure as much as she could. Not that it would solve anything for her to stay. The last few days had been among the most painful of her life. Having known what it was to live in companionable amity with Darcy, it was especially difficult to adjust to the cold civility which had come to characterize her husband's demeanor towards her. He was scrupulously correct in every particular, and when they were unavoidably in each other's company, he was even attentive in the manner of most husbands. Indeed, even so close an observer as Georgiana was allayed in some of her suspicions. But she did suspect, Elizabeth knew; she had grown more acute in her observation of them, and in her quiet way she tried to give them time alone that they might make reparations. But nothing had come of Georgiana's efforts; when Darcy was unable to avoid his wife, he would simply ignore her so pointedly that she saw little profit in attempting any manner of explanation; it was quite clear that none could be acceptable. Pensively, she went up to the bureau by the window, and from one of its drawers, she drew out a few sheets of paper. As she read through the letter she had written her husband, her eyes filled with tears once again. Was there any hope of redemption for her? Last night, when Georgiana had cashiered them all into the music room, she had thought that there might be. Once again she had found him looking at her, and swept away in the moment, they had held each other's eyes for the duration of the song. But the spell had been broken; he had looked away, and she had not found his eyes for the

rest of the evening. But truth be spoken, she had been unable to seek them. Forgiveness was inconceivable, and she had not wanted to tempt herself with the possibility. She folded up the papers once again, and turned to the fire. Sarah had been surprised that she had requested one on so warm a day, but her intention had been to consecrate these pages to the flames. Now, contemplating the fire, she realized that she could not bring herself to do it. She would continue to tempt herself with the possibility that they might one day be reconciled. She turned to the desk, and retrieving a stick of lacquer, she melted off the end and deposited it onto her folded letter. She sealed it, studying the Darcy coat-of-arms as it cooled. And replacing it in the bureau, she went downstairs, responding to Georgiana's urgent summons. Darcy and Georgiana stood in the foyer, waiting for Elizabeth. They had said their farewells just now; each had promised to correspond with the other, and the brother had not been able to resist charging his sister to take care of his wife. It was a ridiculous instruction, he knew; if anything, his wife would be the guardian, and in spite of his estrangement from her, he knew from observing their rapport that she would discharge this duty creditably. But painful as it was for him to relinquish the task that was rightfully his, it comforted him to think an emissary of his would be watching over Elizabeth. The last few days had been insupportable. It had been as though they had tip-toed through the house, each attempting to avoid the other. He fancied he had comported himself well; indeed, in reviewing his behaviour he congratulated himself that it had been entirely as normal. Elizabeth's evident loss of spirits had not escaped his notice, and although it pained him that she could not love him, he loved her well enough to sympathize with what she must endure in a loveless marriage. He had promised himself that he would not add to her misery by allowing her to know what he suffered for her sake; he could not quite bring himself to imagine that she cared for him so little that she would be entirely unaffected by his pain. And he had held to his resolve quite effectively until last night. Even now, he could not quite explain to himself what exactly had happened last night. He had allowed himself to hope that Elizabeth had indicated her willingness to love him; he had allowed himself to dread that she was leading him on once again in a coquettish game. Now, in the cold light of day, he rejected either possibility. Georgiana had chosen the music; their had been no message in it. He had read an invitation into Elizabeth's voice before: her warmth of expression almost demanded it, but she had never sent him any deliberate signals. If there was any cause for hope, it was that the person who could represent him in the best light would be Elizabeth's constant companion for these two months. As Elizabeth descended downstairs, Georgiana was the first to see her come. She found a pretext to observe the loading of the trunks into the carriage and left them before either Elizabeth or Darcy could contradict her. Whatever the awkwardness between them, she was convinced that they needed the opportunity for a private farewell. Elizabeth had both hoped and dreaded that this would be the case; as it came to pass, she realized that dread predominated over hope. She told herself that this was necessary, if they were even to begin to reach an understanding, but the necessity made it no easier. They each stood silent for a few moments. "Brighton should be pleasant at this time of year. I'm sure you will find some of your new friends there."

"I am sure I shall be well entertained, with Georgiana. I hope you will not be so busy as to neglect all your friends." "My business is rather pressing, and then, most of my friends are still from town." "Mr. Bingley remains, and the Colonel arrives next week. Will you ask him to join you here, instead of having the Matlock townhouse opened? Georgiana and I will have the comfort of knowing that you are not all alone." "You are too solicitous. I assure you, I shall be well occupied." "And you will dispatch this business as quickly as possible, won't you? Georgiana is counting on you to join us, and I..." she hesitated for a moment, and Darcy interrupted her. "I assure you, I will be there at my earliest convenience, to accompany you to Pemberley." "I shall look forward to it." She looked at him earnestly, imploring him to take her meaning instead of parrying her words with polite formulas. And as she forced him to meet her eyes he was tempted for one mad moment to throw himself at her feet again and beg her not to leave. He moved towards her, knowing that in a moment he could take her in his arms as he ought to do, and yet the thought that she had never wanted him to held him back. And then the housekeeper entered, apologetic at the interruption, but armed with a volley of questions for the mistress that could not be postponed. As they went over the details of menus, household purchases, and the upkeep of the mansion, he marvelled again at how intimately she had insinuated herself into the fabric of his life. She had lived here for a month, and it was as though these decisions had never been his, or that the housekeeper had never attended to them without her instructions. But it never occurred to him to marvel at how precisely her instructions were adapted to coincide with the tenor of his life, and even where his own inclinations went against his best interests, how she knew exactly what would suit him best. Having no further excuse to linger outside, Georgiana returned, hoping that her brother and his wife had had the opportunity for an intimate farewell. The conference was interrupted, and offering each woman one arm, Darcy led them to the carriage waiting outside. Georgiana threw her arms around him in a warm sisterly hug, and admonishing him to join them at the earliest, she boarded the carriage. His reply was non-committal; there was much that he needed to take care of in town at present. As he helped Elizabeth into the carriage, he kept his eyes studiously on their two hands, marvelling at the impact so brief a touch could have on him. As she thanked him, her hand was still in his, and on a sudden impulse, he briefly raised it to his lips. Still the hand was not withdrawn, but still he could not meet the eye. It was not until he turned to Georgiana and observed her knowing smile that he dropped it, abruptly, and bade the coachman to drive on. It was not until Elizabeth turned back for a last pensive look that he was compelled to meet her eyes again. At such a distance, it was impossible for him to read their

message. Or so he told himself as his heart began to scrutinize every emotion that her glance had evoked.

Part XXVIII
Posted on Wednesday, 7 February 2001 The coming of the post to Longbourn had become a rather momentous occasion, and on this particular day, once again, the mistress of the house looked forward to the event with some anticipation. A sizeable bundle was delivered, and in her eagerness, Mrs. Bennet sorted through it herself. The tradesmen's bills earned scarcely a glance; they were forwarded on to the library, and the care of the master of the house. The anticipated missives were from Brighton, and though there were two such among the letters, Mrs. Bennet could not but be disappointed that her two distant daughters had chosen to address their sisters rather than their mother. Kitty claimed her short letter eagerly, and spent the remainder of the day alternately ecstatic to share Lydia's adventures vicariously and dismayed that the opportunity to live in such a manner had been denied her, though she was the elder. Miss Bennet's response to her letter was more serene; her pleasure, though evident enough to those who knew her, was not so plainly imprinted on her features, and her resentment, if indeed she were capable of such an emotion, was also more tempered. And yet it was unlikely that even one so good-natured should have not a pang of regret at the present outcome. It had been her own marriage that had been conjectured at through all of Meryton, her heart that had been given away long before her sister had been suspected of any partiality. Now Elizabeth was married, most advantageously, and Jane had every reason to believe, from her letters, and from her demeanor when they had met in London, that she was perfectly happy. To be certain of such a man's affection must be gratifying, and his material circumstances could only add to her sister's felicity. There had been a time when she had thought herself similarly secure; though she had been reluctant to admit of such a conviction before a positive engagement, Mr. Bingley's manners had persuaded her of his regard. Now she knew not what to think; when he had not waited upon her in London she had come to believe that her fancy had led her to see an imaginary affection, but when she had lately seen him in Hertfordshire and at his ball in London he had been as attentive as ever, though perhaps a little more melancholy in his aspect. That might have been his response to her own demeanour; though she had sought to exert herself to be cheerful, she was well aware that she had not been entirely successful. She had perceived also that he paid no special note to Miss Darcy. For this she was grateful. Though her temper was universally acknowledged to be angelic, Miss Bennet did admit to herself that she would be uncomfortable to meet a Mrs. Bingley. Georgiana Darcy had grown to be something of a favourite with her while she had stayed at Longbourn, and had she noted a partiality, her loyalties would have been divided. Moreover, in Bingley's words she had found cause to believe that he may have been entirely unaware of her presence in town; though she was still reluctant to admit that his sisters had treated her so infamously, she could put no other construction on some of his comments about his absence during the winter in Hertfordshire. As she remembered walking up the aisle to stand up for Elizabeth, she coloured. It had been easy to imagine it to be her own wedding day; Bingley had been standing up for his friend. But he had left for town the

very morning after the wedding, and there was no sign that he would ever return to Netherfield. Jane Bennet knew not what to think. Once again, she perused her sister's letter. Had she not been so preoccupied in her own concerns she might have noted that in between the descriptions of the Royal Pavilion, whose construction had newly recommenced in a fashion Elizabeth considered outlandish, and their old friends from the --shire militia, Elizabeth had little to say about herself. Her letter bore every hallmark of her familiar liveliness; what was missing was the intimacy of her communications of yore. She had encountered Lydia, and the three of them had attended several balls together, where Lydia had behaved with her customary lack of restraint and Miss Darcy with every semblance of propriety heightened by her natural shyness. She mentioned also that she had renewed her acquaintance with Mr. Wikham. Of Mr. Darcy she said but little; he was unfortunately detained in London on business, and he was unable to say when he would be able to join them. His friend she did not mention.

Part XXIX
Posted on Wednesday, 7 February 2001 Elizabeth Darcy had risen early and had left her apartments for a walk by the sea front. Georgiana was sleeping still, and Elizabeth was glad for the solitude. She had been in Brighton a little over a week, and she was still to hear from Mr. Darcy. Upon arrival, she and Georgiana had dispatched a communication informing him of their safe journey, but thus far, they had received no acknowledgment of this news from him. Georgiana was slightly mystified at her brother's silence; Elizabeth felt not surprise but regret. It was only natural that he should hesitate to correspond with her under the circumstances; certain as she had become of her own feelings, she could hardly put pen to paper to address him without thinking of the letter that remained still in her bureau, and knowing that any other missive would find no other destiny. She could not open her heart to admit his disdain, and she knew that she could expect no other response. Once again, she thought upon his parting gesture, and wondered whether it was possible that in spite of everything, she was still dear to him. But even if she were, it could come to naught; even if he had been unable to banish her from his heart thus far, her revelations had surely cost her his esteem for evermore, and his understanding would surely conquer his errant heart, especially aided by the distance that he had imposed upon them. She saw Mr. Wikham approaching from a distance, and waited for him to join her. She had encountered him at a ball her sister Lydia had insisted upon her attending, and had been happy to find that he was still eager to continue their acquaintance. Her mind inevitably had flown back to the Netherfield ball, where she had anticipated the pleasure of his company, and found herself sparring with Mr. Darcy instead. Now the friendship of one was a poor substitute for the good opinion of the other, but nevertheless she welcomed any friend. As she thought of the history he had once recounted to her, she was mournful for his sake, but no longer outraged at its perpetrator; she thought it only natural that there had been some slight exaggeration in Wikham's account, and the rest she was easily able to forgive her husband, especially considering what her own faults had been. Her new-found affection for husband had

not blinded her to his pride and implacability; indeed, they contributed almost as much as her own faults to their present estrangement, for though she had caused the breach of her own rashness, they had prevented her from making any overtures of peace. Had she been wise enough to remain in his good graces, she might have been able to intercede with him on her friend's behalf. Wikham greeted her upon his approach, and acknowledging him with a smile, she recommenced her walk in his company. "It is a pleasure to see you here, Mrs. Darcy. I had not expected that we should be able to renew our friendship again so soon." "Neither had I, Mr. Wikham. But it appears that Georgiana habitually spends her summers by the sea, and as Mr. Darcy remains indefinitely in London, I thought it best to accompany her." "Yes, of course," was his only reply, and it seemed to Elizabeth that he regarded her closely. She flushed, wondering whether he had divined her estrangement with her husband. Then it struck her that he had probably never regarded her marriage in any light other than a mercenary measure on her part, and inwardly, she was a little amused when she thought of the strength of her attachment and the heartache she endured for it. "Will you not come by and renew your acquaintance with my sister? I am sure she will be eager to see you again." Elizabeth was determined to convince him of the amiability of the Darcys; she could not credit the story he had given her of Georgiana, and wished to demonstrate to him that he had been in error about the sister, and perhaps glean an acknowledgment that he had wronged the brother as well. "I could hardly escape your sister's company; the Colonel may well punish us for neglecting his wife's particular friend," he laughed, in response to her question. "I speak of Miss Darcy. I noticed you did not greet her at the ball last night. Surely there is no cause for you to avoid her?" "She did not acknowledge me." "I am sure she did not notice that you were in attendance. She would have mentioned it to me at least." "I see." He sighed, as though in relief, and noting her surprise, he continued, "You know I do not wish to put myself in a position where scenes may arise unpleasant to more than myself. It is best that Georgiana not know of my presence. She is pleasant enough, but her brother's hostility puts us in an uncomfortable circumstance. I do not wish to discompose her." Elizabeth thought to point out that this current account was entirely contradictory to his previous remarks, but the gentleman fell silent, and she realized that such a challenge would only alienate him further. It was clear that his resentment of the Darcys was deeply felt, and it seemed quite likely from this inconsistency that her

conjecture that his account of his injuries had been enhanced by the betrayal he had perceived was true. She found that she had cause to be thankful, not only that she was not likewise repudiated by someone she considered a friend, but also for the reflection that perhaps her husband's offences had not been quite as grievous as her friend had given out. Enmeshed in thought, she had fallen silent as well as her companion, and soon afterwards, he took leave of her, and she was left to contemplate her situation once again.

Part XXX
Posted on Monday, 12 February 2001 As he sorted through his mail in the breakfast parlour, Darcy, who had never thought that he might in any particular be comparable to his mother-in-law, was, like her, also looking for a letter addressed from Brighton, and unlike her, he was fortunate enough to find one addressed to him. This in itself was not enough to explain the anticipation with which he opened the missive; it must also be remarked that it was addressed in a hand that was not his sister's. Darcy did not quite know what sort of a letter he wished his wife to write him; had he stopped to think about it he would have acknowledged that the present circumstances were entirely too awkward for her to write him a heartfelt communiqu. Indeed, he himself had often picked up a pen to address one such to her, but had never been able to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion, much less send it. But now a letter from his wife was in his hand, and Darcy did not stop to think of any of this. With unaccustomed haste the seal was broken, and the single page unfolded. He scanned the letter quickly; it was short and to the point, informing him of their safe arrival in Brighton. And though it was of Elizabeth's composition, it was addressed in conjunction with Georgiana. He put the letter down, conscious of a vague sense of disappointment. He was at a loss to explain it; surely he could not have expected any more. But he could not stop himself from hoping for what might have been. Determined to maintain the orderly routine around which he had built his adult life, he devoted himself to the remainder of his correspondence, which dealt primarily with the administration of his estate at Pemberley and his investments in town. He had been engrossed in them for some time when he heard someone at the door, and the butler came in to say that Mr. Bingley had arrived, and inquire whether he would be receiving him this morning. Darcy, who had not seen his young friend since the night of the ball, decided that he would welcome a break from his business affairs, which he was beginning to find increasingly tedious. Besides, he had some unfinished business with Bingley as well. He had been procrastinating the encounter, but now that Bingley was upon him, he knew it would not do to delay any further. Among the charges Elizabeth had laid at his door that eventful night had been the destruction of her sister's happiness. She was now convinced that by having mentioned the matter she had further destroyed Jane's happiness, and that Darcy would think that she had been mourning the loss of her sister's opportunity to make the sort of advantageous match she herself had confessed to having entered without affection. Darcy, who despite his disillusionment, had not been able to keep from thinking that her affectionate gestures had sprung from some real feeling, and that she would

perhaps one day be able to love him as much as he did her, had never even considered the possibility that her anger that night had sprung from such a mercenary motive. He himself had broached the possibility of having been in error that night, and her subsequent outburst, though it had taught him to think of a great deal that he had never considered earlier, had only reinforced this particular opinion. He was now quite sure that Jane Bennet loved Bingley, and though he had often seen his friend in love before, he knew that this time it was different. Their mutual attachment was genuine, and it was only his officious interference that had separated them, and was continuing to keep them apart. It was up to him alone to remedy the situation. Bingley, who had been surprised not to see his friend about town in the weeks since the ball, had been reluctant to seek him out. He was uncomfortably aware that some blame might be laid to rest on his shoulders, for the gossip about town was that the appearance of Lady Catherine had driven a rift between the previously idyllic Darcys, and besides, the sight of Jane Bennet had evoked in him all the feelings that her brother had told him he must suppress. He was beginning now to see that his friend had been right in his judgment, for Miss Bennet had regarded him with a pained expression when he had importuned her, and he could clearly see that she did not mean to encourage him. He had experienced also the beginnings of jealousy towards his friend, who had obviously succeeded with one Bennet sister where he had failed with the other. Recognizing the unworthy sentiments he was harbouring against one who had taken such care of him had added the stigma of guilt, and he had been rather relieved than otherwise when he saw that the Darcy's did not mean much to be in company anymore. Then he had learnt only the other day that Mrs. Darcy had removed with Miss Darcy to Brighton, and when he saw that even now, Darcy was never to be seen at their club, he had determined that it was time he made inquiries; he owed at least that much to his friend. He was shown to the drawing room, and Darcy joined him in a few minutes, making some inconsequential remarks about how long it had been since they had seen each other. He then asked after the other's wife, and was informed that he had heard from her only this morning, and that she was getting along quite well in Brighton. He thought he heard some sorrow in his friend's voice, and put this down to his regret at not having been able to accompany her. Whatever the town gossips might be saying, and Bingley knew that there was some truth in the pronouncements about his friend's anger at the unexpected arrival, he did not believe that such a petty misunderstanding would divide a couple who were obviously enamoured of each other. These pleasantries completed, there was a lull in the conversation; in the one, it might have been mistaken for his habitual gravity, although his friend knew him sufficiently well to know that he could be lively enough under the right circumstances; in the other, it was a marked contrast from his natural ebullience. Darcy's guilt could only be further intensified as he guessed at its cause. Wretched as his own position was, he could hardly deny that he had brought it upon himself, in part by having wronged his friend, and though he knew that his situation was unlikely to be remedied so easily, he realized also he owed it as much to himself as to his wife and her sister to make amends on this count. Accordingly, he began with some awkwardness. "It was pleasant, was it not, to have some of our Hertfordshire friends in town for the ball? How did you find the place on our recent stay there, Bingley?"

"I have always liked it well enough, and I dare say it improved on you this time around." A shadow of Bingley's high spirits returned as his mind went back, inevitably, to his encounters with Miss Bennet, and he wondered, despite everything, if there were not cause to hope. His friend's involuntary grimace at the allusion to his wedding quite passed him by. Still, Darcy pressed on. "Perhaps you should return there again. Summer in the city is hardly worth staying for." "I hardly need tell you, Darcy, why I have been avoiding Netherfield. It was by your recommendation, I might recall. And despite your information, my hopes cannot stay dormant in her presence. You saw how it was at the ball. It is best that I do not return." "I have given you ample cause to question my judgment, Bingley. I recall having argued strenuously against her lack of connections and fortune." he noted wryly. "I did notice that you had abandoned your scruples on those counts," Bingley smiled back, a little sadly, "but, Darcy, those reasons held as little sway with me as they did with you. If she does not love me as I do her, then I must remain less fortunate than you are." Once again, Darcy could not quite keep his countenance at Bingley's easy assumption, but once again, his friend was too lost in contemplation of his own affairs to notice, and Darcy felt no urge to confide his unhappiness. He kept the conversation on Bingley's affairs, despite the awkwardness he felt at the necessary admission. "Bingley, I was wrong on the principal count as well. Jane does love you; I did not know it at the time, and now I can only apologize for having misled you." "She loves me? Darcy, are you quite certain this time? But of course you must be -you have the truth of it from her sister! Darcy, you must thank your wife on my behalf. I must confess that I had still hoped that I would be able to alter Miss Bennet's opinion of me given time, and the close connection to your family, but to learn that she loves me already, that the affection that I had hoped to create is mine! I had not hoped for such a thing; you are not often wrong! But enough said about that; I cannot thank you enough for you present information." Darcy smiled, watching his friend express himself in the incoherent lucidity of a man violently in love, but he knew there was more to be said. Bingley had to be told of the events of the winter, and his own role in them. His penance was thus far incomplete. "I have been guilty of more serious offences. Jane was in town all this winter; she waited upon your sisters, and was told that you knew of her presence and chose not to see her. Bingley, I knew of this all along, and I concealed it from you. I can only say in my defence that I thought it for the best at the time. It was absurd and impertinent for me ever to have interfered in the matter."

If Bingley realized the import of the statement, he was more than willing to forgive its consequences as far as he himself was concerned, especially in light of Darcy's other revelation. "It is no matter. I dare say it would have been a wretched affair if we had met, for I was convinced that she did not care for me," he broke off, realizing that he was not the only injured party, and could not but show some resentment on the behalf of his beloved. "I cannot imagine what Miss Bennet must have thought of me; to think that we might each have been pining for the other...." Such gloomy reflections could not persist when he had such hope now, and he continued disjointedly, "It is no matter; I must and shall make amends, if she will still have me, and if you believe that she will...." Darcy winced, realizing the trust that his friend still held him, as Bingley still spoke on, "I shall be in Hertfordshire tomorrow; there can be no delaying this. Darcy, we shall be brothers!" "Are you planning to stay here rambling all day? There are preparations to be made if you will go into Hertfordshire tomorrow. Go to it, man!" And Bingley, who had been continuing to brim forth, saw the wisdom of his friend's statement, and left at once, mentally beginning to prepare the declaration he hoped to make to Miss Bennet the following day. Darcy watched him go to his happiness, and wondered when his wife would hear of the developments that would inevitably ensue. Unlikely as it was that she would ever learn to love him, he could not help hoping that in having been of service to his friend he had helped his own cause as well. He dismissed the thought, realizing that it might generate gratitude, but it was unlikely to inspire love, and he could not be happy with the one without the other.

Part XXXI
Posted on Monday, 12 February 2001 Elizabeth Darcy sat in the parlour of her rooms in Brighton, writing letters to her family in Longbourn, and, belatedly, to her friend, Mrs. Collins, whose house she had unceremoniously left when her engagement had been revealed. She sighed, thinking back to that day, when she had first had an inkling that she might in fact be able to care for the man who was to be her husband. Then her worries had revolved around her conviction that she could not entirely requite his affection; now that she knew her own heart, she knew also that she had uttered words designed to shatter any hope of happiness they might have had. As her mind turned to the possibility of reconciliation, it dwelt briefly on another letter that she had left in her bureau in London, and knowing that it was an idle hope she indulged in, wondered once again why she had failed to destroy it. Georgiana and her companion, Mrs. Annesley, had gone to a fitting, from which Elizabeth had begged off, pleading a headache. Much as she liked Georgiana, the proximity of the sister inevitably turned her mind to the brother, and she was having trouble disguising her low spirits. This afternoon, she had known that she would not be able to, and had urged her new sister to go without her. She had gone, but not without some concern on Elizabeth's behalf. Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth had not

been entirely successful in concealing her sorrow from Georgiana, who was coming to the conclusion, not entirely incorrect, that her brother's absence was the cause of her sister's distress. She had determined that she would summon him to be at Elizabeth's side as soon as may be, and had already started writing him a letter, gently chastising him for his neglect. About a half an hour after Georgiana's departure, Elizabeth heard someone at the door, and wondered who would be calling on them at this hour. Putting her letters away, she prepared to receive her visitor, and was not entirely surprised to find that it was Mr. Wikham, whom she had not seen since their encounter by the seaside some days earlier. She greeted him in her usual easy manner, and bade him have a seat, but that observant gentleman also noticed that something was amiss with his companion, and wondered as to its cause. "I trust I have not interrupted you, Mrs. Darcy. I would not want to keep you from your letters," he opened, seeing the stationery scattered about the desk. "They can easily wait, sir. I hardly have news of any urgency to convey." "I take it then, that Brighton does not hold for you as many pleasures as it does for your sister, for she always has news of such urgency that she cannot keep it to herself," he jested. Elizabeth smiled faintly; Lydia's enthusiasm was amusing, certainly, but she could not help but be a little concerned about her lack of propriety. "I am sorry that she importunes you thus. I am sure your Colonel would rather see his men otherwise occupied." "Quite the contrary, I assure you. Miss Bennet has the entire regiment at her disposal; the Colonel and his lady are quite particular that we do not neglect her special friend." Elizabeth wondered, not for the first time, whether Colonel and Mrs. Forster were adequate chaperones for her sister. From the accounts she had had from Lydia, they did nothing to curb her spirits; Mrs. Forster, in fact, was quite apt to encourage them. She was beginning to think it might be best for Lydia to come and live with her and Georgiana before her manners brought ridicule upon her, but she knew her sister would resist a removal from the company of her friend and the close proximity of the officers of the militia. "I cannot but imagine you would rather be otherwise occupied than as the recipient of my sister's confidences." "Indeed, I do confess I am more concerned for another lady." Elizabeth wondered at the implication of his statement. She knew his opinion of her husband well enough, and she imagined that he thought her mercenary for having married him, but she had not thought that he would discuss such a matter with her. Though she appreciated his concern, she could not but resent his interference, especially considering the change her own opinion of her husband had undergone.

"Have you heard from Darcy lately? Is he to join you in Brighton?" he inquired, still testing the waters. He had noted the impact of his previous statement, but he was not entirely sure whether she was embarrassed at the implied intimacy or whether he had indeed hit upon a sensitive point. "No, he is much occupied with his business in town." She left the first question unaddressed. "I wonder you are come to Brighton, then. He is prodigiously careful of his sister, to provide her with so valuable a companion, but perhaps not so concerned for his bride." Elizabeth blanched, surprised that he would speak in such terms. Her own reply was defensive. "You are mistaken, sir. I opted to accompany Georgiana. There is very little to interest me in town at present. Many of our friends have retired from town, and not a small number are here by the seaside." Wikham noted her defensiveness, but read her behaviour in a light she had not intended. He really thought that Elizabeth had married Darcy for little other than his wealth, and he flattered himself that his own influence on her had not waned. His own motives were simple. His situation with his creditors was growing desperate, and he quite expected to have to flee the country very shortly. In the meantime, he had spotted what he considered a capital opportunity to revenge himself on his enemy, while gratifying his own desires. He would seduce Elizabeth, and leave Darcy in the ridiculous position of a cuckolded husband. "I am happy, then, that you are come to Brighton, for your company here is much appreciated by more than myself, I am sure." "I am happy too, sir, to be in the company of old friends." "It is comforting for your friends that you have not forgotten us." "I hope I am not so fickle." "I assure you, madam, that we would not have seen any fickleness if you had neglected us a while longer. It is more surprising that you do not. Forgive me for asking, Mrs. Darcy, but are you entirely happy?" "I am as happy as I have any right to be." Elizabeth hedged, not liking the direction the conversation was taking. "Would it be too forward for me to say, as an old friend, that you are not as happy as I have seen you in earlier days? Mrs. Darcy, I cannot be content to see you thus. You know that I, of all people, have cause to suspect the source of your unhappiness. Let there be no secrets between us. I am sure my solace would be of comfort to you. It would pain me more than anything else to think that you could not return my trust in you."

"I cannot imagine what you mean, sir." "Come, Elizabeth, you must know that I have ever wished to be more than a friend to you." Elizabeth had been wondering as to Wikham's persistence, but now she almost shuddered as she realized that he was looking for far more than a confidence. She was not so naive as to wonder any longer at his meaning, but it pained her to think that he could take her for such a woman. She was struck too by the irony of her position. He had evidently assumed that she was unhappy to be trapped in marriage with a husband she could not love, when in fact her only sorrow stemmed from her love for her husband, and her belief that his affection for her had sunk to indifference. She was angered too that he would continue to imply such things about her husband. Elizabeth was by now quite convinced that Wikham's account of Darcy's injustices had been grossly exaggerated; she had long discovered that he had been quite wrong about Georgiana, and during their previous conversation he had practically acknowledged at least this inconsistency. She could not be happy that one whom she perceived as a friend would think that she had married Darcy while still entirely crediting such an account, for it portrayed her in a mercenary light in which she was loath to see herself. She was eager also to dispel any illusions he might hold about the light in which she regarded him; it had been a long time since she had thought herself in any danger of forming such an attachment, and she had realized that there was no such affection long before she had understood her feelings towards her husband. She spoke now, anxious to convey to him her revulsion, not wanting him to spell out his intentions any further and create a situation unbearably awkward for them both. "Mr. Wikham, you forget yourself. I must tell you that you are quite mistaken. You need have no concerns on my behalf. I sympathize with you for the wrongs you have confided in me, but there is no cause for you to suspect that I have suffered in a like manner, whether from the same source or from any other. I must remind you that it is my husband that you allude to, and I would be remiss indeed if I did not defend him." "Mrs. Darcy, surely among friends there is no cause..." "Mr. Wikham, I cannot permit you to think that I mean anything other than what I say. I must ask that you do not make inferences about my marriage." Wikham stood up. He understood that Elizabeth was indeed in earnest, and that his design must fail. Somewhat awkwardly, he took his leave, and retreated. He wondered whether Elizabeth had acted simply out of loyalty to her husband or whether she was indeed in love with him. He could not quite comprehend why the former would be a sufficient motivation, but if the latter were in fact true, he could not see why Darcy would have exiled his bride in Brighton. And from Elizabeth's defensive responses, he was quite certain that she had was not in Brighton entirely of her own free will, as she claimed to be. Even though his plan had failed, he was far from dissatisfied with the morning's events. Though Elizabeth had resisted his advances, his conviction that all was not as it should be in the Darcy's marriage had not weakened. For one thing, even in her rejection, Elizabeth had given him no indication that Darcy had enlightened her as to their dealings. While this misapprehension persisted, he knew that he would be able to find some route to revenge himself on Darcy through his bride.

Part XXXII
Posted on Friday, 16 February 2001 As Wikham took his leave and retreated, Elizabeth continued to ponder his words, wondering whether she had mistaken his meaning. Certainly he had not been completely explicit, but she did not see how she could have misinterpreted his meaning, although she had been eager to stem his advances before she was put in a position of further awkwardness. But even if she had wronged him on that count, she could not but be irked at his continuing to cast aspersions on her husband's character. She paused for a moment to wonder how her opinion of Mr. Darcy had thus altered -it was not so very long ago that she had encouraged Mr. Wikham's confidences. But as her closer association with Mr. Darcy had worn down her earlier prejudices, she had come to put a great deal of faith in his essential honourability. Certainly he had been nothing else in his dealings with her, if the impropriety in his manner of proposing were forgiven, and this Elizabeth had long since done. And Georgiana's testimony held no small weight for Elizabeth, who had come to regard her as a sister, and the affection in which she held her brother was quite transparent. Moreover, quite apart from her desire to see her husband in the right, other circumstances occurred to her, which undermined her faith in Wikham's story. She was now struck by the impropriety of his confidence in her so early in their acquaintance, and she had noticed also that he had not distinguished her particularly in this regard, and that the vast majority of his acquaintance had heard the story. While she was loath to think that he was engaging in a deliberate deception, she was now convinced that he had embellished to a great extent the story of his deprivation and used it as a means of gaining the goodwill and sympathy of his acquaintances. She turned back to her letters, endeavouring to put Wikham and her own unhappiness out of her mind, but once again, she was interrupted in her task. A breathless Lydia burst into the parlour, not having waited to be announced. "La, Lizzy! You look like you're under the weather this morning. I think I can guess the reason why!" "I should imagine not," Lizzy replied, a bit shortly, resolving to address the issue of Lydia's unguarded behaviour with her, and steeling herself to some resistance. "I dare say I can -- I saw Wikham leaving you just now!" "Lydia!" Lizzy blushed involuntarily. "There, I knew it! He told you everything, I'll warrant! La, and why should you be so uptight about it? He's not so rich as your Mr. Darcy, but he is ever so much more handsome!" "Lydia, what did Mr. Wikham tell you?" Elizabeth was seriously discomposed. Shocked as he had been when she had suspected Wikham's intentions for her, she was aghast to think that he might have confided them

in her sister. And she could not imagine why he would have done such a thing. Surely he knew as well as the next person how utterly unguarded she was in her speech. "What he told you, of course! I must look a sight, for I ran the entire way to come tell you, and I found at your door that he had been here before me. But can you wonder at my excitement, Lizzy? I shall go quite distracted!" "Excitement?" Elizabeth was frankly puzzled. Whatever her sister's response to such news ought to have been, there was surely no cause for such excitement on her part. "Why should I not be excited, Lizzy? You have not been married so long as to think it such an everyday affair!" "Lydia, what is it you are talking of?" Her sister's face fell. "He didn't tell you? Of course he did not, for he made me promise last night that I wasn't to say a word. But this morning I could think of nothing else but to tell you. Oh dear, what will he say now? I promised so faithfully not to breathe a word of it." "Lydia, surely there is nothing you need keep a secret from you sister." Lydia regained her spirits somewhat, and spoke eagerly once again. "You are right, Lizzy. I am sure he did not mean that I should keep it from you. I dare say he wanted me to tell you, instead of telling you himself. Lizzy, we are to be married!" "Married!" Elizabeth did not know what to make of this. Her doubts as to whether she had wronged him just now came back to her, but she could not shake her conviction that she had interpreted his motives correctly, and that his advances to Lydia were likewise questionable. Moreover, it would hardly be a prudent match for someone in his financial position, and having witnessed his wooing of Mary King she did not think Wikham would be so disinterested. "Has he spoken to Papa?" "No indeed! Lizzy, you mustn't either! We shall away to Scotland, and surprise everyone at Longbourn when we return we return after marrying." "What about his position in the regiment?" "It does not signify. He said he would be looking for another position in the North." "Why must you elope? Would you not rather marry out of Longbourn?"

"Aye, Lizzy, I would rather have Kitty for a bridesmaid, for she would be so jealous of me. But Wikham is determined to leave Brighton, and he said that he would not want to leave without me." "When did he say you would leave?" "Tonight we head for London, where he has business. We leave for Gretna Green in some days." "You agreed to elope without an immediate marriage?" "Surely it does not much signify when we marry? We will not be gone so very long, you know." Elizabeth began to realize what Wikham was about. Evidently he was in some urgency to leave Brighton, and he had found in Lydia a willing companion. Elizabeth knew her sister well enough to realize that the novelty of the situation would be so exciting for Lydia that she would not stop to think of the consequences of her actions. Wikham's assurances would be more than enough to induce her to compromise herself, and Elizabeth knew that Wikham would be mercenary enough to abandon her after she had served her purposes for him, for undoubtedly he had not abandoned his intention of making a profitable marriage. She was at something of a loss as to why he had visited her that morning. Perhaps he had hoped for some financial assistance. Or perhaps he had come to see if she were willing to accompany him, so that he might have a choice of which sister to take. "Lydia, how could you have agreed to such a scheme? Did it not occur to you that his secrecy must mean that he has something to hide?" "I love him, Lizzy! And he explained everything. He is not rich enough that he can be secure that Papa will approve the match, and you know your husband would advise against it. He said that he would not allow such interference to part us." "So you intended just to disappear, and leave the world wondering what became of you?" "No, and that is why I came to you. You will tell everyone not to worry, won't you?" "I will not allow you to give them a reason to worry!" "Lizzy, you cannot forbid me!" "Indeed I can, but I shall not. But I shall make sure that you remain here. If Wikham comes to get you, you may go, but I intend to have a word with him before you do." "Lizzy!" "Why should you object? If he loves you, surely he will have no objection in having a few words with me, so that we may all be secure of your well-being?"

"But he insisted on my secrecy!" "That was inconsiderate of him; he could not but know that we would have been quite worried. No, Lydia, I am sure Mama and Papa would be displeased if I let you go without speaking with him. You will remain here until he comes to claim you. I will send for your things immediately." "Very well, Lizzy. I will know when he comes for me, and I will not let you send him away without me." "I assure you, Lydia, you will be informed of his arrival, if he should come. And if he should not, you will know that he does not love you." "Of course he loves me! I am sure he will come for me tonight!" Elizabeth rang for the maid, and asked her to show Lydia to the spare bedchamber. She then wrote to Mrs. Forster, thanking her for her hospitality to Lydia and asking that her things be sent over. She then turned back to her own letters, wondering what she would do with Lydia. She was convinced that Wikham would not come for her; she had created a situation in which his appearance would be entirely too uncomfortable. And Lydia would sulk for a few days, and her fancy would then probably be caught elsewhere. But Elizabeth knew that her behaviour was not likely to improve, and she worried about what might happen if she were not so fortunately placed to be able to rescue her from such a situation.

Part XXXIII
Posted on Wednesday, 7 March 2001 A few hours later, when Georgiana and Mrs. Annesley returned, Elizabeth told them that Lydia would be staying with them for a few days. She had earlier shared with them her concerns about Lydia's unguarded behaviour, and their only surprise was that Lydia had apparently consented to the scheme. Lydia sulked in her room for the remainder of the morning, and her mouth was set in a defiant grimace when she was summoned for dinner. Elizabeth was perversely glad to have some diversion from the worries that had been consuming her, and was quite amused at her sister's behaviour. Lydia was comporting herself with as much dignity as she was capable of, having seen that a voiced opposition that would have been so effective with her mother would be fruitless against Lizzy, who was not only able but also quite willing to out-argue her. Georgiana, who had so recently learnt to become comfortable around Elizabeth and her sisters, was now afraid of intruding on an awkward situation. Dinner was a silent meal, and the women observed each other a bit warily. After dinner, as Lydia prepared to retreat to her room and await Wikham, Georgiana invited her to join her in the music room. Lydia, after a slight pause, agreed; Elizabeth would be with them as well, and she would know exactly when Wikham came for her. The two girls went on ahead of Elizabeth, who went up to her room momentarily to retrieve some needlepoint she was working on. Georgiana, seeking to discharge her role as a host, could not continue in silence; she hazarded an inquiry as to the length of

Lydia's stay. Lydia, who had not a doubt that Wikham would come for her, replied only that she would be leaving very shortly indeed. Soon afterwards, Elizabeth joined them, and Georgiana commenced with a piece on the piano. She was not halfway through her opening selection when a gentleman was announced. Elizabeth said that she would receive him in the parlour, and excused herself. "Lizzy, you cannot hide me from Wikham forever like this!" Lydia exclaimed, too vexed at her sister's behaviour to hold her peace. "Lydia, I shall send for you if it should prove necessary," Elizabeth replied, shortly, and made her way out. Georgiana had faltered in her playing, but she assumed that it was simply the distraction of their conversation that had caused her lapse. "Wikham?" Georgiana asked Lydia as Elizabeth left the room, wondering what possible connection there could be between them. "Yes, he is to call here tonight." "Why tonight?" "Why, because he is leaving Brighton, of course." Herself incapable of keeping a confidence, Lydia had assumed that Georgiana had been acquainted with the particulars of her intended elopement. She was a little surprised that Georgiana should fail to see the need for urgency, but it never occurred to her that Elizabeth should have concealed Lydia's shameful plan from her husband's closest relation. "I do not understand why Lizzy should insist upon seeing him alone in the parlour," she continued, oblivious to the effect of this statement on Georgiana. She had by now given up on the piano entirely, and was absorbing Lydia's words. She was preparing to make her excuses and retreat to her own bedchamber, when Elizabeth returned, followed by her caller. "Colonel Forster, may I present Miss Darcy. My sister, of course, you know." "Delighted to meet you, Miss Darcy. Good evening, Miss Bennet. Mrs. Forster asked me to persuade you to return shortly. She misses your company already." "Dear Harriet! I shall miss her too, but I cannot return to her soon!" Lydia replied. Disappointed though she was that the caller had not been Wikham, she was still convinced that he would arrive very shortly. If Colonel Forster was surprised at her slightly impolite reply, he concealed it quite effectively. "Won't you join us for some tea?" Elizabeth asked. "Thank you, Mrs. Darcy, but I shan't be staying long - I came merely to discharge my errand. Mrs. Forster and Miss Bennet have been most insistent on a ball, and I would like to invite you all to attend. It is to be a week from tomorrow."

"Thank you, Colonel, we shall certainly endeavour to attend," said Elizabeth, before Lydia could speak further. The Colonel stayed for a few more minutes, and then left. Lydia, who had fallen increasingly into a sulk at Wikham's continued absence, petulantly excused herself as well, leaving Georgiana and Elizabeth alone. This was precisely the opening that Georgiana had been looking for, for ever since she had heard Lydia's disclosure her thoughts came around always to the same idea that the the Wikham she alluded to might be the very one she herself had so narrowly escaped from. Were this the case, she must at all costs be protected, and Georgiana knew that if her brother had not recounted this story to his wife then it was only because he valued her privacy, and considered it her story to tell. It would cost her a mortifying disclosure, to be sure, but Georgiana thought too well of Elizabeth to think that she might hold it against her. "Lizzy, when you left us alone just now, there was something Lydia said. I gathered that a Mr. Wikham is to call here this evening." "She expects him to call, certainly. I cannot imagine that he will, Georgiana, so you need not be concerned." "My brother has told you, then? I must confess I am more relieved than anything to hear it. It would be too much for you to be taken in as well." "Your brother has never..." she broke off, wondering what exactly Georgiana was alluding to, and how much she had inferred about Elizabeth's own connection with Wikham, "...willingly spoken to me of Mr. Wikham, Georgiana; neither has he told me anything I did not already know," she finished. Understatement though it was, it did cover the facts. Elizabeth was convinced that there were details of the acquaintance between them that she was not privy to which would allow her to understand the behaviour of each man, and Georgiana's allusion told her that she knew something of these details. She wondered why it hadn't occurred to her earlier to ask her new sister, and was now determined to learn as much as she might. "But I thought... that is to say... " Georgiana was in confusion. Her relief in thinking that Elizabeth was apprised of the facts already had been extreme. Now Elizabeth had professed her ignorance, and she would have to explain herself after all. It came home to her forcefully what the confession would cost her, and were it not for the urgency of her concern, she would have dropped the matter immediately. Still she hesitated, and it was Elizabeth who spoke. "Georgiana, only this much can I say, and I beg you will keep the matter in your confidence. Lydia, foolish girl, is determined to elope with Wikham. I know that he cannot afford to marry her, and his affection is not so disinterested, so the elopement can only lead to her ruin, and I am determined to protect her. I know he has a closer connection with your family, but under the circumstances, I find it difficult to credit his own account of it, so I must have the particulars from you." Elizabeth did not mention how long she had in fact credited Wikham's account, and how his story had come between her and her husband; at this point, she realized that those revelations would only undermine Georgiana's faith in her, and she needed to have her confidence.

Georgiana was by now more collected; now that the matter had come up, the entire history must be disclosed, and though she would have been more comfortable letting Fitzwilliam make the disclosure, she did not now shrink from it. "Very well, Lizzy. I had hoped that you would learn of this from Fitzwilliam, but I will tell you the entire history myself; I dare say he expected me to make the revelation." Taking a deep breath, she started the narrative, speaking almost in a sort of rehearsed monotone. "Mr. Wikham's father was a very respectable man; he was steward to my own father. Mr. Wikham is my father's godson; he and Fitzwilliam played together as boys, and when I was a child he was very kind to me. My father supported him at school, and afterwards at Cambridge, and so for many years I saw him only when he and Fitzwilliam came home for their holidays. I had understood while my father was alive that he was to have had a family living, but after he died I learnt from Fitzwilliam that he had expressed a disinterest from the church and been compensated accordingly. He no longer visited at Pemberley, and I knew that he and my brother were no longer friends, though I had no idea what had transpired between them." Elizabeth nodded. The story so far corresponded with Wikham's account as far as she was willing to believe it, and she had long inferred that Darcy had honoured his claims in some manner. But Georgiana, who was hesitating, evidently had more to say, and Elizabeth silently urged her to continue. "I did not see him again until last summer. I was in Ramsgate with a Mrs. Younge, who was acquainted with him, and she introduced us again. I had not many acquaintances there so Mr. Wikham was with us a great deal, and Mrs. Younge allowed him to spend much of the time with me alone." Georgiana faltered again; Elizabeth took her hand and held it compassionately in silent encouragement. "Mr. Wikham was as charming as remembered him from my childhood. He told me that he loved me, and persuaded me that I loved him as well. He spoke but little of Fitzwilliam, but when I told him that he must break of our attachment with my brother, he told me that Fitzwilliam would never consent to his suit because of his poverty, and that it would be best that we came to him after we had married. I could not believe that my brother would be so mercenary, but I agreed to an elopement. Fitzwilliam visited me in Ramsgate a day or two before we were to have left for Scotland, and having him so near, I could not keep up the concealment. I told him of the plan, expecting him to be happy at my attachment. You can imagine how he acted. When Wikham realized that Fitzwilliam would not allow him to squander my fortune, he promptly left, and I was left with the mortifying discovery that he had cared for nothing more. And when Fitzwilliam disclosed to me the history of his debts and debaucheries, any regret I might have experienced was overwhelmed by my relief that I had not succumbed to his plans."

Elizabeth squeezed her hand, still unsure what to say. Though she had come to realize that Wikham was not as he had represented himself, she had had no expectation of receiving so personal a confidence. Now she realized what agonies she had inflicted on Darcy by her every allusion to Wikham, and how justly he had been incensed at her defense of him. She could not begin to conceive how she might make amends for a misjudgment on this scale, but she was saddened also that he had not seen fit to acquaint her with the actual facts of the matter. She could only think that he had not trusted in her discretion, and the mortifying thought that he might have assumed a closer connection between herself and Wikham also crossed her mind. But a calmer voice pointed out that they had never discussed the matter at any time after their marriage, when he might easily have assumed that Wikham was forever banished from all their lives, and seen no reason to revisit a painful past. Moreover, he was always and completely protective of his sister and might easily have considered this her story to disclose, and she acknowledged besides that he might very naturally have assumed after her outburst that she would be more likely to believe in Georgiana than in him. She looked up to see tears beginning to well up in Georgiana's eyes, and gathered her close in a compassionate hug, murmuring any words that might bring her solace. "My poor darling! What you must have endured!" "Then you do not blame me?" "Dearest, he is a man to take anyone in, and you, at that age! Why, my own sister..." "But Elizabeth, how come you to know him at all?" "Your brother never mentioned this to you, but he is an officer in the --shire militia under Colonel Forster, whom you met just now. They were quartered in Meryton while your brother was at Netherfield." "And he is to elope with your sister now? I cannot... Does he love her, then?" "No, Georgiana, do not think it. He is not worth your tears. And no, he does not love her. I think I can safely say that." She was thinking back to the events of that very morning. There could be no mistaking his meaning now. To think that he should have made, at some time or another, the very same offer to each of the ladies living in that house; was such a thing to be comprehended? To be sure, she still could not fathom what he hoped to gain by compromising her or her sister. In the former case she could see how his mind might construe a motive of revenge, but for the latter, it could be nothing but the most idle fancy that had prompted that offer. She wondered anew how he would react now to knowing that she had taken Lydia into her care. She had not thought before that he would be so audacious as to call here again, but after Georgiana's confession she would put nothing past him. As if in direct confirmation of her thoughts, the maid interrupted them once again. "A gentleman to see you, Ma'am. He gives the name of Wikham."

Part XXXIV
Posted on Saturday, 7 April 2001 Georgiana drew in her breath sharply at the announcement, and Elizabeth once again squeezed the hand she was still holding. She thanked the maid, and asked that the gentleman be shown to the front parlour, maintaining some semblance of normal behavior, seeing that Georgiana was too vexed to remember her usual restraint. "What can he be wanting now?" She had started to speak almost before they were left alone once again, so great was her agitation, but the maid was too well-trained to betray her curiosity and did not hesitate in her departure. "Whatever it may be, he shall not receive it. I am well able to cope with him." "But Elizabeth..." "No, I will brook no opposition in this. Dearest, you must go upstairs. I will not have you see him. All shall be well, I promise you. We shall none of us succumb to him now." "I confess, I have no desire to encounter him once again, but I cannot abandon you this way." "You are not abandoning me. You have told me everything I needed to know not to be taken in by his manner. I will not have you discompose yourself any further over him." "You are too good, to care for me in this fashion, Lizzy. I am so glad that Fitzwilliam married you. You are the sister I have always wanted." There was nothing that Elizabeth could say to such a compliment, at such a time. She simply held the younger girl close, and kissed her gently on the forehead. Then she rose, with obvious intent. "Upstairs, Georgiana. I will come to you directly as I am done." Seeing Georgiana on her way up, Elizabeth headed for the front parlour. "Mrs. Darcy." He rose, smiling in the familiar ingratiating manner, and she was chilled once again by his presumption in coming to call in this fashion once again. Despite her expressed confidence to Georgiana, Elizabeth was apprehensive as to the outcome of this interview. Knowing what her sister did not, she was truly shocked to see him here, and she wondered what cards he held that could allow him to show himself here with such impunity after what had occurred that very afternoon. And she knew also that what she

had not revealed about her own friendship with such a blackguard could be represented in the most damaging light to any member of her husband's family. "Mr. Wikham, I am entirely at a loss to account for your presence here this evening. To what do I owe this honour?" "Mrs. Darcy, you surprise me. I did not think an excuse was necessary between close friends." "Friendship, Mr. Wikham, is subject to reevaluation, and I assumed this morning that you understood that you had forfeit any rights you may have had in that respect." "Business, then, if you will not allow for the claims of friendship. I had hoped to conduct this interview in a more amicable fashion." "Mr. Wikham, under no circumstances can any further interview between us be conducted in an amicable fashion. Please state your business so that we may dispense with it as rapidly as possible." "Very well, then, Mrs. Darcy, I have no doubt that your sister has apprised you of our intention. I come to accompany her." "To let you lead her to her ruin? How do you assume that I will allow her to leave with you under such circumstances?" "I was afraid this might be your attitude on the matter. Believe me when I say that I have the means of persuading your sisters or yourself to come away with me." "Lydia may be ignorant, and I am determined to protect her from her own folly, but you cannot possibly imagine that Miss Darcy and I can have anything further to do with you after the manner in which you have imposed yourself." "So your precious Miss Darcy has finally confided in you? I wondered that your husband did not trust you enough. But if you know those particulars, let me tell you that I have every means of exposing her." "Surely you were well compensated for your silence in the matter. What can it profit you to expose it now? And besides, the word of a discredited man so long after the purported incident is worthless." "It is not merely my word. Did your precious sister tell you about the letters she wrote? Let me assure you that her charming correspondence makes for very enlightening reading." "What correspondence? You were right in Ramsgate with her." "That didn't prevent her from writing elaborate letters. Believe me when I tell you that she was most explicit about our situation." "And what do you want for them?"

"I would be perfectly happy if Miss Darcy would make good on her promises and come away with me as my wife." "It cannot profit you to marry her now. Her fortune has been secured in such a manner that you can never have access to it if she marries without the consent of her guardians, and that you will never receive." Despite her confidence, Elizabeth did not know this for a fact, but she did not imagine that her husband would have neglected so elementary a precaution, and in any case, under no circumstances would she allow Wikham to prevail on Georgiana. "I was afraid some such arrangement might have been made. In that case, I shall have to seek my fortune elsewhere. For the moment, Miss Darcy shall have her precious letters back if you allow your very willing sister to come away with me." "And if I do not?" "It will be very tedious for me to flee alone, Mrs. Darcy. If you will not allow Lydia to oblige me I must insist on your own company. In fact I might prefer it. But I leave the choice to you. I shall call tomorrow night to collect my companion. I'm afraid I really cannot remain in Brighton much longer. I hope you have a pleasant evening, Mrs. Darcy" For several seconds after Wikham left, Lizzy just stood there, uncomprehending that he would even dare to make so audacious a demand. What had she been thinking. What could she possibly do now, to avert this horrible outcome? To sacrifice Georgiana was unthinkable. Undoubtedly, if Elizabeth were to tell her what had passed, she would feel herself culpable and sacrifice herself to Wikham's clutches. Yet that she, who already knew what a man he was should be exposed to him again in such a way was unthinkable, and more than that to Elizabeth it was a matter of her brother's trust. Georgiana was here under her care, and she would discharge this responsibility, no matter what the outcome. But what alternative did she have. Lydia, she thought dispassionately, would go willingly enough, but could she expose her fifteen year old sister to certain degradation and ruin in order to protect her own family? No, it must be herself. She reflected bitterly that as far as appearances were concerned the elopement of a wife would cause a far greater scandal than the elopement and marriage of a sister. There was a fair chance that Darcy would exert himself once again to rescue Georgiana, but the virtue of a fallen wife was beyond restitution. But what did she have to protect her virtue for except a public name? Her husband already thought of her as the worst sort of mercenary, having sold herself into marriage for material gain. Were his sister to be lost to him now she would sink still further in his estimation, for doubtless he would hold her responsible for allowing him such access. No, it were far better that she should be the one sacrificed. Georgiana would be safe, and Lydia would be safe. Darcy would more quickly overcome his regard for her, and she doubted not that with his connections a divorce would quickly be secured. He would marry again, and she would be forgotten. It would work out for the best in every way. "Lizzy, are you still in here?" "Lydia, what are you doing downstairs?"

"I came down when I heard Wikham come in. Oh, Lizzy, I heard everything. And to think I thought... Lizzy, whatever are we going to do about this?"

Part XXXV
Posted on Wednesday, 9 May 2001 "Whatever do you mean, Lydia?" Lydia stared at her sister. She had grown up, if such a thing were possible, in the last fifteen minutes. Coming down the stairs, her only intention had been fling herself into her Wikham's arms and leave this tiresome house of her sister's forever. She had paused at the doorway when she had heard tell of Miss Darcy's letters. Even then she was willing to overcome her jealousy at evidence of this prior attachment and applaud his cleverness in using such a thing for her sake. It was when she heard him say of his own accord that he would prefer her sister that her infatuation was destroyed. Her feelings now were those of outraged pride; she was certainly not governed by the most mature of emotions. But for such a creature as Lydia, it was a considerable step. "Lizzy, I know you must think me very silly, but I am not so stupid as all that. I heard what Mr. Wikham's threatens, and I could not possibly mistake his meaning. Oh, Lizzy, how can I have thought his regard to have been genuine? I did think that he truly wished to marry me! But what shall we do now? Shall I have to go with him regardless?" Elizabeth was surprised to see this change in her sister's manner, but she was too clever to question it now that it had occurred. Nevertheless, she was struck by the irony of the situation, that Lydia, who would have gone perfectly willingly with Wikham not fifteen minutes before, had embarked on her reformation precisely when it was convenient for her to go. Still, the moment was too earnest for such reflections, and she rejoiced to see that on top of her other trials she would not forcefully have to protect her sister against her own will. "Of course not, Lydia. You know quite well that you brought you here to prevent that outcome." "Did you know what he was, then? Why did you not tell me, Lizzy? What is this history of Miss Darcy's that he is holding against us?" Elizabeth stumbled momentarily, not wishing to involve Lydia in her other troubles, or to admit that Miss Darcy had only just made her revelation. She improvised a plausible if not entirely accurate answer. "I... I could not tell you about Miss Darcy because she mentioned the matter to me in confidence, and I could not betray her trust. And for the rest, I did attempt to dissuade you as best I could without revealing any of those particulars." "Aye, but if I had known such a thing..."

"Lydia, you will forgive me for saying so, but I had no reason to believe that you would not think it a grand lark, and continue to believe that his regard for you was more particular." "I suppose there is something in that. If I had not heard him admit it himself... But what now, Lizzy, if you do not mean to send me? Surely you cannot intend to go yourself? Lord, what a scandal that would make!" Elizabeth flushed, hearing Lydia voice out loud what she had been considering in her head. When she heard it said out loud it sounded utterly preposterous to consider such a thing, yet Elizabeth knew that she had little choice in the matter. And it only made it worse to have Lydia guess her intent. "Scandal or not, it would protect Georgiana, and I cannot allow her to be compromised in any way." At one time Elizabeth would have suspected that Lydia would have approved such a plan for the sheer romantic cachet of it, but whether it was her new sobriety or some bent of practicality that she had always possessed, by the simple act of voicing them, Lydia managed to reveal her intentions as poorly conceived and ultimately futile. That much she realized, but what was the alternative? Was it possible to thwart Wikham's intentions in any other way, without taking such a grievous step? "You cannot throw yourself away for her, Lizzy. I doubt that your Mr. Darcy would thank you for it either. If only we could send him away to debtor's prison where he belongs!" Elizabeth turned around sharply, looking her sister in the eye. Here was an aspect of the matter that had never before occurred to her, and she began to think that there might be a way around her melancholy intentions of self-sacrifice. "What do you mean?" "Why, did you not know? It is the reason he must flee, of course. He has debts mounting with every local merchant, and he means to abscond before they come together and realize what a grand sum he owes in all." "How grand a sum is it, to force him to resign a commission by absconding?" "Why, I believe it is nearly a thousand pounds. I cannot imagine how half such a sum would be repayed." Elizabeth's mind seized upon the possibility, working swiftly. If she were Wikham's creditor, she could surely extract the letters or send him to languish in prison, where he would be in no position to harm those closest to her. Perhaps she might even be able to compel him to leave the country. "What if he owed us such a sum? I think he might oblige us with Georgiana's letters to keep out of debtor's prison."

"Do you mean to assume his debt, then? Where will you procure the money?" "I can manage a thousand pounds, I think. And it need not be paid over immediately; if Wikham was able to procure credit on the strength of his uniform and charming manners then I think the tradesmen will be tolerant of Mrs. Darcy for somewhat longer. But tell me, do you know whom he owes the money?" "I don't know, but I'm sure Denny and Saunderson will be able to tell you." "We will have to request the Colonel's assistance, in that case. And I do not want word of any possible danger getting back to Wikham. We will tell the men that you two intend to marry, but I am concerned about his finances, and mean to make it easier for the young couple. I am sure they will oblige us by keeping it a secret." "Oh, Lizzy, what a fine surprise it will be!"

Part XXXVI
Posted on Saturday, 26 May 2001 Elizabeth spent the night in an anxious torment, mentally reviewing over and over the plan which she had formed based on Lydia's information, and attempting to determine what her strategy ought to be when Wikham arrived the next evening. In her mind she imagined a thousand different scenarios, some plausible and others utterly irrational. She could see Wikham utterly flummoxed and Darcy delighting in her success, but equally well she imagined Wikham revealing some unexposed trump card that would divide her from her husband forever. Thoughts of Darcy inevitably flooded her mind when she thought of the day ahead, and it was with an effort that she reminded herself that he was hardly concerned at all in the matter, and would never learn of it should she prove successful. It was enough that Georgiana should be safe, and she would not breach his trust on that count; a true reconciliation between them was too much to be sought for. The following morning she had hoped to get an early start, but circumstances arranged themselves such that there was a slight delay. When she had found a letter from Jane awaiting her at the breakfast parlour, she had opened it with little expectation of finding within it any momentous tidings. In this she had been entirely mistaken; Jane's news was of the greatest significance, not only to her sister but also to herself. Mr. Bingley had returned to Netherfield once again, and he had lost no time in tendering a proposal that had been accepted. Jane was to be married. Elizabeth, who had not had the slightest expectation of so happy an outcome, wondered how it could have come about. She wondered whether Mr. Bingley had for once acted independently of his friend, but though Elizabeth had often hoped that he would show such initiative, and despaired that he would not, it now became a matter of anxiety for her to think the opposite. Here was evidence that her husband had not taken her bitter protestations to heart; she had to think that Mr. Bingley had consulted him, and he had evidently provided no objections. Her heart did whisper that he had done it for her, as a token of his good will, to show that he had not held words spoken in anger against her. She wondered if it were possible that, in spite of all that had transpired between them, he

still held her dear. And though she acknowledged that in all likelihood this was too much to be hoped for, she was comforted by the knowledge that his honour had demanded that his error be rectified, despite the acrimony that subsisted between them. For herself she was humbled, but for him, she was proud. She saw how grievously she had wronged him in her accusations, and with a lingering sorrow, she acknowledged how little she deserved the affection and regard that she had so callously spurned. Collecting herself, she shared the happy news with her sisters. Georgiana, despite her short acquaintance with Miss Bennet, was effusive in her enthusiasm; Lydia's bluntness had not been entirely cured by one night's earnest machinations, and her mind being principally occupied by the events of the day ahead, she commented shortly that Bingley had taken his time getting around to it. Georgiana did not know how to respond to this statement; flushing slightly, she stuttered her resolve to write her congratulations to Jane. Elizabeth felt equally the necessity of such a gesture, and was not sorry to have this further opportunity to collect her thoughts. She wrote Jane her most earnest congratulations and wished her every happiness with Bingley, but her mind was occupied by Wikham and Darcy. It could not fail to occur to her that her every point of contention with his behavior had been more than satisfactorily resolved, and she wondered if this could mean that a reconciliation were possible. But she was forced to remember that the breach was more on his side than hers, that he had every reason in the world to think ill of her, and no matter what her actions, she could not hope to justify to him actions that she could not forgive in herself. The letters were finished and sent to the post, and Elizabeth and Lydia started on their intended outing. The first stop was at the Forster's home, where Lydia was to remain with her dear friend and gather what information she could about Wikham's affairs. Elizabeth was invited to remain as well, but she pleaded further engagements, and continued to the officers' mess hall. The officers were at their exercises, but the Colonel of the regiment was not today overseeing them, and was happy to give Mrs. Darcy the few minutes she desired. Elizabeth was determined not to reveal her full hand, and approached the Colonel with something of an assumed air of naivet and all her usual cordiality. "Mrs. Darcy! This is an unexpected pleasure." "Thank you for seeing me, Colonel. I would not have interrupted you here, but I must see you on a matter concerning one of your officers." "I hope they have done nothing to offend you. That would require the most severe of punishments." "No such thing. It is about Mr. Wikham. I believe he and my sister have taken a partiality to one another." "I have noted a partiality on her side, Mrs. Darcy, and to tell you the truth I was somewhat relieved when she removed to your home. I have reason to believe that he may not perhaps be entirely to be trusted."

Elizabeth was surprised at this response, never having heard him voice anything less than fervent praise for any of his men. She began to wonder how much he already knew, and what she would have to reveal. "In what way, sir? I may tell you in confidence that my sister claims a definite engagement, and I must necessarily concern myself in her affairs. She did mention some trifling outstanding debts to local tradesmen that I would be happy to assume if it could secure her happiness." "I'm afraid the debts are not trifling by any means, nor are they simply tradesmen's bills. I have heard talk of debts of honor upto a thousand pounds, and it was in any case my intention to follow up on the matter." "A gamesman? I should not have guessed such a thing," said Elizabeth in manufactured tones of astonishment, although at this point very little could surprise her. "Indeed, madam. I should advise you to keep your sister well away from the man until I can ensure that it is quite safe. It may well be nothing but the exaggerated rumour mongering of the mess hall." "If you please, Colonel, I should like to get to the bottom of these supposed debts as soon as may be. In truth I am somewhat concerned that my sister will do something very rash, and I should like to know how desperate his straits really are." "I am sure I can oblige you, Mrs. Darcy. Let me just summon officers Denny and Carter. They are his closest friends in the regiment, and will certainly have the information you require." He called for the man minding the door and asked him to summon the officers, and turned back to Elizabeth with another question. "But may I ask what you intend to do about it?" "I intend to assume his debt. If his intentions are honourable I have no doubt that we will be able to work out some plan of repayment without driving him to desperate schemes." "I must ask you to consider the possibility that he is not so reliable." Elizabeth was more impressed than she had expected to be with the Colonel's penetration, and began to see that she would be able to use his help. She decided to disclose some of her skepticism, but continued to conceal her actual certainty. "In that case I will have legal recourse directly at hand, without having to rely on his creditors." "That is true, Mrs. Darcy. It seems the most prudent plan."

"I must ask you, Colonel, not to reveal any such concerns to Wikham himself or his friends. They may not be entirely forthright in revealing his circumstances if they imagine that I inquire without the friendliest of intentions." "Of course. You may rely on my secrecy. But here they come. Carter, Denny, I have just been speaking to Mrs. Darcy about Wikham. It seems he is to marry Miss Bennet." The two men exchanged guarded looks, and Elizabeth could see that they knew something of Wikham's flirtations with her sister, and more importantly of his tale of Darcy's wrongs against him. She knew she would have to convince them of her sincerity. "Indeed, I had never suspected an attachment. Mr. Wikham, it seems, is quite the romantic!" "Indeed, Ma'am. He is most fortunate in that regard." "But not so at the card table, eh? It seems Miss Lydia has heard talk of dreadful debts, and has taken quite a fright." Denny laughed nervously, and attempted a response, but the Colonel forestalled him once again. Elizabeth was very glad for his intervention, and wondered how she could have extracted any information without his assistance. "I know how it is, on a point of pride to get too carried away. I dare say the young ladies find it all the more thrilling. But we are among friends here, so do not be shy. It seems Mrs. Darcy is very ready to be generous on her sister's behalf." "That is very kind of you, Ma'am." "Wikham is an old friend of my family, Lieutenant Carter. I should be happy to do what little I can to secure my sister's happiness with him, and if there are any debts in the way I am well able to cover them." "It is a capital offer of Mrs. Darcy's, but keep it a surprise for Wikham. I imagine his young lady will take pleasure in breaking the news. I imagine you will be able to supply us with a list of his debts without involving him in the matter." "Of course, sir, directly." Elizabeth returned to retrieve her sister after a full afternoon's work. Once the list had been procured, she and the Colonel had made the rounds of the city, visiting both respectable tradesmen and more unsavoury proprietors of gambling dens. There had also been a number of outstanding debts to other officers in the militia. The colonel's assistance had been invaluable, and Elizabeth was almost regretful that she had not trusted him with her entire plan of entrapping Wikham. But in such a matter she could not be too careful, and, on the whole, was happy that she had kept her own council. The hard work was done. The Darcy name was more than good enough to assume

Wikham's debt, and she was armed with papers ensuring that Wikham owed her just under a thousand pounds. Men languished in prison for years for less than half such sums. Lydia's day had, on the whole, been somewhat less productive. She and Harriet had spent it in their usual gossip and dissipation, but there was nothing new to be learnt of Mr. Wikham or his prospects. Elizabeth was determined to take this as a good sign. There was no contingency she had left unaccounted for. Now she had only to wait for the evening, and with it, for Mr. Wikham.

Part XXXVII
Posted on Thursday, 7 February 2002 Darcy had settled with himself that his friend would know his destiny at the hands of the eldest Miss Bennet within a day or two of his arrival in Hertfordshire, and consequently, was unsurprised find the letter waiting for him. Bingley had sent an express; his wooing had not been in vain. He asked his friends to join him at Netherfield to share in his current happiness. Darcy was conscious of a sense of relief; despite his assurances to his young friend, he had not been quite so sanguine of a happy conclusion after his interference. And assured of a happy outcome for his friend, he allowed thoughts of self to intrude. Undoubtedly, Elizabeth too had already received similar information, and at the very least, she must suspect that he had played a role in ensuring it. But he could only guess as to whether such tidings could make her think the better of him, or indeed, if any tidings could ensure so happy an outcome. But though he had not been able to refrain from hoping thus when he had been in some doubt that this conclusion would come to pass, now it seemed but a hollow offering, designed to excite no stronger feeling than gratitude. He wondered if the journey into Hertfordshire might be feasible under the current circumstances, but he could not see how such a thing would be possible. How would he and Elizabeth endure as guests together in another house, forced into a false impression of intimacy? For that matter, how would they endure the scrutiny of her nearest relations, given their current estrangement? Perhaps Elizabeth could go on without him, and he could plead business once again. He would make an appearance at the wedding, of course, but prolonging the visit could only bring him pain. He went through his other letters, and started, as he saw the writing on one: surely it was addressed in Elizabeth's hand. Was it possible that she should be writing him after what had passed between them? Then he glanced back at the writing, and could not contain the disappointment that welled up when he discovered that it was addressed to the housekeeper. Mrs. Harris was summoned to the study, and he handed her the letter, saying, "This found its way into my letters, Mrs. Harris. I believe it's one of yours." "Thank you, sir. I'll have Adams be more careful when he sorts through the mail. I was wondering where this had gotten to."

"I noticed, that is, surely that is Mrs. Darcy's writing?" "That it is, sir, and such an elegant hand it is. If I may say so, sir, you brought home a lovely young lady as your bride. She is all at ease and friendliness, no false dignity at all, and the most considerate mistress. There is not a thing that escapes her notice. Your mother would have been proud." "Thank you, Mrs. Harris. Do you correspond often?" "Why yes, Mrs. Darcy writes every week, and more often if there is something particular, and insists I do the same with her. There is so much for a mistress to look over in a house like this, and she is most careful that the menus and all the arrangements should suit your needs, sir. I believe she has written to Mrs. Reynolds as well, though she is not yet properly mistress of that house yet." "Thank you, Mrs. Harris. That will be all." As Mrs. Harris closed the door on her way out, Darcy sat back in his chair, absorbing what he had just learnt. He had absently remarked in his lethargy that the house was running itself, but he had never thought to realize that he seemed not to be needed in its running as he had been before he married. Now he learnt that Elizabeth had taken over those duties so completely of her own volition, for surely he would not have thought twice about it had she deferred them to him in her absence. But she was not a woman to shirk her responsibilities, and she was more than efficient in their undertaking. Mrs. Harris attested to it, but so could Darcy himself. He had not been required to examine the household books for months, but he looked now to find that Elizabeth had exercised admirable economy without compromising the liberality of his arrangements. The main rooms had always been kept in impeccable order, but the current project, he knew, was to air out the unused chambers one by one to ensure that they remained usable. He had been impressed by Mrs. Harris's foresight, but it was obvious now that such a thing was being done on Elizabeth's orders. And the menus -Darcy almost smiled as he realized that it was his wife who was keeping track of his current diet, appetizing yet far from indulgent; how often had she gently teased him for his sweet tooth in happier days? He left the study, and made his way to his chambers. Passing by Elizabeth's room, he paused, as he habitually did, and for once, he could not stifle the urge to enter. He was a little surprised to find that its furniture was not swathed in cloth; evidently the rooms were being kept in readiness for the return of the mistress. Though no piece of furniture had been added or displaced since the room had been his mother's, for Darcy, there were shadows of Elizabeth in every corner. The air, that had once hung thick with dust, now carried the lingering scent of Elizabeth's lavender water. But beyond this phantom presence, his wife had left her chambers unaltered, evidently by design; not a single personal possession of hers was anywhere apparent. The room quite lacked the cosy familiarity he had come to love it for, and that he now realized derived not only from her presence but also from her scattered mementos. Having come thus far, however, Darcy was overcome with the urge to find some concrete proof of her existence in his life. He realized with regret how little he had made the effort to understand her, and how little he knew of her likes and dislikes. He wanted to treasure what she cherished, and see her take pleasure in what delighted him.

With only a momentary hesitation, he opened the bureau. Here her personal effects were more apparent. He glanced over several slim volumes she had left with some surprise; among them were some of his own favourite works, as well as books that he had been meaning to acquire but unable to locate. As he leafed through the pages, he smiled at her scribbles in the margins; he himself never wrote in books, but her witticisms and observations were an asset rather than a detraction from the text. He put away the books, trying to leave them in a stack in the corner as he had found them, when he found that she had in fact left something behind them, and in astonishment, he found that she had left a considerable sum of money. Counting it, he realized that it was the entire sum he had left at her disposal for her personal expenses; she had accepted none of his money. Remorse washed over him as he recalled the accusation that had been implicit in their argument; Elizabeth was no mercenary. And if she had admitted that she had not accepted him for love, it fell for him to be grateful that she had accepted him at all, rather than expressing outrage at her questionable motives. Along with the money, however, there was one other item she had concealed behind the books, and it was to this that he now turned. Elizabeth had left behind a letter addressed to him, and dated on the night of their argument. When he had had so many apologies to make, he had remained silent, but she had not, and as shame for his own reticence welled over, he opened her letter with unsteady fingers. Mr. Darcy, I do not even know how I am to address you; this opening bespeaks the utterance of even the merest stranger, and yet it is the only address I feel at liberty to permit myself. Perhaps I ought to have prefixed a 'dear,' and if you will permit me the familiarity and take it as thus written, I will have expressed my meaning slightly better. I cannot tell how you will regard this letter of mine; in light of our recent conversation I would not be surprised if you did not read it, and yet I appeal to your sense of justice that you will allow me some explanation. You may wonder what I have to say that I could not have told you in person just now; I can only plead that I was not then sufficiently mistress of myself, and I spoke in anger what I did not mean. You have never concealed from me your scruples about our marriage, and I have never been blind to the disparity of our situations. But I have had scruples as well, scruples that I ought to have acknowledged much earlier, and that I ought never have revealed in anger. But now there can be no further concealment, and I must hope that you will be willing to credit my account even now. Your offer of marriage took me entirely by surprise; I had no notion of your partiality, and I had always assumed that you noticed me more out of dislike than any other feeling. I was surprised at my own acceptance as well, and over the next few days I frequently contemplated breaking our engagement. I will not attempt to deny that the awkwardness of my situation was one reason that I did not pursue this course, but I hope you will believe me when I say that my primary motive was quite

different. I observed your increasing openness with some wonder, and it reinforced my growing conviction that our marriage would be a union that would further the happiness of each. But even as I grew happier about the impending marriage, I had meant to acquaint you with my misgivings, and tell you that my affection for you was created after our engagement and not before; I can only have accepted you for the most mercenary of motives. Why I did not make this disclosure I cannot say; but certainly I feared that such a revelation would destroy your affection for me. But two other matters threatened my expectations of marital felicity even as I was increasingly inclined to acquit you of any cruelty, one of which I mentioned tonight. I speak of your role in separating your friend from my sister. My outburst on that score I can only call guilt; my sister's affections have stood the test of many months' suspense, yet I was the one so fortunate as to marry first, though my affections were created much later, and are far more suspect, being as they were, created after my engagement. Regardless of what light you regard me in for my own actions, I hope you will believe that Jane's regard for Bingley is entirely sincere. The other is the account Mr. Wikham gave me of his dealings with you. I once blamed you based on this account, as you may remember from our early acquaintance, and lately what remained of my anger came from my guilt, that despite his story, I liked you well enough to marry you. On this score, I know not what to believe; I feel almost as Jane would, that there is some explanation that will temper his accusations of unmitigated cruelty. This is, I know, insufficient apology for my words this evening, but I have no other explanation to offer, and I will not trouble you with hollow protestations. Having said so little, I lay no claim to your forgiveness, but trust only in your generosity. And I remain Yours, Elizabeth. Convinced as he had been that she held him in utter contempt, Darcy was wonderstruck at Elizabeth's revelation. After that fateful night, he had thought himself presumptuous to even hope that she might ever regard him with any affection. Now he learnt that affection had existed before it, and persisted after. And if he had not been too proud to approach her, they might have made amends almost immediately. Her apologies were particularly poignant; he certainly was in no position to exact them. If his affection for her dated back further than hers for him, it had been a pale shadow of the regard in which he now held her. He too had truly learnt to love much later. It was a miracle under the circumstances that they had married when they had, and now they were throwing away their every chance of happiness. He had so callously spurned Elizabeth that she was reluctant even to use his name; she had signed only her first. He shuddered to think of his coldness in his dealings with her. He could hardly wonder

that after such behaviour she had been reluctant to give him this letter -- perhaps he had even alienated her affections entirely. And Wikham -- now that he could complete the thought without subjecting himself to the worst of his fears, he admitted that at least some of his reluctance to make amends with Elizabeth had come from a lingering jealousy that she might care more about his nemesis than for himself. But she had been receptive to an explanation: it was his fault that none had been forthcoming. Such a situation could not be allowed to persist; he had lost precious time already, and could hardly afford to squander any more. The chances were that he had lost Elizabeth's affection forever, but while there was any possibility that she might return his feelings he had to know it, and to make what amends he could. Roused to action, he crossed over into his own chamber, where his man was clearing his morning things. "When you're done with those things, Morris, could you prepare a trunk? Not too elaborate, just for one or two days this time. We're leaving for Brighton to bring Mrs. Darcy and my sister home. And after that we'll all be traveling into Hertfordshire together."

Part XXXVIII
Posted on Thursday, 7 February 2002 One task that Elizabeth had ignored in all her preparations for Wikham that evening was to assuage Georgiana's anxiety over his reappearance, and to justify to her the necessity of his return tonight. Elizabeth did not want to worry Georgiana unnecessarily, and did not want to tell her anything about the letters she had written until they were safely in her possession, and perhaps not even then. She had cautioned Lydia of the need for secrecy, and although she knew her sister well enough to realize that she would not make the most reliable confidante she nevertheless thought that Lydia had enough to engage her interest to refrain from mentioning the matter for this one day. Her trust had not proved misplaced, perhaps in part because Lydia had entertained her own visitor, Harriet Forster, for much of the day, and had had little opportunity to trade confidences with Miss Darcy. Now that evening had come it would be necessary to prepare Georgiana in some way for Wikham's visit this evening, and prevent her from possibly interfering. Now that Elizabeth was holding so many of the choice cards, she wanted to play a sole hand. Accordingly, after an early dinner, she took Georgiana aside in her room and told her a carefully prepared story. Some version of the truth would have to be told, and Elizabeth did not hesitate to give Georgiana a full account of Wikham's desperate straits, and his necessity to flee town. His proposal could only be referred to in the most sanitized terms, and Elizabeth forbore from mentioning any offer to Georgiana or herself, saying only that Wikham had chosen Lydia as his companion. This much corresponded with what Georgiana knew already. Elizabeth told her further that Lydia's infatuation with Wikham was now at an end, eliding over the fact that Lydia now knew the entirety of Georgiana's past. To explain Wikham's return on the present night Elizabeth dissembled, saying that he was holding hostage some compromising correspondence of Lydia's, to persuade her to now come against her own will, and that

these were the letters that Elizabeth would attempt to extract from him. Georgiana was understandably concerned on Lydia's behalf, but applauded Elizabeth's quick thinking and preparation, in assuming Wikham's debt. She volunteered the sum of money necessary for their purchase, feeling that some of the responsibility of the present situation was hers, but did not press when Elizabeth declined, not thinking that her brother's wife would have any actual need for her money. Elizabeth, for her part, could not accept such a sum from her sister, yet forbore from thinking how she would procure such money herself. The sum that her father had settled on her would only just cover the actual debt itself, leaving her practically penniless, but more disturbing was the thought that in all probability Wikham would require more. After her marriage she had access to far greater sums than would be required on the present occasion, but she was reluctant to use her husband's money for such a purpose. Truth be told, though she handled the finances of the London townhouse as well as the temporary Brighton establishment, she had not spent a penny of the sum that had been laid aside for her personal expenses. At first she had simply never felt the necessity, living in all the surfeit of an opulent household with the endless gifts and tokens of her husband and his sister, and now, in less happy times, she found that she could not spend that money without proving herself to be the mercenary she had called herself and did not wish to actually become. But that was a bridge she would have to cross when she came to it. For the moment, her name was enough to hold any creditors at bay, and she needed to concentrate on dispatching Mr. Wikham. With a final hug, she excused herself from Georgiana's room to head downstairs. She was intercepted in the hall by Lydia, who wished to have her own part to play in the evening's events, but she was firmly dispatched back to her own room. Elizabeth had quite enough to worry about for this one night without adding Lydia's loose tongue to the list. She finally made her way downstairs to the sitting room. Glancing at the piano bench, she acknowledged wryly that in all her current anxiety she had been putting in even less practice than was usual for her, but decided for the moment that she was simply too nervous to try her hand just now. It would certainly not do for Wikham to realize how violently her fingers were quivering. She took a seat on the sofa, instead, wondering how she should attempt to occupy herself while she waited. It was then, as though on cue, that the maid came in to announce Mr. Wikham. He entered, suavely, with not the slightest trace of any embarrassment, and Elizabeth found herself wondering at his brazen manners, before recollecting to herself that he had not probably the slightest idea of what was to befall him. "Mrs. Darcy." His smirk was only too apparent, as though he particularly enjoyed giving her that particular appellation at such a moment, and her blood boiled over at what he implied by that tone of voice. She forced herself to remain calm in the face of his provocation, reminding herself that she was the amateur here and he the professional, and anger could only cause her to misplay her hand.

"I see you are all alone this evening. I take it that it is just to be the two of us, then? I may say that I rather happen to prefer it this way. Shall we away? Our carriage awaits, and I see no reason to tarry." "A moment, Mr. Wikham. Aren't you forgetting something?" "These, you mean?" He extracted a bundle of letters from his breast pocket, but continued to hold on to them as he spoke. "I thought you might have forgotten about them. You have had a good deal on your mind, I dare say. But not so easily, I'm afraid, my dear. Let us be on our way and I shall send them by post to your precious husband, or to dear Georgiana, if you prefer." "I need them now. What guarantee do I have that you will send them if I come with you?" "Only this, that with Darcy's wife by my side I shall hardly need his sister's letters. If I give them to you right now, I'm fairly confident that you'll send me off on my journey all alone, and that would never do. One has to think of all these things, unfortunately." "I think I can give you something else to think about Mr. Wikham. Quite a different sort of journey, I'm afraid." He looked at the piece of paper she handed him, and blanched for a second as Elizabeth brandished her own bundle, which he could recognize as the various promissory notes he had furnished to merchants and such at one time or another. Then he collected himself, and seemed to regain his habitual manner as Elizabeth continued to speak. "I think you'll find that that will serve you well for a free journey to debtor's prison, and a lengthy stay there as well, if I'm not mistaken." "And I think we both know that that will give you very little comfort if I drag the Darcy name down with me," he said, brandishing his own pile, "I'm sure we can come to some understanding." "Nothing could be simpler, to my mind, Mr. Wikham. If you will give me your letters you may take your debts as forgotten, and we will each go our separate ways." "I think not, Mrs. Darcy. You must be aware that even without those debts my situation with Colonel Forster will not allow me to continue in his regiment. I must quit Brighton in any case, and if you will not come with me I'm afraid I have very little inducement not to sully Miss Darcy's name." "What did you have in mind, then, Mr. Wikham?" "It's very simple. There is a regiment of the regulars in the North that I may join if I am able to put up the price of a commission. It will cost you less than ten thousand

pounds. I assure you that your husband is willing to spend a good deal more to clear his sister's name." "That is absurd, Mr. Wikham, as I'm sure you realize. I've spoken to Colonel Forster, who is waiting as we speak to have you removed to prison. It is a very remote possibility that you will be able to compromise my sister's reputation in any way even if you do retain the letters." "That, Mrs. Darcy, is a risk you cannot afford to take." "Do you really think I rate Georgiana's reputation so much above my own?" Wikham started. This was an admission he was not ready to hear. He had assumed, ever since he had seen Elizabeth's first protective pose, that she would do anything to save her family, and that he could get away with his most outrageous demand. Now it appeared as though she too was primarily concerned with protecting herself. It was an attitude he should have expected, but somehow hadn't, in her. Now he sought to salvage an agreement that would keep him out of prison at the very least, realizing that she had next to nothing to lose in sending him there. "Come, Mrs. Darcy, it needn't come to that. I would be more than happy to let you have the letters, if you will only be reasonable." "Let's hear it. What do you want?" "I must have some security of making my own fortune, Mrs. Darcy." "I fail to see what security you could have with your expenses, Mr. Wikham. Let us just hear what you want." "I must go abroad. The prospects there..." "...for wooing unwitting heiresses cannot be much different from here, but I'm sure you know better. A channel crossing, then." "A little further than that, I think. Italy has always caught my fancy." "Italy it shall be, then. But in that case I will retain a copy of the debts I have assumed in case you should ever return to these shores." "I don't anticipate the need to return." "Then we are agreed, Mr. Wikham. I will just write up our agreement, and then if I could have the letters..." "Not so fast, Mrs. Darcy. We will sign on it now, but I cannot give you the letters until I have my crossing confirmed." "Very well, and you may have these at the same time. Where am I to find you?"

"I shall leave you with my London address. I think you will find, Mrs. Darcy, that I am a man of my word." "When it comes to matters of your own benefit, Mr. Wikham, I do not doubt it." They signed the paper that Elizabeth had been writing up in the meantime, and then Wikham prepared to take his leave. "Farewell, Mrs. Darcy. It's been very pleasant doing business with you." "Of some pleasures, I believe, a very little may suffice." Elizabeth's biting response was more for her own satisfaction than for Wikham, and he seemed not to remark on it as he left. Elizabeth sat back, reflecting on what had passed. Certainly, she felt, it could have gone a lot worse. Had Wikham realized that there was no way that she could have allowed Georgiana's reputation to be compromised, he would have held out at least for his original demand. As it was, a hint that she might be callous of her sister's reputation had allowed her to buy him off far more cheaply, and, as a double surety, had secured against his ever returning to the country. But it was the matter of expense that troubled her. The original debt, when she repaid it, would take up most of her meager personal fortune. She simply did not possess the funds to buy Wikham his passage to Italy. Or rather, she knew exactly where the money was to be had, but she recoiled from using it for such a cause. She sighed. She would have to worry about the money later. For the moment, her uncle Gardiner would be able to tide her over, and she would have to leave the actual purchase to him in any case. She would worry about repaying him after all was done and settled with Wikham. She roused herself prepared to head upstairs, to give each of her sisters an appropriately edited account of the events of the night. But she had hardly stood up when she heard the knocker sound, and she stayed in the drawing room, half in panic that Wikham could be returning for something else yet again, for she could think of no one else to visit them at such an hour, when the drawing room door opened, and she saw, ahead of the maid who would have come in to announce him, the striking figure of her husband.

Part XXXIX
Posted on Thursday, 14 February 2002 Elizabeth stood in unconcealed shock as her husband was shown into the room. For a second or two she could not look away from him, but then she suddenly recollected herself, and she could hardly look up to meet his eye. She knew somehow that he had entered the room, had looked around, and was presently approaching in her general direction, but how she knew this she could not have said, since she certainly was not looking at him, or in any way towards him. Eventually she gathered her wits so that she might be able to offer a greeting, but despite the time she took to prepare herself in offering it she could not keep out a sharp note of surprise. "Mr. Darcy!"

"Mrs. Darcy." It was the most formal of addresses from a husband to a wife, and yet that was not what she heard in it. It was a validation of her right to the name, and more than that, it was a possessive gesture. Or at least it was those things for a few magic moments, before she recollected herself and attempted to subdue her agitated heart. "Is there anything I can get you? A glass of wine? Your journey must have been very tiring." "Thank you, but please, do not trouble yourself. I am perfectly well." She could find nothing further to say along such lines, nor yet could she meet his eye, so she busied herself in taking the seat she had just vacated, and entreated him to do the same. He did so, but though there were many chairs conveniently situated across the room he appeared to prefer the space on the sofa beside her at a proximity that was equally as delightful as it was disconcerting. She made to rise, not quite able to absorb all the flutter of emotion that this unexpected tte--tte had raised in her. "Let me get Georgiana. She is resting upstairs, but I know she will be delighted to see you." He caught her wrist, not forcefully, but firmly enough to prevent her escape. He was looking at her still directly. She remained unable to meet his eye. "Georgiana can wait, Elizabeth. I came here to see you. To talk to you, really, although just looking at you is more than a privilege." She fought valiantly to calm herself against such a declaration as this. As an overture it was unmistakable, but more, far more, remained to be said, mainly on her side. But most importantly she had to respond to him now, and she had no idea how such a thing was to be done safely, nor how exactly one introduced the subject of one's own blatantly unacceptable past behaviour. "I am happy to see you as well." "Have you seen me? I was beginning to have my doubts on the subject. You've managed to look about everywhere in the room save in my general vicinity. I do wish you would let me look at your eyes." At which she had no option but to raise her eyes to him, blushing furiously as she marveled at his ability for good-humoured banter at such a time. For her part she had to concentrate every fibre of her being just to be able to speak. "I have seen you. I couldn't exactly say how, since I was trying to study the pattern on the rug. It's very disconcerting when you stare at me like that." He laughed slightly, and turned slightly towards her on the sofa. She realized then that he hadn't let go of her hand. He wasn't holding on to prevent her escape anymore, yet just the warmth of his hand on hers felt more intimate, somehow.

"I don't think I've ever managed to disconcert you before, just by looking at you." "No, you did disconcert me, from the very beginning. I had no notion of what you were about." For the first time he looked away, perturbed. Something of his assurance left had him and she realized he had interpreted his statement as a rejection. "I had no idea that you didn't like my looking at you. You're so beautiful that I'm hardly able to look away, when you're in the room." He was looking at her again, with a sort of entreaty in his features. It was disconcerting, still, but in an exhilarating sort of way. Yet much remained unresolved between them, and her exhilaration was fully tempered by her apprehension. Her shame at her previous conduct and her continuing insecurity as to the current state of his regard threatened almost to overwhelm her, but she knew that it was her turn to offer reassurance. "I did like it, when I thought that might be what you were about. For a long time I thought you looked only to find fault." She knew as she said it that she had not said enough, and wished for the courage to be able to say more as he chastised himself once again. "I have never given you much reason to like me, have I?" Looking into his eyes she made a sort of desperate resolution to say whatever she needed to say to him, for she knew well that despite his overtures the burden of apologies and disclosures fell to her. "More reason than you have to like me. I have imputed the worst of motives to your every action, when you have not done anything that is not honourable and just." "There was nothing honourable in the manner in which I proposed to you, nor any justice in the needless suffering I inflicted on my friend and your sister." "You had every reason to think as you did. Judging from what my actions have been, your qualms were in every way justified. I must thank you again and again for securing her happiness in spite of every thing I've done." "You have nothing to thank me for. I was shamefully lax in making the confession. Indeed I had observed the change in your sister's demeanor some time before our own marriage, and attributed it to Bingley's loss, but I was too wrapped up in my own happiness to make the necessary amendment." "That may be, but I gave you every reason to discredit such a view. I thank you again and again for her happiness." "You give me too much credit, Elizabeth. My motive was entirely selfish. I thought only to improve myself in your estimation."

"But it is I who owes you a thousand apologies! I have wronged you in every way." "You have done nothing wrong, Elizabeth. The fault is mine for putting the worst construction on your actions." "I have done nothing right since I accepted your proposal!" "I do not think I would have preferred a refusal. I would have been sooner acquainted of my own faults, it is true, but I would have lost all hope of marrying the only woman I could ever love. I could never regret your acceptance." She forced herself not to make too much of his declaration, intent on completing her apology. "But I ought to have told you much earlier in a more temperate manner. I should never have concealed anything from you." "Perhaps not, but no matter how temperate your manner, I would not have taken kindly to your disclosures. I am a selfish being, very accustomed to having my own way. Do not apologize, Elizabeth; I have treated you so boorishly that I cannot begin to earn your apologies. It is only my pride that prevented me from speaking to you earlier. I could not be sure of my reception, and I was afraid, though I did not admit it to myself. Then I found a letter you wrote to me, which gave me reason to hope." "That is another instance of my cowardice. I ought to have had the courage to give it to you, but there was nothing that I could explain, even to my own satisfaction." "It was I who made it utterly impossible for you to give it to me. I cannot think of my conduct without abhorrence. I found it just last morning. I could not stay out of your room, and I had to find anything that was yours. Then I saw the letter, and I knew that I had to see you. I did not come here to hear your apologies. It was shameful of me to have allowed you to leave without sorting this all out between us." "Can you ever forgive me for having been so mercenary?" "You are not a mercenary, Elizabeth. You did not take a penny of my money, as you well know. Why did you leave it all?" "I had no need of half such a sum." "Then you should have taken half such a sum. You have nothing to prove to me on that count." "And I took Mr. Wikham's part. That is another matter where I thought the worst, without ever asking you for the truth of it." "Oh, God, Elizabeth. I should have told you so long ago. When I think of how he might have importuned you. You must know the truth of it now."

"I do know. He did importune me...." she saw the stricken look on her husband's face and edited her disclosure: "that is to say, he promised my poor sister Lydia marriage in Gretna Green. I thought it best to remove her to this house to prevent an imprudent elopement, and Georgiana told me the whole of it when she learnt of it." "I blame myself, Elizabeth, for leaving him in a position to make such an offer. I was too concerned for my sister's honour, and it never struck me that there might be others in the world whose sisters might be equally vulnerable. I had not the slightest idea that the militia were in Brighton, or I should never have allowed you or Georgiana to come." "It is all for the best, and Lydia is safe now." "I thank God for that, but I am selfish enough to wish that you had never been near him." "There is something more that I must tell you..." "No more explanations, Elizabeth, no more apologies. What was it you once said to me? Think only of the past as its remembrance brings you pleasure." "An easier philosophy to espouse, I find, when one has not so much to regret." He pulled closer to her, and taking her both her hands, earnestly made her eyes meet his. "Truly, Elizabeth, you have nothing to regret." She shifted uncomfortably, but did not shrink from his nearness. "One thing, I think, I must regret, unless I correct it now." "And that is?" "That I never told you that I loved you. I have known it now for so long, but somehow I never found the words to tell you." He brought her closer still, until she was well and truly in his arms. "And do you love me still?" "I think I will love you always. I cannot imagine not loving you." His happiness was such as he had probably never experienced before, and Elizabeth marveled at how well the expression of heartfelt delight became him. "You cannot imagine how I have longed to hear you say it." Her happiness was equal to his, which is to say that it was unbounded, and she surprised even herself by proving capable of mirth at such a moment.

"I think I can, actually." "Do you?" "Yes, for I long to hear you say the same." "Can you doubt that I love you? You will hear me say it everyday of our lives." He kissed her, lightly, lingeringly. She smiled and drew him closer for another, when the maid entered with a discreet cough. Elizabeth blushed, but her husband, although releasing her from his embrace, would not allow her to retreat to any great distance. "Begging your pardon, ma'm, but I thought you'd want to know. I've had the master's things taken upstairs, and cook was wanting to know if you'll be supping as usual in an hour." "Yes, we will. Could you tell my sisters to join us downstairs then? And there will be an extra place, of course." "Yes, ma'am." She left the room, drawing the door behind her, as Darcy drew his wife close once again. "We are liable at any moment to be interrupted here, sir. The girls will have heard by now that you are in the house, and Georgiana at least will want to see you." "In that case, Mrs. Darcy, I wonder if you might direct me to my chamber? I find I am somewhat fatigued and in need of some rest before supper." "I am afraid, Mr. Darcy, that I have no chamber to offer you in this house. Mrs. Annesley, your sister and I have one each, and my sister has taken the last available." "Do you mean to banish me to the inn, in that case?" "We might be able to reach some understanding. I do have a chamber that I might be persuaded to share, under the right circumstances." "And those might be?" "I would be happiest sharing with someone charming and considerate by the name of Darcy, but since it is hardly fair to ask Georgiana to give up her room I shall have to make do with you instead." "I hope I am able to persuade you of the merits of that decision. In fact, if you will point me in the right direction, I might begin to persuade you right now." "Up the stairs and the second door to your left, Mr. Darcy. Georgiana will be sorry to hear that she missed seeing you before supper."

"She will miss seeing us both, I'm afraid. I'm hopeless with directions, Mrs. Darcy, and I was hoping you'd be able to accompany me." "You have just admitted to being ridden with fatigue and hopeless with directions. I'm afraid I'm not particularly persuaded as to your merits as a companion." "I might offer one or two compensations for all that," he said, drawing her close for an ardent kiss. "If that is how you mean to persuade me then I believe I must accompany you." "I knew you'd come around to seeing things my way, my love." He kissed her again, and it was some little time before they made it upstairs to the room.

Part XL
Posted on Tuesday, 21 May 2002 It was late afternoon and Darcy had just settled himself in his study in the townhouse in London. They were to leave the following day to spend the next several weeks before his friend's wedding to Miss Bennet in Hertfordshire, and he wanted to remain at liberty to be able to spend most of that time with his wife. It was necessary, therefore, for him to dispose of his business commitments this afternoon, before they were to leave. It was fortunate also that Elizabeth had had another commitment this afternoon, leaving him at liberty to attend to his correspondence, because he had acknowledged to himself already in the short period in which they had been reconciled that it was impossible for him to attend to anyone or anything else while she was in his presence. It had been a blissful five days they had spent together; he could hardly believe that he had ever allowed her to leave, but he knew also that though they had been happy before they had never had anything like this. He had loved his wife for longer than he could remember, yet it was only now that he could say that he was beginning to know her, and he loved her all the more for it. And the marvel of it was that she seemed to feel the same for him, and that she was able to say so made him indescribably happy. He had loved her before when she had accepted his endearments and caresses - he had never imagined that there might be anything more to love than that - but he knew now that that had been only another symptom of his selfishness, and that it was nothing compared to the pleasure he experienced when she openly reciprocated his affection. He smiled to himself as he realized that he had not even begun his work and already he was distracted with thoughts of her. It would be a marvel if he managed to accomplish anything. But he had barely started with his first letter when a knock at the door distracted him again. He was tempted to ignore the interruption, but it occurred to him that Elizabeth might have returned, and he would certainly never forego an opportunity to see her. "Begging your pardon, sir, but Mrs. Darcy's uncle Mr. Gardiner is here to see her. I thought you might want to know."

"Thank you, Adams." He paused for a moment, but came to the conclusion that he would have to go out and greet this uncle of Elizabeth's. After all, he had never met the man, and it seemed rather rude to keep him waiting like this when there was really no saying when Elizabeth would return. He sighed; tomorrow had seemed soon enough to have to confront her relatives, but it seemed he would have to start today. He made his way to the sitting room, hoping he would be able to extricate himself quickly. "Mr. Gardiner." He was rather surprised to see the man who returned his greeting. He recalled now that he had noticed him and his wife at the wedding, and had taken them for people of fashion. He would never have assumed that this was Elizabeth's uncle in trade. "Mr. Darcy, it's good to see you." "I'm afraid Elizabeth had some engagements this afternoon. She wasn't able to tell me quite how long it would take her to return." "That is a pity. I had hoped to have a chance to speak with her before she left for Hertfordshire." "I hope it is nothing very urgent." "Actually, I believe it is. She asked for my help in a rather particular matter, and I would have felt far more comfortable had I spoken to her before I carried through her commission." Darcy was impressed with the gentleman's manner, and more than a little curious as to what Elizabeth might have asked him to do. He did not for a moment believe that she would have kept something of a serious nature from him, but perhaps they had been so wrapped up in their happiness these last several days that there were subjects she had not gotten around to discussing. He was also a little jealous that she should have asked her uncle to carry out a particular commission, and felt that it was his own place to do so. "Perhaps it is something I could help you with." "In truth Mr. Darcy it is a matter I would want to discuss with you, since I am more than a little troubled at what Lizzy asks, but I must respect her wishes above my own." "Did she instruct you to keep it from me?" "No, but I do not believe she thought the opportunity would arise for me to tell you." "Mr. Gardiner, I do not believe my wife would wish to keep any matter of gravity from me."

"I should hope not, Mr. Darcy, but excuse me for saying that I should be more troubled if she had your consent in this." "Come, Mr. Gardiner, you have said enough to concern me, but I am sure Elizabeth cannot be doing anything so grave without my knowing anything about it." "I consider it grave indeed that she insists on squandering the entirety of the money her father settled on her, and I find it difficult to believe, sir, that you would permit her to engage in something that leaves her penniless and utterly without resources." "My wife, sir, will never be penniless while I have anything to do about it. But I must beg you to be more explicit. Why should she require a thousand pounds of her own money?" "Very well, sir, you shall hear what I know of it. I hope I do not violate my niece's confidence too grievously in telling you, but I find it difficult to rely on her judgment alone in this matter. I believe you are acquainted with a young man by the name of Wikham? We made his acquaintance in Hertfordshire a few months ago, and he struck us then as a rather engaging young man, although I may say that he was not overly kind in what he had to say about you. We assumed later that Lizzy had learnt something to contradict his opinion of you when we heard about the wedding. Three days ago I heard from Lizzy, and I did not know what to make of her letter, although it did confirm my opinion that this Wikham was not to be trusted." "What does this have to do with her settlement?" "It has everything to do with her settlement, sir. She sent me a list of this man's creditors, saying that she herself had assumed the debt for him, and instructed me to use her money to pay these bills off, in addition to purchasing for the man a passage to Italy. These things I was to give to him, and to retrieve in return some papers which he was holding. I may tell you, Mr. Darcy, that I do not want to imagine what it is of my niece's that he is holding hostage. The man's debts themselves amount to somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand pounds, and along with the overseas passage the amount somewhat exceeds the amount of Elizabeth's settlement. Of course I would be more than happy to make up the deficit, but you see why I have some qualms about the whole matter." Darcy, who had been agitated when the name of his bitterest enemy had entered the conversation, had collected himself by the time Mr. Gardiner had reached the end of his narrative. Reading between the lines of what Elizabeth had briefly mentioned to him and what her uncle had just recounted, he was able to plausibly reconstruct what must have occurred. He blamed himself for not pursuing the matter further with Elizabeth; he had been too wrapped up in their happiness to give much thought to her sister. Once again he had been guilty of selfishness, and once again, she was refusing to regard his money as her own. When it came to a matter concerning her own family, she still could not be confident in coming to him. "Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. You could have done no better than to tell me this. I believe I may be able to ease your mind on some particulars. My wife did tell me rather recently that while they were in Brighton your youngest niece, Miss Lydia

Bennet, was taken in by the wiles of Mr. Wikham. Elizabeth was fortunately able to put a stop to the matter before the young lady was in any danger. She did not tell me that there had been any financial component in securing Miss Lydia's rescue, but of course her money must not be touched. I can take care of the matter, sir, if you will just tell me how much it has put you out of pocket, and if you will let me have Wikham's address." "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear that. I'm afraid my mind had leapt to rather more dire conclusions, but I can see how Lizzy would imagine that she needed to take full responsibility for it. But under the circumstances I think it might be best if I took care of the financial arrangements on Mr. Bennet's behalf." "No, Mr. Gardiner, I must insist on the responsibility. I may tell you that this is not the first time Wikham has importuned an impressionable young lady with questionable advances. Had I made this information public he would never have had the opportunity of attaching himself to your niece in this manner. I'm afraid the fault in this matter is entirely my own." "If you insist, Mr. Darcy, but I may say that you are quite as stubborn as your wife. You're both determined to take the blame and deal with this man independently, when the blame quite clearly rests with Wikham alone." "Elizabeth, of course, is entirely blameless, but I'm afraid you cannot exculpate me quite so easily, Mr. Gardiner. I do appreciate the effort, though." "I'm glad to have been of service, Mr. Darcy. And I may say that I have enjoyed finally meeting you. I was beginning to believe my niece had married a phantom." "That is something else I must take responsibility for, Mr. Gardiner. I'm afraid I've quite monopolized my wife's time while she has been in London." "I will take my leave now, Mr. Darcy. You have lightened my mind considerably about this matter. Do give my regards to Lizzy." "It was an honour to meet you, Mr. Gardiner. I'm sure Elizabeth would join me in saying that we would appreciate the pleasure of your company for dinner when we are again in London. And your wife and children, of course." "It will be our pleasure, Mr. Darcy. But I believe we will be seeing you before then in Hertfordshire at Jane's wedding." "So we will, Mr. Gardiner. I look forward to it." "As do I, Mr. Darcy. I hope you and Lizzy are very happy together." "Thank you, Mr. Gardiner. I believe we are." Darcy saw him to the door, and turned thoughtfully back to the house as he left. Whatever he had expected in meeting Elizabeth's uncle, this was not it. The man

himself was more impressive by far than he had hoped to find, and of what he had to say Darcy had had not an inkling. Why had Elizabeth not confided this in him? He had not thought they could have been in more perfect confidence, yet again he found that she was keeping something from him. Was his money always to come between them? Surely she would see that the responsibility for this was his, and more than that, even if it had been a matter concerning none but herself or her family, did she not see that it was always his place to provide for her? His fortune was enough to cover any contingency, but even had it not been, surely she should know that she could by rights count on every last penny he could provide her before she needed to turn to her own. The fault could be no one's but his if she still considered herself separate from him in this way. And there was nothing for him to do other than to show her by his actions that she could count on him, even when she had not trusted in him enough to come to him herself. He looked at the papers that Mr. Gardiner had left behind, and asked for a carriage to be readied. It looked like he would be paying George Wikham another visit.

Part XLI
Posted on Friday, 27 September 2002 In a very short time Darcy found himself in the vicinity of the boardinghouse where Wikham was supposedly situated. If Darcy's coachman was at all surprised that his master should be visiting the address such an address he kept his qualms to himself. Darcy himself was hardly comfortable coming here in this fashion; the attention his carriage was drawing made it evident that the denizens were not accustomed to seeing a conveyance of such quality. The only thought that brought Darcy any relief was the knowledge that by taking this matter into his own hands he was protecting Elizabeth from any acquaintance with such a part of town. He could not fathom how he had let matters come to such a pass through his own neglect that she had been forced to play any role in such an unsavoury affair. He had dealt with Wikham before, and in a way he had always known that it was only a matter of time before Wikham would concoct a new scheme to extort his money and satiate his imagined need for revenge. He could handle this menace, although he knew that he would have to exercise caution, be on his guard for any new tricks, and rein in his temper. Knowing Wikham he could only guess at the sort of aspersions he would cast in his direction, and Darcy knew that he would have to remain focused on his purpose to refrain from getting carried away in his anger, for Wikham, better than anyone else, would be able to exploit that. The carriage came to a stop on a crowded street, and coachman informed Darcy that the public house he had been directed to was in one of the alleyways that would not accommodate a carriage the size of his. Already his equipage was beginning to attract undue attention in that decrepit corner of the city, but when Darcy dismounted and made his way across the street he realized that he himself was quite an exceptional sight here simply by virtue of wearing clothes that were cut to fit him that had not run ragged through the ravages of time. That the fabric was also fine and his general deportment that of a man used to his means marked him out as a target, both for the helpless mendicants who intended him no harm and the thieves and pickpockets who invariably did. As he made his way over to the small alleyway that had been pointed out to him he was uncomfortably aware of all the eyes that were on him, and more so

of the small crowd of children begging for alms that had gathered around him, yet the sensation seemed to him an oddly familiar one, until it occurred to him that he felt exactly this way at assemblies and large gatherings, especially when he was among strangers. The unlikely comparison remained with him as he made his way over to the public house, where, once again, his very entrance put a halt to the convivial bustle. He studiously ignored the curious eyes on him as he located the publican and asked for Wickham's quarters. The man was obviously surprised at the connection, but mercifully asked no questions as he directed him through the pub to a small staircase at the back. He climbed, past the rooms to let and the publican's family quarters, until the staircase grew narrow and dank, and Darcy had to watch his step closely in order not to stumble. Obviously, even in this quarter of town all Wickham had been able to afford were rooms tucked away in a garret somewhere. He knew not from where his mind drew forth the thought of Mr. Collins, expanding at length on the suitability of the modest staircase at Hunsford Parsonage to his station in life, and he reflected that perhaps these stairs did capture something of Wickham. He remembered the parsonage at Kympton, an open airy structure with very well-situated rooms and a generous staircase through the center. How often had he and Wickham taken tea there with the rector and his wife, and how often had he expected to visit his friend in that very home! He wondered if it ever occurred to Wickham that he had chosen this life, that this penury and desperation had been brought about by his own greed and his selfish resolve to search for the easy way out. There was hardly a landing at the top of the stairs, which led almost directly to a rather battered looking door. Darcy knocked twice, but didn't wait for a response before entering. He hardly expected Wickham to make him welcome here. The room was a small one, and the sloping roof rendered much of it cramped for a full-grown man. It could hardly have been described as clean under the best of circumstances, but now Wickham's things were strewn everywhere without regard to the general level of filth. The man himself was scrounging through one of his trunks, but as he looked up at the unexpected visitor he abandoned his task and stood, with a rather curious smile on his face. "Darcy! This is an unexpected pleasure." "And a dubious one, I am sure. We have known each other long enough to forego the civilities, wouldn't you say? I'm sure you know exactly what brings me here." "As I said, Darcy, your presence is entirely unlooked for. I had some expectation that the charming Mrs. Darcy might be inclined to call. Perhaps you might tell me what kept her?" It was at such times as these that Darcy was forced to concede that he had been fortunate in having had to deal with Wikham for as long as he had. It was more than any man should have to bear to hear such a man speak of his wife in this way, yet he was able to bear it, without losing either his head or his countenance. Indeed, a rather morbid sort of curiosity had awakened in his mind that allowed him to wonder with a remarkable degree of detachment how much further the man might be tempted to go. Darcy did not doubt that it would be very far indeed, and he was pleased to note that

his confidence in Elizabeth's affection was such that the thought gave him barely a moment's pause. His Elizabeth could not have spared more than a passing glance at this man, however little she might have known of his infamous conduct. He could hardly begin to contemplate that he might very well have had to participate in this conference without such a surety. His reaction in such a circumstance did not bear thinking about. "I'm sure you know that my wife has a great many things she would rather concern herself with than your company. As do I, I might add. If you will just give me what I'm here to collect I will be happy to leave you to your own devices." "Running errands for the wife, are we? I somehow have trouble believing that your lovely Elizabeth put you up to this." "If you know what's good for you, Wikham, you will never take her name again." "I'm afraid that will be rather difficult. I'm sure you know that it's because of your wife that we are having this conversation at all." There was something in the way that he uttered the word that was designed to provoke Darcy into a rage, and indeed he was quite amazed by his own capacity to remain calm. Elizabeth knew this man for a villain. Elizabeth had obviously played him in a masterly manner, to have secured her sister's release at so meager a sum. He could not allow himself to give any credence to such insinuations. "Yes, I am aware that my wife has come up with the precaution of putting a continent between ourselves and you. I should have thought of it myself years ago. But I should warn you that I would be just as happy to have prison bars separating us instead. Let me have the papers, Wikham, or you know where you will find yourself." "Not so fast, Darcy. I'm afraid you do not seem to know the whole of my arrangement with your dear Elizabeth. Did you really think you could be rid of me so easily? Why do you think I settled for your wife's little fortune? You should have known that I've never been particularly inclined to travel alone." Darcy had known, somewhere inside of himself, that this moment would come. The fear had been lurking somewhere inside him since he had first heard Mr. Gardiner mention Wikham's name, and had realized that even now he was not in Elizabeth's total confidence. He had confidence enough to fight it - to argue reasonably to himself that this could not be what Elizabeth wanted. Were she truly the mercenary she had feared he would take her for, then she had right now what she wanted. If he were being played for a fool, he would be content to be played for a fool forever if he could allow himself to believe that she loved him. He would have been contented with far less, in fact, as he had been when they had first married, so there was no need for her to pretend. And if this man had been what she had wanted, she had had plenty of chances, at a time when she had had no expectation of receiving anything, neither money nor love, from him. Yet Darcy knew somewhere inside that it was ignoble of him to even reason in such a way, that he ought to trust without such justification. This had always been Wikham's game, to set him against those he loved; he knew for a fact

that this man was a villain, and his Elizabeth deserved better than such cold-blooded scrutiny. "I know perfectly well that my wife would like nothing better than to see you accompanied to Newgate. I would be very happy to arrange your escort if you try my patience any further. The papers, if you will, Wikham." Wikham could see that this was not going entirely as he had planned. He still was not entirely sure how it was that Darcy had come here at all. From Elizabeth's handling of the matter it had been fairly clear to him that she intended to keep the entirety of it from her husband, and there was every reason to assume that she would not want Darcy to know how she had been taken in by him, even had they been on the best of terms. Having surmised long before that there had to have been some rift between Darcy and his wife, he had expected Darcy to rise to his bait long before this. Darcy's nonchalance threw him, and he could not determine whether it was caused by his absolute confidence in Elizabeth or an utter indifference as to what she might have done. Yet he was never a laggard when it came to spotting his own advantage, and if one this was clear to him it was that Darcy would likely put a much higher price on Georgiana's virtue than his wife, more concerned with herself, had done. But Darcy was showing none of the desperation he had done on the previous occasion when his sister had been at stake. Then he had gone so far as to challenge Wikham, putting himself beyond the pale of the law for the sake of honour, and it had been Wikham himself who had fled, leaving Ramsgate in order to avoid facing Darcy in a duel. Surely this time he was willing to put down something more than a thousand pounds to secure her protection? "For shame, Darcy. I thought you put a higher price on virtue than this. Or are you so taken with your wife that you cannot think of your sister anymore?" It was ironic, from Wikham's perspective, that this was his first remark that was innocent of any insinuation against Elizabeth's fidelity. He had only meant to imply that he wished to renegotiate the price he had settled for Georgiana's protection. Darcy, who wished to believe that he was here to protect Lydia, and could not quite admit to himself the fear that it might be Elizabeth herself, heard it quite differently. Being blissfully unaware that the present crisis might have anything to do with his sister directly, he put quite a different construction on Wikham's words than he had intended. He was in no humour to negotiate with such a man as this, and he hoped that Lydia knew enough to appreciate the efforts that Elizabeth had taken to secure her rescue. It also occurred to him that short of actually eloping with such a man, there was little that Lydia could do that would particularly compromise her. He had certainly seen her take casual liberties with the militia officers often enough to know that her reputation was not likely to suffer overmuch from anything short of a drastic breach. "You have tried my patience long enough, Wikham. If you will not give me those letters right now I will see to it that you are taken into custody within the hour. My man will wait downstairs to ensure that you do not escape from here in the meantime."

Wikham had been dealing with Darcy long enough to know when he was defeated. There was a resolve in Darcy's voice that told him that he would pay a heavy price for toying with him any further. Even now, Wikham could not credit that Darcy would take such a risk with his sister's reputation to sincerely threaten him with the prospect of prison, but though he would dearly have liked to have seen the Darcy family disgraced in that fashion, he had no intention of subjecting himself to a prison term in order to do it, and was not proof to the prospect of immediate relief. It was not such a bad thing to have his debts paid and a voyage to Italy secured. The alternative, even if the Darcys had not thwarted his original plans, after all, had been to remain in hiding from his creditors in this squalour indefinitely, and in such surroundings he knew that Lydia would quickly have become rather tiresome company. He rummaged quickly through the disorderly trunk into which he had begun to gather his effects, and drew out a bundle of letters secured by a string. "Very well, Darcy. You will find that I am a man of my word. Now, if you will let me have my things..." Darcy was cautious enough to close his fingers around the bundle Wikham was still holding before he drew forth his own offering. "Here is your passage to the continent. It is for tomorrow evening. I do warn you that I have retained a copy of your debts, and if you should ever be seen in either England or Scotland ever again I will not hesitate to haul you before a magistrate myself. I am sure my uncle the judge will be happy to oblige me." "I do not expect that I shall need to return. Thank you, Darcy. You've been most obliging." Wikham's manners were such as though this were a routine business transaction completed to the satisfaction of each, and that he had not, only moments before, cast unforgivable aspersions on his companions wife and sister. Darcy marveled at his manner, but contented himself with the thought that he would never have to deal with this man again. He thrust the bundle of letters into one of the pockets of his overcoat, and withdrew, eager to leave this place as quickly as he could. He descended to the tavern beneath to find his man waiting outside, and they walked briskly to the carriage. Darcy brought forth his watch to discover that it was nearing the time for dinner, and instructed the coachman to take the most expeditious route home. He would not wish for his family to think that anything extraordinary had occurred to keep him from home. As the carriage drew rapidly towards the major thoroughfares of the City, and away from the squalid back roads, Darcy leaned back, and attempted to put from his mind what had occurred. It would not be for long, he knew; he and Elizabeth would have to talk about this soon enough, and he hoped that he could bring her to realize that there was nothing of this nature that she needed to keep from him. He would never think less of her for having a very silly sister - how could he, after all, when he had needed to intervene in exactly this fashion on his own sister's behalf. He wanted to rid himself of the weight of the bundle of papers he carried, to put it into Elizabeth's hands, for her to dispose of as she saw fit. She would wish to see that they had been recovered in

fact, but after that they could be burnt, and perhaps they could learn to believe that all connection to Wikham had finally been severed. Or had it? He knew that it had been his place to deal with Wikham, and to recover these papers, whatever they were, that he now held, but he also knew that without having specifically been authorized to do so, it was not his place to examine them. In Wikham's presence he had stood firm against any allegation against his wife; he knew enough not to take the words of a known villain against her, and he had done well to guard against an anger that may well have hindered his ability to act effectively to contain this menace. But now that danger and provocation were past, there was that within him which whispered that what he held in his hand was a surety - if he were only to look inside he could be perfectly secure of what might otherwise eat away at him inside, and Elizabeth would never know that such thoughts had ever crossed his mind. He could not even now entertain the possibility that he might look inside and find his worst fears confirmed. He drew forth the packet and began to toy with the string, hating himself even as he did so. Elizabeth deserved far better than this; the weakness here was his. He wished that the knot might be recalcitrant, and not allow him to open it without exposing to her that he had seen the letters, but perversely, as though to exasperate him, it fell open with ease. He closed his eyes for a moment, and tried to remind himself of how he ought to act, but his eyes would open, and they would land upon those very folds of paper he held in his hands. There was nothing for it but to unfold the letters, and allow himself to read them. They were the very words he had hoped never to have to encounter, flowering with a depth of sentiment he did not wish to believe was within Wikham's ability to inspire, but they were not in the unfamiliar hand he would have expected his sister-in-law to possess. Neither did it resemble in any particular the elegant if exuberant writing he had learnt to associate with his wife, and for this his gratitude was unfailing. Nevertheless, it was not until he had turned the page over and seen the signature at the conclusion of the first letter that he would allow himself to believe that his sister had written such a thing. He checked the date on the letter, and hastily tore through the bundle, finding that all of the letters were along the same lines, but able to reassure himself at least Georgiana was not guilty of any fresh transgression. His mind was working so rapidly he could not control the trajectory of his thoughts. Elizabeth had played out this elaborate scheme in order to protect his sister? Surely Georgiana knew absolutely nothing of this. He had not been so neglectful of his duties as to have failed to have spoken with her at length at their reunion, and he knew well enough to believe that had she even wished to keep such a thing from him she could not have kept her countenance so well. No, Georgiana was perfectly unaware of this present threat to her reputation, and Elizabeth had managed to protect not one but two young women from his clutches. How had she done it, and with such ease? He knew well enough that faced with such a threat to his sister he would not have hesitated to pay out ten times this sum, and he understood now slightly better Wikham's astonishment at his refusal to negotiate. But Darcy thought now also, with a security he had never expected to have, of the other things that he had implied. They proved, if nothing else, that Wikham was not indifferent to his wife, and Darcy knew him too well to doubt that with such a pawn as these letters in his hand, Wikham would have made his interest in Elizabeth known to her. What a desperate situation he had left her

to be confronted with! He could not doubt that what she had done she had done for his family's sake, and she had done it without any expectation of gratitude or even acknowledgement, for she had wished for neither him nor his sister to know of it. What resourcefulness she had shown, in extricating herself and both their sisters from the clutches of such a man! It occurred to him that Elizabeth had demonstrated towards him the greatest steadfastness under the most trying of circumstances, and with no notion that he might hold her in any particular regard. And he had repaid her now by covertly suspecting her of the basest of transgressions, while congratulating himself on his liberality in exerting himself to protect her sister. Darcy knew that he was only just coming to know his wife, and learning to trust in her affection for him. It was humbling to realize that he did not come even close to deserving her. Even now, he wished that she had trusted him in this, and had not felt that she needed to endure it alone, but for the first time now he was willing to realize that with his own unworthy suspicions, he did not merit her trust.

Part XLII
Posted on Monday, 20 October 2003 Darcy was determined not to draw any notice to himself upon entering the house, lest any of the ladies question his absence. He knew that he and Elizabeth needed to discuss this, although he had not yet framed the terms of that discussion in his own mind. But the very last thing he wanted was for either of the girls to realize with whom his errand had been. On entering the house, however, he was given to understand that the ladies had returned very soon after his own departure and had been awaiting him for some time. He was also informed that his steward, Mr. Yardley, had arrived at the previously appointed hour and was waiting in the study to discuss with him some particulars pertaining to the Pemberley estate with which Darcy had intended to acquaint himself that afternoon. In his anxiety over Wickham, Darcy had entirely forgotten about the business with which he had previously busied himself, but it now returned to him in all its urgency. The matter would certainly have to be looked into before he could depart for Hertfordshire, for it was too complex and too immediate to be conducted entirely by correspondence, and he had no desire to postpone the journey. Darcy was very conscious of his own error in having separated his friend Bingley from Miss Bennet, and he wanted now to show them his support in every way. He did not want them to feel that he was reluctant to join in their happiness. Moreover, this would be Elizabeth's first opportunity to see her whole family since their short visit to London, when she had hardly had any time with them at all, and he did not wish to begrudge her even a day of it. This matter had to be resolved tonight, so that they could depart the following morning as planned. Darcy asked that Mr. Yardley be informed of his return, and said that he would join him shortly. He then looked in on the ladies, intending to be with them only a short while before making his apologies. "There you are, brother. Where have you been all this time?"

Though it was Georgiana who greeted him, it was to Elizabeth that Darcy's eyes strayed first. Her eyes were on him as well, her uncertain smile conveying all of the affection he had not yet grown accustomed to seeing, but something of concern as well. He wondered whether it was because she suspected something of his business, or whether she was simply concerned over his unexpected absence. "I'm sorry, Georgiana. It was an unexpected matter of business across town that I thought I had best dispose of before we left London." He went over and gave his sister an affectionate kiss, and did the same to Elizabeth. Lydia he greeted more formally. "Miss Bennet, I hope you are enjoying your time in London with us." "Why yes, Mr. Darcy. It is all so very splendid and grand. I dare say Longbourn shall seem very dull after the pleasures of London and Brighton." "Why, Lydia, I must say I'm quite looking forward to returning to Hertfordshire." "Aye, but you do not have to live there any longer, Lizzy. You will have Derbyshire, and London, and heaven knows what pleasures else. But I dare say Kitty will be jealous of me for my adventures." "Fitzwilliam, will you not see our purchases? We bought such lovely presents for Jane, and for Mary and Kitty as well. And Lydia and I have new bonnets for the wedding, and we made Elizabeth buy one as well." "I am sure they are all very lovely, my dear, but I must see them another time. You know that Mr. Yardley is waiting for me." "You will be joining us for supper?" "I think not. 'Tis a vexatious business, and I think it better that we take a little time to think it through." "I'll have a cold supper sent in to the study for you and Mr. Yardley, then." "Thank you, Elizabeth. I think that will be best." He smiled fondly at her in parting, touched by her attention. She supported him in everyway, making sure that anything that could be done to make his life a little easier or more pleasant was done. He had known this, yet had had no conception of how far this dedication went. He did not think he had succeeded in showing her the same dedication. He was a more selfish creature. When it had been difficult for him to be near her, he had sent her away with his sister, without even ensuring that they would be safe where they went. He had suspected her of the basest of transgressions without even admitting to himself that he suspected her, while knowing himself to be the only recipient of her dedication and love. And all the while she had done everything she could to see to his own comfort, as well as the comfort and security of his sister, without expecting any gratitude or even acknowledgement, without accepting for

herself anything that was his. He felt himself ennobled to have won the affections of such a woman, and yet he was chastened, for he knew that he did not deserve her. He shook himself out of his reverie and went into the study where Mr. Yardley awaited him. The matter they needed to resolve was a tangled one, and his time and patience was required, especially since he had not had the afternoon to think it through. Yet they made good progress in resolving the dispute. Both he and Yardley appreciated the cold supper when it was laid out for them, for although it seemed as though they had only just begun they discovered that they were famished and very much in need of sustenance. Finally they accomplished all they had hoped to in one evening's discussion, and Yardley drew up the necessary documents for his master's perusal and signature. Yardley would carry them himself to Pemberley rather than rely on the post, for he had several other commissions there as well, and he would remain in that neighbourhood, for the Darcys would be returning to Derbyshire after the wedding as well. When Darcy was finally able to retire, he knew that the rest of the family was already abed. Clearly, his conversation with Elizabeth would have to wait. He certainly had no intention of rousing her at this hour of the night. He went up to his dressing room, and changed into the nightclothes that had been laid out for him. He was pleased to note than his trunks had been prepared in readiness for their journey tomorrow, and his traveling clothes were already laid out. He crossed over into Elizabeth's chamber. The fire was burning low in the grate, and his wife was sound asleep. He climbed under the covers and drew them around him. As if sensing his presence, Elizabeth stirred, and turned towards him, though she did not wake. Drawing her closer to him, he marveled at how well she seemed to fit against him, a pleasant, comforting weight. Then, giving in to his exhaustion, he closed his eyes, and very soon was sleeping as deeply as she.

Part XLIII
Posted on Monday, 20 October 2003 The household rose early the following morning, for they wanted an early start for their day's traveling. Darcy's staff was prompt and organized as always in preparing for the journey, and the carriages were readied and the trunks were loaded before anyone had thought to ask. Knowing that the house would be shut for several months while she and Darcy traveled up to Pemberley, Elizabeth was very copious in instructing Mrs. Harris on how the house was to be tended to in her absence. The housekeeper good-naturedly took in these injunctions, which were perhaps not essential for one who had tended to the house practically single-handedly for many years, but which certainly confirmed her opinion that the new mistress was particular enough in her duties not to be taken in, but neither did she overstep her bounds in presuming to dictate too closely. Darcy himself had been uncharacteristically lax in his own instructions, having woken late enough that it was all he was able to do to ready himself in order to be able to leave at the hour they had agreed upon. The girls, for once, were also ready early enough, and Darcy was able to get the early start he had desired to reach Hertfordshire in good time.

Longbourn was an easy distance from London and in the comfort of Darcy's equipage the rigours of the journey were hardly felt at all by any in the party. Lydia and Georgiana were able to amuse themselves ably, and Elizabeth joined in their laughter more often than not. Darcy was more silent, although he was undoubtedly gratified to see his sister in such spirits. How much Elizabeth had done for her, that she should be so cheerful and open. He had known, of course, that they had grown close, and he with his fond affection for them both had regarded it as a natural development that they should like each other, but he reflected now that Elizabeth had been the one to make the effort to draw his sister out, and that probably, like himself, she had not been immediately approachable, or given the best account of herself. Yet Elizabeth had done this, this and so much more that could hardly be expected of a true sister, without requiring either her acknowledgement or his. He wondered again when he would now find the time to speak with her uninterrupted, as they would need to do. It seemed absurd that a husband should have to create such opportunities when he wished only to speak with his own wife, but he knew that on this first visit back, and especially on the occasion of her sister's wedding, her time would hardly be her own. Nor was this a subject they could hope to exhaust quickly, and he had no desire to cause her worry by broaching the subject at a time when they would not have the chance to do it justice. Neither was he quite sure what would be appropriate for him to say, for he did not want her to believe that he blamed her in any way. And finally, he realized that it would need to be done quickly, for they were to meet the Gardiners in Hertfordshire quite soon, and it certainly would not do for her to learn, as she undoubtedly would, of his interference from her uncle. Elizabeth, though she appeared the picture of calm, had her own anxieties as well. It troubled her to have to leave London without knowing for certain that the Wikham affair had been settled satisfactorily. She knew her uncle had called the previous day, undoubtedly in connection with that business, but she had missed him, and was consequently anxious to learn what he had intended to tell her. She wondered how much the transaction would exceed the value of her personal fortune, and how exactly she intended to repay the difference. She was worried in any case how her uncle would react to this business, for surely he would discern that there was something irregular about a transaction in which she would choose to exhaust her own modest fortune in preference to her husband's. She was not quite sure what she intended to tell him when he quizzed her about it, as he undoubtedly would be entitled to do. And moreover, she had not been able to dismiss a lingering suspicion that her uncle may already have shared something of his concern with her husband. Not for the first time, Elizabeth wondered at the wisdom of her choice to keep all knowledge of this business from her husband. Certainly, his involvement might make everything easy in terms of the financial piece of the transaction, and she did not doubt that he would consider it his duty to resolve this matter. And Elizabeth was well aware that her secrecy in this matter constituted a breach of the trust that had been so newly reestablished between them. It was one thing entirely that she had not been able to take this matter to him at its inception, when she had considered them to be irrevocably separated in spirit, if not in legal fact. It was quite another matter now, when all was supposedly resolved between them, and when she had more than implicitly renewed her promise never to keep anything from him. And yet this was such a matter that she could not bring herself to share it, to occasion him the pain that

he would undoubtedly feel in knowing how his sister had made herself vulnerable, or perhaps, though she hardly admitted as much even to herself, to expose herself to his suspicion for having fraternized with a man he could justifiably consider his only enemy. Her husband was a reasonable man, and more, a generous one - he had forgiven her such faults as she could scarcely forgive in herself, and she could not believe that he would now blame her or censure her now, when she was utterly blameless, but was it too much to hope that he ought never even have occasion to even contemplate such a possibility? But it was entirely possible that her uncle had confided his concerns to Darcy already. She knew that they had met, she knew that this matter would have been foremost in her uncle's mind, and she found it unlikely that he would have left without seeing her if he had had no opportunity to share his concerns. She knew that all her uncle would have been able to share would have been the practicalities of the matter, but she knew also that these cast her in a worse light even than the entire truth did. There was no blame in her husband's looks that she could discern, but they had had no opportunity to speak in private, and she knew him to be very capable of keeping his own counsel if he so desired. Unless he were to broach the subject, she would never know what he knew. Elizabeth was not of a disposition to be needlessly alarmed when circumstances did not warrant it. She did not assume that her husband would necessarily put the worst construction on her actions, for he had amply demonstrated that he was more than capable of giving her the benefit of the doubt. But she found that she was more troubled than she would have expected by the prospect of not knowing what he was thinking. It was an extraordinary thing to expect to know the thoughts and perceptions of another rational being - for though she was a student of character she could not claim such an intimacy with even her father or Jane. And certainly less than a week ago, she would have had no conception of what her husband might be thinking. But now she felt as though she ought to know - and that if she could not divine it for herself that she should hear it from him. And it was unsettling in this context to realize that she felt herself entitled to something she was not able to freely offer him. It brought her back uncomfortably to the early days of her marriage, when she had not been able to completely requite her husband's affection, and though she had then been superficially happy, she knew now that it had been nothing to what she had now. And what she had now was contingent on their mutually requited affection, but equally on their mutually requited trust, and for her to refrain from sharing this with him would damage that trust, and would ultimately threaten her happiness. Regardless of whether or not he already knew, Elizabeth realized that she really had no choice but to share this with him. The thought could not make her comfortable, for surely he would be saddened, and perhaps he would be angry. And yet it settled something in her mind to come to this conclusion. She would be worthy of his trust in her - surely he deserved no less than that. But with so momentous a decision made, it seemed insupportable to her that she should now be constrained by a matter of timing. The disclosure would have to be soon made, and she could not fathom where she might procure the opportunity now of speaking to him at length and privately. She had had such opportunities before when the disclosure might easily have been made. She would not say those chances had been squandered, because it was a great deal already in how much that time together had served to build their intimacy, but surely had she

arrived at this resolution earlier there would have been time for this as well. But she had been scared, and perhaps even now would not have at this bold conclusion had it not been for her fear that her uncle might have disclosed some of the truth already. She would not allow that fear to guide her - whatever the cause of it, her resolve now was right and honest, and she would find a way to abide by it. Had their minds not been so heavily occupied the journey might have been called restful, but the day that followed certainly was not so. It was Mrs. Darcy's first visit back to her parental home, and of course she had to be shown off in all her new finery to all the neighbours who had heard of little else since she had left. Mrs. Bennet's current frenzy exceeded even that which she had exhibited prior to Elizabeth's own wedding, for then she had had but one daughter to concentrate her efforts on, while now Jane's wedding could not be neglected, but Mrs. Darcy and her dear husband absolutely had to be exhibited. Certainly the Gouldings, the Hays, the Longs, and of course the Lucases were adequately impressed, and indeed how could they not be? For Mr. Darcy had always been acknowledged as a fine figure of a gentleman, and Mrs. Darcy, after all, had been one of their most fondly regarded local beauties. It was a fine thing to know that one of their own had connected her lot with such wealth and distinction, and even more so to recognize something of the regard that was palpable between the couple. Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were in truth quite exhausted by the time the last of the guests departed Longbourn. One final call remained, to Aunt Phillips in Meryton, and as it was not yet dark, and the distance but a mile, the Darcys opted to walk that way, offering their coach to Mrs. Bennet. Mrs. Bennet could not fathom why anyone would choose to walk when such fine conveyance was available, but she knew better to question the whims of her illustrious son-in-law, and only silently pitied her daughter for having to endure such vagaries, which in truth she seemed very happy to do. The Darcys, in all fairness, where perhaps not always so whimsical, but on this day in particular they each felt the necessity of a modicum of privacy over comfort, though each was perhaps a little surprised to find the other so. Bingley and Jane, who had also chosen to walk, soon outstripped them, while Kitty, Lydia, and Miss Darcy were traveling with Mrs. Bennet. But the Darcys were silent, not knowing how to speak of what needed to be said. Elizabeth was forming a desperate resolution, and her husband might perhaps have been doing the same, though it was she who spoke first. "Mr. Darcy, I am a selfish creature, and for the sake of giving relief to my own feelings, I do not know how I affect yours. There is something I must tell you, though I cannot believe that you will enjoy hearing it." "My dearest, you know that can tell me anything you wish." "I do not know that I wish to tell you this, but I know I ought to, and that I ought to have done so long before. It is unforgivable of me to have kept it from you all this time." She tried to form the words she knew she ought to, and yet she struggled to form the name she knew he would not want to hear connected to any of his family. He watched her struggle, and he knew of course that he had a fair idea of what she wished to speak

of, and though he was gratified that she should wish to tell him after all, he did not know how much she meant to reveal. "Does this perhaps have something to do with the matter over which your uncle called on us yesterday?" he prompted gently. "Then he did speak with you! I cannot imagine what you must think. What did my uncle tell you?" "He told me what he knew, which was not a great deal. He was very worried. I believe I was able to ease his mind." "How so?" "Do you remember what you told me when I went to Ramsgate, about how you found out about my history with Wikham? You told me something about his interest in your sister that I thought were appropriate to pass on to your uncle. It allayed his anxiety a great deal." Elizabeth was immeasurably relieved, though she could not quite explain why. She had thought too well of him to believe that he might cast any aspersions on her character, even knowing what her uncle would have had to say, yet the relief she felt in having this confirmed - in knowing that he had immediately assumed that she had acted to protect her sister rather than herself was considerable. Yet she knew her task was not yet over - there was more that he needed to know, and even without needing to worry about how he regarded her, she was sorry for what he would endure on his sister's behalf. "I am afraid that there is a little more to it than that, Fitzwilliam. It is true that he did convince Lydia to elope with him, to Gretna Greene, as she supposed. But when she declined - no, I must tell you the entire truth, shameful as it is - he made a similar proposition to me as well. Lydia overheard it; that is how she learnt of his duplicity to her. But when I refused his offer, he attempted to force my hand by bargaining for some letters..." "I have failed you so miserably. I would have wished not to expose you to anything in the world that would give you a moment's distress, yet through my negligence you were exposed to a blackguard's immodest advances." "You did not fail me, Fitzwilliam. It was my own failure not to credit your words. You gave me every reason in your behaviour why I should take your word over his." "But I gave you no word. I did not even attempt to contradict your opinion. I assumed that you should know that he was not to be trusted without having any reason for it." "Let us not quarrel over who should assume the greater portion of blame over our misunderstanding. We have, I hope, both improved in our understanding since then. But there is more that I must tell you - he had some letters of Georgiana's that he was holding guard. That is why he felt able to dictate my actions, and that is why I had to

negotiate with him. Otherwise I should not have entertained him for a moment. I hope you can believe that." "Of course I believe it, Elizabeth. You have played him masterfully." "Did my uncle tell you about that?" "He did. There is something I must tell you as well, Elizabeth. I knew about Georgiana's letters already. When I learnt of this from your uncle I went to see Wikham yesterday, and obtained them from him." "Then you have handed the settlement with him?" "I cannot have you squandering your own fortune on this, Elizabeth, my love, it was never intended to be used for such a purpose. Why will you not accept that you have as much money as you may require at your disposal? What good is all my wealth to me if you will not share it?" "You are always more than generous, Fitzwilliam, but I needed to make restitution for my own mistakes." "Even if that were the case I should hope that you know that it is all our money, not yours or mine. But the matter at hand is patently my responsibility." "That is not so. He would never have had occasion to impose himself in such a way had I not admitted his friendship and allowed my sister to be in his company." "Elizabeth, if he had retained those letters you may depend on it that he would have come to me with them whenever he needed the money. And I would have happily paid him ten times the amount you agreed on." "I had to hold him to it. I had no more than that to offer. Even so my fortune did not cover the entire sum." "You were beyond brave, my love, to have handles all of this alone." "I was not wholly alone. Lydia was horrified at Wikham's callousness after she overheard it, as I told you, and Colonel Forster assisted me as well. I saw no reason to worry Georgiana with it - she has endured too much at his hands already." "No more than you have, my love. I am so sorry that you had to endure it." "The folly was all my own. I cannot begin to contemplate what you might have thought of me. You had every reason to imagine the worst." "I had no right at all - not when you undertook it to protect me and my sister. Elizabeth, you are too good to even note my faults. You did not even wonder that I should have opened the letters, when as I thought they were your sister's, I should have left them untouched for you."

"Did you wonder then if they were mine?" "I did not truly, yet I could not prevent myself from looking. I found myself soundly rebuked when I did look, for I thought myself then so noble to be undertaking this on your sister's behalf, and then to find that you had done so, without even telling me, for mine. I am so sorry, Elizabeth, I swear to you that I did not believe it for a minute, but I was not strong enough to resist the confirmation." "You had every reason to require it. I have given you so much cause to doubt me." "You must not believe that, for truly you have not. You have done more for me than I could have dreamt of, and you have been so selfless in trying to spare me any worry, only..." "Only what?" "Only that I wish you would never feel as though you needed to keep anything from me. I should wish for us never to have any secrets, and to share especially all our burdens between us." "I should wish the same, Fitzwilliam, though I know I have not observed it. It is why I started to tell you earlier. I was wondering if you already knew something of it from my uncle, and I realized then that I should like to know always what you were feeling." "You will know it, my love, and I should wish also to know your heart. I know you are quite capable of fending for yourself and all the rest of us quite ably, but I want you to know that you can always come to me." "I will attempt to remember it." They walked on farther, without knowing where they went, and spoke of many matters, most pleasanter than the serious subjects that had so far occupied them. Perhaps they found some secluded nooks and Mr. Darcy's bride was amused that her husband should still try to steal kisses as he had done when they were merely betrothed. She learnt also that her lessons had been effectual and that he had learnt already to be laughed at a little, at least if she were the one to laugh. Eventually they did recall that they were expected at the Phillipses and found their way to Meryton, where they found Mrs. Bennet quite vexed at their delay, but she and her sister were soon mollified by Mr. Darcy's most gracious apology. What else remains to be said? The day on which Mrs. Bennet got rid of her oldest daughter was perhaps the happiest she had ever yet known, for she was able to exult for Jane's happiness and point to the fineries that Elizabeth had already acquired. What pleasure she took in visiting with Mrs. Bingley and writing to Mrs. Darcy may well be imagined. The Darcys did not stay long in Hertfordshire after the Bingleys were married; they departed for the north, and finally did Elizabeth see the magnificent estate which was to be her primary home. What pleasure Mr. Darcy took in acquainting her with the house and its grounds may well be imagined, and it was not long before Elizabeth came to love it as much as he did. With her brother married and

settled in the country Georgiana made it her primary home as well, and the love between the sisters grew stronger than ever, and Darcy delighted in how his wife brought out the best in his dear sister. Her younger sisters were frequent visitors, and it may be hoped that in the more refined society they encountered they improved some of their manners. Her father, too, delighted in visiting, with or without his wife, and often without notice, and Darcy and he rose rapidly in each other's esteem, joint in their quiet observant humour and their great love for Elizabeth, and perhaps Mr. Benne took a lesson from his most valued son and learnt to be a little less capricious. As for Jane, she and Bingley did not remain long in the near vicinity of Longbourn, and removed to the north within a year of their marriage. Then was the closest wish of the two sisters granted, and they were settled within thirty miles of one another. Not all of Darcy's family was so easily satisfied. Notwithstanding her token of acknowledgement, Lady Catherine's disapprobation persisted, and Darcy would have been tempted, as he had earlier been, to drop the connection altogether. Elizabeth protested, and though she never again went directly against his wishes she did attempt to persuade him by all the means at her disposal that he should not cast off his family in his manner. Ultimately, as good wives do when they are in the right, she prevailed, perhaps only because she pointed out that Lady Catherine's great condescension in admitting her company in Kent had been after all the means of uniting them.