by Jan H

Rating: PG-13

Summary: For reasons of economy, Elizabeth is forced to marry a man she thinks she does not love, but how long will it take for Darcy to convince her otherwise?

Chapter Nine

What reason could he have to send me off and yet keep her with him other than the vile, ugly thought now breaking my heart? She was his mistress after all and Willie was his child - I had to become reconciled to that truth no matter how much I hated it. And yet it went against every single thing I had learned about Mr. Darcy in the short time that we had been married. Indeed, it was contrary to what I knew of him even before our marriage. Had he not condemned Wickham for his dissolute ways and for attempting to meddle with his own sister? Could he, in turn, be as false and low? Was he nothing more than a hypocrite?

Once again, I thought back to the letter Mr. Darcy had given me months ago in Rosings Park. Jane still had not found it among my belongings at Longbourn, but she had written that she would continue her search. I wanted to re-read it, to consider it carefully as I had not taken the time to do so before. I recalled the feelings of mortification I had gone through when first reading it, for I had misjudged Wickham's character entirely. Was it possible that I was now doing the same to Mr. Darcy? Or had I been fooled by him, flattered by his attentions, and wooed by the memory of his affection last evening?

That kiss! Just the memory of his lips upon mine washed over me with such intensity that within an instant my senses yearned for him in the same manner they had last night. I closed my eyes and entered into it, feeling the heat warm my entire body. And then I was stricken with the almost certain probability that Darcy had bestowed that same favour on my maid, and I suddenly felt such a chill that I gathered up the rug lying on the seat and wrapped it around me.

You must gain control of yourself and be sensible, I thought. In this world it would not be unusual for a man of eight and twenty to have some experience with women before marriage, and why should I expect Mr. Darcy to be any different? But to take advantage of an unlearned girl of 15 - no, that was insufferable! A man who satisfied himself with his servants was unthinkable. Why, he was no better than that lecherous earl who had employed Jane!

Oh, I could not bear to think of it! I summoned all of my strength and searched the byways outside the carriage for distraction, hoping to see an errant rabbit, a flock of sheep, or even farmers plowing their fields, anything at all that might do the trick. When the vista provided no relief, I summoned all of my determination and attempted to think on Mr. Darcy's good qualities - his generosity, his intelligence and good breeding, his affection for his sister - but like a hateful, slimy demon, fear would do its deed and worm its way back into my head. Thus, around and around my thoughts swirled until without conscious thought, I finally cried aloud, "Enough!"

My outburst awoke Georgiana, but fortunately she did not comprehend what had disturbed her sleep and shortly thereafter, we stopped at a village to change horses. I almost bolted from the coach, so anxious was I to interrupt my thoughts and place my attentions on anything else, anything at all. We both were grateful to stretch our limbs and walked around outside for some time before Colonel Fitzwilliam bade us enter the inn for refreshment.

"We have made good time," he said, as we stirred our tea.

"Yes, we are half-way to Pemberley, are we not?" Georgiana said.

When he nodded in agreement, she went on. "Even yet, I wish that Wills had come with us. If he fears the contagion of disease for us, should we not fear the same for him?"

"Do not worry about him, Sprout. You know Darcy's too fearsome to get sick. Why, there is not an illness in existence that would dare broach his presence."

Georgiana protested his teasing description of her brother; my reaction was somewhat different - I almost bit my tongue in half to keep from adding my own thoughts to the colonel's depiction.

I was thankful that he was our escort, not only for protection, but because of his amiability with Georgiana. Their good-natured repartee allowed me to remain still. Eventually, I was able to excuse myself from their presence and escape outdoors where I walked up and down in a small wilderness area across from the inn. I reveled in nature and hoped that these trees and grasses might offer me some respite from the heartache bubbling right below the surface, choking me with its intensity, threatening to erupt in untoward emotion at any time. It was late autumn, however, and now that we were traveling northward, many of the branches were almost bare and the grass already turning light brown, anticipating winter's approach. Instead of lifting my spirits, the scene only reinforced the surety that my own hopes and dreams that had sprung to life just last night now belonged in the grave.

In spite of my despair, I discovered Pemberley far more than I had ever anticipated and it did much to distract me and lift my mood. From my first glimpse of the house through the windows of the carriage some distance away, I found myself completely enchanted. I had never seen a place so happily situated, and the woods and hills surrounding it were breathtaking in their beauty. Although I was tired from the journey, upon entering the place a new energy possessed me. There was so much to see, so much to take in. Mrs. Reynolds, the housekeeper, met us at the door and I liked her immediately. An older woman and obviously efficient, she seemed to genuinely care for my young sister-in-law and was enthusiastic in her welcome to me and yet perfectly attuned to her place in the household. I sensed that we would work together with little adjustment, for she seemed quite willing to have a new mistress about the place.

After serving us tea and at my request, Mrs. Reynolds led me above stairs to my chamber. I was all too ready to shed my traveling clothes and have some time to myself, as well as the fact that I was curious as to what my room would be like and where it might be placed. I followed her down a long, vast gallery, magnificent in its design. All along the walls huge portraits of what I assumed were generations of Darcys stared down at me. Toward the end I stopped, my eyes widened, my mouth unconsciously agape at the full-length painting before me - it was him, Mr. Darcy, and with such a smile over his face as I remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at me. He was beautiful. There was no other word to describe him.

"Is it not a good likeness, Ma'am?" Mrs. Reynolds said. I nodded, for I did not trust myself to speak. "I am sure I know none so handsome as my master and none so kind. I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old."

Indeed! I thought. Well, then, you must sit in on some of my conversations with him.  

This was praise most extraordinary and I listened with increasing astonishment as the housekeeper added, "If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with a better. But I have always observed, that they who are good-natured when children, are good-natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest-tempered, most generous-hearted boy in the world."

I began to re-think my earlier impression of Mrs. Reynolds. I wondered if perhaps with age, she might be slipping into early dementia. I managed to squelch my thoughts, however, and followed her down the hall, all the while listening to even more praise of this man I thought I knew.

"He is the best landlord and the best master that ever lived; not like the wild young men nowadays, who think of nothing but themselves. There is not one of his tenants or servants but what will give him a good name. Some people call him proud; but I am sure I never saw anything of it. To my fancy, it is only because he does not rattle away like other young men."

She opened a door and stepped back so that I might enter. "This shall be your room, Ma'am. I hope it meets with your approval."

If I had found my chamber in London charming, this room could only be described as magnificent. I literally could not speak at first, for want of looking and taking it all in. From the pale green and rose colours of the draperies and cushions to the luxuriousness of the bedding, the gleam of the furniture, even the paintings on the walls of hills and dales and nature's glory, all of it seemed far more than I could ever live in. As in town, I had a separate dressing room/bath, but even more spacious and equipped with every necessity a woman could want. The entire suite was much larger than any bedchamber into which I had entered and I endeavoured mightily not to run from corner to corner, pulling open drawers and inspecting closets. Such behaviour would not do in front of the housekeeper.

And then I saw the large inner door on the opposite side of the room. Ah, yes, I thought, this time I know to where that leads. I walked over to it and attempted to disguise my inspection of the doorknob. Sure enough, it did not contain a lock. "Mrs. Reynolds," I said, "Did the senior Mr. and Mrs. Darcy occupy these same rooms at one time?"

"No, Ma'am," she answered, "their suites were on the other side of the house. Shortly after your marriage, young Master Darcy wrote and instructed me to prepare these rooms, instead, because there is a fine prospect of the lake from the windows. He wrote to say that you were particularly fond of nature and he personally selected the paintings on these walls." She smiled as though there was great affection between Darcy and me and of course, I did not contradict her. In truth, I was quite surprised at the thought that he had taken into such account my preferences and even rearranged our bedchambers so that I would be pleased. How could he be that accommodating and thoughtful on one hand and yet engage in such unforgivable behaviour on the other? No, it did not add up.

That night after Georgiana had entertained the colonel and I for an hour on the pianoforte, she retired and he and I were left alone in the drawing room. He had excused himself several times during the evening and then returned and I wondered if he had been checking on the surety of our safety. When I asked him thus, he confirmed my suspicions.

"But do you think that Georgiana is in danger even here?" I said.

"No, but I have been a military officer for too many years not to make certain."

"I still do not understand how anyone could benefit from harming her."

"Harming her would fail to benefit them for sure, but holding her for ransom could prove very profitable."

"Was there a threat of kidnapping, also? Mr. Darcy showed me only the blackmail note."

"No, not as of yet, but if one would attempt blackmail, the thought of kidnapping would not be prohibitive."

"No, of course not," I murmured, suddenly ashamed that I had spent the entire day mourning my own loss when the possibility of such a threat hung over my sister-in-law. "What can I do, Colonel Fitzwilliam, to assist you, to assure Georgiana's safety?"

"Just be with her," he answered. "Act as though everything is as it should be; give her no reason to be afraid, but know where she is throughout the day. If she leaves the house for any reason, go with her, even if it is nothing more than a walk down to the lake."

"How long shall you remain with us?"

"I have taken an indefinite leave from my post, as my commander knows the situation and he has given me leave to stay until the danger is dissipated. That is, of course, if the Corsican does not expand his present hostilities."

"I am relieved to hear that," I said, rising and extending my hand. "I shall be glad of your company and your protection. Good-night."

He took my hand and kissed it lightly. "Do not be afraid, Mrs. Darcy. Your husband has the best men on this case and I think he will get to the bottom of it quickly enough and soon be back by your side."

I nodded and left the room. Well, that answered my question about how much the colonel knew of my marriage arrangement. It was evident that he believed Mr. Darcy and I were happily married. I wondered if Mr. Darcy had confided the truth in anyone? Did he long for a confidante as much as I? Was he as lonely as I was in this strange marriage we had concocted? And then a thought struck me and my heart fell as deeply as an anchor sinks into the sea. He probably did have someone - Mr. Darcy most likely confided in Fiona. If she were his mistress, would he not share the truth of our marriage if only to keep her happy, to assure her that she was the one he truly loved? And yet in my presence she had never let on that she knew; she was very skilled at hiding her thoughts, I presumed, with never a hint of jealousy. Well, why should she be jealous? He loved her, did he not?

But did he love Fiona or did he use her? Mrs. Reynolds' words echoed in my mind, "He is the best master that ever lived." The best master would not avail himself of an innocent young maid in his employ. No, it must be love. Surely, Mr. Darcy must love her, but then why had he professed love to me all those months ago and why had he come back after being refused and renew his attentions to me? He truly must have married me only to provide solace for his sister and to provide a legitimate heir for Pemberley.

I was miserable beyond description. If only I had someone in whom I could confide my fears, someone who would advise me, sympathize with me, and tell me what the future held. I thought of writing to Jane and resolved to do so that very night so that she would at least know where I was, but even to her I could not reveal my doubts as to Mr. Darcy's character. It would destroy her happiness to know that I was so distraught. And I wished her to be happy; that was another task I must attend to as soon as Mr. Darcy came. I must make sure he had finally kept his word and told Mr. Bingley of his part in keeping him from my sister. Mr. Bingley must learn that Jane cared for him as much as I was sure he cared for her. One of us deserved to be happily married.

My Aunt Gardiner! I would write to her for advice, for she was the most sensible woman I knew! But then I remembered that I could not bring myself to confide in her when last we met, so how could I do so now?

In my room, I allowed the maid to help me dress for bed and brush out my hair, but after she left, I chose to sit before the fire, staring into the flames until the logs burned down to ashes, unaware of the passing hours until I began to shiver, suddenly feeling the loss of the blaze. I neither wrote to Jane nor my aunt. I had no one with whom I could be completely truthful, for I could not bear the shame of admitting that I had married such a man. I was alone, completely alone, and I could see nothing but years of such loneliness stretching out before me.

The next day I descended the stairs to find that Mrs. Reynolds had lined up the entire household staff for my introduction. The number was so great that it appeared much like a small army and as I spoke to each one, I endeavoured to find some way of remembering their names. There were a number of Marys and several named Thomas, and I was much relieved when it was over and Mrs. Reynolds gave me a detailed list with their names and duties outlined. We then went over the household accounts and menus for the week and by mid-afternoon, I was quite gratified to realize that all day I had not the time to even once dwell on my troubles. Running Pemberley was like presiding over a small town, I decided.

I took my cup of tea and settled myself in a small sitting room overlooking the back park. It was not long before the colonel, who had been entertaining Georgiana outdoors whilst I was engaged with Mrs. Reynolds, walked toward the window at which I sat, and waved. I returned his greeting with a wave of my own and then smiled to see Georgiana sneak up behind him and place a wildflower behind his ear. She was far different with him than with anyone else. It was as though they were more brother and sister than she and Mr. Darcy. Perhaps she wished that he was her brother, but no, Georgiana loved Darcy; that was evident. It was hard, though, for her to mature in his mind. She was doing so and before our very eyes, for her blossoming figure revealed her coming maturity.

The colonel entered the sitting room then and I offered him a cup of tea, which he readily took.

"Is not your young charge with you?" I asked.

"She has gone above stairs to change her shoes. I should do the same with these boots, as we both wandered into mud without looking." He smiled and did not seem overly concerned about the condition of his footwear. "And how has your day gone, Mrs. Darcy? Are you now thoroughly acquainted with all of Pemberley and its retinue of attendants?"

"Goodness, no, Colonel. I fear it may be some time before I am brave enough to address anyone by name other than Mrs. Reynolds. Right now I cannot even remember what my upstairs maid is called."

"Well, when Darcy returns, he will bring Fiona to replace her."

"Yes," I murmured, surprised that he knew her, much less possessing the knowledge that she would be coming to Pemberley when Mr. Darcy did. "I did not know that you were aware of my maid's name."

He looked somewhat embarrassed. "Well, when all of that happened . . . her predicament . . . Darcy came to me for advice. I knew how fond Georgiana was of the girl and it was a difficult situation to work out."

"What was a difficult situation?" Georgiana asked, upon entering the room.

"Why, the fact that Mrs. Darcy has so many names to remember here at Pemberley," the Colonel said, covering our conversation with surprising ease. "You shall have to assist her, Sprout."

"I shall be glad to, for I know every servant here. Most of them have been in service since before I was born and if they are now gone, their children work for us."

I nodded and smiled. "Thank you, Georgiana, I am sure that I shall have need to call upon you."

She sat down near me and picked up some embroidery, but then laid it aside without interest. "Richard, shall we not take Elizabeth riding tomorrow?"

"Do you ride, Mrs. Darcy?" the colonel asked.

"A little," I replied, "and ill, indeed, I am sure, compared to the two of you. I had little opportunity or inclination to do so at Longbourn."

"We should take her to see the tenants, Richard. I need to check on them since Wills is not here, to make sure none of the babes or grandmothers are ill, and it will be ample opportunity for Elizabeth to meet them."

"Oh, dear," I said, sighing, "do you mean there are even more names I must learn?"

"Well, yes," Georgiana said most seriously, "and you have not yet been introduced to the stable hands or grooms, the drivers, and gardeners."

"As long as you are about it, Missy, I suggest that you demand that she memorize the name of all the thoroughbreds in the barn, as well," the colonel said without the slightest hint of a smile.

"Oh, Richard," she said, "how you do tease me! Pay him no mind, Elizabeth, for it only encourages him."

We spent the remainder of the evening in good harmony and upon retiring for the night, we made plans to set out the next day on our ride. I crawled into bed that night, feeling slightly better for a change. I had thought of Mr. Darcy very little and I truly liked Georgiana. Perhaps we might even become close, as near to sisters as possible in such a situation. I looked forward to the morrow with a somewhat brighter outlook.

The horse Colonel Fitzwilliam selected for me was a beautiful roan mare, her red coat sleek and shiny. He assured me that she was gentle and so I allowed the groom to assist me in mounting; sure enough, she responded easily to my every command and my confidence grew as the three of us set off on our tour. The countryside was glorious in autumnal reds and golds mixed in and among the evergreens. I inhaled the aroma of the rich earth in the fields that had been plowed under since the harvest. Pemberley was a vast estate, larger and grander than the Gardiners had described, and greater than I had ever dreamed of.

We rode for most of the day with brief stops at various houses wherein Georgiana amazed me with her ease in greeting the folk, inquiring as to their needs, and gracious in her introduction of me. It was apparent that she had done this kind of thing all her life and that her father or brother had trained her well. She genuinely cared for these people; there was no pretense of compassion; indeed, I had never seen the slightest pretense about the girl since we had first met. More and more, my esteem for her blossomed.

We picnicked under a large chestnut tree in the middle of the woods, Mrs. Reynolds having made sure that we carried with us a basket of fruit and cheese, a freshly baked loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. I grew drowsy after eating and without intent, soon fell asleep on the rug spread over the grass. How long I slept, I know not, but I awakened upon hearing voices. I sat up and saw the colonel and Georgiana some distance away, apparently returning from a walk.

"But, Richard, we always have a harvest ball. How can you think that we would not this year?"

"It is well past harvest."

"I know, but we were not here at the right time. Just as the crops were coming in, Wills had to leave so unexpectedly for London, and a month later, he sent for me. By the close of September he traveled to Hertfordshire and then there was the wedding in early October. We were never able to return to Pemberley until now; thus, we must remedy the situation and celebrate the harvest even though it is months overdue. The tenants expect it. I think we should hasten our plans before the first snow."

"I only said not to count on it. Your brother may not return from town until Christmas. You must not set your heart on it, Georgiana."

"It is not my heart that is set, but the hearts of our people. We cannot disappoint them; it is not the Darcy way. I shall write to Wills this very evening and urge him to return immediately. Surely his business cannot keep him away that long."

"Georgiana," Colonel Fitzwilliam began, but she marched away from him, evidently determined not to entertain any further discussion of such hopelessness. Once again, I was amazed to see her resolute nature. She had displayed little of this fire and spirit in the company of society, but here in her own sphere, Georgiana was completely at home and in charge of her opinions. I returned to the house that evening with a new respect for my young sister.

A week later Colonel Fitzwilliam had cause to ride into Lambton, the nearest town to the estate, but five miles away. Before leaving, he cautioned me once again to keep Georgiana within sight at all times while he was gone. We spent the morning sewing; I wrote another short letter to Jane and one to Mamma while she wrote to her brother.

"Shall you not write Wills also," she asked me at the completion of her task, "and we shall have them posted at the same time?"

I rose from the desk at which I worked and walked to the window overlooking the lake, as much to give myself time to think of an excuse as to enjoy the prospect. "For now, I fear my fingers are cramped from so much writing. Let us go out and walk about the grounds, for I long for some fresh air and the breeze appears to be gentle."

She readily agreed and after donning our shawls, we walked the lane that led down to the lake. I could see trout jumping within and marveled at their antics. Stooping down, I leaned over and trailed my fingers through the cold water. "How beautiful!"

" 'Tis," Georgiana agreed, "but far too cold in which to swim."

"Swim? Do you mean to say that you would even consider bathing in this water?"

"Not here," she said and then, looking over her shoulder as though to make sure no one might hear, she whispered, "but follow me. I shall show you a place where the water is much more to my liking."

My curiosity was alive, of course, and I hurriedly caught up with her as we walked a distance through the trees, where we came upon an enchanting small pond. Lilypads encircled a part of it and a pair of frogs leaped into the water upon noting our intrusion.

"The water here is much warmer," Georgiana announced, "and perfect for bathing in the middle of summer."

I looked at her in amazement. "And so you have been swimming here?"

She looked down, a blush covering her pretty countenance. "I confess I have, many years ago when I was but a child. Fee and I used to sneak down here on late summer afternoons when it was far too hot to play or climb trees."

I felt myself stiffen at the mention of Fiona's name, but I tried not to show it, remaining silent while she continued. "It is quite deep out in the middle, but here beside the shore one can wade for quite a distance and it only comes to your waist."

"I suppose you must have gone sea bathing at the coast sometime, and that you have a bathing costume," I said, searching for something to say other than speaking of Fiona.

She giggled then and leaned close to me, beginning to whisper once again. "No, I have never gone sea bathing and neither Fee nor I owned such a garment. We stripped down to our chemises and swam in them."

"Indeed!"

"Do you think me incorrigible?"

I smiled. "Of course not. You were a child."

"Fee suggested it and back then I so longed for a friend, I believe I would have followed her anywhere."

"And were you successful in not being found out?"

"Almost," she said, and then looked away and said nothing more.

I did not know what to say. Had this triggered a memory of a time when she was chastened or even punished? Surely, all children had such memories, although I recalled very few, as neither my mother nor father paid particular attention to curbing their daughters.

Georgiana began to walk around the pond and so I followed her, remaining silent, vowing to give her time if she wanted to confide anything further. On the other side, under a stand of birches, she sat down and began to pull up a wildflower, its bloom now spent. I sat beside her and watched as she plucked each drooping petal, twirled it around in her fingers and then dropped it into the pond.

"We have never spoken of Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth."

I caught my breath, but said nothing, waiting and wondering what she would tell me.

"I know that he is your brother-in-law, but . . . he is a wicked man."

I nodded in agreement.

"He was not always that way. When I was a child, he spent countless hours entertaining me."

Her words echoed in my brain - Mr. Wickham had used the very same phrase when speaking of her at Longbourn.

"And once, he came upon Fee and I right after we had submerged ourselves in this pond. Instead of threatening to tell on us, he promised to keep it a secret and then he did the strangest thing. He discarded his jacket and vest and even his neckcloth and outer shirt. Fee and I were shocked and when he began to pull off his boots, I ducked my head under the water, for I feared that he would do the same thing with his trousers! But he did not; instead, he plunged into the pond and dove and swam all around us. He was as much at home in the water as a fish and he spent much time that afternoon teaching me how to swim. Fee had already taught me to float on my back, but I had never mastered swimming until George showed me how easy it was."

She stopped her recital then and looked at me. "Do you think me quite awful, Elizabeth, confessing this to you?"

I immediately shook my head. "Of course not, my dear. You were a child obviously enjoying yourself."

"But it was not fitting . . . for us to be so unclothed in George's presence. If my governess or Wills had seen us, they would have been angry. And George cautioned us not to tell, for he feared that he might be horsewhipped if discovered!"

I nodded and chewed my lip. What could I say? She was correct in her assessment of the situation, but it was Mr. Wickham who was to blame. He was full-grown and they were but children - well, Georgiana had been. I could not remain quite so generous in my opinion of Fiona, for I could not think of her with unbiased judgment. At last, I took a deep breath and said, "And so, I take it, you were not discovered."

She shook her head and continued. "I was frightened, though, and so we did it only once more, but that time we waited until nightfall. George said there would be less chance of being caught and Fee agreed with him. We came very close, though. One of the grooms walked right over there through those trees and all three of us stayed under water until we thought our lungs might burst. I was too afraid to dare attempt it again."

She rose then and indicated that we should return to the house, and I was more than willing, for I had much to think over. I was more shocked than I had let on to Georgiana, not at the childish escapade she had confided, but at the fact that Mr. Wickham knew Fiona. I had always assumed that he had left Pemberley before she arrived from Scotland, for I knew that he and Mr. Darcy had both attended Cambridge together and by that time Mr. Wickham's dissolute habits were well known to the son and heir. But now, Georgiana had told me that in actuality he was there, cavorting in the pond with Fiona. My mind was awhirl with new suspicions and unanswered questions and the briefest glimmer of hope.

Mrs. Reynolds met us shortly after we entered the house. "The Colonel has just returned and is in the drawing room, Ma'am, and the post has come. Here are letters for both of you."

Georgiana exclaimed with delight when she saw that hers was from her brother, tearing it open at once. "Oh, I hope that Wills is coming home and that he approves of the Harvest Ball." She scanned the letter quickly, her face falling at its contents. "He is not coming, but wait . . . he says we are to go ahead and make plans for the ball, that we are to hold it whether he is here or not. I am glad of that, but I cannot imagine a harvest ball without Wills."

And I dare not imagine it with him, I thought.

"Who did you hear from, Elizabeth?" she asked. "Did you receive a letter from Wills, too?"

I shook my head in response as I sifted through the mail in my hand, recognizing Kitty's scrawl and a thick parcel addressed in Jane's handwriting. I had not seen Mr. Darcy for over two weeks, nor heard one word from him. Neither had I written to him. Indeed, I was thankful I had not corresponded when filled with so much anger, for today's revelation now confused me. I truly did not know what to think. Could it be possible that all my suspicions were in error, that Mr. Darcy was innocent?

Oh, dear Lord, let it be . . . let it be.


Chapter Ten

That night I walked in my sleep again and it was no wonder, for if I had ever been troubled before, it could not compare with the condition of my heart when I finally lay down my weary head.

As son as possible after dinner, I had deserted Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam, pleading a headache and escaping to my bedchamber. I curled up in a large wing-back chair and tore open my parcel from Jane, for I could see that it was more than a letter.

"Oh, well done, Jane!" I cried aloud when I recognized Mr. Darcy's torn seal on the back of the enclosed pages. My sister had found his letter that I had lost after returning home from Kent. I was anxious to read the words again - it had been so long since I had received it from his hand - and I had read it quickly at the time. I remembered very little of what it contained; my father's death three days later had overtaken all other thoughts.

For now, though, I laid it aside, for surely my sisters' letters took precedence in importance. I turned my attention to Jane's correspondence, looking it over hurriedly, glad to see that things were going well at Longbourn and that she seemed in good spirits. I then attempted to read Kitty's post, but Meryton's gossip paled considerably when all I truly wished was to once again read Mr. Darcy's letter that he had given me on the morning after his first disastrous proposal.

I tossed Kitty's news on top of Jane's and picked up the letter, a contrariety of emotion exciting me as I made my way through it. I could easily recall how angry I had been when first I received it and how hastily I had put it aside, protesting that I would not regard it, that, in fact, I would never look in it again. Now I wished to weigh with impartiality every circumstance outlined therein and deliberate justly on the probability of each statement. I began with the fact of the senior Mr. Darcy's high regard for Mr. Wickham.

He was his godson, a detail I had overlooked completely the first time I read the letter, and a true marker of how highly Mr. Darcy, Sr., thought of my brother-in-law; apparently Mr. Wickham's mother was extravagant, a trait she evidently passed on to her son, and which consequently caused her husband's impoverishment; and the older Mr. Darcy's attachment to Mr. Wickham remained steady to the end of his life.

And then this detail struck me: 'My excellent father died about five years ago . . .'

Five years . . . five years, that phrase had played in my head when I first learned that Fiona had a child near that age, but I could not recall where I had heard it before. Now it stood out before me in black and white. I lay the letter down and having moved from the chair to the sofa, I stared into the fire.

Mr. Wickham was a favourite of the deceased; surely he would have returned to Pemberley upon knowledge that he was dying and he would have stayed for the funeral and the reading of the will. I had no way of knowing how long Mr. Darcy, Sr., had lingered before his demise, but I could well imagine Fiona attempting to distract Georgiana from her grief by engaging in a lark such as swimming in the pond. And knowing Mr. Wickham's false nature, it was not hard to see him stealing away from the deathbed to entertain himself with a foolish young lass.

I returned to the letter and saw that it was six months after the death of the late Mr. Darcy, when Mr. Wickham wrote that he had resolved against taking orders to become a clergyman and desired 3,000 pounds in settlement. That meant he must have left Pemberley sometime during the six months after his benefactor had died. If Mr. Wickham had dallied with Fiona and was then confronted with the result of his misdeeds, would it not be consistent with his character to desert her and flee Pemberley?

The letter stated further that Mr. Darcy 'was perfectly ready to accede to his proposal. I knew that Mr. Wickham ought not to be a clergyman . . . all connection between us seemed now dissolved.' If Mr. Darcy knew that Wickham was responsible for Fiona's predicament, but refused to bear the burden, that would have caused Mr. Darcy to be even more 'perfectly ready' to spend 3,000 pounds in order to get rid of him. And in the meantime, he had moved Fiona to London, thus removing both bad influences from his impressionable young sister's company.

Suddenly, I began to feel great oppression - astonishment and apprehension flooded my mind. Never, in the whole course of our acquaintance, had I actually seen anything that betrayed Mr. Darcy to be unprincipled or unjust - anything that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits. Could it be my own blind vanity that had allowed me to suspect him of such a gross violation of everything right? Among his own connections he was esteemed and valued - even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother - and over and over I had seen his repeated concern and protection for his sister. How could I have courted such prepossession and ignorance and driven reason away? Till that moment I never knew myself.

Angry to discover that I might have been so wrong, I laid the letter aside. Indeed, I resolved to forget all correspondence and prepare myself for bed. So many and varied thoughts swirled around my poor brain until it was a wonder I could find my nightgown without aid from a servant. I did not wish for anyone's company that night, however, not even that of a maid, and so made do alone. It felt good to be free from the constraint of my corset; perhaps I would be eased in mind as well as body with this change in clothing. I had just shrugged on my robe when I heard a light knock at the door. Now what!  

I opened the door to find Georgiana, who appeared somewhat surprised that I was already dressed for bed. "I came to see how you are feeling," she said. "I do hope I did not awaken you."

"No, of course not," I said, ushering her into the room. "My headache is a little better and I am certain it will be gone by morning."

When I could see that she did not intend to leave, I invited her to the sofa in front of the fireplace. I scooped up my pile of letters from the end table, intending to place them on the desk, when she stopped me. "Is that Wills' handwriting? I thought you said he had not written. And what did he say? Did he give you a more exact date as to when he might return to Pemberley?"

"No . . . uh, well, that is . . ." I said, fumbling with the pages, as I attempted to conceal them. In so doing, I managed to drop the outside page of Mr. Darcy's letter that he had given to me in Rosings Park. Georgiana quickly picked it up, saw his opened seal and observed it addressed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Her brows knit together as she handed it to me.

"I do not understand. Why is Wills addressing you in that manner? You are now married."

I took the page from her and walked across the room, pulled open a drawer and dropped the entire packet into it before speaking. "There is a simple explanation. This is an old letter your brother wrote to me some months ago. I merely wished to re-read it."

"I did not know that you and Wills had formed an attachment months ago so that you were correspondents."

I returned to the fire and sat down in the chair across from the sofa, and then took a deep breath. "Georgiana, did your brother tell you of his proposal to me when we were both in Kent at Easter?"

"Why, no," she said, smiling. "Do you mean you were engaged all that time and I never knew it?"

I shook my head and looked down at my lap. "We were not engaged. I turned him down the first time."

Her eyes grew big and round. "I cannot believe it. Did you dislike him so?"

"I confess my opinion of him was somewhat hampered at the time, but it is all in the past and not worth remembering. Surely you did not come in to question me about such distant history. Tell me what I can do for you."

She rose and walked to the fireplace, pressed her lips together several times, clasped and unclasped her hands, and then turned to me. "Elizabeth, the things I told you this afternoon . . ."

"Yes?"

"The things about Mr. Wickham and Fee and myself . . . you will keep them in confidence, will you not?"

"Well, of course, if you wish it."

"I do. I do wish it, especially from Wills. He . . . well, it is just best that he not know."

"Georgiana, I do not understand. Why must you hide this from your brother? You were only a child; you did nothing wrong. If anyone is to blame, it is Mr. Wickham . . . or . . ."

"Or Fee?"

I looked away, struggling not to show my loss of composure. "Exactly how old were you and Fiona when all of that occurred?"

"I could not have been more than 11 and I think Fee had just turned 15 the previous January."

Five years ago! I almost said it aloud, but caught myself just in time and said, "Well, then, yes, Fiona should have been more responsible. She was older than you and surely old enough to know it was not fitting to engage in such activities with Mr. Wickham, but as I said before, he is the one truly at blame. And why would you protect Mr. Wickham's name from Mr. Darcy? Surely you know that your brother does not hold him in high regard."

"It is not Mr. Wickham that I am protecting. It is Fee. I do not want Wills to think less of her. She has had enough to overcome and if he thought she had been a poor influence on me . . ."

"Georgiana, did not your father pass away five years ago?" When she nodded, I continued, "And Mr. Wickham, I assume, returned to Pemberley for his funeral."

"Actually, I think he came earlier that year, about four or five months before. He stayed until my father died in the middle of summer. I can still remember how miserably hot it was that July."

I swallowed and summoned all of my courage. "And how old is Fiona's child? Is he not five years old?"

"He will be next month in December, but why are you asking me all this?"

"Georgiana . . ." I took a deep breath before continuing, "do you suspect that Mr. Wickham is Willie's father?"

She blushed vividly and turned her face away, but nodded in agreement. "I do now. At the time, of course, I was so young that I did not even understand what had happened to Fee, but after . . . well . . . I shall just say that certain things happened later that revealed to me the extent of Mr. Wickham's true character. I think it quite likely that he could have taken advantage of Fee, but if Wills learns that she had encouraged me to participate in any indiscreet behaviour with George, even as a child, he might remove her from Pemberley altogether."

"Well, as it is, he has not even brought her yet, has he?" I said, distaste for the subject evident in the tone of my voice.

Georgiana looked hard at me before speaking. "Has Fee displeased you, Elizabeth? Do you not want her to come here?"

I coloured, aware that my prior suspicions and jealousy had shown forth by my speech. "I have nothing of which to accuse her, and your brother is the one who decides whether she will serve him in London or Pemberley."

"Serve him? Surely you mean serve you, do you not?"

"Yes, of course . . . I misspoke. Perhaps my headache is worse than I thought."

She rose and started for the door. "I am sorry that I intruded. I . . . I hope you will rest well."

After she closed the door, I sighed deeply, closed my eyes and shuddered when I thought of the circle of secrecy and suspicion and fear that surrounded me. Why did not all of us - Georgiana, Mr. Darcy and I -just bring everything out into the open and talk about it? Why must Georgiana share confidences with me that I must keep from her brother? Why should Mr. Darcy demand that I not discuss Wickham's attempted elopement with Georgiana with the girl, herself? Why did not Mr. Darcy explain things, important things such as why had he not yet corrected matters between Mr. Bingley and Jane; who truly was Willie's father; what possible reason did he have for keeping Fiona in London; and most importantly, why had he married me and cast me in the middle of all this? For that much, why hadn't I demanded answers? Why had I settled for the bits and pieces of information both brother and sister dispensed in such meager fashion? Where was my own courage and belief that I was entitled to a thorough and complete knowledge of the truth? What had happened to that independent, feisty young woman from Longbourn who was able to quickly form astute judgments and opinions of others?

I did not wish to think on the answer to that last question, for I knew all too well what had transpired. I had fallen in love with Mr. Darcy. It was plain and simple and no matter how greatly I wished it to be false, it was, indeed, quite true. I now saw his compassion, his integrity, his affection for his sister, indeed, even his kindness in offering marriage to me, compose a man worthy of my love. Oh, he was arrogant still, even prideful and sorely lacking in knowledge of how to be a proper husband - yes, these were defects that needed correcting - but in essentials, I had to admit that he was as he had ever been . . . a good man.

I pored over the letter again and again, at last even perceiving some truth in Mr. Darcy's view of Jane. I could not deny the justice of his description that her feelings, though fervent, were little displayed, and perhaps he truly did not believe her in love with Mr. Bingley. When I came to the part of the letter in which my family's actions at Netherfield were alluded to, I was mortified and my sense of shame was severe because I could recall that their actions did, indeed, merit reproach. I read the compliment to Jane and myself, that he thought we had 'conducted yourselves so as to avoid any share of the like censure' and he thought such praise honourable to the sense and disposition of us both, but it soothed me very little, providing modest consolation for the contempt which had been attracted by the rest of my family. I was struck with the truth that Jane's disappointment had, in fact, been the work of her nearest relations, and not merely the influence of Mr. Bingley's family and friend.

By the time the clock chimed two bells, my depression was acute. My head truly did ache now; I snuffed the candle and reclined on the sofa pillows. I was too weary to even crawl into bed. I thought I would never sleep, but I did . . . and the next thing I knew I awakened upon the hardest bed I had ever known. It was freezing and I was thoroughly chilled. Blinking in the dim, early morning light, I raised myself on one arm and became instantly aware that I was neither in my bed nor on the sofa in my room. I was lying on a cold, hard floor. Although covered with a beautiful rug, the surface was still extremely unyielding and my back and neck both ached as I sat up. Where was I?

And then I saw him. Looking up, I saw that I had been sleeping in the great gallery, beneath the portrait of Mr. Darcy.

Fortunately, I retreated to my bedchamber without discovery by any of the servants, but later that morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam questioned me as to the state of my health. He was concerned that I did not look rested and wondered if I was still afflicted with the same headache from the evening before.

"I am not ill, Colonel," I said, "although I thank you for your concern."

"Truly, Mrs. Darcy, you have shadows beneath your eyes. Was your rest disturbed last night?"

"It was," I admitted, glad to take advantage of the fact that Georgiana was engaged in the music room and that we were quite alone. "Georgiana said that Mr. Darcy must remain in London. I do not understand why it is taking so long to discover the identity of those engaged in this blackmail scheme. Have you heard any particulars from him as to the case?"

"Yes, and I can tell you that progress is being made. Unfortunately, two or more servants resigned just prior to this threat and Darce and his investigator are searching for their whereabouts so that they may question them. London is a labyrinth of hiding places, and so it will probably be some time before they find the guilty party or parties, but do not fear, they will be caught."

"And is he sure that one or more of the servants is guilty?"

"Well, Darcy has thoroughly questioned everyone still in his service in London. So far, he has ruled out all of them."

"Do you mean that he suspected every one of his servants? No one was exempt from his suspicion?"

"Mrs. Darcy, your husband takes his responsibilities very seriously. If he thinks anyone might harm his sister or you, for that matter, he will not rest until he has uncovered every stone, examined every source. Did you not notice that when we traveled to Pemberley, we used my father's coach and servants? None of Darcy's employees accompanied us. You have spoken the truth: not one of his servants in London is exempt."

Georgiana joined us then and we, naturally, spoke of other things. Actually, I said very little, for once again I was struck with how much in error I had been to suspect Mr. Darcy of keeping Fiona in London for immoral purposes. No matter how much Georgiana loved her, could it be that Mr. Darcy still had not ruled out the possibility of the maid's participation in this scheme?

I escaped the house that afternoon and the company of my companions, for I longed to be alone. I walked through the woods of Pemberley for more than three hours, lost in my thoughts, floundering in my regret. How I had wronged Mr. Darcy! Overcome with shame and anguish, I stumbled along the path, stopping only long enough to rest now and then.

I now believed that there had been nothing between Mr. Darcy and Fiona other than a master showing kindness to an ignorant, unfortunate serving girl. My imagination had conjured up the vile attachment that tormented me, and heeding the servants' gossip had only stoked the flame. Jealousy had allowed it to catch hold in my heart. I was truly wrong about this and if I was wrong in my appraisal of his character in this manner, had I been wrong about so many other aspects?

I cast back in my memory to my first association with Mr. Darcy. A year ago, I had met him at an assembly ball in Meryton. He had been haughty and rude - but perhaps it was because he was shy; had he not said at Rosings that it was not easy to recommend himself to strangers? No, that was a poor excuse. My first impression had been correct. After all, the man was not perfect, far from it. I recalled how he had singled me out at the Netherfield Ball, asking me to dance and then left it up to me to initiate conversation. How exasperated I had felt by the end of the dance, for he revealed so little of himself that making conversation with him was as arduous as climbing a mountain covered in prickly pear. In truth, I disliked his taciturn disposition, but would I prefer a young man who 'rattled about,' as Mrs. Reynolds so aptly put it? No, I knew the answer to that question, for when he did speak, Mr. Darcy's words were worth listening to.

'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I love and admire you.'

I closed my eyes as that phrase resounded in my ears and yet, as I thought back to that time when he first asked me to marry him, I could still see the earnest expression of tenderness about his countenance when he spoke. Was it possible that he had truly been in love with me at that time? And to think how I had answered that proposal, with what angry manner I had condemned him - I could not bear to think upon it without shame. Was it possible that I had employed far too much haste in dismissing his words of love? Had my quick temper destroyed my ability to recognize the prospect that he meant those words? True, his proposal had been unfortunate, far too overconfident and arrogant, as though he expected me to fall at his feet with thanksgiving for his notice, but still, it did not warrant the hateful mode of my response.

And yet, after all that I had said to him, six months later Mr. Darcy had come to Longbourn unbidden, and offered me marriage once again. He had literally saved my family from ruin and provided the means by which I would have a more than comfortable life as mistress of all this. Why had he done so? Was it for love?

My thoughts turned to the brief time we had been married. I had learned so much from him; he was a man of intelligence and breeding. True, he had been abrupt with me, even demanding at times, and far too obstinate. But had I not provoked him with my angry outbursts, my presumption of how things stood, and my own stubborn questioning of his every action?

And then I was struck with a thought I had failed to ever consider previously. Mr. Darcy took me in marriage and yet, allowed me the right to determine when our physical union would be completed, well aware that I would not reach that point any time soon. He had sacrificed his needs for my well-being . . . and still he did so. I knew little of such things, but I had heard enough talk between my mother and aunt to know that a husband could be demanding in such areas, and yet my husband had and continued to exercise patience with me.

I thought of waking up next to him first in the inn the morning after our wedding and then when I had walked in my sleep and ended up in his bed. Both times I awakened in his arms and even now I felt gooseflesh running up and down my arms, as I recalled the pleasure it provoked. If I felt such intoxicating sensations, what must our embrace have done to Mr. Darcy?

I allowed my thoughts to wander then to each of the times we had found ourselves in close proximity since our marriage. I recalled how attractive I had found him in his shirt sleeves at the billiards table and how warm I had grown with his arms around me while he taught me the game; his deep voice translating words of love in my ear at the concert; how our bodies seemed to be perfectly tuned when dancing together at Lord Matlock's ball; and, of course, his lips upon mine the last night I had seen him. That kiss . . . I shook my head to awaken from such musings.

I rose and began to walk back toward the house, no little distance, for I had wandered far. I thought that the task of placing one foot in front of the other might distract me from remembering how I had responded to my husband's kiss, but it did not. It only caused me to wonder anew at his feelings for me. Could he possibly be in love with me? And if so, why had he not said so again?

Well, I thought, would you risk once more declaring your love to one who had shown every sign of trampling it under? And with the manner of my departure from London, what must he feel now? I walked along, staring at the ground, watching a squirrel chatter at me from its high perch on the tallest tree. "Yes," I said aloud, "scold me, for I deserve it."

Oh, I could not bear to think that he was alive in the world and thinking ill of me!

That evening, I noticed a definite lack of conversation upon the part of my companions at dinner. Neither Colonel Fitzwilliam nor Georgiana initiated any subject for discussion. They both responded to my remarks with equanimity, but by the close of the meal, I realized that they had not spoken one word to each other.

When the colonel excused himself afterwards to have a drink, I examined my sister-in-law closely, seeking some reason for her obvious lack of animation.

"Georgiana, are you well?" I asked.

"Perfectly," she said, turning her face away from me.

"Shall you play for me, then?" I suggested, knowing that music always provoked a favourable response in her demeanor.

"Not tonight, Elizabeth. I am not in the mood."

"Very well. Shall we set up the cards in preparation of a game with the colonel when he joins us?"

"No. I am not in the mood for cards, either."

"Is something wrong? I have rarely seen you this out of sorts."

She rose and walked to the window, but not quickly enough to hide the tears I saw spring to her eyes. I followed her and placed my hand on her shoulder. "Georgiana, what is it? Has something happened?"

"Oh, Elizabeth," she cried, turning and laying her head on my shoulder, clinging to me like a child. "I have made such a dreadful mistake!"

"What do you mean? Tell me, please."

She cried for some time before she could talk, but after I led her to the sofa and gave her my handkerchief, she calmed herself. "I should never have told Richard."

"Told him what?"

"The incident I related to you earlier, about swimming with Fee and Mr. Wickham when I was a child."

I was surprised at her candor, but she soon explained. "I thought I could tell him. I have always been able to tell him things . . . things I would never reveal to Wills because he is so particular. Richard's general manner is much more at ease and he rarely gets upset, but now he is furious! Did you see how he was at dinner? He did not even speak to me!"

"But why, Georgiana? Why did you tell Colonel Fitzwilliam of something that happened so long ago?"

"I do not know. I suppose it was because it has been such a secret all these years. In this family, there are too many things of which we never speak. When I was able to confide in you and you did not censure me, I felt such relief and I thought I might take the chance and receive the same response from Richard. But I was so mistaken!" There, she began to cry anew and I found myself holding her and patting her back, attempting to comfort her.

"Well, what did the colonel say? What were his exact words?"

"Oh, I do not know. At first he did nothing more than become deathly still, but I could see an anger descend upon his countenance, an anger I had only seen once before."

"And when was that?" I ventured to ask, although I thought I knew well enough.

She looked at her hands in her lap and began to twist my handkerchief around and around. "I am not supposed to speak of it. It is one more subject that is forbidden utterance in this house."

"By whom?"

"Wills, of course! He demands that I do not ever talk of what happened to me last year."

"Do you mean what happened between you and Mr. Wickham?"

Her eyes flew open, as well as her mouth. "Then you know? You already know how stupid I was, what a blunder I made?" I looked away, my heart full of anguish at her mortification. "But why did you never speak of it, Elizabeth?" I could not look at her, but kept my eyes downcast, and then she said, "Oh, I see. Wills told you not to, naturally." She rose and walked to the fireplace, placing her hand upon the mantel and leaning her head against it.

"It was for your benefit, Georgiana, I am sure. Your brother loves you so much and he thought, whether correctly or not, that speaking of what happened would only add to your distress."

"Why does he persist in such blindness? Can he not see that I need to talk about it, that I am tormented with the shame of my mistake? How am I ever to achieve redemption? I am sick of going over this in my own mind and coming up empty. I need to discuss it with someone who will not tell me to just forget it!"

She began to cry anew and ran toward the door. I called out to her, but as she ran into the hall, her only reply was, "Let me be, Elizabeth. I must go to my room. I must be alone."

I had achieved only the barest semblance of calmness, myself, when Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room. His first remark, naturally, pertained to the whereabouts of his cousin. When I told him she had retired, he frowned slightly and said, "So early?"

I took a deep breath and decided to be the first in this family to begin speaking frankly. "Georgiana was quite distraught, Colonel, and I am afraid that much of it had to do with you."

"What did she say?"

"She told me of your reaction when she confessed a childish indiscretion. She said you were furious."

He frowned even more. "Well, I am, but not at her."

"She does not know that, sir."

"But why? Why would Georgiana think I am angry with her? She was, as you say, nothing but a child. It is Wickham I could . . ." here he broke off, unwilling to voice his angry desire. "Did she say anything else?"

"Indeed, she is angry with her brother because he forbids her to speak of her unfortunate mistake with Mr. Wickham, and she is very disappointed that you, as well, responded to this afternoon's revelation much as Mr. Darcy would."

"And have you heard this latest story about Wickham?"

I nodded and he continued. "It pains me to speak ill of your brother-in-law in your presence, but I sometimes believe that my cousin should have called him out last year. It would have spared many from the damage he wreaks wherever he goes."

"I do not have a good opinion of Mr. Wickham, sir. You may feel free to say what you will."

"When I think of how many people whom he has grieved, it makes me consider thoughts that are unworthy. I feel my anger anew each time I am reminded of his lack of character and poor Darcy - I thought surely he might kill him when he found him holed up in that miserable room with your young sister. And no one would have disputed his right to do so, that I can assure you!"

I had been standing when the colonel made this last statement and I felt the room suddenly begin to grow wavy in appearance. What had he said? I sat down immediately upon the closest chair and gripped its arms with both hands, my knuckles soon growing white.

"I beg your pardon, sir," I said, my voice quaking slightly, "but did you say that it was Mr. Darcy who discovered the whereabouts of my sister and Mr. Wickham?"

"Why, yes, has he never told you how it came about?"

When I shook my head, he said, "Well, he must have forgotten to relate that part of the tale, for he played such an important part in persuading Wickham to go to the altar, that I suppose his days and nights spent hunting them down through the seedier parts of London did not seem all that important, although I will say he would not rest until he had discovered them. And, once again, it was our old friend, Mrs. Younge, who led him to them."

"Indeed?" I murmured, although Mrs. Younge was the least important part of this conversation to me at the time. I attempted to proceed with my questions in the most innocuous manner possible, for I did not want to hinder the colonel's narrative in any way. In fact, I was so curious that I would have resorted to tricks and stratagems to find it out. "You know, Colonel Fitzwilliam, my husband is quite modest in relating his good deeds. Shall you not refresh my memory and tell me what you know of the story, for sometimes I think I have not heard all of it even to this day?"

He smiled at this and acknowledged that Darcy was, in fact, often too reserved in relaying the details of his good works, but the colonel did not suffer from that affliction, especially when it came to praising the unselfishness of his cousin. Evidently, Mr. Darcy had not felt it necessary to bind the colonel to an oath of secrecy in this manner, for he had no qualms in laying out the entire story of how my husband had not only discovered Wickham and Lydia, he had insisted upon bearing the entire expense of insuring Wickham's compliance by paying off not only his debts, but purchasing him a commission in the regulars, and undoubtedly affording him a handsome bribe as well, all so that he might make an honest woman of my youngest sister.

Before I went to bed that night, I spent no little time moving furniture. I tugged and pushed until I had replaced not one chair, but two - one at the door between my room and that of Mr. Darcy, and the other at the door leading to the hall.

If my malady had caused me to spend last night on the cold, hard floor before Mr. Darcy's portrait, I feared this new revelation might cause me to walk all the way to London!


Chapter Eleven