by Malini

Rating: PG13 (C)

Summary: When Darcy makes his first proposal, instead of responding with a refusal, Elizabeth offers him a an answer based on prudent inclinations.

Part One

"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 judgment 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 deeply-rooted 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 unwilling.”

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 how 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 affection.

"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 Two

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 so often betrayed by 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 inwardly. 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 sentiment 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 his acquiring 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, "I wonder if you would direct me to 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."

Darcy found his future father-in-law’s study to be exactly as he had expected to find it. It was a well-proportioned room abundantly stocked with what he could discern from even a casual survey to be an eclectic if somewhat haphazardly arrayed collection of books. While it was modest by in comparison with his own collection, it was evident that for a man of Mr. Bennet’s resources it represented a sizeable investment. Slight though his acquaintance with Mr. Bennet was, from his impressions of the man’s acerbic if somewhat inappropriately displayed wit, Darcy had expected no less.

"Mr. Darcy! How may I help you?" came Mr. Bennet's polite yet pointed inquiry, interrupting Darcy’s reverie. Darcy marvelled at the man’s evident confusion in finding him there. 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, a man he had thought would never look at a woman except to find a fault, had a partiality for his daughter! Which daughter? As far as he knew, the man had not seen any of 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 sanction 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, 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 utterly perplexed. He had not known quite what to expect from this man, and this request had exceeded his wildest imaginings. Though he knew but little of Darcy he knew enough of his stature to be aware that this was the sort of man to whom he could hardly deny anything he should condescend to ask for. Yet in a case such as this it was incumbent upon him to exercise care, since the happiness of his favourite child was at stake.

What surprised Mr. Bennet was how willing he found himself to acquiesce to Mr. Darcy’s request, once he had recovered from the shock of it. He was certain that he saw before him a man violently in love. Although this was the longest that he had ever heard Darcy speak, he had been rather unwillingly impressed at the way he expressed himself. That he was, in sense and understanding, suited to Lizzy also seemed likely. But Lizzy had been so very 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. Unlikely as it seemed, he supposed that she must have come to value this man. He did not like to think that she, of all his daughters, could have accepted a man 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 corroborated 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 Three

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.

When his carriage reached the vicinity of Rosings, Darcy realized that it was still some time before the Collinses 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 make the declaration before Elizabeth's arrival. But he intended to 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, and give him the solitude he required to fortify himself for his encounter with his aunt.

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 felt, without knowing why she felt such a thing, 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. She could hardly deny that she would benefit from his knowledge of the wider world, and his ability to expose her to it. 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 Charlotte was ideally suited to be her confidante. Charlotte was extremely pleased for her friend, of course, and not entirely surprised. She rejoiced that Elizabeth had not allowed her romantic notions to overshadow what must undoubtedly be in her best interest, but she realised that Elizabeth, despite her acceptance, might not be entirely reconciled to the match. She tactfully avoided any references to the material considerations that Elizabeth 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. Elizabeth’s liveliness she saw as a fitting complement to his gravity, and she had hoped for this conclusion ever since Elizabeth had been persuaded to dance with him at the Netherfield ball.

Elizabeth 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 in this sense 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 Elizabeth 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 ultimately have acted otherwise. And though he had squandered precious time in reaching this conclusion, he would have a lifetime to make it up to Elizabeth, and would now have always the comfort of being secure in his decision. All that remained now was to announce his intentions 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 Four

Charlotte was exceedingly puzzled. Elizabeth 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 Elizabeth 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 Elizabeth’s anxiety, or for Darcy's silence. She was astute enough to realise that the one must have brought about the other, but she could not imagine what the root of the matter might be. Elizabeth could not have broken off the match, or she would not have subjected herself to this ordeal. And surely there was no barrier on Mr. Darcy’s side. There could be no necessity for a secret engagement in this case. As far as anyone knew, 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 Elizabeth, was probably willing to brave her displeasure.

Mr. Darcy remained 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 surely she must 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 Elizabeth have the opportunity to 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 her friend’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, Eliza? 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.

Darcy gratefully accepted Charlotte's opening. "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."

"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 simply glad of any opportunity to escape his aunt's society, and included himself in this little excursion.

The colonel had expected to 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 of what his recent behaviour had meant. Although he had not gone so far as to speculate as to the possible reasons for Darcy’s recent absence, he was certainly of the opinion that his cousin’s partiality was such as would likely induce him to make Miss Bennet an offer.

"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 what his companion would make of his information. It was certainly true that Darcy had spoken to him more of Miss Bennet than probably even he had realised at the time. He had been somewhat surprised when they had arrived in Kent, not so much to observe something of his cousin’s reticence, which was quite natural at Rosings, but to discover that such was Miss Bennet’s impression of his cousin’s habitual behaviour. Clearly he had not spoken quite as much to her as he had of her, although from what little he had observed their conversations were certainly rather interesting, and often charged with layers of meaning. He could certainly see why Darcy was captivated.

Charlotte had by now realised that the Colonel was not in Mr. Darcy's confidence, but it was equally evident that he was by no means unobservant, and she intended to learn what more she could from him 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, approaching the subject indirectly. "But I thought you knew this. Eliza 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, I have been meaning to apologise for what happened earlier this evening. Matters between us have progressed rather suddenly, and I confess I was overcome to think on everything that would be changing. 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 me 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 what her mother's response to this refusal would be. 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 such an 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 reason to doubt my commitment. It is just that the thought of having to leave my home, and my family was rather overwhelming. I would not wish for you to feel as though I have any regrets."

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 implied in his request.

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 contented. There was still an element of restraint between them. Elizabeth could not be entirely open with such a man; she felt as though he had judged her somehow, without her knowing it, and that though he had found her worthy, she might at any moment risk falling in his eyes, and 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 Five

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 done 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. Whether or not he returned to the familial fold under her auspices he knew he would never hear the end of this episode, and at that moment, he was willing to be cast off by his aunt and trust in his other relations, or, if need be, simply himself.

"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 Six

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, and of course the Collinses would spare a maid to travel with Elizabeth. 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 properly 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 family 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 Seven

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 Eight

It had been barely 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 vagaries of the postal system were such that the letter bearing these tidings 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 while. 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 Elizabeth had 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 Elizabeth, 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 Elizabeth would never have accepted him had she not returned his sentiments. Rather, it was the circumstances they had described prompted his concern. Elizabeth’s wealth and standing were 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 Elizabeth 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 Elizabeth, 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 Elizabeth, and grew more sanguine than they had been. Elizabeth 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 was 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 Elizabeth’s chamber so 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, Elizabeth 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, Elizabeth 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 Elizabeth's response, and apologized for ever having doubted her. The sisters shared a close embrace, and Jane, once more congratulating Elizabeth on her happiness, left the room.

As Elizabeth 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 contented. 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 satisfied. 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. Elizabeth 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 Nine

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 somewhat unprepared for his arrival; he had not been expected to return from Kent for some days. 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 prominently 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 well-nigh 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. She was a handsome and clever woman, but though he had intended nothing but to enjoy the occasional pleasure of her company without committing himself through any gestures which would bespeak of a particular attachment on his part, he knew that she had interpreted the matter quite differently. It had amused him that a woman of her talents should be so conventional in her pursuit of a man, and so blind to the nature of his interest in her. 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, and perhaps 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 that she smiled too much. There had been about her a distinct 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 a man with his friend’s connections, the disparity could not be nearly as great. As for his other hopes for his friend, Darcy conceded to himself that he had never discounted this possibility. Bingley was a grown man, with a man’s discernment. Georgiana was still a child, and years away from being a suitable prospect for any honourable man. For all of his own hopes, Darcy knew he would be disconcerted rather than otherwise were his friend to now regard his sister in that manner. And now that he thought about it he found himself quite open to the possibility of their being brothers in quite a different manner than he had originally envisioned.

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 reflected on his introduction to her London relations with satisfaction. His experience of Mrs. Phillips and her sister had prepared him for a very different brother from the pleasant and well-informed man he had found. To be sure, the man had been caught rather unawares, but that was only to be expected, finding as he had his niece alone with two gentlemen he had never 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 genteel 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 Ten

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 might have thought that she had a busy day ahead of her. Such was not the case; in fact, Caroline Bingley had no fixed 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 Bingley, who was no stranger to his sister, 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 insipid country miss. This was getting entirely too vexing. Jane Bennet 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, or even to regard her in anything other than a determinedly filial manner, was beginning to disconcert her. That the pliable Miss Darcy 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 her 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...." Miss 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? He has been very sly with us! I must wish him joy. She is a charming and 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, if 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? While he had to concede that she had shown no sign of particular attachment, she had always appeared to enjoy his company, and he believed her to be too sincere to be feigning her pleasure. 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, and remembered that he had said nothing to contradict her when she had amused herself with the prospect of the Bennet connections being represented in the Pemberley gallery. He had undoubtedly been taken by her. But was it to be borne that he would be so far taken in? And how had such a thing happened? Had he returned to Hertfordshire? That could not be; he had been visiting his aunt, Lady Catherine. That artful 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 this 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 Eleven

As he had the opportunity to converse with the Gardiners once again, Darcy had every cause for satisfaction. Mr. Gardiner was indeed everything he had hoped he would be, and Darcy 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 his bride well indeed.

Elizabeth, for her part, was extremely pleased with Miss Darcy. Wickham had prepared her for an entirely different sort of creature, but she perceived that the girl before her was nothing other than shy. She was young, eager to please, and nothing of the acute unembarrassed observer her brother was, and Elizabeth found it very easy to converse with her despite her shyness.

"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 soon!"

This last sentiment was said in a gleeful manner of a child. Elizabeth was gratified at her enthusiasm. Knowing some of the ladies of Mr. Darcy’s circle, she had been prepared for a very different sort of welcome, but it seemed that the Darcys were eager to make her feel wanted.

"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. I am hardly a practiced performer."

"Oh, no! My brother is very honest about his opinions. He is sometimes a little too kind to me, but I know that is only so that he will not injure my feelings."

"I am sure you deserve all his regard."

"And he deserves all of mine. I could not wish for a better or a kinder brother. And now that he will marry, and we will 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 once 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. She had no intention of breaking the engagement, but 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, and Mr. Darcy offered Elizabeth his arm as he led the way to the dining room. Though conversation flowed freely and ranged widely that evening, Elizabeth never had either the opportunity or the courage to broach the subject that remained predominant in her mind.


Part Twelve

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 earlier joined Elizabeth at 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, but she would not allow it to alter her resolution. The brother of whom Georgiana spoke so affectionately and 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 the 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 Thirteen

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 Miss 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. Miss Bingley 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 Miss Bingley 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 her references to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and the younger ladies were incensed at their own dashed hopes, for Caroline Bingley had not been the only woman who had hoped to be the Mistress of Pemberley. If Eliza Bennet 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. Caroline Bingley would show her that she had no business marrying Mr. Darcy.

It must be said that although in town she had been circumspect, Miss Bingley’s judgment was now beginning to suffer. Darcy’s failure to acknowledge her hints as to the unsuitability of his future relations had incensed her, and she was no longer careful of the need to retain his good will or that of his future bride. Miss Bingley was at this point a desperate woman, which could be her only excuse for her decision to expose herself so dreadfully in a scheme that was hardly designed to have a fruitful outcome.

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. I hope you have had a pleasant journey."

"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, Elizabeth followed her outside, curious as to what her companion might have to say.

"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."

“I cannot pretend to know your meaning, Miss Bingley.”

“Oh, come, Miss Eliza, you must know that Mr. Darcy comes from quite a different sphere from yours. He is a man of many responsibilities that you could hardly have any comprehension of. You can hardly suppose that it was a natural choice for him to select you as his bride.”

“I am quite mystified as to your misgivings, Miss Bingley. He is a gentleman, I am a gentleman’s daughter. So far we are equal.”

Miss Bingley bristled at this reminder of her own ancestry. Was this to be borne, from a woman whose nearest connections were actively in trade?

“Your connections are hardly the equal of his. Your fortune is non-existent.”

“These are connections that must be meaningless for someone so wholly unconnected to us. You must excuse me, Miss Bingley. I have many responsibilities today, and I cannot remain here simply to satisfy your astonishment.”

“I suppose you do have to run around and do everything for yourself in your family. Your mother must be delighted that you were able to throw yourself so successfully into the path of a rich gentleman.”

"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 Mr. Darcy, not you. I do not believe he was ever yours to give up."

"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 really must see to." "Excuse my interference, Miss 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 Fourteen

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 at a light canter, 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 Fifteen

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, on 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 Elizabeth had had any reason 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, Elizabeth 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 Elizabeth 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 Elizabeth’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. Elizabeth had at one time fancied that she might have fallen 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.


Part Sixteen

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 her extravagance, 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, and Mrs. Harris, in London, 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 Seventeen

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 misery 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 her 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 fulfilment of her wifely duties loomed large.

But ignorant though he was 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 as a gently bred young woman she was also quite appropriately innocent of the sort of intimacy that must ensue between husband and wife, and though he could not know what the extent of her information might be, knowing what he knew of her mother it had occurred to him that the event might not have been represented to her in a particularly attractive light, and that a certain amount of reassurance might be in order. Moreover, her bashfulness under the present circumstances was entirely to be expected, and he could do little else but to attempt to alleviate it. He had allowed himself to anticipate this culmination of their union for many months now, but somehow it had not occurred to him in his imaginings that he had the feelings of more than himself to consider. Now that the time was drawing close his own nervousness was such that he had hardly any idea how he might offer the necessary reassurances.

As they paused outside the door to her bedchamber, 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. 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 construed. Yet conversation could not be allowed to languish; she felt the expectations that silence brought about all too keenly. She knew not what she was about; in truth she had no intention of resisting her husband, yet her anxiety was high and at this moment it felt as though she hardly knew this stranger whose claims on her she could not deny. She wanted to return to that comfort that she had sometimes known with him, when he had offered her understanding and reassurance without demanding anything that she might feel unwilling to offer, for those were the moments when she felt that she could have given him anything he might have asked for. 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 that 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 suddenly 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 may or may not admit into her society. 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 cannot have 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 very 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 since he had first confessed it to her, but neither had she properly understood its extent, nor the significance it truly held for her. This was the reason she had been unable to disillusion him; though his affection was unsought she had cherished the offering, all the more as she had come to know the depth of the man. Though she had vacillated, not knowing her own mind, the current demonstration of his sensibility left her with the absolute conviction that she was capable of a return. She had never felt closer to him as she did at that very moment. She took pleasure and comfort in his assurance, and was fiercely proud of him, knowing that he had the sensitivity to put her unexpressed and inchoate anxieties over his own expectations. Where earlier she had felt his very presence to be an imposition, she now knew with certainty that this was the very man to whom she could freely offer anything -- that imperfect as he was, for her, there would never be any other. 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 knew that she ought to speak, that he deserved to hear some expression of her feeling. Yet 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 they surrendered themselves to sensation and feeling, Darcy expressed himself as a man violently in love with his bride might do, while Elizabeth hoped rather than knew that her husband had any insight into her heart, or her mind.


Part Eighteen

As she drifted out of sleep the following morning, Elizabeth was faintly aware of the 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 and Elizabeth grew more aware of her surroundings, she dwelt on the events of the previous night. Her relief at finding the horrors to have been entirely exaggerated was quite overwhelmed by her surprise that she should have known so little of the surfeit of sensation of which her body was capable. Though she was as yet but little versed in the ways of love, she had gathered from the gentleness of her husband’s caresses and his frequent inquiries after her well being that her fears on this occasion had not been entirely misplaced, and that what had been for her a joyful consummation did indeed have the potential to be as painful and unsatisfactory an event as ever her mother had described. She felt once again a rush of affection for her husband, that he should be so sensitive as to her needs, and mindful of her pleasure.

She regarded their current situation with some embarrassment, for what had begun to seem natural in the cosy intimacy of the night appeared now wanton and immodest in the early light of day, but she made no attempt to dislodge herself from her present comfortable position, entwined within her husband’s close embrace. The actual disrobing had reawakened some of her anxieties the previous night, but ultimately as her husband’s manful struggle against the confinements of her clothing had grown prolonged, laughter had temporarily overwhelmed fear, and embarrassment, and passion. She realised now that the expectation of this consummation had been so much upon them the previous night that even when she had felt completely unready for it, neither of them had thought to avail themselves of the services of valet and maid. She wondered what the household had thought of their disregard, and blushed to think of the conclusion they had likely drawn of the newlyweds’ eagerness for privacy.

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 reflected once again 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 light-heartedness, 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 interceding on their behalf through her husband. Surely he could not know how he had injured them, for she could not believe that a man with such regard for her own feelings could be so callous in knowingly injuring those of others.

For her own part, she was more contented than she could possibly have thought she would be with the supposed perpetrator of such wrongs. His behaviour as far as she had observed it most 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. 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.