Entanglements of Honor

Renata McMann

Summer Hanford

With special thanks to our editor, Joanne Girard

Cover photo by Mark McCullough

Cover by Summer Hanford

By Renata McMann and Summer Hanford

The Second Mrs. Darcy

Georgiana's Folly (The Wickham Coin Book I)

Elizabeth's Plight (The Wickham Coin Book II)

The above two books have been published in a single volume as:

Georgiana's Folly & Elizabeth's Plight: Wickham Coin Series, Volumes I & II

The Scandalous Stepmother

Poor Mr. Darcy

A Death at Rosings

Caroline and the Footman

Mr. Collins’ Deception

Mary Younge

Lady Catherine Regrets

The above four stories (and two additional stories) are collected in

Pride and Prejudice Villains Revisited – Redeemed – Reimagined A Collection of Six Short Stories

Other Pride and Prejudice variations by Renata McMann

Heiress to Longbourn

Pemberley Weddings

The Inconsistency of Caroline Bingley

Three Daughters Married

Anne de Bourgh Manages

The above works are collected in the book: Five Pride and Prejudice Variations

Also by Renata McMann

Journey Towards a Preordained Time

Books by Renata McMann writing as Teresa McCullough

Enhancer Novels

These are all stand-alone novels in the same universe

Enhancers Campaign

The First Enhancer

The Pirates of Fainting Goat Island

The Enhancer with Meg Baxter

Bengt/Tian stories

The Secret of Sanctua A Bengt/Tian novel

Kidnapped by Fae: a Bengt/Tian Short Story

Other stories

The Slave of Duty with Meg Baxter

Lost Past

Also by Summer Hanford

Short Stories by Summer Hanford

The Forging of Cadwel

Hawk Trials for Mirimel

The Fall of Larkesong

The Sword of Three

Novels by Summer Hanford

Gift of the Aluien

Hawks of Sorga

Throne of Wheylia

Coming in 2016

The Plains of Tybrunn

Table of Contents

Caroline

Caroline stood in the center of the ballroom in Netherfield Park. She turned in a slow circle, sighing as she took in the vast, cold, near-emptiness of it. At least it was a sizable enough space, albeit neglected, and a supply of sheet-draped tables and chairs were pushed up against the wall the fireplace was set in.

She couldn’t believe her brother had acquiesced when those silly Bennet girls demanded he hold a ball. That they asked only emphasized their poor breeding. She didn’t know which was more preposterous, how unaware they were of their lowness or the notion Charles knew what went into throwing a ball.

She would be required to give it, to save the affair from disaster. Oh, Charles would have an opinion on when it should be held and on who should be invited. He might even have ridiculous ideas about what countrified ensemble he should wear. She wouldn’t agree with him, but she would concede to some of his wishes.

Not the ensemble, of course. She would ensure he was dressed in the height of London fashion. They must maintain attire and behavior appropriate to their station, regardless of the company they were forced to keep. Caroline would stand firm on that. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stand firm on everything. The stipulation she most desired to ignore, that the Bennets be invited, was one which she dare not disregard.

Pushing the Bennet girls from her mind, she executed another slow turn. A slight smile curved her lips. Yes, it was an adequate space. One she could work with. One in which she would give the most magnificent ball anyone in this rural, backward corner of England had ever seen. They would speak of it for years to come, long after she’d dragged Charles back to the city where they belonged.

Maybe it was good the Bennet girls were to attend. A ball thrown by her would be the highlight of their mundane little lives. Someday, when they were knee deep in the children of whatever shopkeepers, attorneys or rectors they managed to wed, they would have a happy memory to look back on.

Caroline came to a stop facing a row of French doors. She crossed to them, tugging back worn curtains to scrutinize the terrace without and the sweeping vista beyond. It was, she had to admit, quite idyllic. In the summertime, the doors would be thrown wide, allowing those attending the ball to stroll the terrace. Perhaps a daring couple might descend the broad steps and linger in the relative privacy of the garden beyond.

She leaned her forehead against a pane, straining for a better view of the well-manicured grounds. Her breath making a circle of mist on the glass, Caroline imagined herself as part of that daring couple, on Mr. Darcy’s arm. In her vision, he led her down the steps and into a secluded garden alcove, leaning near to steal a kiss. She smiled a full smile now, for a kiss from Mr. Darcy may as well be a proposal. He wasn’t the sort of man to follow such a liberty with anything less than commitment.

A sigh escaped her and she straightened, letting the curtain fall back into place. This ball would be in November. The doors would remain closed. There would be no walks on the terrace, no rendezvous in the garden, and no stolen kiss.

A gust of wind carried a draft of cold air in around the doors and Caroline shivered. No wonder the room was so cold. Well, there was no reason for her to stand there and catch a chill. Especially as Jane Bennet was above stairs in a state of ill health, likely contagious.

Caroline frowned, turning from the window. If Miss Bennet didn’t appear to be the most genuinely honest of people, she would suspect the illness that kept her in Netherfield and necessitated the arrival of her sister Elizabeth was a ruse. Or, if Mrs. Bennet didn’t seem incapable of logical thought, Caroline would assume the mother had plotted the event, deliberately sending Jane out in the rain without a carriage.

With a shrug, Caroline crossed to the fireplace. She had more important matters to think on than Mrs. Bennet’s obvious lack of mental fortitude, like assessing if the lone hearth would be adequate. She suspected so, for it was unusually large, but she would have it lit to determine if it would warm the room sufficiently for the time of year. The dancers wouldn’t need the heat, but a good hostess like herself must also think of the wallflowers. It wouldn’t do for the Bennet girls to get cold while they watched others make merry, after all. They and the other wallflowers would need to be comfortable.

Caroline suppressed a shiver at the thought of sitting still in her best ball gown in a room this cold. Not that she need worry. She wouldn’t be a wallflower in this company. Especially not with Mr. Darcy there. He was always properly obliging. She didn’t even need to flaunt herself to garner his attention, the way some women did.

Nor would she ever stoop to such behavior, even for Mr. Darcy. Caroline had never been one to dampen her gown to make it clinging and revealing, or lower the bodice or skimp on the lace. Unlike such sorry sorts, she had more to offer than her body. She was an accomplished woman with a substantial dowry. She had her choice of many men to be her husband. She was certain, in time, Mr. Darcy would comprehend she would be the ideal wife for him.

Charles’ ball would provide headway on that front, Caroline realized. It would show her competence, for it would be a most splendid affair. Something worthy of Pemberley, to be sure. Mr. Darcy was the sort to notice such an accomplishment and appreciate her talents all the more for her pulling it off in this backward nowhere. Yes, he’d see how capable she was, and he would dance with her.

He was bound to, just as he had when they’d first arrived in Hertfordshire. He’d danced with Luisa as well, but that was obviously out of a sense of courtesy only as Luisa was already wed. Just as at the assembly, he wouldn’t dance with anyone else. He wasn’t acquainted with them and clearly didn’t wish to be. Mr. Darcy had no eye for the local country girls with their vaunted milkmaid complexions. He was much too sophisticated a man for them to tempt him.

Outside, the wind picked up again, doubling the draft coming in around the doors. Even thinking about dancing with Mr. Darcy couldn’t warm her enough to tolerate the cold any longer. Besides, it was time to ready for dinner. Caroline hurried from the room, clutching her shawl around her. She would return after dinner, once the ballroom had time to warm. She needed to determine if it would be warm enough immediately, while there was still time to order new, thicker curtains from London.

She made her way to her room, where her maid waited to help her ready for dinner. Ignoring the girl’s greeting, Caroline crossed to stand before the fire. “Ring for a servant, Sarah.”

“Yes, miss,” her maid said, complying.

“Come help me with my hair over here by the fire.”

“Yes, miss.”

Sarah collected the ivory comb and bejeweled hair pins from the dresser and moved to stand behind her as Caroline settled into a chair. If the ballroom didn’t warm sufficiently, Caroline mused, should she order curtains in a subdued color to show her refined tastes or something darkly luxurious to show her wealth?

Should she ask Jane’s opinion, if Miss Bennet was well enough to speak with? She was, after all, a resource of local taste located just down the hall. Caroline suppressed a smile at the thought, for it was amusing to think Miss Bennet would have any worthwhile opinions when it came to matters of taste. A light knock sounded at her door.

“Enter,” Caroline called.

A rosy-cheeked maid stepped into the room and curtseyed. “You rang, miss?”

“Send someone to light a fire in the ballroom,” Caroline ordered. “Make sure they use enough fuel to keep it going through dinner. I wish to assess the temperature of the room once warmed.”

“Yes, miss.” With another curtsey, she hurried away.

That matter attended to, Caroline returned to daydreaming about dancing with Mr. Darcy. Subdued curtains, she realized, and perhaps she would order them whether the room proved warm enough or not. The existing ones weren’t a fit backdrop to the evening she imagined, where Mr. Darcy was so impressed with her skills as mistress of Netherfield he danced with her twice, and asked her to marry him.

Chapter One

Darcy

Reflected in the mirror before him, Darcy could see his valet setting out his coat in preparation for dinner. Refocusing on his own image, he settled his cravat about his neck and began the careful execution of tying. His hands stilled, though the task was only just begun. Did he smell smoke? Alarmed, Darcy realized the smell had already been present, hovering somewhere on the edge of his awareness until it intensified to the point of notice.

Tossing his necktie aside, he crossed the room and stepped into the hall in his vest, trousers and shirtsleeves. The corridor was filling with harsh, billowing gray clouds, growing denser by the moment. He turned back to his valet and said in a tone both commanding and deliberately calm, “Get the servants out, or at least downstairs. I’ll see to the guests.”

The Hurst’s rooms were next door to his. He pounded on the first door he came to briefly before shoving it open to find them both gaping at him and, fortunately, dressed. “The corridor is filling with smoke. I suggest you both make haste to depart.”

Mr. Hurst turned to his wife. “Put on your warm shawl and collect your jewelry case, Luisa.”

Darcy was impressed by his firm tone and lack of dramatics. He hadn’t realized Mr. Hurst would be so competent.

“There’s a fire?” Mrs. Hurst gasped, not yet moving.

“I don’t know,” Darcy said. “It seems likely with the amount of smoke.” Was the woman daft? He could see smoke spilling into the room around him, now that the door was open. Any sane person would react by leaving.

“Come,” Mr. Hurst said, already moving. He scooped up a shawl and pressed it toward his wife before striding to a table strewn with Mrs. Hursts’ personal items. He began to shove them into a case. “We’ll get Caroline, Darcy. You’d best see to Miss Bennet. In her state, she may not be well enough to make her own way.”

“Right,” Darcy said, turning to stroll from the room.

“Miss Bennet?” Mrs. Hurst cried. “He should find Caroline, not worry about some country chit.”

Mr. Hurst’s response was lost to Darcy as he hurried down the hall, now thick with smoke. It swirled about him, stinging his eyes and making it difficult to breathe. Behind him, he could hear footfalls and Mrs. Hurst’s shrill voice. Both trailed off in the direction of Miss Bingley’s room.

Darcy’s long strides quickly brought him to Miss Bennet’s chamber and he knocked, but received no reply. He put his hand out to open the door and paused, the choking miasma in the hallway at odds with propriety. His knock could have met with silence because she’d already fled, in which case there would be no harm in opening the door. Or, enough smoke may have already seeped around the door to render her senseless. Someone who was ill would be even more susceptible to the hazard. Unable to risk it was the latter, he pushed the door open. To his relief, the air in the room was relatively clear, though dark clouds billowed in behind him. He quickly closed the door.

Miss Bennet was arising from her bed, apparently in response to his knock.

“Miss Bennet, there’s a fire,” Darcy said.

“Do I have time to dress?”

“I don’t think so. The hall is filling with smoke.”

Her feet found slippers. She stood up somewhat unsteadily, grabbing a shawl draped over a chair. Darcy recognized it as one Elizabeth wore. His thoughts flew to the shawl’s owner, but he kept his attention on the woman in front of him. After he got Miss Bennet to safety, he could turn his concern to Elizabeth.

“I won’t endanger you further by making you wait,” she said, walking toward the door. When Darcy opened it, they were met with a cloud of smoke. She jerked back in a fit of coughing. He closed the door and looked frantically around the room. The shawl Miss Bennet was wearing was too loosely woven to be of use, but he found a finely woven one in the wardrobe. “This should help protect you from the smoke.”

She cooperated as much as she could but couldn’t stop coughing as he tied it over her nose and mouth. They tried the hall a second time, but Miss Bennet still was having trouble with the smoke. She took a few steps into the hallway, but collapsed against a wall, still coughing. She crumpled and started to slide toward the floor, but Darcy caught her, lifting her to carry her.

“I’m terribly sorry. I stood too quickly. I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she said, and then dissolved into another fit of coughing.

Darcy shook his head, his eyes watering. There was no point in putting her down now, and he didn’t know that he believed her. She was likely trying to save him any inconvenience.

“What of Elizabeth?” Miss Bennet asked as he headed toward the stairs. “We must find—” Whatever more she may have said was cut off by another fit of coughing.

“Once you’re safe.” He didn’t dare keep her inside with the smoke, and whatever was causing it, any longer than needed.

“I won’t leave without her,” Miss Bennet said, tears streaming from eyes that were already red rimmed as a result of the choking pall.

“You aren’t well enough to search for her, and I can’t until you’re safe.”

She nodded, though she looked miserable, and Darcy hurried down the steps.

As they made their way outside, Darcy still wasn’t sure where the smoke was coming from. Though it was stifling, he didn’t feel the terrible scorch of heat from anywhere about them, or hear sounds of collapse coming from anywhere in the house. In fact, aside from some distant shouts, he heard nothing at all. That must mean he and Miss Bennet were the last to leave. Hopefully, they would find Miss Elizabeth outside, though how anyone could have restrained her from coming in after her sister, he didn’t know.

Outside servants ran about, but he didn’t see a Bingley, Hurst or Bennet anywhere. As soon as they left the smoke-filled building, Miss Bennet added shivering to the fits of coughing she was obviously attempting to repress. Darcy cursed himself for not thinking to wrap her in a blanket from the bed on such a chilly night.

“Mr. Darcy, truly, I can walk,” she protested before another fit of coughing overtook her. “You must find my sister.”

“You seem considerably unwell,” he said, wishing he could, in good conscience, put Miss Bennet down and seek Elizabeth.

“I’m nearly recovered. It’s only the smoke. It aggravated my cough.”

Darcy ignored her protests, perfectly aware she was capable of convincing herself she was well so she could free him to seek her sister, and also aware she was shivering violently now in addition to coughing. He swept his gaze over the yard, stopping when it reached the stable. He decided it was the best he could do until the house could be made safe and hurried toward the scant shelter the building offered. Once he saw Miss Bennet settled, he could seek out Miss Elizabeth. He wouldn’t be any more content than Miss Bennet until he assured them both of Elizabeth’s safety.

Inside the stable was dark and empty of two-footed life. All of the grooms and stable hands must be attempting to extinguish the fire, he realized. Perhaps he should assist them once he’d settled Miss Bennet, instead of seeking Elizabeth. If she was somehow trapped inside the house, helping extinguish the source of the smoke could be his best chance of saving her. As much as he felt the urge to do it, running through the burning halls of a building as large as Netherfield Park, seeking someone who may or may not be within, would be foolish at the least.

As he settled Miss Bennet on a horse blanket in the tack room, deeming it the least drafty corner of the stable, he realized he wouldn’t be able to assist in putting out the fire or search for Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Bennet hadn’t ceased coughing, and she looked quite pale and was obviously having difficulty breathing. She was also shivering, in spite of being wrapped in horse blankets. Elizabeth, as strong and capable as he already knew her to be, would have had no difficulty escaping the house, so there was little chance she remained inside. She wouldn’t thank him if he abandoned her sister alone in the stable, nor would his conscience permit him to do so. He stood next to the door across from Miss Bennet, trying to hide his resignation.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said, between coughs and gasps. “I thank you so very much for what you’ve done for me, but you really needn’t stay. I know you must long to help with the fire, and I would have word of my sister. Please, I entreat you, join the others.”

Darcy shook his head. “I’ll remain.”

“At least, for the sake of both of our nerves, seek some knowledge of the extent of the fire.”

Darcy hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Only what I may observe from the door.” Before she could beg him to leave her more unattended than that he rose, striding from the tack room.

Although there was smoke pouring out of the east wing of the house, Darcy saw no flames. He cast a look back over his shoulder, toward where he’d left Miss Bennet. It didn’t sit well with him to stay idle while a crisis was afoot, but what could he do? He certainly couldn’t leave her in the stable alone. Resolutely, he turned back, consoling himself with the thoughts that the smoke was so visible people would have the common sense to leave and the stable was so devoid of human life because everyone else was helping with the fire.

Looking at the shivering form when he returned, he reluctantly picked her up and sat on a box, hoping his body heat would go through the blanket to warm her.

“Mr. Darcy,” she gasped. “This is inappropriate.”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t endanger your welfare for the sake of propriety,” he said, not releasing her. There was no point. The moment they’d stepped from the house to find no one about to act as chaperone, their fates had been set. The damage had already been done. Darcy braced his back against the stable wall. He was glad to see her breathing was growing better, though she still shivered violently.

It was odd he was unmoved by her, in spite of the intimacy of the situation. He did appreciate the warmth she gave him, since now that he’d stopped exerting himself, he was feeling the cold. He also appreciated she had the sense not to struggle, and was glad when her shivering began to gradually subside. Still, he couldn’t be happy about the situation. In spite of his honor and Miss Bennet’s beauty and biddableness, Darcy fervently wished he could think of a way around what he knew must come of his actions.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth snuggled deeper into the overstuffed sofa, the most comfortable one in the entirety of Netherfield Park as far as she was concerned. She was stealing a moment for herself in the library before being forced to endure another dinner with Mr. Darcy, the Bingleys and the Hursts. As it was sure to be a dismal affair, filled with veiled slights from Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, disdain from Mr. Darcy and desperately cheerful chatter from Mr. Bingley, she was hoping to fortify herself with one of Shakespeare’s comedies. Perhaps the right frame of mind might render dinner bearable.

Mistresses Ford and Page were having their merry way with Falstaff when Elizabeth realized she smelled smoke. Setting the book aside, she hurried into the hall. Smoke billowed toward her, Mr. Bingley a rapidly clarifying form amidst the clouds.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he called, stopping before her. “We have to leave. There seems to be a fire.”

“Where?” she asked, wondering if they could extinguish it before it got any more out of hand.

“I don’t know, but you must leave. It’s too dangerous for you to stay here. The house is filled with smoke.”

“I must get Jane,” she said, attempting to step around him.

“I will. You go to safety. She’ll never leave if she thinks you need to be rescued.”

Pleased as she was that he understood that aspect of Jane’s character, Elizabeth wasn’t about to give in. He must have assumed she would, though, as he turned from her and hurried toward the steps. Shaking her head, she followed, finding the smoke denser back the way he’d come. She had to hold up her skirts to keep up with him, for he all but sprinted down the hall toward the staircase. Taking them two at a time, Mr. Bingley hurried up the steps.

He was nearly to the top when he tripped and fell forward into the hallway, his head meeting a stone statue that undoubtedly was supposed to make the stairway more elegant. Elizabeth ran the rest of the way up, kneeling beside him. His eyes were closed and his jaw slack.

“Mr. Bingley?”

He didn’t stir.

“Mr. Bingley?” She shook him.

The hall was filled with smoke. Her eyes were already stinging and it was difficult to breath. Squinting, she could see Jane’s bedroom door stood open, a heartening sight. She ran down the hall and stuck her head in, further reassured to find the room empty. She returned to Mr. Bingley.

“Mr. Bingley, Jane is gone already,” she said, shaking his shoulder again.

He still didn’t move. The smoke was denser above stairs than it had been below. Her first thought was to slide him back down, where the air was clearer and they were more likely to find help, but she was worried about the harm that would do him. What if she lost control of him and he tumbled down the steps? No, it simply wouldn’t work.

“Can anyone hear me?” she called down the staircase. “Mr. Bingley is injured. I need help moving him.”

Silence met her calls. Tears ran from her smoke-irritated eyes and she wiped them on her sleeve. She had to get Mr. Bingley out of the smoke, and herself as well.

Looking around, Elizabeth saw several closed doors. Perhaps a closed door would have kept the smoke out? She opened one, finding that to be mostly the case, though dark clouds billowed in behind her. Closing the door, Elizabeth crossed to the nearest outside room and tried the handle. It yielded, but she didn’t open it.

She returned to Mr. Bingley and grabbed one of his arms in both hands. Grateful he wasn’t a big man and the polished oak floor offered little resistance, she pulled him to the door, opened it, and dragged him inside. She pulled back the carpet on the floor of what turned out to be a small bedroom to allow her to pull him farther in, not sure where she found the strength. Once she had Mr. Bingley out of the way, Elizabeth closed the door. Tearing the coverlet off the bed, she blocked the crack under the door to limit the smoke coming in.

Gasping from both the exertion and the smoke, she hurried across the room and flung the window open, sucking in deep breaths of cool air. Below, servants ran about, shouting. They didn’t seem very well organized and she wondered where Mr. Darcy was.

She looked back over her shoulder at Mr. Bingley. It wouldn’t really do to be found alone together in a bedroom, though he wasn’t even conscious. It would be best if she could wake him and they could make their way out with no one the wiser.

She fanned the window for a moment, circulating clean, cold air into the room until she shivered. Crossing back to Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth tried to lay him out in a more comfortable looking position, for she’d left him on his side with the arm she’d pulled stretched over his head. He still didn’t stir and she eyed the red mark on his forehead in concern.

“Mr. Bingley? Oh, do wake up. You’re beginning to worry me.”

After several more moments of trying to wake him, she decided the blow to his head was more worrying than a shadow on her reputation. Besides which, she didn’t know where the fire was or if it was making its way toward them. There was no way she’d be able to save Mr. Bingley on her own, and she wouldn’t chance the hall or climb out the window without him.

She definitely needed help. Trying to avoid a silly rumor that likely wouldn’t even begin circulating wasn’t worth Mr. Bingley’s life by any stretch. She went to the window again, shivering now as the room had filled with cold air.

“Hello,” she called. She had to repeat herself several times before anyone realized where the sound was coming from. Finally, one of the footmen looked up. “Hello. Can you tell me, is the fire contained? Mr. Bingley is with me and he’s injured. I don’t believe he can make his way down the steps or out the window. We’re in the small room near the top of the staircase.”

“The house is too full of smoke for anyone to get to you, miss,” the young man called. “We were clearing all the rooms, but we’ve had to come out. We’re counting everyone now, or we’re trying to.”

“I hope everybody else made it out. Where is the fire? Are we in danger? I have a blanket at the bottom of the door, so not much smoke is getting in.”

“We think it started in the ballroom, miss.”

The ballroom? That wasn’t too near. “Is it being contained?”

“I think so, miss. I was clearing and now I’m supposed to be counting.”

“Right,” Elizabeth said, both amused and annoyed by his singlemindedness. “Well, do you think if the fire comes this way, you could get a ladder and climb up here to help us?” She wasn’t sure how they would get Mr. Bingley down a ladder if he didn’t wake, but it was the best she could think to ask.

“We will, miss. I’ll go add you and Mr. Bingley to the count and report to Mr. Hurst where you are.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said, but as he ran off she was filled with a new disquiet. Mr. Hurst? He didn’t seem the sort to take charge of anything. Where was Mr. Darcy? Although he was exasperating, she very much hoped he wasn’t injured.

“Miss Elizabeth?”

She turned to find Mr. Bingley staring at her, looking confused. He was sitting up, swaying only slightly, which Elizabeth assumed was a good sign. He raised a hand to his forehead and winced.

“You hit your head,” she said, moving toward him.

“I hit my head?”

“Yes. On that statue at the top of the steps. You were in such a commendable hurry to find my sister, you tripped on the steps and knocked yourself unconscious. I couldn’t get you back downstairs and no one seemed able to hear my cries for help, so I was forced to drag you into this room to keep you from inhaling too much smoke.”

Mr. Bingley gaped at her for a moment before closing his mouth. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have put you to the trouble.” Using the side of the bed for support, he pulled himself to his feet. Elizabeth hurried to him, helping him sit on the edge of the bed. He glanced around the room and then back at her, his eyes revealing anguish.

“Don’t allow yourself to become distressed, Mr. Bingley,” she said, hoping to reassure him. “I called down to a servant from the window. Everyone knows where we are. If the fire worsens and we still can’t escape down the hall, they’ll bring a ladder.”

“Everyone knows where we are?”

Was it her imagination, or did he look less than reassured? “Yes, to be sure.”

“I think I need to lie down,” he said. “If that is acceptable, of course.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth said, still wondering at his obvious discomfiture. Didn’t he believe her that they would be saved if the need arose? Surely he’d heard her calling out the window when he woke. Of course, his mind was likely befuddled from the knock to his head.

She moved to take the lone chair in the room as he stretched out on the bed. Startled by the intimacy of the movement, she turned her head to look out the window. She’d never seen a man lying on a bed before.

“Is Miss Bennet safe?” Mr. Bingley asked.

“She wasn’t in her room. I checked.” She kept her gaze adverted. “I can only assume she made it out. I haven’t yet spoken to anyone who seems to know much.”

He didn’t respond, but she assumed he was reassured. They sat in silence for a time. It grew quite cold in the room. A glance toward the door told Elizabeth no more smoke seemed to be coming in, making the cold a more salient danger. She turned to ask Mr. Bingley his opinion, but found his eyes were closed and his breathing even. She hoped he hadn’t fallen unconscious again. Perhaps the blow to his head was worse than she’d realized.

Standing, she crossed the few short strides to the window and pulled it closed. No one was beneath it now, and the world without seemed much quieter. It was growing dark and she couldn’t see any flickering haze of light surrounding Netherfield, so she could only assume the fire was extinguished.

It could be on the other side of the house, but the ballroom was on this side. Crossing to the door, Elizabeth touched it, finding it cool. She put an ear to it. Not that smoke made noise, but perhaps she could learn something. She didn’t want to open the door if the hall was still dangerous to them.

She was about to kneel down and peer through the keyhole when she heard voices. Cautiously, she removed the bedclothes from the crack under the door and slid it open to peer out. The hall held only remnants of smoke, though the dire odor of it filled the air. A figure came down the hall, rapidly resolving itself into Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth stepped out to meet him, relieved to find him apparently unharmed.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, bowing. His hair was in slight disarray and he was in a state of half dress, with no coat or cravat in evidence. “Is Bingley with you? Are you all right?”

“I am well, thank you. Mr. Bingley is with me and I thought he was recovering, but I’m not entirely sure. He hit his head.” She gestured toward the room behind her.

Before Mr. Darcy could enter, Mr. Bingley was at the doorway. “It was the stupidest thing,” he said to Mr. Darcy. “I was so eager to rescue Miss Bennet that I tripped and fell, hitting my head. If Miss Elizabeth hadn’t pulled me into that room, I might have died from the smoke. Is the fire out?”

Elizabeth felt her face warm. Mr. Bingley painted her as quite the heroine. No one would have done less. In truth, pulling him into a room to save him was the very least a person could do.

“There was no fire, just a blocked chimney,” Mr. Darcy said, his tone betraying his displeasure.

Elizabeth was glad she wasn’t the one that unyielding censure was directed at.

“Apparently, Miss Bingley ordered a servant to light a large fire in the ballroom, intending to visit it after dinner to ascertain if the room would be warm enough for the ball you promised to throw,” Mr. Darcy continued. “Her orders were promptly carried out, but no one remained long enough to realize the chimney was blocked. According to the servants, it hadn’t been used in at least a year and one said the chimney cap was broken. Another, a maid, said last spring she heard chirping and thought there might be chimney swifts there.”

Mr. Bingley shook his head, his expression morose. He cast her a look containing an odd mixture of resignation and sorrow before turning back to Mr. Darcy. “Well, I should check to see what the situation is. If you’ll excuse me?”

He gave a perfunctory bow and strode off with more energy than Elizabeth would have imagined he had in him. Where was the man who’d barely been conscious for the past, what, hour or so? She looked after him, bemused.

“That’s strange,” Elizabeth murmured.

“What?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“Mr. Bingley was unconscious when I pulled him into the room. He needed help to get into bed. Once there, he simply lay, not moving, for all that time. He appeared asleep or even unconscious. I was growing rather concerned, actually. Now he’s acting as if nothing happened to him.”

“Bingley is a gentleman in every way,” Mr. Darcy said, his expression almost as gloomy as Mr. Bingley’s.

“I don’t understand.”

“I assume you are correct in the first half of your account. Bingley was rendered unconscious. He would hardly have put you through the effort of pulling him into the room if he could move. He also undoubtedly needed help getting into bed. After he regained his senses and realized the situation, he knew how difficult it would be for you and conducted himself as best he could to spare you any discomfort.”

Elizabeth didn’t like to think she was stupid, but it took her several long seconds to guess at Mr. Darcy’s meaning. “I can’t imagine being afraid of Mr. Bingley.”

“No, because he is a gentleman, which is also why he did not want to make a stressful situation worse.”

Elizabeth wanted to say her concern for Mr. Bingley had made things bad enough, but she had another worry. “How is my sister?” And why did Mr. Darcy look so glum? His expression didn’t have to do with Jane, did it? The thought left her cold.

“As well as can be expected and back in her room. You should go to her.”

Relieved nothing had happened to Jane, Elizabeth nodded and hurried away.

Chapter Two

Darcy

As he searched for something to do, some needed activity to give his body and mind occupation, Darcy could feel anger brewing within. He knew he should appreciate the obvious boon of the disaster turning out to be small, but his mounting resentment that he’d compromised a woman he didn’t love in order to save her from a danger that hadn’t materialized couldn’t be quelled. Then there was Bingley and Miss Elizabeth . . .

Darcy assisted in what little did need to be done, but it did nothing to quell his ire. The ballroom fire had died down enough to allow them to throw water on the remains, but so little was required that the task was complete without even a brigade. Windows were opened in most rooms and the smoke was clearing.

He helped Bingley soothe servants and arrange for an informal supper to be prepared, and the most acceptable room to dine in found. The latter two tasks, by right, should have been Miss Bingley’s, but the maid Bingley sent to find her returned to them looking aggrieved to report Miss Bingley wanted water to wash the smoke from her hair and said she could not be bothered with helping her brother manage his household. Mr. Hurst, whom Darcy had been somewhat surprised to find had taken charge of the situation during the crisis, had escorted a bereaved and wailing Mrs. Hurst to their rooms, meaning that sister would be no more help than Miss Bingley. The upshot was Darcy and Bingley spoke with the cook and housekeeper and deferred almost entirely to their judgement.

That final task complete, Darcy excused himself. He was in no mood to converse with Bingley. For some reason, he wanted to glower at his friend. As he began once again to ready for dinner, Darcy had to repeatedly remind himself it wasn’t Bingley’s fault he must now offer marriage to Miss Elizabeth, or that Darcy must offer for Miss Bennet.

Darcy shrugged into his coat, taking a deep, ineffectual breath against the knot in his gut. A knot of nerves would be so much more preferable than the hard core of anger inside him. A man should be nervous about proposing to the woman he would wed, not irate.

A knock sounded at the door. “Darcy, it’s me, Bingley,” Charles’ voice said before Darcy’s valet reached the door.

His valet looked over his shoulder and Darcy nodded, signaling the door should be opened. His servant did so, bowing to Bingley.

“We need to talk,” Bingley said, ignoring Darcy’s valet.

At another nod from Darcy, the man disappeared. Bingley stepped in and closed the door behind him. He immediately began to pace. Darcy crossed his arms, waiting for Bingley to settle himself enough to speak.

“She may have saved my life,” Bingley said, not slowing his pace.

“Miss Elizabeth? I don’t think so. There was no fire.”

“People have died from smoke inhalation.”

Darcy shrugged, trying to pinpoint the source of his annoyance with Bingley. His friend hadn’t meant to trip, after all, and Darcy couldn’t blame Elizabeth for aiding him. He admired her actions. Bingley wasn’t heavy, but it must have been difficult for Elizabeth to drag him, even though it was only a few feet.

Bingley finally stopped his agitated movement, facing Darcy. “I compromised Miss Elizabeth. It was unintentional and unavoidable, but I must marry her.”

A shock went through Darcy. Not out of astonishment at Bingley’s words, for he understood the situation and had expected Bingley to behave with honor. No, the emotion that swept through him at hearing Bingley declare his intensions aloud wasn’t so laudable as surprise. It was more base in nature; a harsh, nearly blinding surge of jealousy that left no room for doubt. He wanted to marry Elizabeth. Not only that, but he despised the idea of any other man having her, even though he should be happy for her marrying a kind, pleasant and wealthy man.

How had he not realized it before? His concern for her, the way she occupied his thoughts, the fact he looked forward to sparing with her and observing how well she handled Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst, they all pointed to one thing. It was, he knew, only the knowledge she was so far below him in station that had allowed him to veil what his heart desired from the logic of his mind. Why, he’d even written to Georgiana about her.

She was far beneath him, too far for him to consider, or so he’d thought. Her bravery today elevated her, however. Not to mention, though Bingley’s standing was not so high as Darcy’s own, the fact Bingley would take her meant she couldn’t be so low in the eyes of others as Darcy had thought.

“Darcy?” Bingley asked, frowning. “Have you nothing to say?”

Did Bingley sound hopeful? What did he expect, that Darcy would give him a way out of what honor dictated he do? He would not, nor would he allow his feelings for Elizabeth to alter the course he knew he must take. “And I must marry Miss Bennet.”

“What?” Bingley demanded.

Was that anger in his friend’s eyes? Jealousy? “I was forced to carry her from the house, in her nightclothes and unattended. We spent nearly an hour secluded in the stable. In her frail state of health, she couldn’t stay outside in the cold and I didn’t dare leave her alone.”

“I see,” Bingley said stiffly. He moved away from Darcy to sink into a chair.

Darcy frowned, disliking the tension all but visible about them.

“I came here seeking advice,” Bingley said, his gaze on the carpet. “Miss Elizabeth acts as if she doesn’t know the situation. There’s no keeping it quiet. She talked to servants through the window.”

“Miss Bennet also behaved as though she hasn’t thought of being compromised. She repeatedly thanked me for saving her life.”

“If I wasn’t in danger, I doubt she was,” Bingley snapped.

Darcy was taken aback for a moment, finding it out of character for Bingley to dismiss a lady’s danger so resoundingly. He took in the glare his friend was aiming at the floor and recalled Bingley had intended to be the one to rescue Miss Bennet. So much so that he’d hurried to the point of carelessness. It would seem his first supposition had merit. Bingley was perhaps jealous he hadn’t been the one to carry Miss Bennet to the stable. If Darcy could change the past, he would wish that the case as well, but he could not. “Her circumstance is a little different,” he said carefully. “The smoke made her coughing worse.”

“How is she?” Bingley asked, his hostility replaced with concern.

“In truth, by the time I gained the attention of a servant and sent for help, she seemed much restored. She kept insisting she was well and had planned to come down to dinner. She said the smoke had merely aggravated her cough, making her appear more ill than she is.”

“So you didn’t have to save her.”

“Only as much as Miss Elizabeth had to save you,” Darcy said, his patience waning.

They glared at each other.

Bingley surged to his feet.

Darcy held up a hand, though his friend made no farther move after standing. “We must discuss the situation with them. The sooner it’s done, the better for everyone involved, I think.”

Bingley nodded. “I’ll send the servants away at dinner.” Bingley’s eyes shifted to the clock on Darcy’s mantel. “Are you ready? We may as well begin.”

Darcy nodded, gesturing Bingley should lead the way. As he followed Bingley downstairs, Darcy wondered how long it would be before the stench of smoke could be drawn from the halls and rooms. He was pleased he’d shut the door to his, keeping at least the worst of it out. Hopefully Miss Bennet didn’t hold it against him that he hadn’t thought to take similar care with hers. Not that many of her possessions were in Netherfield. He grimaced. Soon, her possessions would be in Pemberley.

They entered the small room the housekeeper had prepared for them, finding the Hursts, Miss Bingley and both Miss Bennets already seated about a round table. Darcy waved them down when they made to stand. Elizabeth looked worried and Miss Bennet was wrapped in several shawls, but had more color in her cheeks than when last Darcy saw her. A side table was laid with cold meat, bread, and cheese. Hardly their usual fare, but it would be filling enough, and it meant they wouldn’t need to be served.

Darcy approached the table, taking a seat between Miss Bennet and Mrs. Hurst, though he wished to take the one by Elizabeth. Bingley didn’t move toward the remaining seat. He turned to the nearest serving girl.

“Please fetch broth for Miss Bennet,” he said. “Cook said there was enough chicken stock remaining for one bowl.” He glanced toward the table. “I’m afraid there was only enough for one.”

The girl’s curtsey was accompanied by a whispered agreement as she hurried from the room.

“Please, I don’t require anything special,” Miss Bennet said.

“I think it’s rather a punishment,” Miss Bingley said. “I, for one, would refuse broth were it offered to me.”

“I’m sure something warm is just what Jane needs,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley.”

Darcy frowned. Need she sound so sincerely grateful? Bingley hadn’t offered her sister a small fortune, only a bowl of broth. For the first time, it occurred to Darcy to wonder if Elizabeth wanted to wed Mr. Bingley. She had followed him through smoke-filled corridors, after all.

“I’m sure we’d all like something warm,” Miss Bingley said. She looked about at the slightly disheveled staff. “Surely that sideboard isn’t all we’re being offered?”

“It is,” Bingley said firmly. He turned to the waiting footmen and serving girls. “Please, all of you, take the evening off. See to your own comforts. We all need a moment, I think, to recover from today’s chaos.”

“But—” Miss Bingley began.

“A good idea,” Darcy said in the same moment.

Miss Bingley immediately clamped her mouth closed over the rest of her objection, aiming a smile at him as the servants filed out. It annoyed Darcy how much she catered to him, but at least this time there was a use for it. Did she not realize how predictable she was? Too many women agreed with everything he said in order to attract him. Why couldn’t they understand agreeing with him wasn’t always agreeable to him?

Bingley remained standing until the girl he’d sent for the broth returned, effectively quelling conversation. After dismissing her as well, he carefully set the bowl before Miss Bennet before moving to sit between Miss Bingley and Elizabeth. Perhaps sensing the tension infusing Darcy and Bingley, everyone remained silent, not moving to take any food. Bingley glanced questioningly at him, which Darcy took as an invitation to broach the subject of the necessary proposals.

“We have an unusual problem that has arisen out of today’s incident,” Darcy said.

“I know, the smoke,” Miss Bingley said. “Most of it should be gone after several days of airing and I think the servants can clean enough to get rid of the majority of the smell, but I’m afraid it shall linger somewhat for ages. I’ve already washed my hair twice and I can still smell it.”

“That is not the problem. When I took Miss Bennet to the tack room and stayed with her, my actions compromised her.”

The silence that met his pronouncement was nearly as deafening as a pistol shot. Everyone looked shocked, except, oddly, Mr. Hurst. Darcy couldn’t decide if he didn’t care or had already figured out the consequences of what had happened.

“Surely not,” Miss Bingley cried.

“Nothing happened,” Miss Bennet said, her eyes wide.

Mrs. Hurst wailed something high pitched and unintelligible.

“And I compromised Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley said, his voice pitched loud to carry over the babble. He turned to her, reaching for her hand where it rested on the table. “Miss Elizabeth, may I have the honor of having your hand in marriage?”

“No,” she said, pulling away. “I can’t accept. As Jane said, nothing happened.”

“Miss Bennet,” Darcy said, wrenching his eyes from Elizabeth to turn to her sister. “May I—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I cannot let your act of kindness tie you to someone you would not marry otherwise.”

“There,” Miss Bingley said, her shoulders sagging in obvious relief. “That’s settled. The Bennet girls have more sense than you gallant men have. There is no need for forced marriages.” She laughed, the sound high and tittering.

Darcy hardly spared her a glance before turning his attention back to Miss Bennet and Elizabeth. “You don’t seem to understand your situations. If you don’t marry us, your reputations will be gone and that will make it difficult for you to marry anyone. Ever. It will make it hard for your younger sisters to wed as well. When your father dies, I doubt your inheritance can support five unwed daughters. I am sure both of your parents will insist these marriages take place. It will be better for everyone involved if you accept the inevitable with grace.”

“They may have to marry,” Miss Bingley’s tone was shrill, “but they don’t have to marry the two of you. You could give them each a dowry and they would have their pick of men. Or you could find other men for them to marry and pay them. You can both afford to untangle yourselves from this foolishness.”

“If we give them each a dowry, people will be certain something happened,” Darcy said.

“Only the worst sorts of men will approach them then,” Bingley added. His eyes were on Miss Bennet. “I won’t permit that to happen.”

Miss Bennet stood. Darcy, Elizabeth, Bingley and Mr. Hurst immediately followed suit. With matching scowls, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst followed.

“I am going to bed,” Miss Bennet said. She cast Bingley an anguished look.

Elizabeth turned to her, twining her arm in Miss Bennet’s. “If you’ll excuse us?”

Darcy bowed. Miss Bennet and Elizabeth left. The latter held her head high, her back straight, but Miss Bennet looked as though she would cry.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Miss Bingley retook her seat. “This is ridiculous, Charles.”

“It is not,” Bingley said. He looked between his scowling sisters and the side table, and moved to fill a plate with food, presenting them with his back. Mr. Hurst joined him, but Darcy turned to Miss Bingley.

“Miss Bingley, please tell me where I may find a tray,” Darcy said.

“What?”

“A tray. The Miss Bennets will probably be hungry.” Miss Bennet hadn’t even touched the broth Bingley had ordered for her. It was likely quite tepid now.

“I haven’t the faintest notion where to acquire a tray in this unkempt excuse for a dwelling,” Miss Bingley said with a sniff.

“We can each fix a plate,” Bingley said, setting his on the table.

Caroline scowled at him. “If they want food, I’m sure they’ll send for it. They aren’t quite so poor they don’t know how to ring for a servant.”

“Speaking of which, you may as well serve yourself, Caroline,” Bingley said. “I’m not calling the staff back. They’ve had a difficult day, trying to fix the mess you created.” He turned from her, taking up another plate.

Darcy prepared one as well before gathering napkins and silverware. Tucking them away, he took up both plates and set out for Miss Bennet’s room. He wasn’t surprised when Elizabeth answered his knock. He wordlessly proffered the plates, trying to ignore the stifled sounds of weeping coming from inside the room.

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said.

Her eyes were dry. Did that mean she was happy to be wedding Bingley? Reaching into his coat pocket, Darcy extracted the napkin-wrapped silverware.

Elizabeth looked at her full hands, then nodded to a small table just inside the door, taking a step back. “Could you please set them there?”

“Of course.” He took a half step inside. Feeling it would be ill omened to see his future wife weeping at the prospect of wedding him, and likely embarrassing for her, he kept his gaze from moving past Elizabeth. It wasn’t a difficult task, for she seemed to grow more beautiful by the hour, the perfection of her made more poignant by the knowledge he could never have her. Darcy set the silverware down on the table and retreated from the room.

“Thank you,” she reiterated. She searched his eyes for a moment, almost as if she would speak, before shrugging and turning away.

He reached in and closed the door behind her.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth carried the plates over to the writing desk before returning for the silverware. Trying to ignore Jane’s tears, she began carefully cutting up meat. Jane hadn’t eaten much over the past several days. Elizabeth had already been worried, and today’s events had only added to the strain on her sister. Surely, nourishment would help.

She moved most of the food to one plate, leaving only the cut meat, a few choice morsels of cheese and a thick slice of bread. She knew Jane would be less likely to eat anything at all if confronted with too much. Once everything was ready, Elizabeth brought the small meal to Jane, who sat on the bed with her feet pulled up and her arms wrapped about her knees. She’d stopped sobbing, but tears still trailed down her cheeks.

“It looks to me as if Mr. Darcy selected the best cuts for you,” Elizabeth said, holding out the plate. “He was very thoughtful in bringing up the food.” More so than Elizabeth would have anticipated. Perhaps is had been Mr. Bingley’s idea.

Jane covered her face with her hands, her weeping intensifying once more.

Elizabeth set the plate on the bedside table, sitting on the edge of the bed next to her sister. She put an arm about Jane. “I’m sure he’ll be good to you. We already know he’s honorable, after all, and wealthy. You’ll want for nothing.” She didn’t add that she had no idea how a soul as gentle as Jane would bear living with a man as reserved and condescending as Mr. Darcy. Just one of his critical glances would wilt her.

“It’s not that,” Jane said, her words muffled by her hands. “I’m sure he’s a pleasant enough man once you come to know him.”

Trust Jane to be looking for the good in people even in her distraught state. “What is it then, dearest? Is it us? You knew you would wed well and leave us eventually. You’re too pretty to remain in Longbourn.”

“It’s . . .” She lifted her reddened face, revealing the tragic look in her eyes. “It’s . . . Oh Lizzy, I was hoping Mr. Bingley would propose. I can’t see marrying anyone else. But I have to. If I don’t, what will happen to Mary, Kitty, and Lydia? I know Mr. Bingley will be good to you, so you’ll be fine, but how can I marry Mr. Darcy when my heart is with Mr. Bingley, and how can I be happy knowing you have . . .” She shook her head. “How can Mr. Darcy be happy with me, either, once he realizes I love another?”

“I’m sure he knows you don’t love him,” Elizabeth said. Any man of reasonable intelligence would understand that and, for all his flaws, Mr. Darcy did seem to be intelligent.

Jane returned her face to her hands and wept.

“I don’t love Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said, though she thought he’d be eminently easier to get along with than Mr. Darcy. Still, an idea was beginning to take shape in her mind.

Jane lifted her head. “I do. I love Mr. Bingley,” she whispered.

“You do?” Elizabeth asked the question for confirmation. She’s already suspected as much.

“I know I should have told you, but I didn’t dare say anything. I feel he likes me, perhaps he even loves me, but I knew it might not be enough. I didn’t want to arouse your hopes for me.”

Elizabeth stabbed a piece of meat with a fork and held it out toward Jane. “Eat this.”

Jane shook her head.

“Will you eat all of this if I tell you of an idea that might get you your Mr. Bingley?” Elizabeth asked, gesturing toward the plate.

Jane nodded but her face betrayed her skepticism.

“We will switch,” Elizabeth said, knowing her idea was good enough there was no reason to force Jane to eat before hearing it. Maybe her sister would even want to eat, once she heard Elizabeth’s plan. “We are both compromised but Miss Bingley, for once in her life, was right. If we marry someone else immediately, it won’t matter.”

“There will still be talk,” Jane said, but she’d stopped crying.

“If we all remain friends, people will stop gossiping eventually, and I see no reason why we shouldn’t. We four all know nothing happened, after all, and Bingley and Darcy are already friends.” She reached out and took Jane’s hand. “You and I will always be friends.”

Jane smiled, though tumultuously. Elizabeth considered that enough of a victory and took up the plate, proffering it. Jane accepted it and took a bite of meat.

“At least, you and I will always remain friends if I don’t steal the man you love,” Elizabeth added, only half in jest.

“Would you truly wed a man who finds you merely tolerable for my sake? Can I even ask it of you?”

“Of course you can,” Elizabeth said, trying not to grimace at the reminder of how Mr. Darcy saw her. She wondered if he would agree to her plan, as Jane was much lovelier than she and by far sweeter. What man would willingly give Jane up? Especially when offered Elizabeth in exchange. “I’m sure tolerable is a proper basis for a relationship. I shouldn’t know what to do with a man who looked on me the way Mr. Bingley looks on you.”

“Do you really think Mr. Bingley looks on me in a particular way?”

“I certainly do,” Elizabeth said. She nudged the plate, bringing Jane’s attention out of the clouds and back to her food.

Smiling, Jane ate a bit more. Elizabeth gave her a half hug before standing and crossing to the desk. Now that Jane was eating, she realized she was hungry as well. At least, as hungry as she could be with the prospect of wedding Mr. Darcy before her. As she ate, she mentally reiterated the reasons she’d given Jane for why marrying Mr. Darcy wouldn’t be as terrible as it first seemed.

She wondered if she could add one more reason, recalling he had a sister. She worried Miss Darcy would prove as arrogant as Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley, but there was no way to know. Deciding to take the positive view, Elizabeth moved Miss Darcy into the role of potential friend.

In spite of her attempts to reassure herself, Elizabeth lay awake for most of the night. She spent a great deal of the hours on either side of midnight scouring her mind for a way to get out of marrying either man that wouldn’t leave her unweddable and her younger sisters nearly so. Unfortunately, in this her intellect failed her. Why had she felt compelled to call down from the window? She should have waited until there was an immediate danger before taking that step.

Finally giving up on that unfruitful line of thought in the wee hours of the morning, her mind turned to how she would convince the gentlemen of her plan. She didn’t think it would be difficult to persuade Mr. Bingley. Though Jane worried he didn’t care for her enough to want to wed her, Elizabeth had little doubt on the matter. In fact, she was sure Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst’s coldness stemmed in part from their realization their brother had feelings for Jane.

Mr. Darcy, however, was another matter. He was so strictly proper, he may not be predisposed to compromise. He wouldn’t enjoy having people whisper he and his friend shared more than hunting excursions and brandy. Worse, if she didn’t convince Mr. Darcy to switch, poor Jane would be wedding a man who was willing to make both her and his closest friend miserable for the sake of propriety. Finally, near dawn, Elizabeth drifted to sleep, her mind still in a state of turmoil and with a lingering sense of anger toward Mr. Darcy, though he’d yet to disagree with her plan.

Chapter Three

Darcy

Darcy ate his meal in growing annoyance, trying not to listen as Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst discussed various ways he and Bingley could get out of the marriages. The sisters tried to engage the three gentlemen in the conversation, but neither he nor Bingley would agree to anything other than acting with honor. Darcy wouldn’t have felt as uncharitable toward the two women as he was beginning to if not for the fact he was sure they knew anything other than the marriages would ruin the reputations of the Miss Bennets. Yes, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst knew, and did not care.

Finally, Mr. Hurst set down his fork with a loud clatter. “It won’t do. Darcy and Bingley are gentlemen, and getting them to behave as if they aren’t is neither possible nor desirable. Come, Louisa, it’s time for us to retire. It’s been a long day and I didn’t get my nap in.”

Mr. Hurst stood, Darcy immediately following suit. Bingley rose as well, though Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst looked mutinous. Miss Bingley opened her mouth to speak.

“It’s been a long day for us all,” Darcy said, stepping back from the table. “Sleep would be welcome.” Though he knew he wouldn’t be able to accomplish it.

“I agree,” Bingley said, casting Miss Bingley a firm look.

They all filed out, retreating to their respective rooms. Darcy admitted to himself there was an element of cowardice in his retreat. He suspected Bingley was as reluctant as he was to listen to more arguments from Miss Bingley.

Knowing he couldn’t sleep yet, Darcy didn’t bother readying for bed, electing instead to read. It took him only three passes attempting comprehension of the same paragraph to admit his mind wouldn’t be put off contemplating marriage to Miss Bennet, and not Elizabeth, by dry words on husbandry. Setting the book aside, he went down to the billiards room.

He found Bingley already there. Bingley glanced over and set out a second cue ball without speaking. Darcy selected a cue and moved beside Bingley for the lagged shot. He made a poorer show of it than usual, but Bingley’s shot was outright disastrous, his ball skittered across the table and into a side rail. Bingley scowled.

Several more shots from each of them made it clear they weren’t in any state to play a good game. After a fourth terrible shot, Darcy decided silence wasn’t helping. “We do have to marry, you know,” he said.

“I know.” Bingley made another poor shot, hardly seeming to look at the table.

“Miss Elizabeth is a charming woman and will make you a good wife.” Although she would make me a better one, Darcy added to himself.

“I know,” Bingley repeated.

Apparently talking wasn’t helping any more than silence had. Bingley set up the balls for a new game, though Darcy hadn’t been paying enough attention to realize one of them had won the first.

“Miss Bennet will be an attractive mistress of Pemberley,” Bingley said as the second match got underway.

“She is beautiful,” Darcy said, wondering at the harsh edge to Bingley’s tone. “Unfortunately, she will not be happy there.”

“Why not?” Bingley cast him a sharp look. “I assume you intend to treat her well.”

“I plan to,” Darcy said, but it was a different plan that occupied his mind. One on which he must carefully assess Bingley’s feelings. It wouldn’t do to have his friend disagree with his proposal, choose to wed Elizabeth, and then spend a lifetime worrying Darcy had designs on her. “But the ton won’t treat her well. My aunt Catherine, in particular, will be very unkind and some others in the family might follow her lead. I don’t see Miss Bennet standing up to my relatives or London’s elite, do you? A woman with more self-assurance would be better able to weather the storm until the majority of them came to accept her, but Miss Bennet is unfalteringly gentle and too obliging to ever assert herself.”

“You will take her side.” Bingley’s words sounded more like an order than a question. He glared at Darcy.

“Of course I will. I’m not a beast. Most of my family and the ton will eventually be swayed by her charms. Not my aunt, but everyone else.” Did Bingley in fact wish to marry Elizabeth? Darcy had thought for sure his friend would hit upon the idea of taking Miss Bennet to wife by now. Had he, and this was his way of conveying he wouldn’t be willing to trade sisters?

“Lady Catherine is a tartar, isn’t she? But if she is really unkind, I assume you will bar her from Pemberley.” Bingley took another shot.

“Of course,” Darcy said, trying to hide his exasperation. “I would have to allow something suitably terrible to happen between them first, though. I can’t bar my aunt from Pemberley on the suspicion she might eventually upset Miss Bennet.”

“So it would only happen once,” Bingley said looking pleased.

“With Lady Catherine.” Darcy decided to expound so even Bingley must see what he was truly speaking about. “London society will be worse. The whispering will be behind her back and the disdain will be like an iceberg, there but mostly hidden. As with an iceberg, there will be sharp cuts that will injure her when she touches upon it.” He paused, hoping Bingley was considering what that would do to a woman as sensitive and kindhearted as Miss Bennet.

“Miss Bennet will be hurt and not know why,” Bingley said, frowning. He sounded truly distressed now.

Darcy didn’t answer, letting Bingley think things through.

Bingley leaned on his billiard cue, his look one of obvious despondency. “I’d convinced myself it was for the best, that she would be truly happy with you and all you have to offer. We both know you’re the finest of men, Darcy, and quite well off. I couldn’t wish for more for Miss Bennet. I hadn’t considered that side of things, though.” Bingley shook his head. “But you have to marry her. There’s no help for it.”

“Someone has to marry her.”

Bingley stared at the floor for a long moment. Finally, he lifted stricken eyes to meet Darcy’s. “I love her,” Bingley blurted out.

Darcy let out a slow, quiet breath. “Then marry her. Your sister was right. If both of the Miss Bennets marry immediately there will be very little scandal.”

“You would marry Miss Elizabeth?”

Bingley’s surprise drove home how much he cared for Miss Bennet, and how good a friend he was. Bingley had been doing him a favor, trying to allow Darcy to keep the sister he deemed far more desirable, even though he loved her. “I prefer Miss Elizabeth.” That was an understatement, but Darcy saw no reason to belabor the point. Let Bingley feel the woman he loved was the superior of the two. “Miss Elizabeth would be able to cope with being my wife. I wouldn’t have to constantly protect her.”

“Will they consent?” Bingley asked, obviously eager to accept Darcy’s assessment of the situation. “Miss Bennet might prefer Pemberley to Netherfield Park.”

“I think her decision will be based more on whether she prefers you to me. We can ask.”

Bingley nodded. “Another game?” he asked with considerably higher spirits than he’d shown thus far that evening.

“Another game,” Darcy agreed.

In the end, they played three more games, Darcy winning two. Bingley would have carried on into the night, but Darcy elected to sleep. He didn’t think the following day would be much less busy than the one they were completing.

As if to prove himself correct, Darcy rose early the next morning, his mind full of what must be done. He readied for the day amid a lingering odor of smoke. Before going down to breakfast, he wrote a note to Mr. Bennet requesting his presence with some urgency, sending it off with a footman. Darcy was careful to include that both Miss Bennets were unhurt, for word of the near-fire might well have reached the Bennet family. He didn’t wish his summons to be misconstrued to mean any physical harm had befallen Miss Bennet or Elizabeth.

Darcy was unsurprised when Mr. Bennet was announced as he lingered over breakfast with Bingley and Miss Bingley. Darcy had hoped Mrs. Bennet would remain at home, but looked on with resignation when she followed her husband’s hurried steps into the parlor. All three of the diners stood, Darcy and Bingley bowing.

“Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Bennet, how good of you to join us,” Darcy said. He looked to Bingley. “I think the library would be more private and offer adequate seating? I will send a footman for the Miss Bennets.”

“So this does concern my daughters?” Mr. Bennet said, frowning. “Both of them?”

“Oh heavens,” Mrs. Bennet said, fanning herself. “Both of my daughters in trouble! Both, at once. This is your fault, Mr. Bennet. You always have been too lenient with them. Especially Elizabeth.”

Ignoring that, Darcy moved toward the door, gesturing that the Bennets should precede him from the room. Behind him, he could hear Bingley and Miss Bingley following. Darcy allowed Bingley to pass, but turned to block the parlor door as Miss Bingley approached. In the hall, he could hear Bingley talking to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet.

“Mr. Darcy,” Miss Bingley said, her look and tone aloof.

“There is no reason not to finish your breakfast, Miss Bingley.”

“I would much rather attend this meeting in the library. It might be I can still do something to halt this travesty.”

“I fail to comprehend that a travesty is about to take place.” Darcy frowned, hoping his displeasure would influence her to obedience.

“You may not, as you intend to wed Miss Bennet. Though low and tarnished by vulgar relations, she is as lovely a creature as has ever graced English soil. My brother, however, is to be harnessed to the odious Miss Elizabeth. Even if I am to give up on directing you into a more desirable union, you can’t expect me to take that harridan as a sister.”

Darcy counted them all fortunate she kept her voice low. Behind him, Bingley was directing the Bennets toward the library. “You will be pleased to know then, Miss Bingley, there has been a change of plans.” Delight flashed in her eyes, so he hurried on, not meaning to torture her, though it could be argued she may deserve it. “It is our intention to propose your brother marry the lovely Miss Bennet. I shall endeavor to claim Miss Elizabeth’s hand. You may rejoice in knowing I intend to spare you her as a sister.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. She attempted to peer past him. “I cannot see why you are both determined to ruin your lives over the reputations of two country girls. Why, with parents like theirs, and living here on the outskirts of any sort of civilization, they likely aren’t even—”

“Miss Bingley,” Darcy interrupted her before she could utter an insult to his future wife he wouldn’t easily forget, or forgive. “Your brother and I are determined to uphold the values of our society and to comport ourselves as all true gentlemen must. I am needed in the library. You are to finish your meal. Your presence will not make this easier for anyone.”

Assuming by her sputtering indignation and reddened face he’d made himself clear, Darcy turned from the room. “Please ask the Miss Bennets to join us in the library,” he said to the footman standing outside the breakfast parlor. It occurred to him the man must have heard all that had passed between him and Miss Bingley, but there was no help for it now.

“Yes, sir,” the footman said, hurrying away.

Darcy made quick work of reaching the library. He strode in and closed the door before turning to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, who were seated together on a long sofa. Bingley had taken a chair to their right. He perched nervously on the edge, his hands clenched tightly together.

“Darcy,” Bingley said, standing. “I was about to come looking for you.”

“Please, don’t get up,” Darcy said as the Bennets made to rise. He moved to stand before them, preferring not to sit. “I’m sure by now you’ve heard something of the excitement that took place here yesterday.”

“It’s all over this morning that there was a fire,” Mrs. Bennet said. “We were readying to come here when your message arrived. I can’t imagine why you didn’t send word last night. I was terrified for my daughters. It was most discourteous of you, Mr. Darcy. I would have thought better of you, Mr. Bingley, I really would have.”

“There was much to be done yesterday evening,” Darcy said. “I took the calculated risk a message sent this morning would arrive at a similar time to news of the event. As you can see, there was no fire. It was merely a clogged chimney, filling the manor with smoke.”

“No fire?” Mrs. Bennet looked around, as if only now realizing the library they occupied was still standing.

“I think that was obvious both from Mr. Darcy’s letter and upon our arrival, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said, though he didn’t take his attention off Darcy. “But I don’t believe reassurance is why Mr. Darcy asked us to come with haste.”

“Indeed not,” Bingley said. “Not that reassurance isn’t better swiftly given. Of course it is. No, there’s the . . . the matter of your daughters.” He blurted the last part before returning his nervous gaze to Darcy.

“My daughters?” Mrs. Bennet repeated. “You said they are well. Your letter said they are well. Where are they? I must see them for myself.”

“I have requested their presence,” Darcy said.

“Perhaps you should allow Mr. Darcy to explain, my dear,” Mr. Bennet said, placing a calming hand over one of his wife’s.

Darcy nodded his thanks to the man. “Not realizing there wasn’t a fire, two actions took place. I carried Miss Bennet from her room, in her nightclothes, and to the stable, where we remained in the tack room alone for some time. It was necessary, as she was too overcome by the smoke to remove herself from the home and too cold and ill to stay out of doors.”

Mrs. Bennet regarded him with wide eyes. Mr. Bennet frowned, though the look was more thoughtful than angry.

“And I was alone with Miss Elizabeth,” Bingley blurted, coming to his feet. “I was on my way to save Miss Bennet when I fell and hit my head.”

Bingley gestured to his forehead and Darcy realized there was a mark and swelling. He also realized Bingley’s embarrassment, as his friend’s face was turning a startling shade of pink.

“Miss Elizabeth dragged Mr. Bingley into an unused room, as he was unconscious and she couldn’t take him outside,” Darcy said, realizing Bingley was having difficulty finding the correct words.

“She saved me. I could have died of smoke inhalation in that hall, even if there was no fire,” Bingley said. His color deepened. “We were alone in the room for quite some time.”

“Ruined,” Mrs. Bennet cried. “My daughters are ruined! Oh, my poor Jane. She had no choice, of course, but Elizabeth! How could she? Locking herself in a room with a man. The girl has always been too strong headed. I blame you for this shame, Mr. Bennet. You encourage her.” She looked back and forth between Darcy and Bingley. “Well, what are you gentlemen going to do about this? You have ruined my daughters, though I daresay Elizabeth ruined herself, as I always feared she would, and now Lydia, Kitty and Mary will never wed.”

Mrs. Bennet glared at them, and even Mr. Bennet looked quite severe. Darcy was glad they’d already decided to do the honorable thing. “We shall wed them, of course,” he said.

Mrs. Bennet surged to her feet, her eyes bright with joy. "Good gracious! Lord bless me! only think! Dear me! Mr. Darcy! Who would have thought it! And is it really true? Oh! my sweetest Jane! how rich and how great she will be! What pin-money, what jewels, what carriages you will have! Bingley is nothing to it— nothing at all. I am so pleased—so happy. Such a charming man!—so handsome! So tall!— A house in town! Every thing that is charming! Two daughters married! Ten thousand a year! Oh, Lord! What will become of me. I shall go distracted."

Mr. Bennet stood as well, his expression still troubled.

“This is all dependent on your daughters agreeing,” Darcy cautioned. “They haven’t yet.”

“Of course they will agree. How couldn’t they? Well, Lizzy is sometimes stubborn, but Jane will see it is her duty.” Mrs. Bennet turned to Bingley. “Not that there’s any reason at all Lizzy shouldn’t wish to marry you. You’re a wonderful man, to be sure. No, it will be some nonsense on her part, I’m sure, but don’t you worry. I shall make her understand. She will have to agree. If not for herself, then she will think of her sisters.”

Bingley cast Darcy a panicked look, revealing how sincerely he wished to wed Miss Bennet, not Miss Elizabeth. Darcy understood his fear. He, also, didn’t wish Bingley to blunder into saying anything that would weld him to Elizabeth. Darcy opened his mouth to explain their plan when a knock sounded at the door. Being nearest, he turned and opened it, revealing the Miss Bennets.

“Jane,” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed as her daughters entered. “How wonderful! You’re going to marry Mr. Darcy.”

“Papa, Mama,” Elizabeth said. She closed the door behind them and led her sister to a sofa before sitting beside her.

Taking that as a cue, Darcy took the chair opposite the one Bingley stood before. Darcy was pleased to see both women looked better than they had the night before. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet retook their place on the sofa opposite their daughters. Finally, Bingley sat, though his gaze was riveted on Miss Bennet, as hers was on him.

“And you shall marry Mr. Bingley,” Mr. Bennet said to Elizabeth, though it sounded much like a question.

“That remains to be seen,” Elizabeth said.

Her tone showed no anger, but was firm. She sat with her back straight and her chin slightly raised. Her beautiful eyes were bright and slightly narrowed. Darcy couldn’t help but think on how much better a mistress for Pemberley she would make than Miss Bennet.

“Of course you have to marry Mr. Bingley,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You saved his life and he owes you. You were compromised. You must marry him. And Jane must marry Mr. Darcy. It will be wonderful for both of you.”

Darcy pulled his eyes away from Elizabeth to assess her sister’s thoughts on Mrs. Bennet’s speech. Miss Bennet appeared much less pleased than when she’d entered the room. Whereas at first he’d thought her much improved from the day before, now she was pale and sorrowful.

“Mama,” Elizabeth began.

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me, Elizabeth,” Mrs. Bennet said. “You must think of your sisters. You must think of poor Lydia, Kitty and Mary. You’ll ruin them as well. You--”

“Mrs. Bennet,” Mr. Bennet interrupted. “Please let our daughters have their say.”

“What can they say? They have to marry. The only question is whether it should be by a special license or if banns should be read. I think a special license—”

“Mrs. Bennet! Let our daughters speak.”

Mrs. Bennet fell silent. Elizabeth nodded to her father, looking relieved. “Mama, Jane and I talked about this last night. We know we must marry.”

“That’s what I s—”

“Mrs. Bennet!” Mr. Bennet interrupted. He turned pointedly back to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, her gaze turned toward her father. “Jane doesn’t really want to admit this, but she loves Mr. Bingley. If we switch, both of our reputations will recover, especially if we all remain friends.”

“Switch? Why should Jane switch? Mr. Darcy is richer,” Mrs. Bennet said.

“Really?” Bingley exclaimed.

For a moment, Darcy wondered how Bingley didn’t know he was worth less a year, but then he realized his friend’s eyes were locked on Miss Bennet’s blushing visage. Bingley’s exclamation wasn’t about their relative wealth.

Jane looked at the floor. “I would never have said anything to anyone, but I can’t let this happen without at least trying. If you prefer my sister, I understand. I will not hold it against either of you. I know Elizabeth and I have to marry and I am grateful to Mr. Darcy for rescuing me, but I would never be as happy with him as I would…”

Her voice trailed off as Bingley stood, only to drop to a knee before her. “Miss Bennet, I love you. Darcy and I talked about this possibility. He even said Miss Elizabeth would be a better wife for him. I was considering asking you to marry me even before this . . . incident. You would make me the happiest of men if you would consent to be my wife.”

Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth to speak.

“Not a word,” Mr. Bennet said quietly to her. “Look at Jane’s happiness.”

Darcy looked as well. Miss Bennet was beaming.

“Oh, I will,” she said. “I will marry you, Mr. Bingley.”

Bingley stood, lifting Miss Bennet to her feet to embrace her.

Darcy cleared his throat. He turned to Elizabeth. He wished he dared make a production of the matter, getting down on one knee for her as she deserved, but something told him she wouldn’t react as her sister had and he’d no wish to humble himself before the room. “Miss Elizabeth, will you marry me?”

“The need is less now,” she said.

He frowned, wishing her a bit more enthusiastic. “The need is the same. Your sister will marry with a bit of a scandal. If both of you have bad reputations, your younger sisters will be affected. If we marry, no one will care.”

“Very well,” she said, nodding curtly.

She didn’t stand, so he remained seated. Her brow was marked by a single worry line. Darcy wondered why she wasn’t better pleased. He was a highly desirable match. Most women would leap at the chance to marry him. Did she not understand all he had to offer? He hoped, soon, the fact she’d made a commendable choice would become clear to her.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth found herself ensconced in her father’s carriage, sitting across from her parents with Jane.

“Oh, to think, two daughters about to be wed!” her mother cried. “And Jane, you are so good, to take Mr. Bingley, though I’m sure I don’t know how I raised you to be so terrible to your own sister, Elizabeth. Stealing Mr. Darcy from her like that.”

“Mama, I love Mr. Bingley,” Jane said. “I’ve loved him since we danced at the assembly. Elizabeth is making a match with Mr. Darcy to be kind to me.”

“I daresay she’s convinced you as much,” their mother said, frowning at Elizabeth.

“I certainly don’t want Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said. “If Jane liked him even half so much as she loves her Mr. Bingley, I wouldn’t have made the offer. Nor would I wed him, if the situation were half so dire.”

“Not wed him?” her mother cried. She looked about, as if someone might overhear Elizabeth and, having done so, somehow stop the match. “Of course you must wed him. He’s worth ten thousand a year!”

“I would never agree to marry for wealth, no matter how great, where I hold no regard, Mama,” Elizabeth said. “The only reason I’ve consented to this match at all is because I love my sisters.”

“Of course you love your sisters,” her mother said. “I raised you well, after all.” Her eyes went dreamy. “I simply can’t wait until church. You must ready quickly. I shall tell everyone the news. Absolutely everyone.”

Elizabeth sighed, turning to look out the window. She wished she’d argued more astutely. Now there would be no turning back. As soon as her mother reached the church, the world would know and the matter would be well and truly settled. Elizabeth still wasn’t sure this sacrifice was required of her, or that her younger sisters would even appreciate it.

Jane marrying Mr. Bingley would likely be enough to save her sisters prospects. To be sure, Elizabeth’s own reputation would not recover if she didn’t wed, but it may be it would be better to die an old maid than shackle herself to a pretentious man who condescended to wed her out of some misguided sense of nobility, which was in truth only a cunning guise for his own pride. For self-sacrificing nobility, especially where not wanted or warranted, was nothing more than an exercise in pride. In truth, it was Mr. Darcy’s own reputation and sense of worth he was safeguarding by offering for her, not hers.

If only she hadn’t overheard him at the assembly, she would be able to enter their union with hope for love between them. As it was, she knew very well how he felt about her. In truth, she was grudgingly impressed he held honor in high enough regard to make the sacrifice of taking her to wife.

As the carriage rolled up to Longbourn, Elizabeth found her gaze riveted on the view, filled with a bitter-sweet longing. It was good to be home, to step down on the familiar grounds, her younger sisters Mary, Kitty and Lydia coming out to greet them. She allowed herself to ignore her mother’s shrill voice and her younger sisters’ exclamations as she looked about, taking in the familiar facade, the trees and yard. All so dearly loved and soon to be behind her forever.

She’d always known she would leave someday, to be sure. At times, she’d looked toward that day with some amount of anticipation, and she would be lying if she pretended otherwise. She hadn’t expected her departure to come upon her so swiftly, though, or to be leaving with a man she hardly knew and far from loved.

“Jane, that is pleasing news,” Mary said, her unusually happy tone cutting into Elizabeth’s thoughts. “We are all aware you care for Mr. Bingley.”

“But Elizabeth will be stuck with that horrid Mr. Darcy,” Lydia cried.

“He’s not even an officer,” Kitty added.

“He is not horrid,” their mother said. “He’s wealthy.”

“A person can be both, Mama,” Mary said.

“Of course they cannot. Now hurry and ready for church. Wait until I tell Lady Lucas of this, and Mrs. Philips.”

Their mother spread her arms wide, ushering them indoors. Looking about, Elizabeth realized her father had already disappeared, no doubt uninterested in female chatter.

“Mama, church is for the betterment of your soul, not gossiping,” Mary said.

“Yes, indeed, and it does my soul good to have two daughters soon to be married, and to such distinguished gentlemen.”

Elizabeth hurried up the stairs, though she had little to do in her room save change her bonnet. She heard footsteps behind her and looked back to see Jane. In spite of her recent illness, Jane’s face had a beatific glow Elizabeth knew came from love. She couldn’t help but smile as they made their way into the room they shared, soon to be empty. She decided Jane’s happiness was more than enough for her. It would likely have to be.

There was a soft click as Jane closed the door behind them. “Lizzy,” she said in a tentative voice.

Elizabeth turned from her wardrobe to see worry creasing Jane’s face. “Whatever is it, dearest?”

“Are you sure you’re willing to switch? I can’t help but notice how sorrowful you seem and I know you wouldn’t appear so if you were wedding Mr. Bingley. No one could.”

Elizabeth conjured her recent glimpse of Jane’s happiness, allowing a real smile to form on her face. She crossed to her sister, her best friend, and took both of her hands. “I am more than sure. I am certain in all ways. You and Mr. Bingley are meant for one another and I could never come between that. I shall do quite well with my terribly rich, ten thousand pounds a year, Mr. Darcy.”

“I know you don’t care about his money.”

“No, but I daresay I’ll grow accustomed to it and learn to take solace in it when he’s gazing down his nose at me.”

Jane managed a laugh. “I suppose you shall, though if I know you, you’ll give most of your allowance to charity.”

“At first, but who knows how stodgy I may become once I’m the vaunted Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley?”

“You will become not one bit stodgy.” Jane’s expression became earnest. “And you shall visit as often as you like, for so long as you like. If he’s unbearable, you may visit twelve months out of the year if need be, but I just know he shan’t be. He and Mr. Bingley are such good friends, and they’re behaving with such honor, and he did rescue me and stay by me, Lizzy. He must be a better man than you think him. A good man who you shall grow to care for.”

Or a man who fancies himself heroic and above all others, Elizabeth thought. She couldn’t bring herself to dash Jane’s hopes for her, though. In truth, she harbored some small inkling of the same hope, though it was at odds with his officious behavior thus far. “I’m sure that will be the way of it. He will prove terribly delightful and I shall be very much in love and only need to visit you eleven months out of the year.” This brought back Jane’s smile, as Elizabeth had hoped it would, but her smile only emphasized how wan she looked. “Are you well enough to attend church?”

Jane let go of Elizabeth’s hands, pressing one of her own to her forehead. “In truth, I do feel rather spent, though I’m so extremely happy about Mr. Bingley, I don’t know how I should rest at all.”

“I think it’s best if you stay home and attempt it,” Elizabeth said. She crossed back to her wardrobe and took up the bonnet she was seeking. “You don’t want to be too unwell for your wedding.”

“Or my wedding night,” Jane said, her expression dreamy.

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, a bit shocked at her sister’s words.

Jane’s gaze refocused and she blushed. “I didn’t truly mean to say that aloud.”

“Then you definitely may not attend church,” Elizabeth said. “To bed with you, future Mrs. Charles Bingley.”

A besotted smile on her face, Jane said, “I spent the night either coughing or thinking about Bingley and didn’t get much sleep. I think I’ll sleep now, since it is settled.”

Elizabeth gave her a kiss on the cheek and hurried from the room, saying, “Dream of him.” She closed the door behind her, stopping to lean against it, her bonnet held loosely. She’d kept her tone light for Jane’s benefit, but she felt a slow tremor inside her.

In truth, she hadn’t given thought to the wedding night. Would Mr. Darcy exercise his marital rights over her? There was no reason he shouldn’t, yet she couldn’t like the idea. She hardly knew him. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine him kissing her, but she could only conjure up a frown on his face.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and shook her head. Jamming her bonnet on, she pushed away from the door. Mr. Darcy, as she well knew, only found her tolerable. It could be he would be no more eager to embark into intimacy with her than she was with him. Consoling herself with that, she headed downstairs.

“There you are, Lizzy,” her mother said, looking up. “Where is Jane? We’ll be late. At this rate, I’ll have no time to speak to anyone before the sermon begins. There will hardly be any point in going at all.”

“Mama,” Mary said, as she, Kitty, Lydia and their father stepped from the parlor into the hall. “I told you, attending church is for the betterment of your soul.”

“I believe your mother’s soul is in the finest state it shall ever achieve,” their father said. “Come, Lizzy, let us be off. I assume Jane is staying behind?”

“Behind? When I have such good news to share?” Elizabeth’s mother said.

“Yes, Papa,” Elizabeth said. “She is quite overwrought and not entirely recovered from her illness.”

Elizabeth reached the bottom step and they all shuffled out into the yard to the tune of her mother’s histrionics and piled back into the carriage. Elizabeth squeezed herself against the wall on the seat she shared with Mary and Kitty, trying to give her sisters more room and make herself as invisible as possible. Unable to care what her mother was saying any longer, she gazed at the familiar scenery.

Jane was lucky in more ways than one, Elizabeth realized, for Netherfield was near. Jane would be able to visit her family and her home as often as she liked, in addition to having the amiable Mr. Bingley as a husband. Elizabeth couldn’t begrudge her sister such happiness, though, or be sure she would count either as clear boons.

Though she loved Longbourn and Hertfordshire, she’d always expected to live a bit farther from her mother’s immediate reach. As for Mr. Bingley, it sometimes seemed to her he was too amiable. There would be nothing invigorating in a relationship with him, just smoothness and pleasantries.

There would also be his horrid sisters, although they might not be as horrid once the matter was permanent. They wouldn’t wish to alienate their brother, after all. Likely, it would all have worked itself out. She would have been happy living in Netherfield alongside Mr. Bingley.

Dismayed at her thoughts, Elizabeth sternly told herself she should not dwell on the possibility of being wedded to Mr. Bingley. She’d already agreed to marry Mr. Darcy. By doing so, she’d made two people happy. If she’d agreed to marry Mr. Bingley, no one would truly be happy.

Church was as unpleasant as Elizabeth had anticipated, though the sermon was well read. It would have been more enjoyable were she not surrounded by whispers about her and Jane, the loudest of which embarrassingly emanated from her mother. She endured the gaggle of well-wishers afterwards in an almost dumb state. Finally, her father appeared at her side.

“Did you get much sleep last night?” he inquired. “You do not look entirely well.”

“In fact very little, sir.”

“Come. We’ll take you home and get you to bed.”

“But Mr. Bennet, I simply must speak to—” her mother began.

“You’ve already spoken to everyone here three times,” her father said, shepherding his family into to their carriage.

Elizabeth was silent during the ride home, ignoring with equal tenacity her mother’s complaints and Mary’s attempts to engage anyone who would listen on the content of the sermon. Her father was correct. Elizabeth was quite tired. She went above stairs to join Jane as soon as they arrived. Elizabeth was worried the excitement of the past few days would keep her awake, but she was tired enough her thoughts were a nonsensical swirl. She was asleep within moments.

Hours later, she and Jane went downstairs. Elizabeth was a bit concerned, for what had eventually woken her was Jane’s cough, which still lingered. Jane hardly seemed to notice, though, her face even more wreathed in dreamy happiness than that morning.

Jane’s happiness made her more beautiful than ever. Elizabeth reflected that Mr. Bingley was a very fortunate man. Whatever her own worries were, at least Jane would be happy, and undoubtedly Mr. Bingley as well. They entered the parlor to find the rest of the family engaged in quiet pursuits, but their mother looked up immediately, setting her sewing aside.

“You missed Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley,” she told them. “You are getting married Wednesday. It’s too soon. I will barely have time to prepare a wedding breakfast and no time to assemble a trousseau. Mr. Darcy said Pemberley doesn’t need anything and you will go to town in January and you can replenish your wardrobe there. You’ll meet his family at Christmas. His sister will be staying with relatives and won’t visit right away, although he’s sent for her to come from London for the wedding. He doesn’t want any money from your father and said your share of the inheritance should be divided among your sisters. Isn’t that generous?”

Elizabeth frowned. “Is it generous to give something that means little to you?” Mr. Darcy had certainly wasted no time taking his position as master of her affairs. She glanced at her father, but he was looking at Jane.

“Of course it is,” her mother said. “Mr. Darcy is the soul of generosity. He is so respectable. Who would have thought you would marry so well, Elizabeth? Jane, of course, was always meant to, but I had no such hopes for you. None at all. I’m pleased he’s so eager to make it official. I won’t be able to sleep at night until I’m sure he won’t change his mind.”

“Jane, may I speak to you in the library?” their father said, setting aside the book he was holding to stand.

“Yes, Papa,” Jane said, following him out of the room.

Elizabeth was left with no choice but to stay. She sat in the seat her father had vacated, lifting the book he’d been reading in the hopes that would stop her mother from talking.

“You are inconsistent, Mama,” Mary said, looking up from her own book. “How can the wedding be both too soon and not soon enough? When I marry, there shall be sufficient time between the announcement of my engagement and the wedding. I wouldn’t want certain rumors circulating about me.”

“If Mary ever marries, no one will start a single rumor about that,” Lydia whispered loudly to Kitty.

“A wedding can never be too soon,” their mother said. “Only too late. You should all take note of how well Jane has done for herself. You should emulate your sister.”

“What about Lizzy?” Lydia asked, smirking.

“If it weren’t for Jane, Elizabeth wouldn’t have Mr. Darcy at all, to be sure,” their mother said.

As that was true, Elizabeth was glad Jane wasn’t there to hear it. Should her union with Mr. Darcy prove eternally unhappy, she would never want Jane to take blame for it upon herself. Unfortunately, it was looking more and more like her union was doomed before it began.

It was unforgivable of Mr. Darcy to go about planning her life so completely without consulting her. He’d given away her inheritance, though she would have agreed to it readily. He’d decided where and when she would wed, and whom she would meet at what times. It made matters even worse she had little recourse. Her only choices were to back out of the marriage or to go along with his plans.

She wouldn’t back out, for added to her original reasons for agreeing was the fact everyone in Hertfordshire already knew of the match by now. It irked her that she couldn’t even argue with him as his plans were entirely reasonable. Even so, part of her wanted to rebel, simply because she hadn’t been consulted on the date of the marriage or the plans for after it took place.

She was still ignoring her mother, pretending to read and seething over Mr. Darcy’s highhandedness when Jane returned. “Papa asked me to send you to him, Lizzy,” Jane said, taking a seat on the sofa beside their mother.

Elizabeth set down her father’s book and stood. Jane still had a besotted look on her face. She coughed, but her smile didn’t waver.

“Jane coughs and she’s getting married,” Kitty said as Elizabeth made her way from the room.

“Jane has been ill. You always cough,” Lydia said.

“Jane is much prettier of face and manner than you, Kitty,” their mother said. “Any man . . .”

Elizabeth counted herself fortunate to move beyond the sound of her mother’s voice. She stopped outside her father’s library and knocked. “It’s Elizabeth, Papa.”

“Come in.”

Elizabeth pushed the door open.

“Sit down,” her father said. He was seated behind his desk, which was covered with papers and books. “I want to tell you about Mr. Darcy’s visit, unless you wish to only hear your mother’s side of things?”

“I would rather hear yours, sir.” Elizabeth sat. She looked around at the shelf-lined walls. She would miss this room, but most devastating would be the daily absence of the man seated before her. She swallowed, realizing she was near to crying.

“You look sad, Lizzy. Has your mother finally managed to convince you of both your unworthiness and incredible fortune?”

Elizabeth laughed, though it sounded a bit like a sob. She blotted at her eyes and shook her head. “She has not, though it isn’t for lack of trying. I am going to miss you, Papa.”

“And I you, Lizzy,” her father said. He cleared his throat. “It is no secret you are my favorite. I fear with the departure of you and Jane, all reason shall leave this house. I would not have agreed to this if I didn’t see the necessity of it and believe them both to be good men.”

“I know, Papa.” Elizabeth hadn’t realized her father respected Mr. Darcy. Hearing him say so gave her fresh hope for her future. Still . . . “Mr. Darcy has been highhanded in deciding my fate. You must agree to that, sir.”

“I must not, for I generally refuse to agree to things that are grossly untrue. Mr. Darcy told us the earliest he could arrange for settlements was Wednesday.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to speak. “He was perfectly willing to marry the following week or even to wait for banns. Your mother and Mr. Bingley both wanted the marriages to take place as soon as possible. Mr. Darcy did say you and Jane should be consulted on the date.”

“I suppose Mama decided the earliest date is best,” Elizabeth said. She felt slightly better knowing Mr. Darcy had at least advanced the idea of consulting her on when her own wedding was to take place.

“Yes, although in fairness, Mr. Bingley was just as eager for the earlier date.” Her father added a bemused smile to that caveat.

“I suppose I wouldn’t have had the heart to come between Jane and an expedient union. I do wish I’d not missed the opportunity to see Mr. Darcy, though. I hardly know him and I would have welcomed the chance to somewhat rectify that.”

“In that case, you will be pleased to know he and Mr. Bingley will call in the morning.”

“I am pleased,” Elizabeth allotted, though what she felt was as much nervous as mollified. “I should like the opportunity to better assess what sort of man Mr. Darcy is.”

“From what I can tell, he is a very generous man, among other things,” her father said. “At least, he intends to be very generous with you, even for a man of his wealth.” Her father went on to describe the settlement Mr. Darcy was planning for her.

Elizabeth had to agree Mr. Darcy was indeed generous. Almost shockingly so. She wondered if he was attempting to impress her or bribe her? Both possibilities once again put a pall over her hope of finding happiness with him, for he knew her so little as to think money would influence her. “That is very generous indeed,” she said when her father finished speaking.

He must have heard the disquiet in her tone, for he eyed her with concern. After a moment, he shook his head. “I nearly forgot,” he said, shuffling some papers about on his desk. He came up with a letter in an unfamiliar hand, which he passed to her. “This came while you were in Netherfield. Your cousin Mr. Collins is to arrive tomorrow for a visit.”

“Mr. Collins?” Elizabeth repeated, wondering what he could possibly want. He was her cousin and would inherit Longbourn on the death of her father. “What could he want?”

“I believe he comes to provide me with much needed amusement,” her father said.

Shaking her head with a slight smile, she skimmed the letter. Elizabeth was chiefly struck by his extraordinary deference for his patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and his kind intention of christening, marrying, and burying his parishioners whenever required.

"He must be an oddity, I think," said she. "I cannot make him out.—There is something very pompous in his style.—And what can he mean by apologizing for being next in the entail?—We cannot suppose he would help it if he could.—Could he be a sensible man, sir?"

"No, my dear, I think not. I have great hopes of finding him quite the reverse. There is a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter, which promises well. I am impatient to see him. If not for the upcoming weddings, he might offer us a tremendous amount of entertainment. As it is, I hope he shall be a distraction from my parting with you and Jane.”

Elizabeth handed the letter back and stood. As much as she hoped her father found the entertainment he sought, she couldn’t bring herself to care overmuch that her cousin was soon to arrive. She had too much to do, and too much to think on. “If you’ll excuse me, Papa, as I am to be married on Wednesday, I think I must begin sorting my belongings.”

“Yes, my dear, I suppose you must.” Sorrow shadowed his tone.

She leaned across his desk and kissed his cheek. “I’ll write, Papa, and visit.” If Mr. Darcy permits it, she added silently.

He nodded, managing a smile as she hurried away.

Elizabeth went to the room she shared with Jane, but she didn’t begin packing. Instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to gather her thoughts. Mr. Darcy hadn’t set the wedding date without considering her opinion. In truth, it sounded as if he was the only person who had. Even the ever-kind Mr. Bingley hadn’t been disposed to wait for her and Jane before settling on a date. Of course, Mr. Bingley might suppose Jane would wish the date to be as soon as possible, a supposition that was likely correct.

Did Mr. Darcy wanting to seek her thoughts truly mean he valued them, or was he regretting his offer and looking for a way to stave off the event? Was he being considerate or self-serving? She wished she hadn’t given in to the need to sleep. She’d squandered what was likely one of very few opportunities to learn something of the man she was about to bind herself to for life, assuming he wasn’t even now ruminating on a way out of the union.

Restless, Elizabeth rose and began to move about the room, picking up objects and setting them back down. After she stood for several long moments holding a comb, she realized she wasn’t so much sorting as memorizing. She turned in a slow circle, trying to etch every detail of the room into her mind. These were her last moments in a life that, while occasionally vexing, was one she loved and would never see again.

The rest of the day was dreary for her. Jane joined her in their room and the sorting truly began. After trying futilely to convince each other to take various accoutrements, they realized most should be left behind for their sisters. They were both to wed wealthy men. Unless something held a strong sentimental attachment, it seemed silly to take it to a place where they would undoubtedly have all they wished for while Mary, Kitty and Lydia stayed behind.

Dinner was punctuated by their mother’s and sisters’ babble and Jane’s blissful countenance. By the time they returned once more to their room, this time to sleep, Elizabeth was quite sure, did she not love Jane so very much, she would be terribly jealous of her. The dreamy expression Jane wore all evening was silent testament to how happy she was with her match, and Elizabeth couldn’t help but feel envy.

Elizabeth rose early the following morning, though she hadn’t slept well, and took care in readying for the day. She didn’t wear her best day dress, but rather her second best. She didn’t want the care she was taking to be of extra note. It wouldn’t do for Mr. Darcy to think she was desperate for his regard.

Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley arrived as near to the breakfast hour as was polite. Neither Elizabeth nor Jane had eaten much the night before or that morning, but they waved off their mother’s attempts to get the gentlemen to sit down for refreshments and made their way outside. It was a fine morning for a walk and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy soon outdistanced Jane and Mr. Bingley, who were lingering behind in a not very subtle attempt to be alone. Elizabeth minded not at all, for she wished to speak with Mr. Darcy.

“I’ve been told we are to wed as soon as possible,” she said, glancing at him askance.

“That is what has been agreed upon. I hope it is satisfactory to you?”

Elizabeth carefully examined his tone and face, but couldn’t decipher his feelings on the matter. “Is it agreeable to you, sir?”

“It is.”

She resisted the urge to frown. Those two words, coupled with his typical stoic demeanor, revealed nothing. She searched her mind for another topic, disregarding any reference to her afternoon spent packing. Words on leaving Longbourn would reveal too much sorrow.

“You were not given a choice of date,” Mr. Darcy said.

Or of wedding, Elizabeth thought, but she kept that provoking statement to herself.

“Where do you wish to travel to following the wedding?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“I hadn’t considered it,” Elizabeth said. In that moment she realized in spite of her sorrow at leaving, she hadn’t truly come to an understanding of how her life was about to change. Yes, she wouldn’t live in Longbourn with her family anymore, but that was not the whole of it. She would be going somewhere. A place she’d never been, with a man she hardly knew. He would be her husband, to be obeyed and given certain rights over her person. She swallowed, casting him another glance.

“I would be pleased to consider anywhere you wish, with the restriction it be no more than two day’s travel from Hertfordshire.”

“You are very kind, sir, and I suppose I ought to select somewhere extravagant or adventurous, or at least choose London.” That he’d brought up the question showed he’d given it more thought than she. He must have formed an opinion. “I would like to know, however, where it is you wish to go.”

“Pemberley,” he replied without hesitation. “It will be your home and you should get to know it. Also, my sister, my aunt and her daughter, my uncle and his family, including his grown children and their families, are all planning to come to Pemberley shortly before Christmas. They will understand if we cancel the invitation because of our marriage, but I would prefer them to come.”

“Then so be it.” She supposed meeting a good portion of her new relatives at once would be a trial, but it was a cheerful time of year and once she’d met them, she wouldn’t need to worry over meeting them. “I have no reason to avoid them.”

“You haven’t met my aunt. She will be very unhappy at my marrying you. She wanted me to marry her daughter.”

“You were spoken for?” Elizabeth couldn’t believe he would throw someone over for the sake of her reputation.

“No. It is a lifelong desire of hers. My and my Cousin Anne’s lives, that is. I have never consented.”

“Will she be rude to me?”

“Yes, but she is rude to everyone unless they are higher ranking and wealthier than she is. My mother’s father was an earl. My aunt, Lady Catherine, is my late mother’s sister.”

“Lady Catherine de Bourgh?”

“You know my aunt?”

“I do not,” she said, wondering if the surprise in his tone was an insult to her or a judgment on his aunt. “My cousin who is on his way to visit, Mr. Collins, is Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s rector. He spoke highly of her in his letter to my father.”

“I see.”

“He will dine with us tomorrow. I am to extend an invitation for you to do so as well, as Jane will to Mr. Bingley.”

“It is my hope you and Miss Bennet will dine with us this evening, in Netherfield,” Mr. Darcy said. “It is not my place to issue the invitation, but I am certain Mr. Bingley will already have conveyed it to Miss Bennet.”

“I’m certain he will have,” Elizabeth said, not looking forward to the occasion. She was sure Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley would be there, and they were likely to be even less pleasant company than in the past. Mr. Darcy may have a snobbish aunt, but at least he didn’t have Miss Bingley as a sister. Elizabeth supposed she would need to become accustomed to some of Mr. Darcy’s acquaintances disapproving of her based solely on her family’s station, and judge them accordingly.

Chapter Four

Darcy

Darcy remained in his room until nearly dinnertime, worried he would be unable to conceal his anxiety. He’d reviewed his walk with Elizabeth and been unable to find any enthusiasm on her part. She’d spoken to him with all politeness, but had seemed untouched by anything resembling the looks Miss Bennet bestowed on Bingley. Darcy was beginning to suspect Elizabeth did not truly wish to marry him. He only hoped it was due to a lack of acquaintance, not an outright lack of regard.

It seemed hardly fathomable to him that in the time they’d spent together, her feelings for him hadn’t grown more appreciative, as his had for her. Why, their every interaction, each parley, showed him how well suited they were. All else aside, she should be pleased enough to wed him for his wealth. Any other woman would be.

Dinner turned out to be much less satisfactory than their walk. Mrs. Hurst made continuous attempts to belittle and exclude Elizabeth and Miss Bennet. Mr. Hurst, as usual, did not seem to care. Bingley and Miss Bennet obviously didn’t even notice, which at least spared Miss Bennet’s feelings. Elizabeth was overly subdued, causing Darcy to worry she would not, in fact, be able to stand up to his family. Only Miss Bingley forwent increasing his displeasure in the evening, likely recognizing continued objections to the marriages would only serve to antagonize the people whose goodwill was important to her.

After an unpleasant meal where he hardly managed to speak with Elizabeth, who spoke little to anyone, Darcy braced himself for an equally disagreeable dinner at Longbourn the following evening. The entire Bennet family would be there, along with the unmet cousin. Darcy disliked meeting new people as a general rule and had little hope for a man who spoke highly of his aunt.

When the occasion arrived, the cousin confirmed his dislike. Darcy had never had a high regard for his aunt’s judgment, but his opinion was lowered further by the knowledge Lady Catherine had selected Mr. Collins for the church she attended. Early in the evening, Darcy came to the conclusion that, much as the night before, this dinner was to be endured, not enjoyed. He consoled himself that the following evening he and Elizabeth would finally be alone.

“I say, excuse me,” Mr. Collins’ nasal tone broke into Darcy’s musings. “That is, Mr. Darcy? I beg your pardon, sir, but I cannot remain silent on a matter that is most troubling to me. I am sorry, sir, but I must issue a reprimand.”

Darcy turned to regard Collins, having no notion what the man spoke of but assuming his expression would deter elaboration.

“A what? Mr. Collins,” Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. “How can you say such a thing to Mr. Darcy? He is above reproach in all regards. I simply will not have you speak that way at my table. Mr. Bennet, do something.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Bennet,” Mr. Collins said. “I cannot stay silent. Lady Catherine would not approve of it.”

“Whatever did Mr. Darcy do?” Miss Lydia blurted into the silence that overtook the table.

Mr. Collins turned toward him again.

Darcy frowned. He had no curiosity for what the man wished to say. If it had to do with his aunt, it was sure to be vexing.

“Mr. Darcy, forgive me, but I must put the question to you.” Mr. Collins’ doughy features were resolute. “How can you marry Miss Elizabeth when you are engaged to Miss Anne de Bourgh?”

Gasps of surprise could be heard around the table.

“I am not engaged to Miss de Bourgh. I never have been.”

“Lady Catherine said you are,” Mr. Collins said.

“My aunt is mistaken. She took idle talk between her and my mother to constitute an engagement. I never consented to it.”

“You are being gallant, and it’s laudable, sir, but gallantry should not come before doing what is right. If Miss Elizabeth is compromised, I can marry her. This would free you to honor Lady Catherine’s wish and marry Miss de Bourgh. The special license could be used for me instead of you.”

Darcy felt coldness wash through him. He didn’t wish to look at Elizabeth. Was this why she was unenthusiastic about marrying him? When she brought up her cousin the previous morning, was it with affection? He hadn’t thought so at the time. Could he have misjudged her so completely? “I would not hold Elizabeth to an engagement if she prefers to wed another.” Darcy kept a level gaze on Mr. Collins, hoping no one saw how difficult that statement was for him to utter.

“Not marry Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Bennet gasped. “I won’t hear of it. I won’t abide it. Elizabeth, tell Mr. Collins as much.”

Elizabeth didn’t speak, and Darcy still couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He’d gathered she wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about marrying him, but could she possibly prefer the idiot Collins and living under the thumb of Lady Catherine? Darcy’s chest tightened as the silence at the table drew out.

Mr. Collins turned to Elizabeth. “Cousin Elizabeth, surely you would not want to offend Lady Catherine de Bourgh? I can offer you a comfortable living and in time, Longbourn. You should not marry out of your class. I can offer you a nice parsonage and the gratitude of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Thank you for your offer, but I will go through with the original plan,” Elizabeth said.

Darcy looked at her, finally able to breath. He wanted to smile at her, but her attention was still on Mr. Collins.

“I am offering you a worthy life in the service of Lady Catherine, myself and God,” Mr. Collins said. “I am not sure you understand what you’re saying. You’ll never be happy in Pemberley trying to rise above where you belong, and you will be going against Lady Catherine, a most worthy patroness. Only think on what you are doing, denying the wishes of your betters and those who know better.”

“Mr. Collins, I have known you for less than a day.”

“That doesn’t signify. From what I’ve gathered, you’ve known Mr. Darcy not much longer.”

“Then let me finish my thought, Mr. Collins,” Elizabeth said, her voice taking on an edge of anger. “I have known you for less than a day, and before that only from your letter to my father, but already I know I would make a terrible wife to you. There is no way in which I could please you or your Lady Catherine, and I daresay there isn’t any way in which you could please me. Even were Mr. Darcy and I not already engaged, even if I had never before met him, even if I despised him above all others, my answer to your proposal, such as it was, would still be no.”

Darcy coughed to hide a bark of laughter, covering his mouth so no one would see his smile. That was one of the things he enjoyed about Elizabeth, her clarity. At the end of the table, Miss Lydia whispered something to Miss Kitty. They both giggled. Miss Bennet looked down at her plate, smiling slightly, while Mrs. Bennet looked smug.

“But I want to marry one of my cousins,” Mr. Collins said, sounding quite bereaved. “Lady Catherine suggested I could make up for the entail by doing so. She insisted, kindly of course, that I wed one of my cousins.”

Mrs. Bennet’s eyes lit. “Of course Lizzy has to marry Mr. Darcy, but I have three younger daughters, each one more lovely and biddable than the last.”

“Mama, how can you even suggest it?” Miss Lydia said. She turned to Mr. Collins. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man in the world.”

“Neither would I,” Miss Kitty chimed in.

“I would,” Miss Mary said.

Darcy looked at her in astonishment. Of Mrs. Bennet’s offspring, Miss Mary was the second least likely to speak so brazenly. He took in the surprise on the faces of the others as well.

“All of my sisters are beautiful. I am not,” Miss Mary said. “Elizabeth spends a couple of hours a week practicing the pianoforte. I practice that much in a day, yet people prefer her performances. Jane draws a bit but has no other accomplishments. Nevertheless, everyone admires her and likes her. I offer the wisdom I’ve gained from books from greater minds than I could meet here and my sayings are treated with scorn.”

Darcy glanced around to see how the others were taking Miss Mary’s speech. Elizabeth’s cheeks showed the heightened color of a blush. Mr. Bennet looked a little chagrined.

“My mother and younger sisters despise me because I am not pretty,” Mary continued.

Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth as if to deny it.

“I have done everything I can to make myself attractive to men,” Miss Mary continued without allowing her mother to speak. “I have pursued accomplishments with a dedication few can match, but no one respects me for it. With my sisters’ marriages I am confident I will not be allowed to starve, but I want my own household, my own life.”

Mr. Collins stared at her in astonishment. Another glance around the table showed Mr. Darcy everyone else did as well. The room was silent. Not even Mrs. Bennet or Miss Lydia seemed to know what to say.

Miss Mary looked directly at Mr. Collins. “If you and I marry, I will spend all of my energy being the best wife possible. I will use your wisdom as my guide rather than books. I will try to make you as happy and comfortable as possible, not just in gratitude for your marrying me, but because it is in my best interests to have a happy husband.”

Mr. Collins’s mouth gaped open. He closed it, then opened it again. “Delicate ladies want to be wooed before accepting a proposal,” he finally blurted.

“Obviously, I am not delicate. Nor are you proposing to me. You expressed a general desire to marry one of us and I am the only one who will accept you. Will you marry me?”

Mr. Collins looked wildly around the room. Darcy suspected if he were in Collins position he would get up and leave.

Instead, Mr. Collins took his glass of wine and gulped it down. “Yes,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Elizabeth

As there was no time for a trousseau for either of them, Elizabeth had spent much of her free time since returning to Netherfield embroidering forget-me-nots onto the neck of Jane’s dress. A corner of her mind was wistful not to be preparing her own garment, but she knew Jane’s wedding was truly special to her, not just the matter of necessity that made Elizabeth marry. As Jane professed herself too busy helping their mother to see to her dress, Elizabeth wanted to give her sister this parting gift. Jane should look beautiful on her wedding day and all effort should be made toward her happiness, it being an obtainable thing. Having finished earlier that day, Elizabeth had hidden the dress, meaning to give it to Jane following dinner.

When they finally returned to their shared room this one last time, Elizabeth closed the door and pressed her ear against it. Behind her, she could hear Jane beginning to ready for bed. Once the hall was clear, meaning no one could easily overhear them, Elizabeth turned from the door.

“I am astounded by Mary,” she said, keeping her voice low in spite of her precautions.

“That she proposed to Mr. Collins?” Jane asked, looking over from where she braided her hair. “It was certainly unconventional.”

“That she proposed to him, that she wishes to marry him, that she sees herself as unloved and unlovely.” Elizabeth flopped down on the bed. “We have not been good sisters, have we?”

“It is difficult, I think, to be alone in the middle,” Jane offered with a frown.

“I daresay everyone would be better off if mother had produced a sixth daughter to even things out.” Elizabeth could hardly keep from smiling as she said it.

“A sixth?” Jane exclaimed. “You jest.”

“I do. I was obligated to, as my observation was what removed the smile from your face. You are required to wear your dreamy smile at least through tomorrow and hopefully for many weeks to come.”

“Have I been smiling?” Jane asked in a poor attempt at nonchalance.

“Interminably.”

“Oh Lizzy, I cannot help it. Not even if I tried. I am so very happy.”

“And I am happy for you.” Elizabeth rose and went to the wardrobe, pushing aside her dresses to remove the one she’d embroidered for Jane. “To further ensure your happy state, I would like to give you this.” She held out the dress.

Jane took it, running her fingers over the flowers. “Thank you. They are beautiful.” She hugged the dress to her, smiling at Elizabeth. “They shall help me remember you made my happiness possible.”

“That’s not what they’re meant for,” Elizabeth said. “You’re meant to remember we are on good terms now and always and must present ourselves as such, to curtail and weather what gossip may come.”

“I’ll cherish them, but I need no pretty blue flowers to help me remember to be on good terms with you. Bingley is already talking of visiting you this winter.”

“I would love to see you.” Elizabeth hoped the sorrow that assailed her didn’t show. She had no idea what her life would be like once she wed tomorrow. The presence of her favorite sister, even for a short visit, would be very welcome.

“I have something for you,” Jane said. “Only you must do your own embroidery.”

Jane pulled out a piece of white cloth. She had drawn their home, Longbourn, on it. Drawing was Jane’s one accomplishment, but she had no eye for color and so was limited to simple line drawings. She handed Elizabeth embroidery thread of appropriate colors to fill in the drawing. Judging by the amount of thread, she expected Elizabeth to fill in large areas of color, rather than simply following her outline. There was even enough blue to fill the sky with satin stitch. The project would take her some time, but it would be a happy chore.

“Thank you. This is truly lovely. I shall have occupation and memory from it,” Elizabeth said. She looked back down at the delicate sketch. The trees were leafless, and there was a stump from a tree which had been taken down that fall. Now she knew why Jane had been too busy to see to her dress.

“Mother and Lydia helped me pick the colors.”

“This is so much more than I gave you,” Elizabeth said looking up at her. A few stitched flowers seemed little compared to the sentimental and pecuniary value of Jane’s gift.

“You gave me Bingley.”

“I do not think he would have been able to bring himself to wed me. I’m sure a similar idea must have occurred to him. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you.”

“But you would still have had to agree. You’ve given me so much happiness. I won’t be able to bear it if it’s at the expense of your own.”

Elizabeth set aside their gifts, reaching to clasp Jane’s hands. “Of course I shall be happy. If I am not, it will be my own doing, for who couldn’t be happy with a proper and wealthy gentleman?”

“You, I believe,” Jane said, still looking worried. “I know you don’t care for Mr. Darcy.”

“I hardly know him.”

Jane now seemed on the verge of tears.

“But I am sure he is kind, Jane,” Elizabeth hastened to reassure her. “He is your Mr. Bingley’s dear friend, and you know how good Mr. Bingley is. I am sure a greater acquaintance will warm me to Mr. Darcy.”

“Do you truly think so, Lizzy?”

“I truly do,” Elizabeth said. She wondered if it was a terrible omen to utter such a lie on her wedding night. “Now, you are not permitted to cry any tears but those of joy. Are we agreed?”

Jane nodded, managing a smile.

“Good. We should ready for bed. We want to look our best in the morning.”

Elizabeth spent a restless night, lying awake for hours. She did her utmost to stay still, not wanting to deprive Jane of sleep. When her eyes finally fell heavily shut, it was only to dream of wandering a large, cold house full of disapproving guests and a husband who ignored the barely tolerable wife fate had thrust upon him.

When morning finally came, Elizabeth rose feeling ill and jittery. She began rehearing all of the reasons she couldn’t wed Mr. Darcy in her mind. She knew none of them were good enough, as they emanated from her impression of him and not the logic of the situation, but she allowed the notion of not going through with the ceremony to carry her as far into the day as she could.

Then, her head slightly throbbing and a sea of people about her, Elizabeth found herself standing beside the looming and distant seeming Mr. Darcy. The parson was before them, looking over the special license Mr. Darcy had obtained. Elizabeth eyed her almost-husband askance, trying to read how he felt about the union. If only he would show some warmth, she would be at least a little more at ease.

Mr. Darcy’s face was a mask to her. It may as well have been sculpted. It was worthy of such, she mused. Quite handsome enough to be immortalized in stone. She’d never dared to hope she would wed such a tall, well-favored man. Jane was the pretty one.

The parson set the license aside. “All seems to be in order.”

Mr. Darcy nodded.

“We have one as well,” Mr. Bingley said, handing his over. He could hardly take his eyes from Jane long enough to do so.

Mr. Darcy had made arrangements for the special licenses, Elizabeth thought. Did that not speak of a man who actually wished to wed her? It could mean he found her pleasing in some way.

Or it could mean he was a man who looked adversity in the face. Or an efficient man. Or even a man who allotted his friend’s happiness a great value, for obtaining the licenses had certainly pleased Mr. Bingley.

Elizabeth suppressed a sigh. It wouldn’t do to be sighing on her wedding day. Mr. Darcy’s hand slid across her palm, his fingers gently interlacing with hers. Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise and he gave her the slightest smile.

It wasn’t much, but it did reassure her. In her nervousness, her hands were nearly numb, but his was warm and comforting. She squeezed it slightly to convey her thanks.

The parson set Bingley’s and Jane’s license with Mr. Darcy’s and hers, looking at each couple in turn. “Let us begin.”

Elizabeth became Mrs. Darcy in a fog of nerves. Never before had she so sympathized with her mother, for she could now understand how unease could render one quite ill. Her family and friends were a mass of faces and noise, augmented by the addition of members of Mr. Darcy’s family and introductions to them. The wedding breakfast was over before Elizabeth could regain her composure. It seemed only moments after Mr. Darcy had taken her hand that she was hugging loved ones good-bye and climbing into his coach.

Elizabeth heard a rumble and stuck her head from the window to catch a final glimpse of Jane, but all she saw was the outside of Bingley’s coach as it left the drive. Her own conveyance started forward and she sat back in her seat. Jane and Bingley were leaving for Netherfield Park in a haze of love and Elizabeth found herself alone in a carriage with a man she hardly knew and didn’t like. She looked across the coach at him, hoping she didn’t appear as leery as she felt.

“I like your aunt and uncle from London,” Mr. Darcy said.

“I like them too.” She paused, but he did not make any mention of her other aunt and uncle. “I liked your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam and your sister, Georgiana. He said something about escorting her north to visit his family,” she said, trying to pull details from the jumble of her morning.

“Yes, she’s going to visit Fitzwilliam’s sister, Emily. Georgiana gets along very well with her.”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam mentioned a pair of brothers who are friends of yours. He said he was surprised they didn’t attend,” she said. Perhaps learning more about her husband would alter her current impression of him.

“That must have been before I explained. The older brother, Enoch Matthews, is married and his wife is expecting a baby within weeks, if not days. He didn’t wish to leave her. He’s at least two days’ travel from here. The younger brother, Peter, is a major. He was wounded recently and came home to recuperate. I understand he’s much better, but he would still find travel uncomfortable at this point.”

“Have you known them long?” Added to Bingley, these brothers made it three people who were not related to her severe-seeming husband and yet elected to be his friends. Assuming their explanations weren’t feigned.

“Since Eton. Enoch was a year older than I and took me under his wing. I owed him much for his help. I tried to return the favor by helping Peter, who was a year behind me, but I don’t think Peter needed help as much as I did.”

“You needed help?” The admission surprised her. She hadn’t thought Mr. Darcy the type of man to allow anyone to help him, or to ever admit he needed assistance.

“I was terribly shy.”

Shy? He always seemed so confident. He radiated a self-assurance that bordered on arrogance. Elizabeth looked him over again, trying to reconcile herself to the idea this was her husband. She was to spend the rest of her days with this man.

Her nights as well. She didn’t like that notion at all. It was one thing to be asked to live alongside a man not of your choosing, but to lay with one? She suppressed a shudder.

“It was kind of your aunt and uncle to come from London for the ceremony,” Mr. Darcy said.

“They are always good to us.” Elizabeth tried to think of something more to say, but the details of the morning were lost to her. She guessed they’d been alone for ten minutes, if that, and already she could think of nothing to converse on.

“Do you care to ride backwards?” Mr. Darcy asked, breaking the silence.

“Care to?”

“I would prefer if you would sit beside me.”

“Oh.” She looked across the coach at him. She didn’t want to sit beside him. Why did he wish her to?

“That is, I should like if you would please sit beside me, if you aren’t too averse to the idea.”

“Of course,” she said, swallowing. Feeling exceedingly awkward, she complied. He offered a hand to assist her, but she turned her head aside and held onto the edge of the window, trying to seem as if she hadn’t seen his gesture.

She settled into the seat beside him, acutely aware of how their shoulders, arms and thighs touched. He reached for her hand. Her first instinct was to pull away, but common sense took over and she let him hold it. She knew he was looking at her, but she kept her gaze on the now empty seat across from them. Turning her head toward him would put them in much too intimate a pose.

He released her hand and drew his back. “You have four weeks,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“I’ve been watching you for the past few days. You’ve tried to put a good face on this, but you aren’t a convincing actress. Your sister is overflowing with joy.”

“She loves Bingley.”

“I can see that. Now. I did not believe so at first. I thought she mildly liked him and was willing to marry him for his wealth. After watching her, I realize I was wrong. She does love him. I can also see now that you do not love me.”

“Why would you think I did?” She wasn’t happy he’d thought so little of Jane, but she would not criticize him since he’d allowed his opinion to change.

“It occurred to me that you mediated the switch because you wanted me instead of Bingley.”

“I did it for Jane,” she said, surprised he could think anything else. “Why should both of us be unhappy?”

“Unhappy? I thought . . . No, obviously not.” He shifted, moving away from her.

“What?” Elizabeth asked, realizing how harshly she’d spoken. She felt cold where his body no longer rested alongside her own.

“I thought you cared for me,” Mr. Darcy said after a long moment of silence.

“I did not mean to deceive you.”

“You did not. I had, before we were married, realized you do not love me.”

What could she say to that? “But you kept your word regardless?”

“I had not realized until now you are unhappy in the match. While I could see the lack of the sort of love your sister evidences, I thought you at least cared for me. However, I would have kept my word even had I seen my error. As you did.”

This time, Elizabeth chose her words with more care. She was stuck with this man and he could make her life miserable if he chose to do so. “We got off on the wrong foot. I am sure time will mend that.”

“We did?”

“It is to be lamented, but I heard your honest opinion of me, sir. It is a testament to your honor you wed someone you hold in my low esteem.”

“My honest opinion? I do not think you know my honest opinion of you.”

“You are not the only one who may be observant, though I can hardly credit observation for the work of malice. I know quite well what you think of me is that I am tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt you. You, by your words, were in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.”

He jerked backward at her words. “You overheard me.”

“I assumed you intended I would. You were looking at me and we weren’t very far apart.”

“The noise of the crowd--”

“Wasn’t sufficient to cover your insult. You must have noticed I’ve refused to dance with you twice since then,” she said, referring to an incident at the house of a friend and an evening at Netherfield when Miss Bingley was playing the pianoforte.

“I didn’t realize you were paying me back.”

“I didn’t think of it in those terms, but I suppose I was.”

Silence returned. Elizabeth went over their conversation in her mind, a bit sorry she hadn’t behaved better at some points. Still, she was pleased to have finally confronted him on his words. It didn’t escape her that he didn’t refute them. Even unrefuted, it was better to have the incident in the open between them. Whatever, though, had he meant about a month? “You spoke of four weeks?”

“To reconcile yourself to all aspects of wedded life.”

“All aspects?”

“I wish an heir, and other children as well.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth felt her face heat.

“Please do not construe my offer to mean I prefer to wait, but I have noticed your lack of enthusiasm for this marriage and I will give you a month to become more comfortable with me.”

“That is generous.” Elizabeth tried to keep the extreme relief she felt from her tone, not wishing to insult him. She’d expected to have to cope with it that night in whatever roadside inn he took her to.

“However, over the four weeks I expect in private you will allow me certain familiarities that would not be appropriate in public.” He held out his hand.

Elizabeth put her hand in his, finding it looked quite small there.

He gave her fingers a slight squeeze and then let their joined hands rest in the space between them. “We will have adjoining rooms. I expect to be allowed in your room anytime I wish to enter. We will spend time with each other.”

“That is reasonable,” she said, nodding. It was. Wives were not expected to keep anything from their husbands. She had been frightened of what was to come and this was reassuring, less for the time she would have than for the fact he saw the need for time. “And preferable. It should be difficult to come to know you if we do not spend time with one another.”

“I am doing this for both of our benefit. We will both be happier if we reach some kind of accord.” After a brief pause, he continued. “I apologize for my original insult. I was angry with Bingley for bringing us to the assembly the day we arrived from London. He knows I don’t enjoy that style of event, yet insisted we attend.”

“Your apology is accepted.” Elizabeth gave him a tentative smile, resolving to reassess his character. They’d started their acquaintance off badly. This did not mean they couldn’t have a happy marriage. Well, she now had hope, at least, her marriage would be tolerable. His offer of time gave her hope for that.

“I wish to add an additional stipulation.”

Elizabeth looked away. “Which is?” she asked, leery once more.

“Is there a gift you would care for? I do not know your tastes. It would be foolish to buy you jewelry under such restrictions.”

“Your additional stipulation is I select jewelry for you to purchase for me?”

“It is.”

“It isn’t necessary. Your settlement was very generous.”

“Nevertheless, there must be something you want that you still will not purchase because of the cost.”

Elizabeth thought for a moment. “Yes, there is. My sister Mary has coveted a book of music. It was written by Johann Baptist Cramer. It isn’t so much music for its own sake, but music to learn how to play music. Practicing is boring, and scales can grow tedious. This sounds like it might be more entertaining and it might improve my playing.” She turned to scrutinize him, to read his reaction to her next statement. “And perhaps at some point, when I outgrow it, I may loan it to Mary.”

“I enjoy your playing.”

“Thank you,” she said, meaning not just his compliment but also for not forbidding her to loan his first gift to her. “It is kind of you to enjoy my playing, but I know I’m not very good. I would like to improve.”

“I’ll order the book for you.”

“Thank you.” She gave him another smile and was surprised when his hold on her hand tightened slightly.

They road in silence again, but much of the strain between them was gone. Elizabeth felt more hope for her future than she had that morning. It was beginning to seem as if Mr. Darcy might be the man she’d worked to persuade Jane she thought him to be.

“Was Miss Mary’s behavior at dinner typical for her? Does she usually do such surprising things?” Mr. Darcy asked after a long silence.

“No. She likes to show off her music and her knowledge, but she has always behaved with propriety.”

“Well, I hope they will be happy together. They aren’t going to have much time to get to know each other before the wedding.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“After dinner, Mr. Collins asked me how one could obtain a special license. He felt it unfair for Miss Mary to have to wait for her wedding when her sisters got to marry so quickly. I arranged a special license to be sent to Longbourn. It will be there Friday morning.”

“My mother will be pleased. She will be the talk of the neighborhood.” Elizabeth refrained from mentioning Mary had spoken of not wishing to marry hastily. Mr. Darcy had acted thoughtfully and Mary had also said she would be guided by Mr. Collins’ wishes, so likely she would be.

“Does pleasing your mother make you happy?”

“Not as a general rule.” He raised his eyebrows and Elizabeth considered how that must sound. “Not to say I am wayward, and not to disrespect a parent, but what pleases my mother is often silly to me. In this case, however, she has every right to be pleased. I should think having five daughters would be a strain on any family.”

They sat in silence again. After a time, Elizabeth risked a glance at Mr. Darcy, finding him watching her. She tried another smile and was surprised to receive one in return.

“I think another acceptable familiarity might be for you to lean on me and try to sleep,” he said. “I mean no insult, but you look tired.”

Elizabeth eyed his broad frame. She supposed it would be more comfortable, and warmer, to lean against her husband than the coach, and she was tired. “Thank you. I will admit to not having slept well.”

Sorrow flickered in his eyes and she realized she’d been insensitive again, allowing him insight into how much their marriage distressed her. He let go of her hand, leaving it quite alone and cold on the seat, but only to reach out and place his arm about her. Feeling her every movement was awkward, Elizabeth leaned against him. She closed her eyes and willed her breathing to slow. As sleep overtook her, her last thought was, for all that his chest wasn’t noticeably softer than the bench, it really was much nicer in Darcy’s embrace than she would have thought.

Chapter Five

Darcy

It rained the first several days they were at Pemberley. At first, Darcy had been pleased by the weather. It gave him an excuse to remain with Elizabeth. She’d relaxed considerably in his presence after their frank discussion in the carriage, making time spent with her more pleasant. He counted the conversation a victory in his campaign to woo her.

When they’d arrived, he’d shown her Pemberley, satisfied she was suitably impressed. His home impressed people of much higher stations than Elizabeth came from, so that was welcome but predictable. She didn’t seem particularly grateful or awed to be mistress of Pemberley, which was surprising. They spent most of those first two days in each other’s company.

Nevertheless, Elizabeth remained elusive. She was with him, but aside from dilatory conversations at meals, they didn’t interact all that much. They spent time seated near one another reading, and she often played for him. She seemed interested when he spoke about his family, asking appropriate questions, but the two of them ran out of things to say to each other. They might speak about what they were reading, but the conversation faltered after a few minutes.

By their fourth evening in Pemberley, which found them dining in silence, he was growing frustrated. He’d thought giving her space would help her warm to him, but it didn’t seem to be working. She’d shown more animation in Netherfield Park when she had, unbeknownst to him, disliked him considerably.

Why had they conversed better at Netherfield? Had he fallen in love with her ire? Should he attempt to anger his own wife? He retraced their conversations in his mind, deciding perhaps Miss Bingley was the answer. In her attempts to flatter him, she’d left conversational openings for him to have exchanges with Elizabeth. It was Elizabeth’s clever responses to those exchanges that had made him fall in love with her, not her asperity toward him. Of course, it wasn’t until Bingley had said he would marry her that Darcy had realized how thoroughly his heart was engaged.

Darcy’s gaze drifted toward the dark windows, noting that even through the sheer inner curtains he could glimpse moonlight. Maybe the clouds had gone for now and the following day would be without rain. The ground would be damp, but even limited outdoor activity might suit both of them better. He knew Elizabeth enjoyed walking, but a walk could too easily be conducted in silence. He needed a topic to draw them together. Perhaps he could start before they retired.

“Pemberley distributes a certain amount of charity to the tenants,” he said, wincing slightly at how loud his voice sounded in the previously still room. “At this time, my steward oversees the activity but often the mistress of an estate takes a major part in the charity.”

Elizabeth was looking at him with interest, whereas before her face had been turned toward her plate. Darcy chose his next words with care. He didn’t want to discourage her, for he hoped she would take on the task, but he felt it would be nearly like lying if he didn’t make it clear his mother hadn’t bothered.

His mother had been a little too much like her sister, Lady Catherine. Neither of them had much respect for people they considered lower class. His mother hadn’t been as haughty as Lady Catherine, but she had little interest in the tenants. Impressing on Darcy the need to care for the people of Pemberley, his father had filled the gap as best he could, but in most cases, distributing small amounts of food, fabric or other minor household goods was done by the mistress of the house.

“You do not have to do it, but I think it would be good for you to get to know the tenants. That way, if you feel one family has an unusual need, you can attend to it.” And you may build an attachment to the place you don’t yet call home, he added to himself.

“I would like to try,” Elizabeth said, an interested gleam in her eyes. “I think I should like to learn more about Pemberley and the people here. Assisting them would give purpose to this role you have brought me to and I should like to have purpose to my days.”

Darcy smiled. She seemed more the Elizabeth he loved in that moment than since agreeing to wed him. Greatly encouraged, he started naming tenants and where they lived.

“I shan’t be able to remember all that,” she said, but she didn’t sound discouraged. “I need pen and paper. I must make a list.”

“There are ample supplies for writing in my office.”

She stood, her meal clearly forgotten. Darcy immediately followed suit. He would much rather engage an animated Elizabeth in conversation in his office than linger over a silent meal.

“Come,” he said, leading the way in case she didn’t yet recall where it was.

Once in his office, he took a seat behind the large mahogany desk and began opening drawers, assembling writing material. Elizabeth stood across from him, leaning over his desk to read as he began to write names and locations. Darcy had to work hard to keep his eyes on the page before him, telling himself she was almost certainly unaware of the allurements she was offering up for his eyes.

“That will never do,” she said.

Darcy looked up, worried she’d followed his somewhat inappropriate thoughts.

“It’s all but meaningless without an understanding of where these places are,” she continued, straightening.

“Here, I will draw you a map.” He pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began to quickly sketch a rough map.

She leaned over to watch once more, but soon straightened again. “Can you make it larger? I would like more detail on the map. It might be nice to have space to write notes as well.”

He looked about his office for a moment, seeing nothing save pages for conducting business. “I could place several sheets together.

“Do you have any drawing supplies? Jane had a large sketchpad at home.”

He cast her a sharp look but nodded. “I think my sister left some drawing supplies. This way.”

He gathered the list of tenants and led her to the currently unused schoolroom. Finding what they required, Darcy drew a map. When he was done, they stood side by side inspecting it. Darcy was acutely aware of her shoulder brushing his. He didn’t know if it was Elizabeth’s animation or the old schoolroom, but standing beside her made him feel as eager and inept as the young man he’d once been.

“Are those all rivers?” she asked, pointing to various lines.

“That is a river, and those roads, and that is a gorge.”

“How is one to tell the difference?”

“I’ve drawn each differently.” He pointed to the gorge. “See, this has sloped sides.”

“Is that what those are? I thought perhaps you’d just lost control of the pencil.”

He glanced at her, catching the gleam in her eyes, and then back down at his map. “It is rather a mess, isn’t it? I best explain it to you. You can make some of those notes you spoke of.”

She smiled at him. “It’s comforting to know you have at least one flaw.”

“A flaw?” Wanting to perpetuate the levity, he affected an expression of mock hurt. “Are you saying my drawing is not sublime?”

“I am saying you cannot quite be called accomplished in it. Don’t despair. I’m sure your French and Latin are impeccable.”

“Sadly, my French is lacking, since native speakers can detect imperfections,” he replied. “Although no native speakers of Latin have made similar complaints.” He was pleased to see this silly joke brought forth a smile. “Still, should she ever see my drawing skills, Miss Bingley would have a low opinion of me.” He hoped their shared memory of the conversation about accomplishments would strike a chord with her.

Her smile widened and she shook her head in mock sorrow. “Very low indeed. Now, please explain what this jumble of lines is, and then you can show me which way is north, where we are, and where the people on your list dwell.”

She turned back to the map, pointing at his rendition of a forest. Darcy stared at her. Her vibrancy and comradery had him wondering why he’d agreed to four entire weeks. It was all he could do not to take Elizabeth into his arms and kiss her.

Hiding his reaction, he addressed the map. Elizabeth had many questions. It turned into a long, yet enjoyable, evening.

The next morning the rain had indeed let up and they decided a walk to some of the nearby cottages was in order. Darcy carried a basket with ham and cheese from Pemberley’s stores, answering Elizabeth’s questions about Pemberley as they went. When they reached the first cottage, he introduced her to the man and his wife.

Darcy didn’t know the names of all of the children, which turned out to be an oversight. There were six of them and Elizabeth insisted on knowing their names, and ages. She repeated them several times, apparently fixing them in her memory. She also gave the tenants the entire content of the basket, for which they seemed suitably grateful. After making their farewells, they stepped outside.

Once they were back on the main path, Darcy gave her a wry smile. “I should have mentioned as much, but I’d intended to divide that ham and the cheese between all of the homes we’re to visit. Now we shall arrive empty handed.”

“We shall not, for I wish to return to Pemberley now.”

“Are you tired?” He was surprised. In Hertfordshire, Elizabeth had spent considerable time walking.

“No. I want to write down the names of everyone in that family, and a few notes about each person. I’ll never remember them all if I don’t do it immediately.”

“To Pemberley we go, then,” he said.

He requested more food for the basket while Elizabeth wrote her notes. He considered bringing a pad of paper and writing tools for her, but cast the idea aside. If they returned to Pemberley between visits, it was that much more time he was allowed to walk with her.

On the walks out she asked him questions. On the walks back they discussed those they’d met. Not in a gossipy, unpleasant way as Darcy had heard his mother and Lady Catherine speak of the tenants. Rather, in a respectful and interested way, as if Elizabeth was determined to know and care about each person.

That day, they visited only three families. Elizabeth wrote copious notes about all of them. She extracted from him any information he could recall about the history of each family and wrote that down as well. When she was done, she asked him to go over what she’d written with her, in case there were errors. Darcy was greatly pleased with how seriously she was taking this aspect of being mistress of Pemberley, and with how much time he spent with her.

They went to see three different families the following day, and three more the day after that. Darcy very much enjoyed these outings. He enjoyed teaching her about Pemberley’s tenants and she was interested in learning. Even bad weather didn’t deter her.

The only things he lamented were the way she continued to refer to Longbourn as home and that he was falling behind in his own duties. The first he decided he must ignore for the time being, but the second began to plague him. He didn’t wish to give up his time with Elizabeth, or imply to her in any way she wasn’t of the utmost importance in his life, but he was beginning to feel the pressure of his obligations. Fortunately, the day he was planning to speak to her about it, her book of music arrived. She declared they must take fewer visits so she could practice more.

They fell into an easy routine, visiting one family a day, after breakfast. They would then separate so she could practice and he see to his work. He introduced the idea of her spending some time each afternoon with his housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, to begin to learn about managing Pemberley. He knew it would take her quite a while to be comfortable stepping into that role, but she needed to start to gain an acquaintance with it.

He also attempted to introduce the idea of her learning to throw the sorts of lavish parties his mother used to hold, but Elizabeth didn’t seem taken by the notion. He didn’t press the issue. He’d rather listen to her play in the evenings than have her selecting table settings.

He thought her practice with the new book must be going well, for her playing was improving. Not, he realized, that he was an impartial judge. Anything she did in his presence was pleasing. In fact, after the first two weeks, Darcy began to see the wisdom in not having a wife who enjoyed lavish ton events. It was infinitely better to have Elizabeth all to himself.

The morning following that revelation, they visited the Simons family. Darcy was even more familiar with this family than some of the others as one of their sons, Jeremiah, was lame. Darcy and his steward had always made sure to provide a bit of extra for the family, knowing the boy couldn’t contribute and he would only grow to be more of a burden with age.

When they arrived, Jeremiah was sitting by the window, sewing. After greetings were exchanged, he was sent away so the adults could converse. Darcy could see the embarrassment on Mr. Simons’ face.

“He can’t do a man’s work, so Mrs. Simons said he should do a woman’s work. Frees my wife to do more,” Mr. Simons said in answer to a question Darcy would never have asked, his tone gruff.

“What about your older daughter?” Darcy asked. Simons’ younger daughter, Susan, worked in Pemberley. They’d hired her partly to help her family. By all reports, she did well.

“Haven’t you heard? She married last spring. Now we’ve only sons left at home.”

“I’m trying to teach Jeremiah to read,” Mrs. Simons said. “I barely know enough to make out a few signs in shops, but I’m hoping someday he’ll learn more and be able to use it to earn a living.”

“That’s good of you,” Elizabeth said. “May I see his letters?”

“Of course, Mrs. Darcy,” Mrs. Simons said.

She led Elizabeth into the kitchen, leaving Darcy to converse with Mr. Simons. They spoke of the weather and the upcoming planting season, but half of Darcy’s attention was on the conversation taking place in the kitchen. As best he could tell, Elizabeth was writing words for the boy to copy.

On the walk back, he asked her how she’d gotten along in the kitchen.

“Jeremiah is a bright lad,” she said. “He obviously knows his letters well, but he isn’t comfortable shaping them into words yet. We should arrange for him to be taught.”

“Knowing how to read and write won’t help him. Too many people have those skills and there are few jobs requiring only them.”

“We can’t just ignore him. He’ll never be able to support himself.”

“He’ll be a burden to his family, but they will see he won’t starve.” As would Darcy.

“He will live on their charity,” Elizabeth said, her tone gaining vigor. “Wouldn’t it be better if he could support himself?”

“The money spent on getting him the kind of skills where he could support himself would be better spent helping his brothers and sisters. They are a hard working family but their farm is too small for all of them.”

They argued the entire walk home and right into the house and up the steps to their quarters. Darcy felt Jeremiah’s family would care for him and they should be given the means to improve their earning power to offset the burden. Elizabeth wanted to do something for Jeremiah in the hopes he wouldn’t have to be a burden.

Darcy didn’t object to her idea. He also didn’t think it was possible. Reading and writing were not enough and a real education would be a considerable expense. He couldn’t, in fairness, lavish that much of Pemberley’s funds on one child.

Darcy would have thought he’d be displeased to argue with Elizabeth, but he found it enjoyable. She used logic, not anger or tears as his mother had done. Aside from the fervor in Elizabeth’s tone and her heightened color, both of which added to her beauty, it was the sort of reasonable and stimulating discussion one might engage in with a gentleman. It also showed Elizabeth genuinely cared for the tenants.

Just as they reached the door of her room in Pemberley, an idea came to him. “A tailor,” he said as she pushed open the door. “They don’t stand much and Jeremiah is old enough to be apprenticed. I could find a tailor and pay him to take Jeremiah under the condition Jeremiah’s work would be within his capacity, considering his lameness.”

Elizabeth turned back to face him. “Wonderful,” she exclaimed, her face breaking into a smile. She put her hand on his arm, squeezing it. “Thank you.”

Darcy took in her bright eyes, her face flushed from their walk and from arguing. He couldn’t resist. He leaned over and kissed her.

She went still and he started to pull back, but she put her free hand on his other arm and held him there. He leaned closer, deepening the kiss, pleased when she responded.

Footsteps sounded on the staircase and Elizabeth broke away. Her face flushed, she backed into her room, one hand raised to her lips. She swung the door closed as a servant passed behind Darcy in the hall.

Darcy deliberately didn’t look to see anything more than the hem of the maid’s uniform. he was afraid if he knew which servant had interrupted their kiss he would resent her. Restraining the impulse to knock on Elizabeth’s door, for she’d promised to give him entry whenever he wished and he very much wished it now, Darcy turned toward his room.

Entering his chamber and beginning to shuck his outdoor attire, he mused over what had happened. Popular opinion said a woman could be wooed with jewelry or furs. He knew he’d married an unusual woman, but he hadn’t quite grasped how unusual. Elizabeth, apparently, was wooed by an apprenticeship for a boy she’d only just met.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth stood with her back to her bedroom door, listening to Darcy’s footsteps walk the short distance to his room. She realized she still had a hand to her lips and let it fall to her side, wondering at what had just transpired between them. She still wasn’t quite sure of her feelings for her husband, but apparently her lips were. She’d never imagined a kiss could be so devastatingly consuming. Her fingers trembled and she realized she’d pressed them to her lips again.

Stepping away from the door, Elizabeth paced across her room and back again, trying not to look at the rather large bed dominating the chamber. A bed she was expected to share whenever her husband wished. It was an idea that made her face burn, but which didn’t seem as unappealing as it once had.

Much had changed in two short weeks, she realized as she paced. She’d come to know Mr. Darcy better. In his even temperament, she could now see the overly shy boy he’d spoken of on their coach ride to Pemberley. She realized more of that boy remained than people knew. It was shyness, not arrogance, that created his air of cool reserve.

She’d also come to know him as a man who cared deeply for those who depended on him and took duty to heart. He knew his tenants well, and she could see they respected him. He must get that from his father, she guessed.

Though Darcy spoke little of either parent, what she’d gleaned led her to believe, though in a vastly different way, Darcy’s mother may have been almost as silly as Elizabeth’s. She supposed when the Yuletide came and she met Lady Catherine, she would have better confirmation of this, for Lady Catherine was the sister of former mistress of Pemberley. The two were reputed to have been close, and so could perhaps be suspected of being similar.

Thoughts of family drew Elizabeth’s eyes to her desk. She realized a letter sat upon it, waiting for her. Halting her pacing, she crossed to pick it up.

It was from her sister Lydia. Elizabeth was a bit disappointed it wasn’t from Jane, her father or her aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, but it was always good to hear news from home. It was kind of Lydia, always flighty, to take the time to write. Elizabeth opened it, resuming her pacing as she read.

Lydia rambled on as usual, bringing up all of her favorite activities. It seemed odd to Elizabeth her sister hadn’t changed at all. She had to remind herself it had only been two weeks. Elizabeth felt as if her life had taken such an unexpected path that surely the whole of the world must be different. Lydia and her complaints about Father not advancing her allowance for a new bonnet, even though Mother wished him to, showed this not to be the case. Elizabeth stopped pacing when a particular paragraph caught her attention.

There’s a new officer named Mr. Wickham. He was a protégé of your Mr. Darcy’s father. Old Mr. Darcy wanted Mr. Wickham to have a valuable living, but your Mr. Darcy deprived him of it on some technicality. Everyone is exceedingly angry with your Mr. Darcy for withholding the living from so charming a man. Don’t be surprised if people cut him if he returns to Meryton. Jane says she doesn’t believe it, but Jane always thinks the best of people. Besides, anyone meeting Mr. Wickham can see he’s honest. Such a handsome, smiling man is obviously to be believed over a dour sort like your Mr. Darcy. I’m terribly sorry for you that you had to marry him.

Elizabeth reread Lydia’s words, shocked. Could Mr. Darcy be so cruel? He seemed so generous with his tenants. Was it all an act to win her over?

Elizabeth shook her head. No, it was completely unreasonable to think Mr. Darcy was feigning his care for his tenants, or the care he’d thus far shown her. He knew too much about the people of Pemberley for it to be show, and they obviously respected him. Not to mention, were he not a kind man, he wouldn’t have given her the four weeks. A highhanded man would have demanded what was his by right.

She simply couldn’t reconcile the man she knew with the picture painted by this charming Mr. Wickham. Therefore, the man likely had no right to go about defaming her husband. Frowning, she wondered if she should say anything to Mr. Darcy or write a rebuttal to Lydia. Would Lydia even believe her? She saw the Mr. Darcy that Elizabeth used to see, before she came to know him better.

Lydia’s letter troubled Elizabeth all through her piano practice and on into the day. No closer to deciding whether or not to mention it to her husband by afternoon, she elected to broach the subject with Mrs. Reynolds during their daily meeting. As soon as they were alone, Mrs. Reynolds showing her where the good silver was kept and how to inventory it, Elizabeth raised the issue.

“My sister wrote to me.”

“I saw you’d received a letter. How pleasant for you, my dear.”

She and Mrs. Reynolds had quickly moved past strict formality. Elizabeth had insisted, feeling it awkward to learn from a woman while insisting she address her as if Elizabeth were her superior. This was still much more Mrs. Reynolds’ household than Elizabeth’s.

“Yes, it was good to hear of home,” she said. She caught Mrs. Reynolds’ frown and realized she should give up referring to Longbourn as home. She thought of it that way, though. “She met an officer, a Mr. Wickham, who used to live here. She spoke of him at length. Do you know anything about him?”

“There’s a miniature of him. I can show it to you. He was the son of my late master's steward, who had been brought up by him at his own expense. He is now gone into the army, but I am afraid he has turned out very wild."

“Very wild?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t have put it quite like that. He’s a very amiable young man. Charming.”

“Yet, you did put it like that,” Elizabeth gently pressed.

“But I shouldn’t have.” In spite of Elizabeth’s insistence, Mrs. Reynolds was clearly remembering her place. “I will direct you to the miniature when we’re through here.” Mrs. Reynolds turned away, pulling out a key. She opened a cabinet. “Now, there are four silver coffee services. Lady Anne used this small pot when she had only one or two guests.” She shook her head. “The lid to the silver bowl disappeared. We don’t think it was a servant, but you never know. Little things like that fall too easily into pockets, if you take my meaning.”

Elizabeth nodded and allowed herself to be shown through the rest of the coffee settings and on to serving platters. She and Mrs. Reynolds were developing a tentative friendship. She didn’t wish to damage it by prying about this Mr. Wickham.

Mrs. Reynolds did, at Elizabeth’s mild reminder, tell her where to locate the miniature of Mr. Wickham. He indeed looked very handsome and very charming. Perhaps too much so. To Elizabeth’s eye, he looked a bit shallow and smug, but she supposed she was prejudiced.

The fact this Mr. Wickham was defaming Mr. Darcy weighed on Elizabeth all through dinner and while she played for him that evening. She couldn’t bring herself to mention it to her husband, though. Something about the worried look on Mrs. Reynolds’ face when she’d directed Elizabeth to the painting and the way it was tucked away in an unused room of the house told Elizabeth that Mr. Wickham was only to be whispered about. She and Darcy were having such a pleasant evening, she didn’t want to spoil it.

When she grew tired, Darcy escorted her to the staircase, as he did every evening, for he usually remained awake later than she did. He did not wish her good night as usual, though. Instead, he stood staring at her for a long moment.

“I will not be far behind you,” he said. “I thought I might come to your room and bid you good night.”

He phrased it as a statement, but Elizabeth was sure she could decline if she wished. Her heart beat hard in her chest, making her feel slightly dizzy. Surely, with nearly two weeks to go, he must mean precisely what he said and nothing more. Did that idea please or dismay her? “I will see you soon, then.”

He nodded, remaining where he was. Not knowing what else to say, and feeling her face heating, Elizabeth turned and hurried away. She could feel his eyes on her as she went.

In her room, she rushed about, scrambling out of her dress and into her nightclothes. She drew a shawl over them, then took it off, then put it back on again. She brushed out her hair and began to braid it, but pulled it loose again. Why was he coming to wish her goodnight in her room? What did it mean? Did their kiss earlier affect him as it had her, and now he was going back on his offer of four weeks?

A light knock on her door startled her, causing her to jump. Tossing aside her shawl, Elizabeth raised her chin and squared her shoulders. She was being a ninny. Mr. Darcy was a good, kind and gentle man. He was also her husband. If he wanted to wish her goodnight in her rooms, or do anything else there, that was his right. She walked to the door and pulled it open.

Darcy stood with his hand raised, as if about to knock again. His large frame filled the doorway and Elizabeth wondered how she could have missed how handsome he looked that evening. He always dressed impeccably for their meals, and he looked quite splendid in his finery. It was as if the current mode of dress had been designed specifically to suit him.

He lowered his arm. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling a bit breathless.

A smile flickered over his face. “You’re standing in the doorway.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth stepped back.

He entered and slid the door closed, further fraying her nerves. When he turned back to her, his eyes roamed from her hem to her lips before meeting her gaze again. Elizabeth felt the renewed urge to blush.

“You’re wearing your nightdress,” he said.

“I was readying for bed.”

“I gathered as much.” One stride brought him near.

Elizabeth stood her ground, tilting her head back to look up at him. “Did you wish to bid me good night?”

“I wish to kiss you goodnight.”

“Oh.”

In the back of her mind, Elizabeth mused that if she weren’t so overwhelmed by his presence, she would be mortified at her lack of intelligent responses. She’d never imagined this was what it would be like to have a man standing in her bedroom. It was a much more interesting and pleasant feeling than she’d anticipated.

“Are you going to?” she asked, realizing he was still standing there, leaning over her.

He answered by sweeping her into his arms and kissing her soundly. When he finally lifted his head, it took her a moment to recall where she was. She realized her arms were around him, but it seemed natural to cling to him while she was trying to settle her breathing.

“You seemed distracted this evening,” he said. “Is everything well? You received a letter today, did you not?”

“Everything is perfect,” she said, smiling up at him.

He smiled back. “Good. Sleep well, Elizabeth.”

“And you, Mr. Darcy.”

He shook his head at that. Elizabeth wanted to protest as his arms dropped back to his sides. With a last smile, he left the room.

It wasn’t until her heart settled to a somewhat normal beat that Elizabeth remembered the Mr. Wickham from Lydia’s letter. She shrugged. There would be time to speak of Mr. Wickham in the future. At that moment, all she wanted to do was enjoy the fact she was falling in love with the man she was married to.

The following morning, Mr. Darcy suggested they go into the nearby town of Lambton to investigate finding an apprenticeship for Jeremiah. They picked Jeremiah up and drove to town, going directly to the tailor’s shop. Jeremiah, for his part, was at least as excited to ride in Mr. Darcy’s carriage as he was about learning to be a tailor.

When they arrived, Darcy explained his errand to the local tailor, Mr. Tyndall. Elizabeth could see the tailor had some misgivings. Feeling Darcy would do better without her and without Jeremiah, Elizabeth brought the boy into the Tyndall’s kitchen where a kind looking woman was baking.

“Hello,” Elizabeth said, peeking into the room. “Are you Mrs. Tyndall?”

“I am, ma’am,” she said. “May I help you?”

“I’m Mrs. Darcy.” It still felt very strange to say it aloud. “This is Jeremiah. Mr. Darcy and I have brought him round to see if he can apprentice with your husband.”

Mrs. Tyndall smiled, but Elizabeth could see she looked just as leery as her husband. “Why, it’s nice to meet you both.”

“I’m going to be a tailor because tailors don’t need two good legs,” Jeremiah said. He stood up tall, not leaning on his crutch.

Mrs. Tyndall’s smile faltered. She looked at Elizabeth. “I know Mr. Darcy means well, ma’am, and it is hard to say no to him, but not everyone’s suited to be a tailor.” She lowered her voice as she said it, as if that might somehow keep Jeremiah from hearing.

“I can sew,” Jeremiah said.

“You sew?” Mrs. Tyndall’s expression was indulgent. “Don’t you mean your sisters do?”

“My sisters are all gone. Mama said I might as well take up the mending because she has other things to do.” He said it with pride, not with shame as his father had.

Elizabeth smiled, ruffling his hair.

Mrs. Tyndall’s eyes narrowed. “Is that so now? Well then, can you give me a demonstration?”

“I sure can.”

Mrs. Tyndall moved about the kitchen. She gathered a torn apron, a needle and thread and set them on the kitchen table in front of a chair. “You can take a seat here, lad.”

Jeremiah hobbled over and sat down, leaning his crutch against the table. He looked the apron over and took up the needle and thread. Elizabeth could see he was comfortable with them. He threaded the needle on his second attempt. They both watched him sew. When finished, he expertly bit the thread and handed Mrs. Tyndall the mended apron.

“I’ll be right back,” she said. “When I return, I’ll fix you a treat.”

She disappeared the way Elizabeth and Jeremiah had come. Elizabeth couldn’t make out the words, but she could tell Mrs. Tyndall had brought the apron to her husband. When she returned, Elizabeth smiled at her.

“Thank you for giving him a chance to prove himself,” Elizabeth told her hostess.

“I did it for Mr. Darcy,” Mrs. Tyndall said. “It’s not just that he’s the biggest landowner around. He paid some rather extensive debts that were incurred by a young man old Mr. Darcy had supported. He didn’t have to pay those debts.”

“Was that Mr. Wickham?” Elizabeth asked, eager for more information.

“The same.”

“Can you tell me about him? He’s now living near my family and my youngest sister is taken with him.”

Mrs. Tyndall shook her head, making tisking sounds. “Warn her off. He left poor Jenny Chamberlayne with child. Mr. Darcy paid for her to marry the butcher’s son.”

If true, which seemed likely looking at Mrs. Tyndall, that was indeed bad. Elizabeth would warn Lydia immediately, but she still hoped to learn more. Daringly, she said, “I was told Mr. Wickham was supposed to have a living he inherited from Mr. Darcy’s father.”

“He was. We were all grateful Mr. Darcy bought the living from him. He would have made a terrible rector and used his position to take advantages of girls. Mr. Wickham was in town bragging about how he had three thousand pounds from Mr. Darcy for the living. Some advanced him credit, but he disappeared without paying, just like before. I was glad Mr. Tyndall had the sense to tell Mr. Wickham he had to pay in advance. Mr. Wickham told Mr. Tyndall he would take his business elsewhere. It wasn’t business Wickham wanted, but charity. Mr. Darcy didn’t pay that time, saying he’d warned people not to give Mr. Wickham credit.”

“I will have to write my sister about it,” Elizabeth said. It seemed this Mr. Wickham was worse than she’d imagined. Then again, only the worst sort of man would go about defaming a gentleman behind his back.

“I wouldn’t talk to Mr. Darcy about it, though. Mr. Wickham aggravates him something fierce. He goes all dark when that name comes up.” She looked at Elizabeth in a contemplative way. “Well, maybe he wouldn’t mind so much if you brought it up. Talk is, he looks at you like a man quite besotted. It brings to mind when Mr. Tyndall was courting me. Takes me back fifteen years just to think of it.”

Elizabeth blushed, turning the conversation back to Jeremiah and his future, suddenly aware the boy was taking in every word. Later that day, after seeing Jeremiah settled in at his new apprenticeship, she wrote to Jane, Lydia, and her mother. She wrote to Lydia as a courtesy, though she hoped her sister would listen to reason for once. She wrote to Jane because she wrote her every week, and she wrote to her mother because she was likely to spread the word about Wickham. If this Mr. Wickham was spreading lies about her husband, Elizabeth would counter with the truth.

Chapter Six

Darcy

Darcy was pleased with how well the arrangements for Jeremiah went. The Tyndall’s had no living children and Darcy could see Mrs. Tyndall’s maternal instincts were coming to the fore with the boy. If things went well, all involved would be pleased.

On the carriage ride back, it having been agreed Jeremiah would stay for the morning to be picked up by his father later, Darcy was pleased he didn’t have to ask Elizabeth to sit on his seat with him. She snuggled against him, a happy smile on her face. Encouraged, and remembering how successful he’d already been at gaining her affection by helping the boy, Darcy put his arm around her. Striving to make the gesture seem casual, he lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it.

To his surprise, and pleasure, she turned and kissed him. The ensuing carriage ride was quite the most enjoyable he could ever recall experiencing, though notably too short. When they reached Pemberley she alighted, her face covered in a rosy blush.

Darcy supposed he should have been dismayed. Her expression coupled with the grin he couldn’t keep from his face must alert anyone who saw them to how they’d been carrying on, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. With under two weeks to go, his plan was working quite amiably.

Later that afternoon, they sat together in companionable silence, both seeing to their correspondences, at least somewhat. Elizabeth was busily writing letters. Darcy was more pretending to read his while he watched her. He loved the way she would compress her lips, thinking, and then plunge into a flurry of writing.

Darcy set aside another barely attended to letter and opened the next. It took him a moment to realize it was from his good friend, Peter Matthews. Pleasure quickly turned to pain as the content intruded. No longer watching Elizabeth, Darcy read the letter again.

Enoch Matthews had died in a riding accident just days after the birth of his first child, a girl. Peter was writing to inform Darcy and ask for his support. The family was devastated. The funeral was to be held soon, and Peter wished Darcy to attend. Darcy set the letter down, numbed by the cruelties of misfortune.

“What is it?” Elizabeth asked.

He looked over to see her watching him with concern clear on her face. “My friend, the one who couldn’t attend our wedding because it was too near to the expected arrival of his first child--”

“Oh no, don’t tell me the mother or babe died?”

“No.” He shook his head. “He did. In a riding accident. From what I can tell, mother and child are unharmed, though this must be terrible for them.”

“How awful,” Elizabeth said. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, standing. He would need to ready to travel. He wondered how far he could get that afternoon. There was an inn he should be able to reach which would leave him a short trip come morning. “I must go. I may be gone several days. I’ll write if I’ll be away for any more than four. I’ll leave you the address.”

She nodded, sorrow in her eyes, and Darcy walked from the room.

Elizabeth

Elizabeth found Pemberley oddly vacant with Darcy gone. She visited Jeremiah’s family and helped arrange for him to move to the Tyndalls, but she realized she couldn’t take too much of Pemberley’s tenants’ time. Even in December, they didn’t have the leisure to entertain. She worked on the embroidery Jane had given her, read, walked, and practiced the piano. Somehow, without Darcy there, her world seemed empty and she had trouble sleeping.

Waking to a house devoid of Darcy, she went on a long walk alone. She thought she would enjoy that, as she always had before she married, but she found she missed Darcy all the more. When she returned, she decided to spend more time studying the household books. At least inside she would be around other people.

Forcing herself to focus, Elizabeth turned page after page. She noticed the high cost of cloth for the servants’ clothing as compared to the relatively low cost of food. Of course, most of the food would come from what was produced at Pemberley, while the cloth must be purchased.

There was a light tap at the door. Elizabeth looked up to see Mrs. Reynolds. “Yes?” she asked, smiling.

“Lady Catherine has arrived. We told her we hadn’t expected her, and she said she knew that. I put her in the blue parlor. When I said I would tell you she was here, she said she had no interest in seeing you.”

“She didn’t want to see me? That’s odd.”

“Lady Catherine has always been odd. When she was here two years ago, she brought three separate maids to tears.”

“I will go to her anyway.” Elizabeth stood. She was not going to have a guest at Pemberley who wouldn’t see her.

“She wanted me to send a message to Darcy. I claimed I don’t know where he is.”

“That was the right thing to do.” Elizabeth didn’t want to order Mrs. Reynolds to tell the rest of the staff to keep quiet about where Darcy was, but she hoped she would. “The blue parlor, you said?”

Mrs. Reynolds nodded.

Squaring her shoulders, Elizabeth set out to find her unwanted and already rude guest. She entered the blue parlor with a smile on her face, trying to appear welcoming. The woman there did not stand. Lady Catherine was a tall, large woman, with strongly-marked features, which might once have been handsome. To Elizabeth’s eye, she bore little resemblance to Darcy or Georgiana.

“I presume you are Lady Catherine. I am Mrs. Darcy.”

“Humph! Your sister said you were pretty, but you are only in comparison to her. I should think if Darcy were going to marry some backcountry nobody, he could at least have found a pretty one.”

“How nice to meet you, Lady Catherine,” Elizabeth said as sweetly as she could. There was no point in answering rudeness with rudeness, since it would only show rudeness was acceptable.

“You shouldn’t exist. Darcy was supposed to marry my daughter Anne. Where’s Darcy?”

“Unavailable.” Then, remembering this was Darcy’s aunt and she’d just resolved not to be rude, she added, “I am sorry to say.”

“Then send for him.”

“No. He is attending a funeral. Is there some emergency?”

“Only his so called marriage to you.”

Elizabeth frowned at her. She and Darcy had been married for weeks now. Darcy had written his relatives almost immediately. There was no way in which their marriage could be new news to Lady Catherine. Elizabeth couldn’t understand how it suddenly constituted an emergency. She sat down opposite the austere looking woman who was now, through wedlock, her relation.

Lady Catherine stood up.

“I’ll stay in the Rose Suite. I shall speak to Darcy when he arrives.”

“That is not the best choice of rooms,” Elizabeth said. The rooms were pretty and had paintings of Darcy’s mother’s famous yellow roses, but they were quite near the room where Elizabeth practiced the piano almost daily.

“I shall determine which rooms are best suited to me.” Lady Catherine was out the door before she finished speaking.

Elizabeth looked after her, bemused. If anything, her husband had understated his aunt’s disagreeableness. How unlike him, she thought with a smile.

Elizabeth wasn’t surprised when dark fell and Darcy had not returned. He’d said he might be several days, and Mr. Darcy almost always said what he meant. She sent a maid up to ask if Lady Catherine wanted to come down for dinner.

“She doesn’t want to,” the maid said, her eyes downcast and brimming with tears.

“What’s the matter, Susan?” Elizabeth asked. Elizabeth had a special fondness for the girl as she was Jeremiah’s sister and very sweet natured.

“She wanted me to send a message to Mr. Darcy to tell him to come home immediately. I said I couldn’t. She offered me money, but I refused, saying I didn’t know how. I told her I thought he was at a funeral, but I didn’t know where. She said she would see I was let go and would never get another position. I said that wouldn’t help, because I had no idea how to send a message. She said she would accuse me of stealing if I didn’t help her. I said I still couldn’t. I really can’t.”

“Don’t worry over it,” Elizabeth said. “You did the right thing. Please tell Mrs. Reynolds to come here.”

Susan raised her tear-filled gaze, looking stricken. “To let me go, ma’am?”

“Certainly not,” Elizabeth hastened to assure her. “I’m just going to tell her she should talk to Lady Catherine herself, since she is upsetting others. Susan, I’ve known you longer than I have Lady Catherine and you’ve created a favorable impression. Lady Catherine hasn’t. Please don’t worry yourself.”

Susan nodded and hurried away, dabbing at her eyes as she went.

When Mrs. Reynolds arrived, Elizabeth explained the situation.

“I’ll bring her meals to her myself and her own servants can wait on her.”

“Thank you. Would it be reasonable to give Susan the day off tomorrow? I think she’s quite shaken. I don’t want her to have to meet Lady Catherine or her servants again, but I don’t want to create more work for other staff members.”

“It would be very reasonable. With the simple meals you’re ordering, one of the kitchen maids can take over Susan’s work. What shall I do about Lady Catherine’s dinner?”

“Take it up to her. Give her what I will be eating, only larger portions.”

“You’ve ordered a very simple dinner. It won’t please her.”

“There is no point in having something fancy when I’m eating alone.” Elizabeth was proud she kept all traces of vindictiveness from her tone.

Elizabeth went to bed early, expecting not to sleep, but since she hadn’t slept well the previous night, she fell asleep quickly and woke with the dawn. She ate a light breakfast, ordering what she wanted instead of having the staff prepare the buffet she and Darcy normally had. She told herself it was to save everyone the trouble, as she dined alone, but a small part of her also did it so no buffet would greet Lady Catherine.

After eating, Elizabeth took a walk, but didn’t find it enjoyable. It was strange how cold and empty the grounds felt without Darcy walking beside her. Feeling a bit dismal, she returned indoors to practice the pianoforte. She knew it could be heard from the Rose Suite, but it was late enough now anyone should be awake and she would not alter her daily routine for an unwelcome guest. Especially not one she had warned not to use those rooms.

Elizabeth played a piece from the book Darcy had procured for her. She knew her fingers did not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which she saw so many women's do. They did not have the same force or rapidity, and did not produce the same expression, but she saw the piece she was playing would force an agility she did not know her fingers possessed.

She played the same piece several times, trying to get it right. She had to play it very slowly at first, but at the end of nearly an hour, she thought she was playing it at the speed that was intended. Pleased with her victory, she turned the page and painstakingly started on the next piece. A hand came and grabbed the music. Before Elizabeth knew what she was about, Lady Catherine turned and threw the music book into the fire.

“Don’t,” Elizabeth protested too late, standing. “That’s my only gift from Darcy.”

“I will not be tortured by you playing another piece over and over again,” Lady Catherine said. She seized a poker, prodding the book deeper into the flames. They reached for the pages eagerly.

Elizabeth watched, horrified, as the fire consumed her book of music. “Lady Cather--”

“I’m glad Darcy had the sense to realize you need practice, but you should not have played in my hearing,” Lady Catherine said. With malicious jabs, she used the poker to open the pages so the book would burn faster.

“I did suggest you not choose the Rose Suite. Playing in your hearing does not excuse you from destroying my property.” Elizabeth turned from the fire to glare at Darcy’s aunt. She only felt a tiny bit of guilt in her playing. She’d waited until a very acceptable hour and it was her habit to play each day after walking. Why should her habits change for an unwanted houseguest?

“It is just return for you not treating me with respect. Where is Darcy?”

Elizabeth lost any respect for Lady Catherine, partly because she expected respect but had no intention of giving any and partly because she was obviously a terrible bully. Elizabeth pressed her lips into a firm line, trying to decide if there was any harm in sharing where Darcy was. She didn’t want to be unaccommodating simply out of spite, though Lady Catherine made it hard not to be.

“I asked you a question, girl,” Lady Catherine said. “And don’t give me any more nonsense about a funeral. I doubt there’s even been a death. No one in our family has died. I would know.”

“Mr. Darcy is not due back yet. I believe Mr. Enoch Matthews’ funeral was yesterday. My husband said he might stay over for a day or two.”

“Sir Enoch died? You might have told me. I should send a letter of condolence. Sir Lewis knew his father. Humph, you didn’t even get his title right, that’s how out of your depth you are here. Where exactly did Sir Enoch live?”

“Somewhere north of Sheffield.” It oddly pleased her Darcy hadn’t mentioned his friend had a title. It meant the title wasn’t important to him.

“You are not being clear, girl. I want to send a message to Darcy. He should return immediately. Exactly where can I send a message?”

“The same place you send your letter of condolence.” Elizabeth swept past a stunned looking Lady Catherine and strode across the room. She was not going to bother Darcy for his aunt’s games. If Lady Catherine had a legitimate reason to see Darcy, Elizabeth would be more polite, but there was no reason to assist someone who destroyed her property and was so uncommonly rude and abrasive.

“You will tell me, you stupid hussy,” Lady Catherine shouted after her.

Elizabeth kept her chin high and refrained from speeding up, though she wanted to. She heard Lady Catherine puffing behind her. As she entered the hallway, she felt her sleeve being grabbed. There was a tearing sound as it ripped at the shoulder. She spun to face Lady Catherine, done with politeness.

“You will tell me how to reach Darcy,” Lady Catherine said.

“Why are you here? Why this urgent needs to speak to my husband? We’ve been married for weeks. What has changed?”

“What has changed is Mr. Collins finally got some real information from that useless wife of his. I knew your own sister would know your faults. You and another of your litter tricked Darcy and Mr. Bingley into marriage.” Lady Catherine shook a hand in Elizabeth’s face, hers a vivid shade of red. “I wouldn’t have credited you with the intelligence for such a plot, looking at you, but I know your sister pretended illness so she could stay in Netherfield Park and you insinuated yourself, too. Your sisters schemed to have a fire lit in the ballroom by rudely demanding a party be thrown. Your family together conspired to create that crisis and the opportunity it afforded you.” Her voice rose in pitch and volume with each accusation she hurtled into the hallway. “You’d already shown how wild you are by taking long walks alone. Your family is desperate to find husbands, because your father is in debt.”

Elizabeth glared at her. “He most certainly is not. This is the most ridiculous driv--”

“I want Darcy to get out of this marriage,” Lady Catherine said. “I came as soon as I learned of your deviousness. You aren’t fit to grace my sister’s home.”

Elizabeth realized her hands were clenched and opened them. She took a deep breath, unable to help but wonder how many servants were within hearing of Lady Catherine’s lies. “This is Mr. Darcy’s home, and he seems to want me here.”

“I thought I’d have to persuade him you aren’t suitable, but now that I’m here, I’ve learned he doesn’t even want you. You can imagine my relief.”

“That’s absurd. You have no means of assessing my husband’s feelings for me.”

“Don’t I?” Lady Catherine looked entirely too smug for Elizabeth’s taste. “Not all of your servants have been fooled into caring for you like that first little brat you sent to my rooms. I have it on good authority your marriage has never been consummated. It can easily be annulled.”

Elizabeth stared at her. The woman had bribed the servants for gossip about her? It made it all the worse that Elizabeth knew that part, at least, was true, although the servants couldn’t really know. Yes, they could have some idea she and Darcy hadn’t engaged in marital relations since reaching Pemberley, but they’d spent the night at an inn on the road there.

“Nothing to say to that, have you? You know he doesn’t want you as his wife. He doesn’t even want to sully himself by lying with you.”

Elizabeth couldn’t believe this so-called lady was saying such things, let alone while standing in the hall.

Lady Catherine leaned closer. “Listen, girl, I’ll give you ten thousand pounds to leave. Once you’re gone, he’s sure to annul this travesty of a union.”

“Absolutely not,” Elizabeth said through clenched teeth. How could she rid herself of this woman? Maybe she should give in and tell her where Darcy was. Perhaps he could better deal with his aunt. “I will not leave him.”

“You’re foolish for not getting yourself with child yet. Darcy would never leave a pregnant wife. That you’ve no wiles works to our advantage, don’t you see? You can gain a fortune of your own, and my Anne can still wed Darcy.”

“I told you, I will not leave him.” The woman was practically mad.

“Fine, fifteen thousand when the annulment goes through. You can live comfortably on the interest for the rest of your life. You can even remarry.”

Elizabeth laughed, suddenly taken with the absurdity of the situation. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m never going to leave Darcy.” Because I love him, she silently added, realizing the truth behind her despondency at his absence.

“I’ll make your life miserable if you don’t. I have considerable influence in London society and when the truth is known, you will be shunned.”

“Even if I am shunned, Darcy himself is worth it. What do I care for London society when I have him?” Especially if there were more people there like Lady Catherine.

“I will ruin you and he will grow to hate you for bringing him down.” She glared at Elizabeth, scowling. “Why do you argue, girl? I’m offering you the fortune you want. You don’t even love him. Your plan was to entrap Bingley, but you realized Darcy is a better prize and you switched.”

“Darcy is a better prize, but not because of his wealth.”

“Twenty thousand pounds,” Lady Catherine all but shouted the words into Elizabeth’s face. “I’m offering you everything you could possibly ever want.”

“No, you aren’t. I don’t want Darcy’s money, I want Darcy. Nothing you offer me can supply that want.” Though she wasn’t as tall as Lady Catherine, Elizabeth did her best impression of looking down on her. “Furthermore, I think I should tell Darcy of your offer,” she added, hoping Lady Catherine would find that a threat.

“He won’t believe you,” Lady Catherine said smugly.

“Oh, I will believe her,” Darcy’s voice said behind Elizabeth.

Lady Catherine’s face went slack in surprise. Her eyes darted from Elizabeth’s face to somewhere behind her. Elizabeth spun, an exclamation of joy leaving her at the sight of Darcy. She ran forward but stopped inches from him, unsure what to do.

“I’m so happy you’re home,” she said.

“Home?” he repeated. “Meaning, yours and mine?”

She flushed, knowing he referred to her continued reference to Longbourn as home. “Yes, Pemberley, your home and mine.”

A warm smile curved his lips. Elizabeth drew in a breath, hoping he would kiss her. He raised a hand, touching the tear in the shoulder of her gown, and the smile left his face. Looking over Elizabeth’s shoulder, Darcy took her hand and stepped past her, bringing her with him down the hall toward his aunt.

“Lady Catherine, you will pack and leave immediately,” Darcy said. “You will not return to Pemberley until you have written an abject apology for your behavior. You will also include in your letter a promise to treat my wife with the utmost respect. If any of the statements you’ve made are circulated, I will publicize your attempt to destroy my marriage.”

“Darcy, you must see this girl is beneath you.”

“What I see is that you are behaving atrociously and my wife is ideal for me.”

“The family will never acknowledge her as a relation. You will be outcast.”

Darcy eyed his aunt like something he’d scraped from his horse’s hoof. “If you don’t go now, I will have my footmen carry you out.”

Lady Catherine’s face went white. She sputtered, obviously too beside herself to speak. Nor did Darcy give her much chance to. Still holding Elizabeth’s hand, he turned them about once more, leading her from the hall. He didn’t release her hand or stop walking until he reached her room.

“You should change. Your dress is torn. I will, of course, buy you a new one.”

“This one is easily mended,” she said, scrutinizing his face. Why hadn’t he kissed her yet? Did his aunt’s threats carry weight?

“Regardless, I should like to buy you a new one and this one is no longer suitable to be worn at this time. I will also order another copy of Cramer’s book of music. Some jewelry too. You shouldn’t have to say the book was the only thing I’ve given you.” He pushed open the door to her room, gesturing she should enter. “I’ll return.”

Elizabeth went in and he closed the door behind her. She changed quickly, but Darcy didn’t return. She wasn’t sure if he’d meant for her to stay in her room until he did. She wouldn’t have, except she’d no desire to meet Lady Catherine or any of her servants. She paced her room, growing more agitated the longer Darcy was away.

How long had he been home? He must have heard Lady Catherine’s accusations, because he’d cautioned her against making them public. He couldn’t believe them, though, could he? Elizabeth wouldn’t have thought so, but his extended absence was starting to worry her.

The aggravating part was, Lady Catherine’s lies had kernels of truth. Jane hadn’t pretended to be ill, but their mother had almost certainly contrived for her to be forced to stay at Netherfield. Lydia and Kitty had pressed for the ball, though they couldn’t have known about the chimney being blocked or that Miss Bingley would order a fire lit. Elizabeth hadn’t switched with her sister because Darcy was wealthier than Bingley, but she had been the one to introduce the idea of the switch.

She shook her head. No, Mr. Darcy would realize the truth. Lady Catherine had argued against herself in one way, as well, when she’d pointed out their marriage could still be annulled. If Elizabeth had truly plotted anything, she would obviously not have agreed to Darcy’s generous four weeks.

Elizabeth stopped pacing. She sat on the bed and replayed her interaction with Lady Catherine in her mind. Could she have done something differently? Should she have? She was terribly angry, but possibly she should have acceded to Lady Catherine’s demand and sent Darcy a message. Was it right to use the rudeness of her guest as an excuse not to bother Darcy? Should she have let him decide what to do or should she have kept him from being bothered when he was trying to help a friend?

She now knew Lady Catherine did not have a good excuse for sending an urgent message, but Darcy might disagree. It didn’t matter if it could be argued Lady Catherine deserved the treatment she received. Elizabeth knew she must judge her actions against a higher ideal, not against Lady Catherine’s. She worried she’d come up lacking, if only for being unable to rein in her temper.

Well, sitting in her room wasn’t going to change anything. She should go find her husband and ensure he wasn’t entertaining the notion Lady Catherine had spoken the truth. She also wished to assure him that, for her part, she didn’t care if society or his family cut them. She didn’t need Fitzwilliams, de Bourghs or the ton. She had Darcy.

A knock sounded at her door as she stood, startling her into sitting back down on the bed. “Elizabeth?” Darcy called.

“Come in,” she said.

Darcy entered and closed the door behind him. He crossed to her, handing her a glass of wine. “I thought you could use this.”

“Thank you,” Elizabeth said. She sipped the wine. Although she’d been about to go find him, she wasn’t sure where to begin.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to the bed she was seated on.

“Of course.”

He sat beside her, the bed dipping under his weight. “I spoke to Mrs. Reynolds. She told me about Lady Catherine’s refusal to see you or dine with you. She also told me Lady Catherine elected to stay in the Rose Suite. It is where she customarily stays.”

“I tried to suggest she not take those rooms. Doesn’t she know the Rose Suite is next to the music room?”

Darcy shook his head. “When they’re both here, Georgiana only practices when Lady Catherine is in another part of the house.”

Elizabeth couldn’t tell from his tone if he meant that as a criticism. “Is she gone yet?”

“Her maid is packing, and one of ours has been let go.”

“For selling gossip?”

“Yes. Lady Catherine’s servants found she was a willing source of information.”

“Did you give her a severance?”

“I told her the money my aunt had bribed her with was her severance. I paid her for the time she’s worked here, but she’d only been here for two months.”

“That seems fair.”

“You should know I heard everything. When I arrived, she was already in the doorway to the music room. She stood there for several minutes. I don’t think she was enjoying your playing. I can see how someone might become a bit annoyed about hearing the same piece over and over again but knowing her, she was just accumulating slights. I listened to your argument. I wasn’t really hiding, just standing in a doorway. I admit I backed farther into it when you left the music room.” He looked a bit abashed. “I’m not entirely proud of myself for eavesdropping, but I am proud of how you acted.”

Elizabeth looked up at him. Even though he was sitting next to her on the bed, she had to look up. “I was afraid you might believe some of her lies.”

“How could I, when I know you had no real desire to wed me? You were all but forced into our union. Worse, far from entering it with indifference, you outright disliked me and have shown no desire to consummate our union.” He looked away, studying the far wall.

“That’s not‒”

“Elizabeth, my aunt was right in one thing. Our union could be annulled.” His voice was soft, but had a harsh edge to it. “When I pressed for this marriage, I thought you wanted it as well. I didn’t mean to force you into a union so thoroughly unwelcome to you. Say the word and I will have our marriage annulled. You may keep everything I’ve settled on you when you leave. It will make a dowry large enough that some men will overlook our brief union.”

Elizabeth could only see his profile, which looked grim. She stared at him. Leave? She couldn’t leave him. She loved him. Hadn’t he heard that part of the argument? The part when she’d said she would never leave him.

A horrible thought came to her. He must wish to end their union. He’d said he didn’t believe his aunt’s lies, but nothing had passed his lips about her threats. His family was a lot to give up just for a wife.

“I understand,” she said, a lump forming in her throat. She turned and set the wineglass on the table by her bed, for her hands were shaking so much she feared she’d spill it. “You do not wish to be cut by your family. Even if you care for me, I won’t be enough to fill such a void.”

“Cut by my family?” He glanced at her, pain clear in his eyes.

“Isn’t that why you want me to leave? You already said you didn’t believe your aunt’s lies, so I thought‒”

“Want you to leave?” His voice rose with incredulousness. “I want you to stay. Rather, I need you to stay, but not at the expense of your happiness. I could never be the cause of your misery.”

“The only misery I shall have to endure will be if you send me away. I’ve never met a man I esteem more. You are kind, disciplined, generous, intelligent and, if I may be so bold, quite handsome. Why should I ever wish to leave you?”

He looked slightly stunned, but the deep lines of worry were gone from his face. “In order to marry a man you love?”

“I am married to the man I love. No other will ever do.”

Elizabeth was glad she’d set aside her wine because he pulled her into his arms, his lips taking possession of hers. His hands slid to the buttons running the length of the back of her dress. She leaned closer, but he broke off their kisses.

She looked up at his searchingly, a question on her lips.

“Your four weeks,” he said. “You have six days left.”

“I don’t need six days,” she said, reaching up to pull his head back down to hers.

This time, nothing interrupted them.

***

It turned out any lingering worry Elizabeth might have had about Darcy’s family rejecting them was completely unfounded. When they arrived for the holidays, his relatives were delightful people. More than one of his cousins even confided to Elizabeth they were grateful Lady Catherine wasn’t welcome. Elizabeth did suffer a brief fear Darcy’s sister, Georgiana, didn’t care for her, but it turned out she was indeed only shy. As Darcy had, Georgiana seemed to be warming to Elizabeth quickly.

The ladies were all talking after dinner one evening when Colonel Fitzwilliam’s sister, Lady Emily, who was a pleasant woman, drew Elizabeth aside. “I don’t mean to overstep, but I wanted to add my approval of the absence of our aunt.”

“Thank you, but it wasn’t my doing. Lady Catherine engineered her own expulsion.” Elizabeth spoke in a low voice, for though they were all family and ostensibly in agreement, it seemed wrong to gossip or malign. “Will she not apologize soon? I must say, even though I can in no way call my family perfect, it is strange to me to see one so divided.”

“Lady Catherine is overbearing and stubborn. I, for one, don’t care if she ever relents. She always takes over the conversation. Georgiana is terrified of her. Even my brothers were afraid of her when they were young. All of the Fitzwilliams were shy until they became adults and I often wonder if Lady Catherine had something to do with that.”

“After my interaction with her, I can understand your conjecture.”

“I’m glad Darcy put his foot down,” her guest said. “Someone should have done so years ago. What actually happened? We haven’t been able to get it from Darcy.”

“She made some wild accusations against me.” Elizabeth didn’t want to go into more detail, especially if Darcy had already declined to.

Lady Emily suddenly looked serious. “She usually doesn’t make things up. There must be a rumor floating around somewhere. She may twist a rumor, but she starts with a bit of truth. You’d better be prepared to face that rumor.”

Elizabeth smiled. “Let me show you my sister Mary’s letter.” She had it with her, meaning to share it with Darcy when they found some time alone. If Elizabeth had any complaint against her guests, it would be they didn’t allow her enough time alone with her husband. She found she could live quite well with that as her only grievance, though. Especially since they would only remain for a time. She handed Fitzwilliam’s sister the letter, moving to re-read it along with her.

Dear Elizabeth,

I am so angry with Mr. Collins I almost regret marrying him. Lady Catherine wanted him to find some information about you that she could use against you and he deliberately misinterpreted what happened at Netherfield Park. I’m sorry I admitted Mama wanted Jane to be stuck there overnight because of the rain, but believe me, that was the only information I gave him. Everything else was his distortion.

He was angry with you for refusing his proposal and wanted to get back at you. When Lady Catherine returned from Pemberley, she asked me for confirmation of what Mr. Collins told her. The three of us were in a room together and I asked my husband if I should tell her the truth. Of course, he said yes, so I did. I defended my husband by saying, being a stranger, he probably misunderstood what really happened. I can’t say I’m sorry for the results. Lady Catherine won’t see him except at church and she pointedly cuts him every time she exits. Oddly, this actually helps his standing in the community, because she is not popular with the local landowners.

I’ve finally persuaded Mr. Collins it doesn’t matter. The living is his, regardless of what Lady Catherine says now. Before we wed, I told Mr. Collins I would use him as a guide for wisdom, but I’ve come to the conclusion he doesn’t have any. The result is I say very little. There are three women in our community who visit me regularly. They tell me their problems and I ask them about how to run a household. I’m making friends and no one cares if I’m not pretty. No one thinks I am accomplished. After doing all that work, none of it is important. It is very strange and my life is not what I thought it would be.

Your loving sister,

Mary

“I would like to meet your sister someday,” Lady Emily said as she handed the letter back. “She seems an interesting and sensible woman.”

Elizabeth smiled at that. She would tell Mary, who deserved a sister who passed on such compliments. “My sister Jane is holding a ball soon. Mary and her husband plan to attend. Jane has already written to say any of my new relations are welcome and they have rooms at Netherfield Park for guests. Would you and your husband enjoy coming?”

“We’d be delighted.”

Just then, the men rejoined them. Lady Emily offered Elizabeth her arm. She took it and, smiling, they wandered back over to the others. As she joined the cheerful laughing group, Mary’s parting words rang in Elizabeth’s mind.

She caught Darcy’s gaze. He smiled at her and her cheeks warmed, for he often smiled now and she knew she was the cause. She answered in kind, thinking maybe she wouldn’t share Mary’s letter yet. They had so little time alone these days, why spend any of it on Lady Catherine, the Collins, or anyone other than themselves?

No, life was not what Elizabeth had thought it would be either. It was so very much better.

Epilogue

Caroline

When the dancing resumed after dinner, the party showing no signs of waning, Miss Bingley began to give in to her ire. She was annoyed her new sister, the former Miss Jane Bennet, was giving the ball she should have given. If not for that silly blocked fireplace, Caroline would have thrown the most magnificent soiree Hertfordshire had ever seen. The entire community would have lauded her and Darcy would have fallen in love with her.

Instead, she had to spend over a month in London with the Hursts because, with Darcy gone and wedded to Jane’s sister, there were no eligible men in Hertfordshire. One of the only reasons Caroline had agreed to come back at all was because she’d learned Darcy was attending with some of his friends and relatives. After all, if she couldn’t have Fitzwilliam Darcy, she could at least have a relation. Even that wasn’t turning out as well as she’d hoped, though.

Only moments ago, she’d been chagrined to discover that while Darcy had introduced one of his friends as Major Matthews, he was really Sir Peter and had recently inherited a nice estate near Sheffield. Unluckily, Caroline had already danced with him. Darcy should have warned her that he was eligible. She hadn’t bothered to charm him and now he was dancing with one of those silly younger Bennet girls, Miss Kitty.

Not wishing to watch any Bennet girl with an eligible man, Caroline wandered to the window. Circumspectly, she inspected Jane’s choice of curtains, finding them lacking. Caroline would have spent a great deal more on fabric, had it been left to her.

Bored, she glanced about the room. She’d met a charming lieutenant before she left for London, a Mr. Wickham. He’d told her a deliciously scandalous story about Mr. Darcy. She’d love to return to that line of conversation. Her gaze searched the room, but he was nowhere to be found. Caroline thought that odd, as officers were in abundance.

She wondered the perimeter, assuring herself she was on a mission to locate Mr. Wickham, not forced to linger on the fringes without a partner. As she circled a third time, she spotted Miss Lydia Bennet beside the refreshment table. As casually as possible, Caroline made her way over. As much as she disliked the Bennet girls, they were the best source of information about an officer.

“Miss Lydia, is that you?” Caroline asked, feigning pleasure. “Why, I daresay you’ve grown over the winter.”

“Miss Bingley! It is you. Have I grown? I dare to hope so. Officers do like a tall girl, don’t you think? Of course, my sister Elizabeth isn’t tall at all, and she has Mr. Darcy, but then he isn’t an officer. I, myself, love a man in a red coat. Don’t you?”

It was all Caroline could do not to grimace. Why, the girl couldn’t even see that saying she’d grown was an insult. Caroline had all but called her a child still. “Speaking of red coats, I notice Mr. Wickham isn’t here, unless I mistake myself.”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t be. He turned out to be a terrible liar. He told a silly story about Mr. Darcy, which everyone believed at first, but then my sister, Mrs. Darcy, found out about what he was saying and she was not at all pleased. She said it wasn’t right. Some people didn’t believe she had the right information, but Lieutenant Chamberlayne has relatives who knew Mr. Wickham and he said he was much worse even than my sister reported. The only reason everyone in England didn’t know how bad he was, was because Mr. Darcy had stepped forward and paid Mr. Wickham’s debts. Once we knew the truth, we were all so angry with Mr. Wickham, he resigned his commission and left Meryton. You didn’t know him, did you, Miss Bingley?”

“Heavens no,” Caroline said. “I merely wanted to make sure he wasn’t here. I wouldn’t care to come across him.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t worry. He wouldn’t dare show his face here.”

“Well then, very good. Thank you.”

Caroline hurried away, hoping Miss Lydia was too silly to see her embarrassment. She was mortified she’d been taken in by Mr. Wickham and wished she’d never mentioned him. She should have known Mr. Darcy wouldn’t do anything dishonorable. In fact, it sounded as if he’d behaved with considerable aplomb, paying off Mr. Wickham’s debts when he had no reason to.

Why Mr. Wickham’s creditors and not the Bennet girls, she wondered. If only Darcy had just paid off the Bennets, the whole incipient scandal could have been avoided. By now she might be Mrs. Darcy and her brother would be likely to marry someone with status.

Not that she wanted Mr. Darcy the way he was now. He wasn’t himself at all. He was behaving abominably. Not at all the way someone in his position should behave. Her eyes went to him now, where he danced with his wife.

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were very unfashionable. They’d already danced half the dances with each other, including the opening dance and the super dance. Miss Bingley had to admit Mrs. Darcy’s dress was very attractive, but when one paid the best dressmaker in London to make a dress, it had better look good. Although Mrs. Darcy’s dress was a little too simple for her tastes, if Caroline was being honest, it also somehow made her own dress seem uncomfortably ornate.

Miss Bingley sighed, settling into a seat along the wall. She was embarrassed to be seated with the wallflowers, but it wasn’t worth sinking any lower in order to dance. She’s already suffered through the mortification of dancing the supper dance with that ridiculous clergyman, Mr. Collins, who was married to one of Jane’s sisters. Mr. Collins, awkward and solemn, apologizing instead of attending, and often moving wrong without being aware of it, gave her all the shame and misery which a disagreeable partner for a couple of dances can give.

Worse, she had to sit with the absurd man at supper. She frowned. At least she had a partner at supper. It was now, after supper, when she couldn’t muster one. Her gaze followed Mr. and Mrs. Darcy about the room for another moment. She tried not to envy the graceful way they danced, or the almost vulgar looks of adoration on their faces. Her brother and Jane swept past, looking equally besotted.

Caroline pulled her eyes from the dancefloor. They moved to the cheerfully glowing fireplace and she tried not to scowl. Yes, the fire burned brightly and filled the room with a welcome warmth, but Caroline still despised it. Warm for the wallflowers like her or not, that fireplace was responsible for all of her misery.

The End