Pride and Prejudice 1. Prologue

_Yeah, this is quite short. But it's a prologue, what did you expect? Sorry about it being a bit depressing; I promise that it's not all going to be like this. _

**Prologue**

_November 19, 1796_

A girl of seven, with her hair done in ribbons and curls, and wearing a simple white muslin dress crept into her mother's bedchamber. She carefully balanced the tea things between her arms as the door swung closed behind her. The girl immediately noticed how very dark it was in the room, with the curtains pulled shut, so that only the thinnest ray of light shined upon the mossy green rug of the bedchamber. She had not seen her mother in a week, for she had become violently ill from the birth of her fifth daughter; and it was through the kind graces of the servants that she was allowed to take her mother's tea to her. She remembered the housekeeper telling her to not stay long, for her mother was very ill, and would not want to be kept awake.

The girl sidled up to her mother's bedside, hearing the heavy wheezing of her breaths. She set down the tray upon a little table, and lifted herself onto the bed to see her mother. When she laid eyes upon her, she absolutely started: her mother was pale and thin, with her hair askew, and in a cold sweat. Something within Jane knew, at that moment, that her mother was dying: and she began to sob bitterly, her tears streaming down her cheeks and falling, unhindered, onto the skirt of her dress. After wailing for some minutes, her mother stirred: and when the latter opened her eyes, her maternal instinct had her reach out and gather her pretty little daughter in her arms. Jane buried her head into her mother's breast, mourning as if she were already dead.

"My dearest Jane," whispered Mrs. Bennet in a calm, raspy voice that was so unlike her own, "you shall go on without me: you all shall. I will always be watching you, always loving you, even if you may not be able to touch or speak to me."

"Don't speak that way, Mamma!" cried Jane passionately, "Don't speak as if I will never see you again! How will I ever be happy again? Oh! Live, live!"

Mrs. Bennet ran her fingers through her daughter's hair, hushing her and holding her as tightly to her as she was able to do in her frail condition. Jane had long forgotten the tea, as she continued to wail in her paroxysm of emotion. Then, suddenly, Mrs. Bennet gently grabbed her child by the shoulders, looking seriously into her eye, and said with more assertion, between labored breaths,

"Tell your Papa—"

But Jane never learnt what her mother wished her to tell her father, for Mrs. Bennet exhaled her last breath, and her eyes closed as she sunk into her pillow, only an empty shell of the woman she once was. Jane's tears, which had subsided with her mother's serious tone, returned, as she cried more loudly than ever, and was completely lost to all her surroundings. Time had no meaning; nothing had meaning except her sorrow, which wholly enveloped her, and she wept so violently, and thrashed about, that it did not fail to capture the attention of a five-year-old girl who had been wandering the hall. The girl's sisterly instinct told her to enter, for she had certainly never heard dear Jane cry so. Jane never made a fuss about anything; she was the comforter; she was the one who quieted Kitty when the frustrating toddler howled for no apparent reason at all. Yes, her little mind deduced that it must have been something very serious indeed.

When Elizabeth opened the door, not in a dissimilar way from that which her sister had done but a little earlier, she was shocked by the fit that she witnessed her sister having.

"Jane! Jane!" she screeched, alarmed with the notion that her eldest sister had gone mad. Elizabeth rushed to her sister, giving her a very clumsy embrace, as she knew not what else to do. "Jane-y! What's the matter? Why are you doing that? Please stop!"

"Mamma's dead!" gasped Jane between loud sobs, her face drenched with tears.

"You're lying!" cried Elizabeth, as was her first impulse, "Telling lies isn't very nice! That's what you told Mary the other day! Don't you remember? Jane, stop that!"

But Jane didn't stop. She merely gestured to the bed, indicating that Elizabeth could behold the truth for herself; and so Elizabeth did. And the moment that Elizabeth laid eyes upon her mother, she knew that she was dead; and she knew that it would be an image that would stain her all her life. How could she go about doing those habitual things that people do, knowing that her mother had suffered so acutely that last week of her life, and was no more? What was a mother to her that was only dust in the ground, a cold stone in a cemetery? It wasn't how it was meant to be! Children who can't write their name shouldn't have to bury their mothers!

"Jane!" cried Elizabeth, though it was more of an inaudible moan than a name; and so the two young sisters embraced, sobbing on each other's shoulders, futilely attempting to drown their sorrows in the dampness of each other's dresses.


	2. The Nature of Conversations

**Chapter One: The Nature of Conversations**

_August 3, 1811_

Elizabeth Bennet could perceive rolling hills in the direction facing to the south of Northberry Park. The sun liberally spread its rays across the landscape, its reflection sparkling in the distance from a faraway pond. She could distinguish small wood, and carefully-tilled farms through the countryside; and when she turned about, she could admire Northberry—her home. She could not conceive for herself one that could be any better; it was spacious, without being too large; ornate, without being gaudy; and there was something in the air, which seemed to soothe and relax. Vines wrapped themselves gently around the chimney, while she could see the corner of the house sheltered by glossy leaves from a nearby tree. The gardens were colorful in August, with flowers that seemed tame, but not so tame as to make them seem as if they belonged in a museum. What place could be better! She smiled to herself as she contemplated her good fortune in dwelling in the best house in England, while a delicate purple wildflower was twirled between her thumb and forefinger.

"My dear Lizzy!" cried a familiar voice from behind her, though she unconsciously started from the serenity of only birds twittering and the wind rushing being abruptly interrupted. The wildflower slipped from between her fingers as she faced Amelia, who was gaily laughing at her friend and neighbor's edginess.

"Miss Darcy! It is highly improper for you to happen on young ladies unannounced! You should be ashamed of yourself!" scolded Elizabeth in a jesting, mocking tone. Amelia, realizing that this exclamation held no weight, slipped her arm into Elizabeth's, as they began slowly walking through the pretty little garden towards the house.

"Well—don't you want to know what news I have?" asked Amelia anxiously, obviously poorly containing her enthusiasm.

"Of course," replied her companion nonchalantly, "I just did not suppose that I would have to ask in order to find out. However, I am dying to know. But first, does it have anything to do with Lord Fitzwilliam? Because if it does, you know that I want nothing of it. I have never met the man, but I probably know _him_ better than I know the Whitings."

Amelia shook her head decidedly, her dark curls swinging wildly about her face. There was something very becoming about her expression when she was animated, unlike others, who merely verged on the ridiculous. Amelia Darcy was a tall, stout girl of nineteen, who, despite living under the thumb of her peevish mother, seemed to be the liveliest and most optimistic young woman that Elizabeth had ever met. Because of this, she was often seen as silly and vain—perhaps naïve—but she had a kind heart which Elizabeth had seen plenty of, since they had been friends since girlhood. However, perceived silliness was not a very great failing for a young woman, if she had the beauty to compensate for it; and that, Amelia most certainly did. She had dark, thoughtful eyes that were noticed by everyone she met, a graceful countenance, good taste in dress, and features that were far from plain.

"Nothing to do with Lord Fitzwilliam at all, I promise you! It has to do with his cousin—_my_ cousin as well. Now, Lizzy, do you remember Georgiana Darcy?"

After several moments' consideration, Elizabeth replied in the affirmative, adding, "You introduced me to her when I accompanied you to Town last summer. She was the shy one?"

"Yes, yes! Well, she and her brother are coming to visit us in but three days! Her brother, you know, is eight and twenty. And, my dear, when is the next public ball? In five days! Do you see how splendidly this has worked out?"

"Three days! Is that all the notice they gave you? And is this Mr. Darcy bringing his wife?"

"His _wife!_—la! Why on earth would I want to introduce you to a married man? And I am sure they would have given more notice, only it seems it was all such a sudden business. Georgiana was spending the summer at Ramsgate, but it would seem that something came up, so that she had to leave! And what would be better to console one over an interrupted holiday, than to come and stay in Leicestershire? Even Mamma has been pleasant all day with the thought of it, as we rarely get houseguests, you know."

"I comprehend you perfectly, Amelia! You are playing matchmaker. Well, you had better take your schemes to Sarah, as she is very fond of doting on young men, as if it was her Season, and she was not married to my father."

And just as the name was being spoken, Sarah Bennet (nee Ashby) rounded the corner. She was a youthful woman in appearance, though being eight and thirty. The bloom of her youth had certainly faded, but age had been kind to her; and with her vivacity, it nearly compensated for her slightly bedraggled appearance. The Bennets had quickly grown to love Sarah—not quite in the way that one loves their mother—but it was more of a sisterly affection. Indeed, with her façade of youth, it seemed that she was more of an elder sister than anything to them; and what with her tendencies to speak of matters in such a way that a younger girl would, it gave them a sort of relationship that was atypical to have with a parent figure. Elizabeth could not help but draw parallels between Amelia and Sarah; because, though their wont was to be a little bit absurd, they knew when they ought to behave seriously. Sarah was truly a sensible, economical woman, who managed Mr. Bennet's business affairs so well, that he had nearly surrendered all of the responsibilities to her (though he would never admit that this was so). She assured that their habits were not extravagant, and had allowed them to steadily increase their income and respectability in society.

"I have caught you! You were speaking of me! Come, now, you must explain, or you shall have to play a duet with me after dinner, Lizzy," cried Sarah.

It was no punishment at all, however, for Amelia to divulge all of the details of her news to a willing recipient; and it seemed that Sarah received it with interest, and, upon Amelia finishing her speech, said,

"You have found a young man to introduce Lizzy to, then! Good girl! But I will not marry of one of my girls to _any_ bachelor. What sort of man is he? He can't be a gamester, or an extravagant man; oh no! That would not do at all."

"Certainly he is not, Mrs. Bennet. I imagine he manages his expenses very well, for he owns Pemberley, you know—in Derbyshire. It is as fine a place as you ever will see, with grounds prettier than I have seen in all my life! If you saw it, you would be quite in raptures, and not care for his character."

"_I_ would not be impressed," insisted Elizabeth proudly, "for Northberry Park is the best place on earth."

Amelia laughed at this; but, undeterred, Sarah interrogated on:

"So! He is not profligate. But is he handsome?"

"He is very tall, and very handsome, as can be denied by no one. Well! Are you satisfied with him, then, Mrs. Bennet?"

"I cannot believe that such a man exists—economical _and_ handsome! A rare combination indeed; so first, you must tell me something of his faults, and then I will be satisfied."

"His faults!" exclaimed Amelia, "Well, I do not know him so well as to say anything with certainty. He is nearly ten years my senior, so we were never much of playmates; but Georgiana (that is his sister, you know) and I used to get on very well, and she is so excessively fond of him. But he is a Fitzwilliam, you know; they generally seem to think—well, with at least _one_ exception,"—(with a knowing glance at Elizabeth)—"that they are quite the thing. So perhaps, ma'am, you should not wonder whether he meets your standards, but whether you meet _his_."

"He is a bit of the _amour propre_, does he?" said Sarah with a bemused smile, "Ah, but there are far worse afflictions that can befall a man. You have done very well, Miss Darcy, and I will anticipate meeting him. If only you were my daughter!"

"I think it is rather better that she's not," said Elizabeth to Sarah; and, when receiving rather confused looks from the latter and from Amelia, she proceeded to explain, "You are horrible influences on each other. You would quite drive all of the sense you have from each other's minds if you were mother and daughter."

Her two companions laughed at this, and Sarah, being in good humor, said,

"All that is left to do now, Miss Darcy, is to tell this news to Lydia, and then she will industriously circulate it about the town; and then half the girls in Wearham will be half in love with Mr. Darcy before he even walks through the door."

The three ladies entered the house, all grown strangely silent; Elizabeth was rather glad to be off the vexing subject, as she never much fancied the idea of being married off to a man as if she was a piece of property. They settled in the drawing-room, where tea was called for, and Herbert was so deeply engrossed in his studies that he hardly noticed the entrance of the ladies. Sarah took up her needlework; and Elizabeth, though relieved that Amelia and her step-mother were no longer scheming, feared that the room might become too quiet, with only the scratching of Herbert's pen on paper. The air was rather oppressive and hot in the room, which prompted Elizabeth to rise from her seat on the sofa next to Amelia, and throw open the nearest window. A cool breeze began to waft through the room, carrying with it the sweet perfume of summer and fresh air which sharpened one's senses. Elizabeth dreamily gazed through the window, across the field, to the apple orchard; but she quickly turned about when she heard the click of a door opening, and saw that Jane had entered.

Jane greeted Amelia, as was proper decorum, and then drew a chair up next to Herbert, and beginning to murmur instructions to him in a low voice, which the young boy seemed eager to comply with. Jane and Amelia were quite alike in their philosophies, though Jane's was more of a subdued, moderate sweetness and sanguinity. Everything Amelia did, she did it with overwhelming enthusiasm; everything Jane did, was done in a quiet, subtle fashion. At times, especially when everyone was in a quiet mood such as was the present case, Jane would seem deep in reflection, and a little bit sad; as if she were reminiscing of days gone by, or pining for some lost love.

"Lizzy," said Amelia, at last breaking the silence, "I could not help but notice at the Morgans' dinner party last Wednesday that Mr. Newbury was quite doting on you."

Alas! What a subject to choose! With a sigh, Elizabeth responded,

"Yes; you are not the only one who noticed. It is becoming quite officious."

"Oh! You do not like him then. Well, I do not blame you. I do not wish to be severe on him—only—he is just a clerk—thinking he can get a lady from Northberry! You can do much better, my dear friend."

"I cannot respect a man without sense," interjected Sarah, "and he certainly has none. One could be the haughtiest, most standoffish creature, and he would no doubt see it as encouragement! And he _is_ only a clerk. Not to say that profession is the greatest way to judge the measure of a man; but he certainly has the means, if he only had his wits about him, to improve his station in life. Just because he fancies that he is above us all, does not make it so!"

Jane, overhearing this criticism of Mr. Newbury, could not be quite content; it was not in her nature to censure her fellow-creatures, and therefore it made her anxious and uneasy to witness others doing so.

"I rather like Mr. Newbury," said Jane defensively; "perhaps he is not the most intelligent, or the most sensible; but he is certainly very good. I do not doubt his meaning to always do well. He had a humble upbringing, you know; it is not fair to criticize him, with his rank being decidedly below our own."

"Ah, dear Jane—the voice of moderation!" cried Sarah, "certainly, another word shall not be said on the subject. Deal with the poor man the best you can, Lizzy. Now, Miss Darcy, your mother spoke to me at that very dinner party of the Morgans' that she had just the color dye that was wanted for my ribbons; is it not so?"

And so the ebb and flow of the conversation was of indifferent subjects for the rest of the afternoon. They drank tea, and laughed, and played cards, and took a little walk; and then, after Amelia's departure, dinner passed in its usual way. Lydia would quietly whisper gossip in Kitty's ear, as she was the only one who would listen (though whether she received real enjoyment from it was debatable); Mary would tell Herbert of all that she had read that day, and what extracts she had made from the material, which never failed to capture the latter's interest; and the remainder of the party discussed the more prudent of the topics. Déjà vu at the dinner table was not an uncommon occurrence for Elizabeth; therefore, she frequently attempted to take notice of the minute differences in the goings-on, in order to avoid this sensation. The quiet country life was not a varying one; and, despite Elizabeth telling herself that she was repulsed to the idea of Amelia's cousins arriving in three days, she could not help but feel a little bit of anticipation.


	3. New Faces

**Chapter Two: New Faces**

The next five days were lazy, idle days, with much lounging about the garden, and indulging in afternoon naps. It was not that this was tiresome for Elizabeth—in fact, she found it preferable to a busy life, filled with engagements with families one only pretends to care for. She was so entirely contented within the walls of Northberry that, after these five days had past, she had entirely forgotten of the arrival of Amelia's intriguing relatives, who arrived on a whim. Indeed, they _were_ intriguing; quite a puzzle that they should go about so abruptly: especially the Darcys of Derbyshire, as it was the general understanding that they were a very respectable, prudent family.

Elizabeth was arranging some flowers in the drawing-room, while staring out the window at the vast expanse of land and hill before her, her thoughts drifting off into a pleasant reverie, when her thoughts were cruelly brought back to where she stood with the entrance of Kitty. Kitty was an impressionable girl, who chose to be impressed upon by Sarah, primarily; therefore, whatever topic would excite Sarah, excited Kitty: and it was her great pleasure to announce to her elder sister that she had been in Wearham with Lydia, when they came upon their neighbors, Mrs. Darcy and Amelia! And who was with them? But Mr. Darcy, and his sister! It was with this announcement that the conversation of five days past became fresh in her mind; and, indeed, it was rather exciting, as much as she felt she ought not to be excited by houseguests of her particular friend.

"Is it so, Kitty? I should have remembered that Amelia's relations were coming! Well, how did they seem? Were you introduced?"

"Oh!" said Kitty, blushing slightly, "they did not see me. I suppose I should have requested an introduction. But he did seem a very dignified, noble man, though his sister looked a little ill. It was such a strange expression on her face, that Lydia commented on it all the way home (which I did think was a bit tiresome; Sarah always finds Lydia's incessant comments tiresome also). It was not that she was pale—but she was very pensive, and a little sad."

At this description of expression, Elizabeth immediately thought of Jane; but, Kitty continued on:

"They shall be at the public assembly to-night, will they not? I can get a proper impression of them then. You can't just judge someone by looking at them, you know. Are you going to dance with Mr. Darcy, Lizzy? It would be very gratifying to see him stand up with one of my sisters! But I suppose he shall like Jane, because she is always the favorite with the young men, eh? Oh, poor Lizzy! That horrible Mr. Newbury will probably ask you to dance first—but I have thought up just the scheme. I will distract him; and you can talk to Mr. Darcy!"

Kitty seemed so pleased with her idea, as if she had come up with _such_ a novel idea, that Elizabeth dared not say nay to her. She wasn't as impressed with his having a large fortune and estate in Derbyshire as everyone seemed she ought to have been; but he certainly could not have been so bad, with such a warm commendation from Amelia—though, she was typically biased in everybody's favor, especially that of her relations. Well! She would judge the man for herself. She was determined, however, to not take more care in her appearance than normal as she prepared for the little public ball; she was not the one to be the fawning admirer. If everyone was so determined that they should like each other, he would have to like her exactly as she always was!

It was upon Sarah's urging that they arrived a little bit early at the assembly hall, and upon Mr. Bennet's introversion that he should not attend. The latter would much rather read in his library; and when this was not a sufficient excuse, he certainly had business matters which could not be put off—and he had a bit of a headache, as well. Sarah was not going to vex her husband; therefore, the ladies of Northberry departed (Herbert did not attend balls, and would much rather be with his father anyway) in tolerably high spirits. Jane was never much excited by festivities; young men never won her heart, despite her always having a constant flow of admirers; and dancing, though enjoyable enough, was not the delight of her heart, as it was for Lydia.

The assembly room, as the Bennets entered, had only a few indifferent parties scattered about in little groups and filling the room with a low, echoing murmur. A string quartet was warming up upon a high balcony; and, as the ladies adjusted themselves to their new environment, Elizabeth observed that every few minutes the grand double-doors to the hall would open, accommodating a new party. The Bennets greeted those they knew well, and nodded respectfully to those they didn't; but it was really the arrival of the Darcys that was on the mind of everyone in the room.

As the room grew more crowded, every time the door opened, there was a hush for a moment, as they all watched the entrance of the next family eagerly; but once it was discovered to be nobody important, talking recommenced. It seemed that everybody was arriving early; everybody except the much-anticipated Darcys and their mysterious houseguests. Mr. Newbury was the next to arrive, and, oblivious to all others, seemed to make a beeline for Elizabeth; and, with this vexing scene before her, she was rather glad that she had agreed to Kitty's scheme.

"Mr. Newbury!" cried Kitty with unwonted enthusiasm, "I should have thought you would not come at all! Well, how is Mrs. Newbury, the poor invalid? Is she doing a little better, I hope? Did you receive the fruit that Sarah sent?"

"Oh!" replied Mr. Newbury, clearly taken aback by this particular attention from a Bennet sister who usually paid him no attention at all, "She is a little worse to-day than she was; but these relapses do happen to my poor mother. And she did very much like the fruit, thank you—ah, Miss Eliz—!"

"Mr. Newbury!" said Kitty again, recalling his attention, "You know, I have never been good at subtlety; therefore, I was rather hoping you would ask me to dance the first two dances."

If Mr. Newbury was confused by Kitty's acknowledging him at all, this completely astounded him. He pondered this for a moment, not knowing whether to be flattered or offended; and, as he believed that few would dare to offend him, he decided on the former. He wondered how he had overlooked the pretty girl before! Perhaps a little imprudent, but endearingly so! Indeed, he still had the rest of the evening to speak with Miss Elizabeth; she could not take offense.

"May I have the honor of dancing the first two dances with you, then, Miss Catherine?"

Kitty exerted herself to giggle here, and took Mr. Newbury's arm as she led him off to another part of the room; but not without glancing back at Elizabeth with a clearly pained expression. Poor Kitty! How much Elizabeth was now in debt to her! Lydia, however, seemed to be quite diverted by this sudden intimacy between Mr. Newbury and her sister, and whispered something hastily into Sarah's ear, as they both looked at the pair. However, after understanding Lydia's meaning, she received only a disapproving look; and Lydia went elsewhere to spread her gossip.

Elizabeth and Jane stood close to each other, chatting idly when their attention of studying those around them was exhausted; and, they were discussing the finer points of netting a purse efficiently when the white assembly hall doors were opened for what seemed the hundredth time that evening, and in walked the Darcys. The first two faces were familiar to almost all; Amelia wore a dress of yellow muslin, with a small feather contrasting against her dark curls; and arm-in-arm with her was Mrs. Darcy, who glanced fretfully about the room, and whispered to her daughter every now and then. It must have been something trivial, for Amelia only nodded and smiled to each inquiry. Mrs. Darcy was a woman to whom age had not been so kind as it was to Sarah Bennet; and despite her many bracelets, and fine dresses, and elaborate coiffures, it was not enough to distract one from her clearly aged features. However, it was the proceeding two faces which caught the attention of the crowd. Elizabeth was not immediately arrested with the familiarity of Georgiana Darcy's features; partially because their acquaintance was so slight, and partially because of her altered appearance. She did look more mature, indeed, but as Kitty had described to her earlier, there was an overcast, depressed look upon her; and she seemed to cling almost desperately to her brother's arm, almost frightened of the strangers around her. He, on the other hand, seemed the picture of confidence; he certainly was tall and handsome, with dark hair and crystal blue eyes which were quite distinguishing.

"I think I will like them," whispered Jane to Elizabeth.

"Of course you will—who wouldn't you like? But poor Miss Georgiana, does she not look very affected?" replied Elizabeth.

"She must be very shy; she looks terrified, poor thing."

"Yes, I believe she is—though it would seem to be something beyond it, as well."

However, the two sisters did not have much opportunity to discuss this, for Amelia's eyes had wandered about the room until she discovered where her good friend stood, and immediately led her guests towards her and Jane. Amelia bounded up to them, without taking the care to appear elegant in her walk as she had been hitherto. Mrs. Darcy did not look pleased with this excessive exuberance; but Amelia had learnt to disregard her mother's disapproving looks long ago. Amelia embraced Elizabeth, as if they had not seen each other in a year—though it had been several days, with her being much occupied with her cousins, and began to hurriedly say:

"Lizzy! I must introduce you immediately! Mr. Darcy, this is my dear friend Miss Elizabeth Bennet; of Northberry. And, of course you know, Lizzy, that this is Mr. Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. And—Georgiana! Do you remember Lizzy? Last summer?—well, of course you do! Oh! And Miss Jane Bennet, too! Sisters, you see."

Jane and Elizabeth bowed, the latter much amused with Amelia's behavior.

"A pleasure," said Mr. Darcy, though his voice seemed rather cold and withdrawn.

"The pleasure is all mine," replied Elizabeth smilingly. And the pleasure probably _was_ all hers. Elizabeth kindly asked how Georgiana did, and received a reply of "well, thank you", and then an echo of her question, to which the same answer was given—but Georgiana did look far from well. They had only gotten past these formalities, when Sarah walked past, and Amelia immediately introduced her as well.

"Well, Mr. Darcy, it is good to meet you! You must be aware that you have your own legacy here, though you have been here for so little. I am sorry to report that the ladies of Wearham gossip and chat just as much as the rest; though I do try to keep my girls from doing so."

"Sarah! I know that you have a mother's partiality, but you must not give us too much credit," added Elizabeth good-humoredly.

"Of course—I shan't want to scare off anybody, as there is not much varying society in this part of Leicestershire."

"I am not afraid," said Mr. Darcy matter-of-factly.

"I hope not!" responded Sarah.

"Lizzy," began Amelia a little too loudly, "is that Mr. Newbury with Catherine over there?"

"Your eyes to not deceive you," said Elizabeth, glancing in the direction of the unfortunate couple, "but I will tell you more about it later. Miss Georgiana—is it true that you play?"

Georgiana blushed profusely at this direct address, but replied in the affirmative with a short monosyllabic answer.

"I have thought of just the thing," cried Amelia; "you must play a duet together."

"Oh, no, I am horrible! I hope you have not been telling them that I am a master pianist."

"Of course not; but I think that it is a good idea: you are not as bad as you claim to be." As Amelia completed this sentence, she glanced at Georgiana frequently, and directly headed over to her, detaching her arm from her brother's, and going off to undoubtedly introduce her to some more of her neighbors; Sarah whispered something to Jane, and they too took off. Elizabeth was a bit embarrassed, with only Mr. Darcy and she in that corner of the room: and decided that she ought to exert herself to make some conversation, as he was clearly not going to make such an exertion.

"I hear that you and Miss Georgiana have come from a holiday in Ramsgate?"

This was clearly not a favorable subject, as his expression seemed to darken with the question, and she received only a cold "yes". Well, he was certainly making this more difficult than it ought to be!

"You know, of course, you are welcome at Northberry whenever it pleases you. Visitors do not surprise us, as Amelia typically shows up every other day."

A "thank you"—and then more silence. She asked him if he danced; he seemed offended, and said that he did on occasion. She supposed that he thought she was going to be the fawning female— but not her! She was too proud to behave desperately.

"I will introduce you to anyone in the room that you would like," offered Elizabeth, in an attempt to show that she did by no means want to keep him to herself. His company really was a little depressing! She was rather hoping that Amelia would return, though she did not; but she received many a jealous glance across the room from Mr. Newbury. As if she preferred to be sharing an awkward silence with this stranger! Though, perhaps, silence was preferable to Mr. Newbury's dull conversation.

She was all but walking away, as she had really rather not waste a perfectly fine evening in such a way, when Mr. Darcy actually took the pains to speak to her.

"Miss Amelia is certainly very—cheery," he observed. Well, it would seem that she was the only thing they had in common!

"She always is," said Elizabeth; "we have known each other since I was very young. I don't suppose you have seen her very lately before this week?"

"No, I confess I haven't. She and Georgiana have kept up a regular correspondence; Miss Amelia visited Pemberley more frequently when she was younger."

"She is very fond of it—Pemberley, I mean—she was raving to me about it. But she does always see the best in everything; an admirable quality that one does not often meet with."

"Yes; it surprises me that it does not influence Mrs. Darcy's temperament a bit more. Oh—will you dance with me the first two dances, Miss Bennet?"

"If you wish it!—but you are certainly not obligated to confine yourself to two half hours with someone whom you only met ten minutes ago. You may find yourself regretting it."

Mr. Darcy seemed a little confused by this modesty, but only said, "If you _are_ so intimate with Miss Amelia, you will know something of her insistence."

"I had not thought of that. She would never forgive either of us if we didn't, I dare say."

Mr. Darcy nodded to her, and as the dance was about to begin, they took their positions in the line. Elizabeth stood next to Kitty, who was looking very vexed, though attempting to mask this whenever she look in Mr. Newbury's direction.

"I am indebted to you, Kitty, your poor thing," whispered Elizabeth.

"Is your gratitude great enough to allow me to wear your white muslin to the next assembly?"

"It is all yours."

"Excellent! And perhaps you could introduce me to Mr. Darcy after this; I could do with some more agreeable company; I only hear one in three words that Mr. Newbury says."

"He's not _that_ agreeable," said Elizabeth in a yet lower voice, "the first five minutes were incredibly dull. Then he seemed to realize that he was being quite boring, but probably only to save himself from being scolded by Amelia afterwards."

The dance started. It seemed that there was a relapse of the initial awkward silence between them, till Elizabeth once more searched her mind for a topic. She would be quite exhausted by the end of the two dances if this carried on!

"How do you like Wearham?" she asked.

"As well as any other," was his reply.

"Well, one _is_ inclined to like their home better than any other; but I am from Hertfordshire, you see. I don't suppose business has ever carried you there?"

"My friend is considering hiring an estate in that part of the country."

"Really? You must ask Sarah any questions you like about the county on your friend's behalf; I fear that I am rather ignorant on the subject. One doesn't study their surroundings too intently when one is ten. Oh!"—perceiving Georgiana standing quite by herself—"does your sister not dance? I can find her a partner."

"She does; she is only a bit shy around strange company."

"Understandable—I'm not much for dancing with strangers, either. I will go and talk to her after…I beg your pardon…" she trailed off as she colored slightly, realizing she may have offended him with her first comment.

"I suppose neither of the three of us is very sociable. But, thank you, I am sure that, although you know each other very little, she would appreciate the company of someone whom she has met before to-day."

So he assumed she was unsociable! Very well then! Shaking off the bit of offense she received, she merely nodded in reply, and silence ensued once more.

The rest of the evening passed agreeably enough; Elizabeth was not very much a fan of Mr. Darcy: but she didn't need to be, as he seemed to have enough female fans to compensate. After the first two dances, she went to Georgiana as she promised, and made some light banter with her; and then, was accosted by Mr. Newbury, and danced with him; and then with a few other gentleman. By the time the evening was half over, it seemed that the novelty of the Darcys had worn off, and it was only through Amelia's pursuits that they were paid much special attention. They were handsome and rich; but a little standoffish, it was found. Nevertheless, Sarah seconded Elizabeth's invitation of their being welcome at Northberry, and insisted they join them on the following day for tea; an offer which could not be refused by Amelia, at least. Elizabeth only hoped that there truly was something the matter with Mr. Darcy and Georgiana, as they must have been very miserable people indeed if there was not!


	4. First Impressions

_To address some questions—Herbert is 9; Northberry Park was obtained not only through the additional funds that Sarah brought to the family, but also with the addition of her money-sense; and the Bingleys will show up eventually, though it'd be a bit hard to squeeze them in at the moment._

**Chapter Three: First Impressions**

An exhausted Mr. Darcy and Miss Georgiana lingered in the drawing-room after Mrs. Darcy had complained of being taken ill, and required her daughter's assistance. No one was truly concerned; as all were knowledgeable that her illnesses were more fanciful than anything. The sun had long disappeared beneath the western horizon, so that the room was only lit by a fire in the hearth, a candle on the end table, and pale, glimmering moonlight shining through the window. Brother and sister shared a mutual silence, but not an unpleasant one; they both reflected, both thought of the evening: but more than that evening, they thought of Ramsgate, and Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham! What an unspeakably despicable man! Mr. Darcy frowned as he studied his dear sister, who seemed slighter than ever; she appeared to be reading a book, but could tell that her gaze drifted right through the page, and into the melancholy blankness of her mind. He had thought that this visit to Leicestershire would raise her spirits; but it seemed that it was more of a burden than anything on her nerves. With a sigh, he stood from his seat and drifted over to his sister, placing an affectionate kiss on her cheek before joining her on the sofa.

"Brother," said Georgiana, closing her leather-bound book, "do not think that I am unhappy because of all of these strange people. Indeed, they are distracting me; it is better than being at home. At home I would only have my guilt to wallow in."

Georgiana in her infinite wisdom! Even when her spirits sunk low, she had a powerful intuition; unless she was only very lucky in bringing up subjects of which Mr. Darcy had just been thinking. It was a little disconcerting at times, as he wondered if his emotions were displayed so indiscreetly; but then he recalled his mother counseling him in almost exactly the same way when he was a boy: and he could find comfort, rather than fear.

"It is not your fault, my dear," he replied in a gentle voice.

Georgiana was silent; and, clearly not willing to debate the subject for the hundredth time, began a new one.

"I like Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I think that she was the only one who willingly talked to me through the evening. Not that I am sorry for it; I do deserve it! But she did have me thinking of other things, till I almost forgot my situation. Do you like her, Brother? I saw you dancing with her. I hope that you will like her."

"I have not met anybody quite like her. She did seem very ordinary at first; but seemed the only lady in the room more interested in you than me."

"But do you like her? Please say you do. I am glad that we are having tea with her to-morrow; she is such a nice distraction."

"If she makes you happy, my love, then I like her. But it is hard to like someone of whom Miss Amelia seems to speak so much of!"

Mr. Darcy's companion hesitated before replying, with a pensive expression on her face, as if she were thinking of precisely the right thing to say. She wrapped the silk bookmark which had fallen out of her book round her finger, though trembling slightly, as if it were a nervous habit.

"Do you suppose I can be friends with her? She is such good friends with Amelia—it is no wonder that she speaks so highly of her. But do you really think that Miss Elizabeth does not like you?"

Mr. Darcy shrugged, supposing that he ought not to care too much to obtain the good opinion of Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Perhaps the Bennets were one of the predominant families in Wearham; but was that much of a claim to fame? She was a country nobody, really; and if Georgiana befriended her, he was all the merrier; but he did not quite see why he ought to like her himself. She was not extraordinarily beautiful, nor did she seem extraordinarily accomplished. She had said herself that her playing was "horrible"! In fact, he wondered why he was contemplating her at all! Certainly nobody he would ever see again, once their stay in Leicestershire ended.

"And how did you like Miss Morgan? To be sure, she was the handsomest woman in the room, though she did not speak to me beyond our brief introduction," said Georgiana.

"Ah; but how could I like anybody who took no notice of you, my dear sister?"

"Well, you _are_ hard to please! Miss Bennet is too strange, and Miss Morgan is too negligent of me! Was there anybody who did meet your satisfaction?"

"I did not say that Miss Bennet was strange."

"Perhaps those were not your words, but that is what you said."

"Peculiarity is not necessarily bad, love."

"But not necessarily good, either," returned Georgiana with a raised brow. Mr. Darcy merely laughed, and kissed his sister on the forehead, saying that she was over-thinking these things and that they had better both get to bed. Georgiana admitted that she was tired; and, thus, they both retired to their chambers, surrendering themselves to that greatest of comforts: sleep.

* * *

Elizabeth lay in bed, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, her blankets surrounding her. Her mind was numb, her senses numb; yet sleep still evaded her. What was it that silently gnawed away at her, and gave her such an eerie feeling of nothingness? The source of this feeling, however, she never discovered, for the feeling immediately disappeared upon Jane's entrance into her chamber. She wasn't sure if this relieved her or vexed her; she could not decide if peculiarity was bad because it was so far from normality, or if it was good because it was so far from normality. Elizabeth immediately sat up, examining the candle Jane held before her and that dimly illuminated her fatigued features, till she set it down, devouring herself in the darkness of the room.

"Did I wake you, Lizzy? I did not think you would be asleep yet," said Jane tenderly.

"Oh! No," returned Elizabeth, "I was not asleep. I was only thinking; but what about, I'm not entirely sure."

"You were probably thinking about the assembly," suggested Jane quite logically. "I wonder at Miss Georgiana; I think that you were right in your supposing something to be the matter with her, poor thing! because you saw her last summer, and she was quite different, was she not? I very much would have liked to talk to her; but I feared that I would do more harm than good."

"She was quite different last summer, from what I remember. I cannot help but think there is some queer business with these relations of Amelia's; it is very suspicious for her to flee from Ramsgate so abruptly: and if there was something pressing, why not go home or to Town, where such business is typically settled? Why come to Leicestershire, to see those whom you have no particular regard for?"

"But there may be a perfectly innocent explanation for it. You mustn't allow yourself to get carried away with your fancying something strange about them. Perhaps you should begin an investigation with your partner in crime, Kitty; and _then_ you may discover the truth. It may not be so shocking as you believe."

"It may not be so innocent as you believe! It was all Kitty's scheme to distract Mr. Newbury; but I can't say it was so very grand a plan, either. Instead I had to entertain Mr. Darcy; and it was more of a chore than a pleasure to do that."

"You do not like Mr. Darcy, then?" said Jane sadly, as if Mr. Darcy were her own cousin, rather than Amelia's. Elizabeth hesitated before answering, as she pondered whether he did make a favorable impression upon her.

"I have never met anybody quite like him. At times I thought that he was very dull; and at others, he seemed to be entirely charming; and at others, a little bit insulting. I cannot make him out. His sister is not as hard to read; she is clearly very shy, and very troubled. The only mystery surrounding _her_ is _what_ her troubles are.—But do I like _her_? Yes, I suppose I do. I pity her, perhaps, more than anything; but despite her reserves, I can see that she has a good heart, and is a sweet girl. But he! What an enigma!"

"I did not think he was so enigmatic," responded Jane, in that same tone of defensiveness she had used when arguing in Mr. Newbury's favor, like a lioness protecting her young. "He is excessively fond of his sister, and certainly a very good brother. Perhaps he does not know how to behave around strange people; it would not be an uncommon failing. I think he is one of those men whom you cannot judge upon only one meeting; your understanding of his character deepens over time—which is preferable to a shallow, one-dimensional character."

"You are probably right, Jane. At least men such as he are more interesting to observe, if nothing else. I will certainly understand him better when I see if he is impressed by Northberry. If he isn't, I will declare that he is helplessly jaded! But I cannot think why I have wondered about him so much; he will leave in a few weeks, and I dare say we shall never meet again. My life cannot orbit about a slight acquaintance."

"Oh Lizzy, you are so proud of Northberry."

"And why should I not be?"

Jane took her sister's hand and kissed her forehead, with a strangely altered mood, to which Elizabeth could not at all account for. Jane, with her affection gaze set upon Elizabeth that was in its way both sisterly and motherly, explained,

"It is just that you should take care; that is all."

"Am I in danger of something?"

"Sometimes one finds danger and unhappiness in the last place they expect it to be lurking. Just be aware of this, and you will be fine. It is not good to judge; but it is not safe to have blind faith. Speak of what you do know; speculate quietly on what you do not; and when you do discover the truth, then and only then you may tell the world your findings. Behind the ugliest curtain there may be the most beautiful view."

"Jane! From where has this speech originated?"

"From nothing specific; I speak only on general principles. Now, good-night, my dear Lizzy; and I hope that whatever has occupied your thoughts will subside, and your mind will be at ease."

And so Jane again held her candle, a flickering light floating in the inky darkness, and was gone. It was only Elizabeth and the darkness once again. It did not prove to be a very good companion; it offered no advice, and gave no answers. She did not understand what had prompted Jane's words; was it significant, or only a random musing of her elder sister's mind? But she could no more predict the future than reason with the darkness; so, satisfying herself with that thought, she slowly slipped into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


	5. An Unwonted Visit

**Chapter 4: An Unwonted Visit**

"Tea," mused Mary aloud; "I wonder at how this monosyllabic word has so much meaning to us. It is a time of day; it is a hot beverage; it is a meal. But more than all of these obvious definitions, there is its meaning to us. What does one think of when they think of tea? Do they imagine a generic family seated at a dinner-table and sipping the liquid? No, of course not; an image is involuntarily conjured in one's mind; something of import which we associate with its smell, or taste, or looks. It is not the word itself, but the ideas with which we associate it, that gives it its meaning."

Satisfied with her monologue, Mary leaned back in her chair, once more gathering her book in her arms and hiding her pale face behind its handsome green cover. It was an hour till the Darcys were engaged to come for tea; and somehow their light discussion had metamorphosed into Mary's philosophizing. The day was bright and sunny, with thin billowy clouds stretching across the sky, and the sun illuminating the landscape of Northberry with its soft, warm rays. Elizabeth could not have been more pleased than to see her home in its best light; the light in which it would be done greatest justice. The housekeeper shuffled about the drawing-room, dusting the shelves and fluffing the plump pillows strewn about the furniture, as proud of the house as its principal inhabitants were. Elizabeth stretched out on the chaise, contemplating her sister's questions. What did she think of when she thought of tea? She thought of Amelia and her houseguests, of course. It occurred to her that she might be too much occupied in the present; and she searched through her thoughts of something of the past.

Yes, she could recall a scenario of the past and of tea. It was a picnic of three years past, on a sunny hillside in Hertfordshire during their annual visit to Longbourn; and she sat on a great tree, while Jane entertained Herbert, and Sarah drank tea. Sarah always drank tea in exactly the same way, so that its precise motion could be easily memorized; always with much poise, though never sipped; it was always a hearty gulp, though it somehow appeared very delicate and lady-like as well. And then, in a moment, the recollection was gone, and she was once more absorbed by the present. The white paneling and dark bookshelves of the drawing-room were much more real to her than the hazy remembrance of an inconsequential picnic; and Elizabeth supposed that the image suggested by a word was not always the same. Why ought she to remember those things in the past that did not give her pleasure?

Kitty entered the room, in a pastel yellow day-dress of a light fabric, flouncing to the window-seat, as was her wont, and examining the room with an alert, curious glance, as she took in her surroundings. Sarah sat in a corner, her attention intent upon her needlework, which was enough silent influence to cause Kitty to do the same. Elizabeth stood, deciding to walk and circle about the house till she heard the familiar sound of a carriage pulling up the drive, or approaching voices. Her senses were acute to these ordinary noises which indicated the arrival of guests; and they would be further sharpened by her being out-of-doors, as she had nothing to spend her energy on but anticipation. This, however, distracted Kitty's attention from sewing, as she set it down on the windowsill.

"Lizzy! Where are you going? Can I come?"

The peaceful silence being abruptly interrupted, Mary lifted her jade green eyes from her book coolly, bestowing upon Kitty a patronizing glare. The latter looked a little bit nettled, but made no remark; and then fixed her attention once more upon Elizabeth.

"I am going to walk about the park," said Elizabeth, making no offer for her sister to accompany her; but since she did not say against it, nor did she speak in an unpleasant tone, Kitty came up to her side, and they exited the house together.

"I am sorry that Mr. Newbury harangued you for the latter part of the evening; but you know, I thought that if I kept up my manner much longer he would have thought I was mad in love with him! Oh, I can't bear the thought of that man thinking that way of me. Did you see those jealous looks he was giving you when you were dancing with Mr. Darcy? As if Mr. Newbury was really your husband or the like! Sarah says that balls are ways of allowing people to mingle; but I do not think that Mr. Newbury would have it that way! He would have you all to himself, which is really quite troubling," said Kitty. Quiet proceeded this speech, and then the sound of the gravel against their feet.

"He is a peculiar man," replied Elizabeth at length, though Kitty was rather confused as to whether she referred to Mr. Newbury or Mr. Darcy. But either way, Kitty was intuitive enough to realize that she had broached upon an unwelcome subject; and so they walked in relative silence, with one or the other only commenting now and then on the fine weather and beauty of the day, till that assuring noise that Elizabeth had hoped to hear finally did come.

Elizabeth and Kitty were the first to greet the guests; and it was to no surprise that Amelia retained her alacrity of the previous day. Elizabeth found it rather interesting that, when she studied Mr. Darcy, he did not seem to be noticing or admiring the house at all; but rather, studying herself, and Kitty, and Amelia. Georgiana was nearly as withdrawn as she had been amongst the throng of the crowd, with an incredibly uneasy countenance, and looking mainly at her hands, or her feet, or the ground. She no longer looked terrified; but it was clear that she received no pleasure from the visit. Poor girl! Elizabeth only wished that she knew her affliction. Indeed, she was quite too occupied by pondering over Georgiana's predicament to pay much attention to her brother; and had only determined that he was more interested in looking at people than he was in looking at places. Or perhaps he only looked at places when he thought that they were superior to those who inhabited them? Elizabeth wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted.

After the necessary introductions between the Amelia's relations and Mr. Bennet and Herbert, it all came back to that subject of which Mary had spoken—tea. They sat outside, with two generously-sized tables to accommodate them.

"Well, Mr. Darcy," said Kitty, "I suppose that you go to London often?"

"Yes," he replied, though his thoughts obviously occupied elsewhere judging by his frequented glances towards his sister, "I have a house in Town."

"But the air of London is not much to my liking. To be sure, there are smart districts and constant activity; but I rather prefer the lazy, open country and blue skies," remarked Elizabeth. "I would much prefer to be in Leicestershire any day."

"You are very strange, Lizzy!" cried Kitty, setting her teacup upon its saucer, "the country is so dull. Don't you agree, Mr. Darcy?"

"The country and town both have their charms; but it would be quite disloyal of me if I did not admit to preferring the country in Derbyshire to all else."

Ah! Elizabeth quite understood his not being impressed with Northberry now; if only it was in that neighboring county of which he was native, it may have earned some notice! She merely smiled, and then turned to Georgiana, and began to speak to her of music; and though Georgiana seemed reluctant to begin any subject with anybody, after some gentle urging on Elizabeth's behalf to speak, she found that she became surprisingly animated on the topic. With this readjustment of Elizabeth's conversation partners, their light lunch passed on agreeably enough; and afterwards, it was insisted on by Sarah that they all take a turn about the garden. It seemed a pleasant scheme; but Elizabeth noticed Georgiana's expression of repugnance to it, and felt that she ought to propose something to compensate, for she could not help but feel a bit of a failure as a hostess if she was displeased.

"That sounds delightful enough," said Elizabeth, "but I would rather not. Kitty and I already passed through the garden a dozen times when we walked about this morning. What do you say, Amelia, to cards? And Miss Georgiana, you must accompany us, so that you can play on the pianoforte a little. You did promise you would; and I am sure you would like to pay off your debt sooner rather than later."

Amelia was ecstatic; too much so to realize that Mr. Darcy was not included as one of their happy card-party; and a look of relief passed over Georgiana at the proposition of only being in the company of two instead of eleven. There was some gentle opposition from Sarah, as was polite, and this opposition repelled just as politely by Elizabeth. So Amelia, Georgiana and she broke off from the larger party, and retired into the drawing-room, and a whist table was set up.

"Oh! But before we begin, Georgiana, you will play for us, of course. Lizzy and I have both been dying to hear you," announced Amelia cheerfully.

Georgiana blushed, and averted her eyes from her company; but she very well knew that playing could not be avoided. Elizabeth pulled up a stool for Georgiana to sit on and opened the instrument, offering to be her page-turner. With such generous accommodations, it seemed to give Georgiana a bit more confidence; and as soon as her fingers touched the glossy ivory keys, she seemed to be completely absent to her surroundings. Her fingers moved fluidly and rapidly, with the sound of the nocturne resonating throughout the room, and effectively charming both Amelia and Elizabeth. And the latter could not deny that she had never heard a better player; she had such expression, and seemed to play the piece flawlessly, as if she had been raised alongside a piano.

As the last note of the piece dwindled and echoed through the room, Georgiana at last looked up, and her face immediately turned a bright scarlet with the hearty applause that she was met with from her two-member audience. She quietly stood and hurried over to the whist table, apparently eager to receive no praise or comments on her performance. Elizabeth, deciding that she would not press her to play again, even though it was so delightful and put her own talents to shame, followed Georgiana, though with a more languid pace; and they were soon all playing cards, and chatting idly about unimportant things.

After conversation had been exhausted between the three ladies, they were reduced to only listening to the sound of cards slapping against the table, the murmur of card-related jive, and their own inside thoughts. Elizabeth was quietly triumphing over having won a round, when she happened to glance up at Georgiana, and was surprised to see that her face was drenched with tears. Not knowing how to react, Elizabeth discreetly nudged Amelia and nodded to the present victim of melancholy. Amelia and Elizabeth exchanged an alarmed look, and then, Amelia said in a tone which was loud but sympathetic,

"Oh! My dear, what is the matter?"

"It's just that," choked Georgiana, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, "it's just that…you have both been so kind to me. And—and—oh, I don't deserve it!" As she alluded to it she began to sob loudly, much to the dismay of Amelia and Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, being more experienced in providing consolation with her having four sisters, drew her chair up to Georgiana's side and said many pretty, soothing things. Lydia was the most likely to burst into tears, and Jane the most likely to counsel her; and so Elizabeth could utilize her sister's techniques. She was rather surprised when Georgiana rested her head on Elizabeth's shoulder, using it to muffle her sobs. It was a bit impertinent, but Elizabeth hardly cared, for the girl was clearly upset, and it was not the best time to enforce the rigid rules of propriety. Elizabeth was suddenly met with an unhappy recollection at the sight of the poor Miss Darcy heaving against her shoulder, with her pretty golden curls dampened from crying, of a similar scenario of Jane and herself crying together in much the same manner. It was only a foggy recollection, and it only flashed before her eyes in a moment; but remembering the intense pain she went through a as a little girl mourning for her dead mother, she was overwhelmed with sympathy for Georgiana, and continued soothing her.

Amelia paced back and forth through the room nervously, occasionally stopping at the door and listening intently; and at last she cried out words of warning, that the rest of the party was returning from their being showed around the garden. Georgiana immediately lifted herself from Elizabeth's shoulder, covering her face with her eyes in embarrassment. Elizabeth offered Georgiana her handkerchief, which she took and put it in place of her hands. She was rather worried that her distraught guest would be unable to regain her composure before the entrance of the rest of her family; and as the footsteps grew precariously close, Amelia and she exchanged many more alarmed looks. The door opened; Georgiana uncovered her face, though it was obvious to any that she was crying; and Elizabeth immediately stood in front of Georgiana so as to shield her from the observations of the rest.

"Oh dear, I am so tired; I must rest on the sofa," said a wearied Mrs. Darcy, who, without a second look at her company, flung herself down on the chaise on which Elizabeth had made herself comfortable earlier that day. Amelia, without waiting to be asked, sidled up to her mother and began to tend to her, as if she was an invalid.

"I declare! That _was_ tiresome!" cried Lydia, apparently sympathizing with Amelia's mother.

"Why don't I show Miss Georgiana around the apple orchard?" offered Elizabeth quickly, as soon as she had an opportunity to speak. Sarah looked rather surprised at her wanting to break off from the rest of them so soon after being reunited and, obviously not realizing that Georgiana was hiding behind Elizabeth casual stance in front of the whist table, said,

"Of course, I am sure it will be to her liking! Do you desire to see the apple orchard too, Mr. Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy replied that he did, which rather vexed Elizabeth; so, before Sarah had the opportunity of getting them all to go to the orchard, she quickly took Georgiana's arm and hurriedly left the room, with Mr. Darcy following in her wake.

"Miss Bennet," said Georgiana in a small voice once they were safely out of the house, "I am—I am so sorry! I must be—a terrible—imposition!" More tears followed this short speech.

"No, no! Not at all, Miss Georgiana!"

Mr. Darcy observed this as the two ladies sat down on a bench, where his sister continued her unabashed wailing. He could not help but be a bit more endeared to Miss Elizabeth as he saw her considerate way of soothing Georgiana; but was not unaware that this was rather embarrassing conduct to utilize in front of near-strangers. He approached them, and he and Elizabeth wordlessly changed places.

"Brother!" cried Georgiana, "Oh, I'm so sorry! Please don't be angry!"

Elizabeth thought that this was a rather intimate moment to be present for, and began to walk towards the apple orchard alone, receiving no opposition from the distraught Darcys. As she bounded up the hill, she was quite convinced of there being something the matter. Had somebody close to her died? It was a morbid thought, but would account for Georgiana's withdrawn behavior; but then, Mr. Darcy did not seem to share this state of gloom.

She entered the orchard, with rows of apple trees flanking her on either side, their leaves deep green, bearing immature apples. She walked to the end of the row, finding the green before her as good a place as any to lie down, and stared into the cloud above her, with the recollection of mourning with Jane reviving in her mind.


	6. Growing Intimacy

**Chapter Five: Growing Intimacy **

Mr. Darcy held his sobbing sister to his breast, rather distressed himself. His contempt for Mr. Wickham was never greater. Who was he to have so much power over his dear sister that she would not be able to hold her own before kind strangers? Miss Elizabeth seemed to handle Georgiana's abrupt outburst coolly; though, as he looked around, he realized that she had disappeared. He frowned as he observed his sister, her face hidden beneath her golden curls, and her small hands clutching desperately at his shoulder.

"Where is Miss Elizabeth?" she asked, once again exhibiting her strange propensity for bringing up the subject of one's thoughts. She seemed, much to Mr. Darcy's relief, to have resolved at that moment to compose herself. Her withering speeches that she had been reciting seemed to have come to an end, as she at last lifted her little head, looking rather dazed from her passionate paroxysm. Mr. Darcy examined his poor sister dolefully, wishing that he could sap her pain away and bring it upon himself. Oh Georgiana! Who did he love better than she?

Georgiana repeated her question as to Miss Elizabeth's whereabouts softly, with her large blue eyes now able to fix her gaze upon an object (the said object happening to be her brother). Mr. Darcy looked in vain for Georgiana's subject, not expecting to find her within his plane of visibility; and he was not disappointed. She seemed nowhere to be found; and he was a little vexed when Georgiana insisted that he seek her out. At length, however, he decided that it would be best to oblige Georgiana, and that there would have to be a reuniting of their little party at some point. He stood from the conveniently situated bench which was in the middle of a little gravel walk orbiting the house, fixed on finding his hostess in the orchard, as that seemed the only logical place as to where she would wander. Georgiana stood to follow; but he gently urged her to sit again.

"My dear," he said soothingly, "you are not fit to be walking about. Wait here; we do not know how far Miss Bennet has wandered." Georgiana nodded her acquiescence. She adjusted her position on the bench to one that was more leisurely, and off he went.

Mr. Darcy rather wondered if he ought to have been abandoned in the garden of a strange house with his upset sister; but decided better against being offended, as it certainly would have seemed impertinently curious if Miss Elizabeth was to sit about and observe the situation. In fact, it must have been terribly awkward for her; and what was more natural than to flee?

Locating Miss Elizabeth was not as maze-like as he had thought it would be; she was lying quite peacefully, with her eyes closed, at the end of the orchard where trees were scarce, and with a valley beyond her. He was almost sorry to have disturbed the picturesqueness of the scene, as with his arrival he could hear a rush of wings as a sparrow perched on a nearby branch flew off, and saw his hostess stir. Her eyes fluttered open and she propped her delicate figure with her right hand, and brushed a bit of grass out of her hair with the other.

"Is she doing better?" was Elizabeth's first question to Mr. Darcy.

"Yes, quite; thank you for being so kind to her."

Elizabeth rose to her feet and faced her guest. She was rather surprised with his cool manner of addressing her after undoubtedly enduring the pitiful wails of his sister. Was the poor girl grief-stricken so frequently as it was a everyday occurrence?

"I do know something of sorrow, Mr. Darcy," she replied in a strangely accusatory tone.

As Mr. Darcy could not think of any remark to say in reply to this, and was rather confused by her manner, he said nothing. Elizabeth began to walk at a brisk pace back towards where Georgiana had been left, eager to outstrip Mr. Darcy; but he had the advantage of height, and easily caught up to her, and began to speak: which gave her no choice but to be his obliging audience. She couldn't quite account for her agitation and ill-humor, but supposed that it was due to her bitter recollection of that woeful day when she and Jane were mutually inconsolable. How she pitied herself then; how she still pitied herself! All of her sympathy was spent between herself and Georgiana; she had none to spare for Mr. Darcy, who seemed to be unconsciously grating on her nerves.

"Georgiana is almost friendless in this world," explained Mr. Darcy sorrowfully, "and perhaps this is much to ask of you; but would you continue to be kind to her? She is in great need of some female companionship; and I know that she would very much like a confidante. She already prefers you to the company of anybody else in Leicestershire; and pray, I hope that you will be a friend to her."

Elizabeth's curtsey accompanied her monosyllabic compliance, attempting to suppress her agitation, though she muttered beneath her breath, "As if he needed to ask!" She recommenced her fast pace in Georgiana's direction, abruptly deflecting Mr. Darcy's polite inquiries as to what it was that she had said to him. They came upon Georgiana, sitting on the bench; her head hung low, her countenance affected. The three shared a mutual silence; though it was clear that Georgiana was aware of her brother's and hostess' presence by the unsurprised glance she directed them when she did lift her head. Her eyes were swollen and red from her violent tears; but her cheeks were dry, and if she seemed sorrowful, it was because of her humiliation.

"Oh, Miss Bennet; I am truly sorry for all of the trouble that I have caused you! I can't bear the thought of you fretting over me; oh, I am naughty! Brother, Brother, Brother—will you ever forgive me for making such a spectacle? Good Brother! You don't deserve it!"

She spoke in a truly distressed tone; but it was to the relief of both of her companions that she was not, this time, moved to tears. Elizabeth, her heart swelling with compassion, gently took the poor girl's hand, and said with sincerity:

"Miss Darcy, you have nothing to be ashamed of. If emotion is a shameful thing, then what a sad world this is! It is not often that one meets with such authenticity of character; and I admire you for it, not spite you. Who among us has never cried their grief away? But I am afraid that are in no humor to put up with silly country lasses like me and my sisters; shall I have your carriage called for?"

"You are too good, miss! Please, call me Georgiana," said a grateful Georgiana, raising the affable Elizabeth's hands to her lips and kissing them delicately. Elizabeth smiled and, removing a soft yellow wildflower which had been woven into her hair, placed it firmly in Georgiana's hand.

"Tell them that you found it on the hillside beyond the orchard. No one will suppose you never made it there. And to you, Georgiana, I am Lizzy."

And so Elizabeth's plan was put into action; the party was informed, much to the discomfiture of all, that Miss Georgiana had taken ill, and an early departure was required. Mrs. Darcy condemned the sultry August air, saying that she was feeling rather ill herself; it was difficult for the Bennets to display some genuine sympathy to someone whom they knew so little, but they were certainly universally displeased at losing what seemed to be agreeable company; and it was perhaps only Amelia among those who were informed that guessed at the true nature of the abrupt exit. As the company slowly moved, like a flock of sheep being reluctantly herded, towards the outside, Elizabeth observed Amelia whispering to her mother incessantly, as if they were having a minor sort of argument; and once the party had exposed themselves to the odious summer air, the truth of these transactions was revealed.

"Lizzy!" cried Amelia, giving her an affectionate, sisterly embrace, "Mamma insists that you all come for a little dinner-party next week." A quick glance at Mrs. Darcy and the dark looks she was directing towards her daughter informed Elizabeth that it was not upon _that_ person's insistence that the Bennets were invited to a dinner-party.

"Which means that I shall probably see you on my doorstep to-morrow," returned Elizabeth, kissing her dear friend on the cheek.

"You can count on that," said Amelia smilingly. However, their cheerful countenances changed with one look at poor Georgiana and her brother, seeming to be the embodiment of angst; it appeared as if it was darker where they stood, regardless of where this spot was; and when contrasted with Amelia's cheery disposition, it was quite heartbreaking. Elizabeth squeezed Georgiana's little gloved hand tightly as they ascended to the carriage, and bowed gravely to Mr. Darcy; and they were off.

As Elizabeth returned to the house, it seemed as if the tea gathering had lasted for two days; the former part seeming a distant, hazy memory; the latter part as fresh as if it was still occurring. Her apprehensive expression was discernable to Jane, who followed the former as she entered into the library. She wordlessly watched as Elizabeth went to the nearest bookshelf and ran her finger along the spines of the various volumes, as if she was searching for something in particular, but her finger never stopping or hesitating. Dust having collected on that relatively unused shelf, Elizabeth at length ceased, and brushed her finger against the sleeve of her dress. She turned round, looking apathetically now at Jane, for she had been sensible of her presence all through her futile perusal of books.

"What happened?" asked Jane matter-of-factly, but not unkindly.

"Miss Georgiana—or Georgiana, rather, as she says I may call her—began to sob uncontrollably when she was playing cards with me and Amelia. Of course, it was my object to keep her from making a spectacle; thus, the plan of touring the apple orchard. There were—more tears—and I left her with Mr. Darcy. And now; well, Mr. Darcy has asked me to be her friend, and I have agreed to it."

"Is that all, Lizzy? The poor creature wants to befriend you?" said Jane with a hint of disapproval.

"Oh! How wicked that must have sounded, Jane. I did not mean that it was a terrible thing to be her friend; indeed, I am a very willing friend of hers. It is just that, when I look at her, and see that gloom clouding her eyes, and hear her horrible cries: when I see them in my mind now, as we speak, like a nightmare haunting me in my consciousness; I think of you. I think of Mamma. I think of that terrible day which I vowed to forget, but never could. How do I forget, Jane? How do I keep my conscience from attacking me on the subject?"

Unshed tears glistened in Jane's soft green eyes as she wrapped her arms around her sister, and they both recalled together the acute pain that they had gone through. As Elizabeth observed her sister, she realized that she had not forgotten; she was no safer from her conscience than was she herself; it haunted them both, not incessantly, but painfully, on occasion. Elizabeth kissed her sister's warm cheek, now searing with hot tears.

"When I look out my latticed window in the morning, and perceive through it its glorious view, I cannot help but wonder how it would be if Mamma was still alive. Why can she not partake in this comfortable life we lead? I feel so selfish, Lizzy, to be enjoying it, while she rests cold in her grave! Our own Mamma! Oh, it's torture; it's terrible torture," moaned Jane.

"Mamma is not resting in a cold, dank coffin, Jane; when her heart stopped beating, she stopped being Mamma. She is in a better place; but I cannot help be but selfish; and if I could, I would will her to my side. I hardly remember what she is like! I hardly remember how she looked when she was well; I only remember illness, and that terrible look she had when death had enveloped her face. And I do love Sarah; but she is not our mother. I know that things would have turned out differently if Mamma was alive; but I can't imagine how."

"Lizzy," whispered Jane into her sister's ear, her tears subsiding now, "when I am in this wretched state of mind, I do remember that Mamma is in a better place, and that we will one day be with her again. It is just; when I look beside me and see only an empty space, I cannot fathom her existing when I do not physically _see_ her. But those pleasant things you tell me are what I tell myself; what else is there to say? What else is there to do but believe?"

Elizabeth firmly gripped Jane's arm.

"Thank you. I feel much better now, Jane."

Not another word was exchanged as Elizabeth quitted the room; but it did not feel an untimely departure, for the serenity of mind had been restored to each sister's countenance. And Elizabeth, done with despairing, was ready to be good. She would be a friend to Georgiana Darcy; she would help others with their grief instead of wiping the dust off of her own. She knew it was what her mother would want.


	7. Dying Intimacy

_Since some were wondering about Amelia's relationship to Darcy, this is how I've concocted it. Mr. Darcy Sr. (the current Mr. Darcy's father) had a brother; this brother married Amelia's mother; and Amelia, obviously, was their child. Amelia's father died some time ago. Therefore, Amelia is the current Mr. Darcy's cousin on his father's side. And as for all of the angst—uh, I've been reading a lot of Gothic novels lately._

**Chapter Six: Dying Intimacy**

Elizabeth started from her seat as a violent crash of thunder echoed through the walls. She peered out the latticed windows of the breakfast room, the gentle murmur of voices abruptly ended as they all admired the storm about them. Dark, gray clouds loomed in the sky, with large raindrops steadfastly beating against all it touched. The bleak sky momentarily lit up as a brilliant streak of lightning stretched across the sky. Even safe inside the walls of Northberry, the wind could be heard howling and rattling the branches of the trees. There was no possibility of taking a walk that day; there was no possibility of doing anything that involved going out-of-doors.

"This weather is dreadful," remarked Sarah, though this seemed to be no revelation to any. Lydia shuddered with repulsion to the ghastly tempest and added,

"Oh, it is, Sarah! And it was so pleasant yesterday, too; and now the roads shall be muddy for three days on end afterwards. How will I go to Wearham without getting my frock dirty? Such a disagreeable business; I will be cut off from the world entirely till this clears up."

"We don't make for company _so_ dreadful," commented Mary dryly, setting her thick volume aside.

"I don't think that you will go stir-crazy being away from your friends in Wearham for a few days. Take up a book with Mary; I am sure she has plenty of wisdom to impart," said Mr. Bennet wearily, not even attempting to conceal his wearied expression. Lydia, however, found this a prime opportunity for quarreling a bit with her sisters, and so some meaningless bickering went on for the rest of breakfast. Elizabeth sighed and paid no attention; instead she examined the room, filled with light-colored décor with yellows and light blues, thinking it contrasted interestingly with the gloomy appearances of the outside. At length all quitted the breakfast table, and Elizabeth woke herself from her reverie, and began to pace down the hall.

The grumblings of the storm seemed to dominate all sound; but as Elizabeth was about to enter into the drawing-room, where she could be comforted by the warmth of a fire in the hearth, she heard a rapping on the door. At first she dismissed it as a branch hitting against the side of the house, and took another step, but it persisted, growing louder and more insistent than before. Overcome with morbid curiosity, she groped for the door handle and was set on opening it; but then footsteps approached behind her, and she saw the housekeeper examining her.

"Is something the matter, miss?" she asked, obviously confused as to why her mistress would want to expose herself to such horrible weather. Elizabeth withdrew her hand and was silent; allowing her companion to discover for herself that there certainly seemed to be a knocking at the door.

"My goodness!" cried the housekeeper, "is that somebody at the door—in this weather?"

"I believe so, Martha," replied Elizabeth, musing in her mind whether Amelia and Georgiana were so set on seeing her that neither wind nor rain would keep them from their purpose; but just then Martha squeezed her way past Elizabeth and opened the door wide herself.

They both stared as they discovered that they did indeed have a guest; it was a man, fitted up in a black cloak, with the hood concealing his face. He hurried in, and the door was immediately shut so as to prevent any more of the elements from battering the threshold. His drenched, ebon garment he peeled off, and revealed himself to be none other than Mr. Newbury. Elizabeth stared in consternation at his coming from Wearham only to visit Northberry. Why not delay the trip? Martha took his cloak, looking somewhat appalled as she held the dripping fabric away from her, and disappeared. Elizabeth curtseyed, though her dismay still audible in her features.

"Miss Bennet," said Mr. Newbury as he bowed, seeming to behave as if it was a perfectly blithe day and that he had been long expected, "you seem rather surprised to see me."

"Well—yes, sir, I must say I am! Did you really come here all the way from Wearham in this storm?"

Mr. Newbury smiled and replied, "I did. Truly, miss, I would not have supposed you would be shocked! I would go through much worse to see you."

Elizabeth unconsciously blushed at the compliment, and bid him go into the drawing-room to warm up a bit. After some hesitation, which confused Elizabeth, he acquiesced; and so they entered, and Elizabeth pulled him up a seat near the fireplace. Sarah was just as astonished as Elizabeth upon perceiving their guest, and could not help but exclaim:

"Why, Mr. Newbury! I must get you a change of clothes from my husband, or you will catch cold! No, no—no need to get up. I will fetch them for you." And, as she set aside the letter she was writing and bustled past Elizabeth, she heard her murmuring to herself, "What does he think, coming here unexpected on the worst day of this twelvemonth together?"

After a few minutes of uncharacteristic silence on Mr. Newbury's part (though Elizabeth was thankful for it, and made no attempts herself to begin any conversation, attempting to concentrate in vain on one of Mary's philosophy books she found lying on the table), Sarah re-entered, and they went off together to have his sopping wet clothing exchanged for some suitable one. This left Elizabeth alone to reflect; and as she pondered his motive for coming there—for surely he must have had a strong one—she wondered whether he had come to propose to Kitty. It did seem highly unlikely that it could be so; but Kitty had taken pains to make herself agreeable to him at the assembly: perhaps too much so. She would not put it below Mr. Newbury to do such a thing after so slight an encouragement. When she heard the door open and close, removing her eyes from the text of her book, she saw that Mr. Newbury had re-entered, though unaccompanied by Sarah.

He approached her silently, his features shadowed by the lack of sunlight from outside; and then he sat beside her on the sofa. She put the book, bracing herself to endure some indifferent conversation of which she cared nothing. However, she never expected what _did_ occur; he abruptly took her hand into his, which nearly caused her to screech, but she managed to maintain her composure and stare coolly into his eyes as he commenced his speech.

"Oh, Miss Bennet!—surely you cannot doubt my intention for coming here; surely you cannot."

"I beg that you won't—" interrupted Elizabeth coldly; but he talked on, undeterred.

"—hear me out my dearest Miss Bennet, while my courage is high! I have observed from our very first meeting how very sad, how very disheartened, how very lonely you have been. And I assure you the torture of this observation has been acute. But I do love you more than anything; and surely you cannot be insensible of this; as you have been constantly encouraging my attentions. Oh, _I_ can decipher that expression of yours: you think yourself in a dream. But this is no dream! I have set upon this day as the day for the commencement of our engagement for a fortnight at least; and I would not have a little bit of a storm keep me from you, my dear. My attentions have been very marked—yes, they have—and I know that I can make you happy, and raise you from this dreadful state you have been in; it does make you look very ill! I should like to see the color return to your face; I should like to make it so. Say you will be my wife, Elizabeth! Make me the luckiest man in England!"

He seemed to eagerly wait now for a response, clutching her hand more tightly than ever.

"You misunderstood no meaning, sir!" cried Elizabeth immediately after his speech ended; "I declare that I have given you no encouragement for such affections you speak of; and I am very certain that this illness of expression you perceive in me would not be relieved if I were to be your wife! Mr. Newbury, I am the last woman on earth whom you ought to marry. You assume that you comprehend me completely; but rather, you do not at all! I rather wish this was a dream instead of reality; though if it were, I think I would classify it as a nightmare!"

Mr. Newbury released her hand now, throwing it off as if it were an unwanted hindrance. He raised his chin, his tone altered now to one of utmost contempt.

"I _do_ comprehend you perfectly, madam. You have tricked yourself into believing you never wished to receive an offer from me in marriage; and you have given your heart to another. Pray, tell me whom the lucky man is?"

"There is nobody!" cried Elizabeth, agitation infused into her voice; "I love nobody! I beg you will take your leave now, sir, before you embarrass yourself!"

"You lying minx! I saw you dancing, talking with Mr. Darcy excessively at the assembly. Do you not love him? I dare you to say it is not so."

"Mr. Darcy? I am insulted that you should even fathom such a thing! I talk and dance with many young men, but it does not mean that I am in love with them! I have not even seen this Mr. Darcy above twice in my life! Good God! What a thing to imagine!"

"Humph! Perhaps I should warn the gentleman as to your scheming ways!"

"You are quite welcome to! You now have insulted me in every way imaginable; and I hope that you will leave! Leave!" cried Elizabeth, speaking now with unhindered ferocity.

This man had five minutes ago claimed ardent love for her; and how he was accusing her of being a conniving temptress? What sort of business was this! He stood, Elizabeth thankful that he said not another word, and stormed out, the door loudly slamming shut behind him. She heard the front door close in very much the same manner as the drawing-room door when he departed, with the boom of thunder and the pitter-patter of the rain filling the proceeding silence. She sat still upon the sofa, unable to move, dizzy with the events that had just occurred. She seemed to stare into the glowing embers of the hearth fire for eons, her mind blank; but at length she stirred with the entrance of another into the room. Lifting her eyes, Elizabeth saw that it was Sarah.

"Did Mr. Newbury leave? Why, his clothes were not dry—and he was still wearing your Papa's!" cried she; but then, upon observing Elizabeth's affected appearance, said more gently; "oh, Lizzy, what has happened?" She joined Elizabeth on the sofa, taking her hand, though this captor of it a much more welcome one than her eager, capricious suitor. Sarah's soft eyes stared into Elizabeth's; and with such gentle encouragement, Elizabeth could not fail to divulge the details. She spoke quietly but distinctly, though unshed tears clouded her eyes. She left out the detail of his accusing her of being in love with Mr. Darcy; it was too blasphemous a supposition for her to recount. The abrupt change in the tenor of his voice was astounding, and she could not help but imagine the scene. She knew she had been harsh with him—but why should she not be? He spoke in such a way while professing his love as if he had no doubt of being accepted! What hauteur that he had infused into his manner that provoked her! And what insulting words he used after she had spoken her true feelings! "A lying minx"—those were his words.

"Oh! My dear," soothed Sarah warmly, kissing her on the forehead. Tears now glittering on Elizabeth's cheek, she grasped Sarah's other hand and turned towards her.

"Sarah—did you—did you ever have to—reject? Reject a man?" she asked meekly. Sarah looked very pensive at this question, and after a pause of some minutes, Elizabeth assumed that she would receive no answer; but she would not press her. It was only a selfish request, as it seemed that it would be adequate consolation to know that she was not the only one who suffered from her current predicament, current wretchedness. But she could not allow herself to have scruples with Sarah; she was her mother figure, for the other had left her from her sickbed, having her fend for herself in this world which seemed to be filled with disappointments.

"Once, Lizzy," said Sarah, taking a deep breath before she went on. "His name was Mr. Barton. Perhaps it is unfair that I have never mentioned him these past years; for we were neighbors, and played together as children. He was a bit older than me, but not by much. I am certain to this day that he was suddenly one day overtaken by fancy, and his impulse told him to propose. Oh, my love! It mortified me. I was only sixteen. We were taking a walk through the park of where I lived as a little girl; the park in which we used to play not many years before; and there he professed his undying love. I think now that I may have been unjust; but what was then is now past. He never spoke to me again. A week later I saw him with another lady; and he eventually married her. That is my solace; because I know now that he did not truly love me: I may have mortified his pride, but my words did not pierce any deeper. And—I do not mean to be unjust to Mr. Newbury, either; but I do not think that he loved you any more than Mr. Barton loved me. It will make you stronger, Lizzy, even if you don't see it now. Your heart cannot learn to mend if it has never had a tear; and I would not undo my own misfortunes if I had the opportunity."

Elizabeth kissed Sarah's cheek tenderly.

"Thank you for telling me this," she whispered sincerely. Sarah smiled and squeezed her hand, then standing, as she perceived that her step-daughter would now want to be left alone to organize her thoughts.

"I shan't let anybody disturb you; when you are ready to face us, you may leave," were Sarah's last words before she departed.

Elizabeth breathed in deeply and reclined on the sofa, closing her eyes, allowing her tears to subside. She knew that Sarah was right. With the death of her mother, with Mr. Newbury's pompous proposal, with everything that went wrong in her life, whether it was one of the aforementioned things, or something trivial; she knew that it would all build up her fortitude. Her mortification at having received the unwanted proposal would pass; Mr. Newbury's hearing those ruthless words of rejection would pass; and they would both continue on as before. When somebody has knocked one down, what else is there to do but pick up the pieces and move on? Elizabeth would move on; indeed, she did not care enough for Mr. Newbury to allow him to dominate in her mind for long. When the weather was fine, she could not doubt frequent visits from Amelia, perhaps accompanied with her newfound friend in Georgiana. There was the dinner-party next week; it would take her mind off of things. The ebb and flow of society would continue on; and this consistency could sustain her. After these thoughts had circulated through her mind for a while, and she examined them carefully, she found that she felt quite contented, and left the room. She had entered in bewilderment, but exited in triumph.


	8. Old Faces

**Chapter Seven: Old Faces**

There was only one tavern in Lambton. It was a small, stone building at the end of the main street; and it was a respectable enough institution—at least, respectable enough for its frequent visitors. The density of visitors was greatest at nighttime, when the citizens of Lambton were not bound to their daytime duties. Although its exterior promised worldly charm and taste, its interior could only be described as crude. There were wooden tables, roughly carved, throughout the large room which was the tavern; it lacked décor, but was rustic enough in appearance to keep it from being austere. However, all of these aesthetically pleasing things that were wanting were hardly regarded by the numerous visitors; if there was cards, and men, and drink (all of which it was never without), they would be satisfied.

This night did not seem different than any other. The plain room was decked out with men sloshing their drinks in their mugs, filled with the clamor of coins rattling and silverware clashing, voices conversing and feet stomping. Smoke from cigars rose to the ceiling and hovered about, creating an almost hazy atmosphere; the scents of whiskey and beer dominated over all others. Barmaids took drinks and gave drinks, all under the eye of male admiration; but the mortification of this had worn off; there was nothing unordinary about the scene at all. In the center of one of these tables was a man, with an immovable stony expression on his face. He held his cards closely before him, guarding them from the inspection of his antagonist, and attempting to read the other man's expression, only to find it as indiscernible as his own.

His opponent's cards slapped down against the surface of the table, revealing his hand. He could not help but smile now. He laid his own down in much the same fashion, seeing the other man's expression grow sour.

"Damn you, Clough," muttered the crestfallen opponent beneath his breath, anxiously gripping the handle of his drink and taking a generous swig. Yes—Mr. Clough had won the final trick. He took the chips greedily and sat by, his stance inviting the other man to leave, and for his next victim to replace him. Mr. Clough was a lucky man in many ways: a successful businessman; a successful gamester; a successful situation in life. His efforts in his work would not have been adequate for anyone whom fortune did not favor; but he was not one of those men.

Mr. Clough's opponent stood and began to walk away, his movements anything but fluid as he stumbled along, seeming as if he would topple over at any given moment. Mr. Clough lifted his glass filled with amber liquid, silently toasting himself, and gulped it down. When his eyes focused across the table once more, he observed that another adversary had already materialized before him. Another smirk rose from his lips; yes, this would be easy. However, as he studied this man more closely in an attempt to make out his aptitude, the features became more familiar to him. Of course; how had he not recognized him at once?

"George Wickham, old chap!" he cried, though his voice barely penetrated through the sickening loudness of the room. "Now what are you doing back in Derbyshire? I thought moved on to bigger and better things ages ago!—those Darcys taken a liking to you again?"

He knew George Wickham's features: he had dark eyes, seeming to be almost a liquid black; his hair was a light, golden brown; and he had a boyish appeal in his features, seeming to be the culmination of a mixture of femininity and brooding mystery. He was a singular man; and Mr. Clough thought he had the means to be a very lucky man: only he ignored fortune when it offered its assistance. Mr. Clough would have taken advantage of being a pet of the Darcys; would not have allowed himself to be thrown off as had been Wickham's fate. But Mr. Clough very much wanted to play cards with him; he wanted to weigh that man's potential versus his own. Every individual had his own way of determining the measure of a man; and card-playing was Mr. Clough's method.

"I am back in Derbyshire because that is what I wish. I have no intention of visiting 'those Darcys'—in fact, they are not even home at present. But never mind that, Matthew; I shall not be in Lambton long: I am joining the militia."

"Are you? Wickham the officer!—yes, it does suit you very well. I wonder you did not think of it before. Miss Lucy will be excessively disappointed to hear it, though."

Mr. Clough gazed across the room, fixing his eyes upon a young lady, whose thick black hair was pinned back in a messy coiffure, and her moss green dress in an equal state of disarray. She had handsome features, nonetheless; and was also an adamant admirer and mistress of Wickham when he had been a resident of Lambton and frequent visitor to the tavern. Turning his attention back to the gentleman facing him, he saw that he was the recipient of what he supposed to be a well-deserved sneer for the allusion.

"She would not be disappointed if she was the daughter of an Earl. Ah, but those sort are always so stuffy!" Then, turning in the direction of the young lady, yelled: "Lucy!" She recognized the sweet intonations of his voice immediately; and hurried over to her favorite gentleman, her face aglow with admiration. Mr. Clough thought it strange that any young lady should admire a frequenter of the tavern; but Lucy had never struck him as a woman of great intelligence. Her education had probably been nonexistent, and she had the only profession which her station in life and charms would permit. Wickham seemed to be reveling in this female attention, however inconsequential it was; and, with a somewhat triumphant gaze at Mr. Clough, gestured for the barmaid to come closer.

"George!" exclaimed she sadly, "How cruel you ha' been! I ha' been so lonely withou' you! I though' you ha' lef' for good."

"I had business to attend to, my Lucy. A gentleman such as myself is always very busy. Now, will you kiss me?"

Lucy was very complaisant, bestowing upon him a kiss infused with fiery passion. Wickham returned it with equal vivacity. Mr. Clough laughed—yes, he was potentially a very lucky man indeed! The lovers' lips parted and Wickham's pretty little barmaid cupped his cheek affectionately, saying in a voice now tender and devoid of the previous tone of agitation:

"Oh George!—when ca' we marry? Yo' will marry me still? Yo' di' promise!"

"We will marry very soon, love; as soon as I have the time. I have many engagements."

"And he is joining the militia," added Mr. Clough, deciding that he ought to have his share of the amusements. There was a loud crash behind them, which probably signified a man felled from too much drink; but it did not interrupt the flow of conversation.

"Is i' true, George? Yo' goin' t' be an officer? I' mus' be so, I s'pose! Don' forget your li'l Lucy when yo's gone!" cried his lady warmly.

"Never," was Wickham's reply, which seemed full of sincerity and genuine meaning. This seemed sufficient enough for Lucy whose loving gaze never wavered from him.

"Now, Wickham, are we going to play cards, or are you going to continue on whispering sweet nothings to your darling?" chided Mr. Clough. Wickham only smiled to his future rival in response, and murmured something into Lucy's ear behind a loose black curl. She smiled and kissed him on the cheek before going to tend to the other men who were thirsty for drink and for the state of delirium which would be accompanied with it. With the departure of Lucy, Wickham could offer his undivided attention to Mr. Clough. There was a proud gaze directed from the latter to the former, causing Mr. Clough to smile ruefully. He shuffled the cards and began to swiftly pass the thin sheets between them.

"Women are incredibly naïve," said Wickham, shoving chips to the center of the table.

"Yes," was his adversary's reply, drawing a card. "But you know, they say that love is blind."

"And deaf too, apparently."

"Aye, aye! It is a jolly good thing that it is men who run the world; we blaze the trail, and the feebler sex follows."

"More like they cling to us! But women do have their uses."

The two men shared a hearty laugh between themselves, alternately taking generous helpings of their ales. Mr. Clough glanced once more at Lucy, who certainly seemed to be much more eager to please, filling her mind with hopes of matrimonial bliss; hopes with a foundation made of hot air. It was confounding to him how these things could satisfy women; how confining oneself to one person eternally could be the idea of happiness; how putting one's complete confidence in the hands of another brought security. He would never trust anybody but himself.

"Enough about me; what have you been doing these past years?" inquired Wickham.

"I will only say that since we last met, I am less the tradesman and more the gentleman."

Thirteen tricks later, and Mr. Clough was once again victor. Wickham was indeed filled with potential; he only knew not how to apply himself. The defeated was visibly angry; but Mr. Clough could decipher that he was no stranger to losing; not only at gaming, but with all aspects of life. He could almost pity him; but reminded himself it was only Wickham's own lack of application that made him any less of a man than he himself was. With the triumphant gazes all on Mr. Clough's part, he departed the tavern. He enjoyed his time in taverns, but was too clever to tempt himself to do something that would be less than beneficial.

As he stepped out into the night air, the contrast between the serene quiet of the sleeping street and the roar of the noisy tavern was remarkable. The air seemed pure and almost intoxicating in its freshness; devoid of the smoky clouds rising to the ceiling, devoid of the strong scent of alcohol. No candles burnt in the corners of darkness. As he walked down the street, he could see the glow of light and energy from the tavern through its latticed windows; and the solemnity and calm of the blackness beyond the windows of other edifices. The trek to his own abode was not long; and even in his dulled senses he could not help but acknowledge the intimidating power of the night. He ascended the steps to his front door; ascended the steps to his bedchamber: it was not his sight that led him, but his memory, for attempting to utilize sight would have been futile. His manservant was asleep; but could he blame him? He knew not the hour.

He lit a candle and opened the window, the small flame flitting back and forth with the gentle breeze that wafted in. But he was not tired; and in the dim light he could see a small stack of letters on the table, unopened. He instantly seized the one which lay on top, examining the tight hand of a gentleman; a hand he knew, a gentleman he knew. He saw that it was posted from Leicestershire, and turned it over in his hand, ripping its seal. He unfolded the leaf, his restless eyes devouring the words written in dark ink before him.

He was going to have business in Leicestershire.


	9. A Grand Scheme

_Sorry about the lack of updates; as the school year reaches its end, I've been quite busy with schoolwork. Hopefully, though, my updates to this will become more frequent in about two weeks, when I'm freed and on summer break._

**Chapter Eight: A Grand Scheme**

The necessary communication to her sisters concerning Mr. Newbury was given; there was little to contemplate on the matter. Elizabeth realized that even if she were to keep it hush-hush, all would surely notice if the aforementioned gentleman wasn't absolutely doting on her when they crossed paths. And it was her belief that the truth was better than any lie; and would rather have her family hear these truths from her own mouth, rather than from those of gossiping neighbors: and so they did. Since Elizabeth had restored her serenity, observing the reactions of her siblings was not unsettling to her nerves; indeed, she thought they reacted as suitably as their characters permitted.

"Good God! Poor Lizzy!" was Kitty's response, covering her mouth in utter surprise as she cried out.

"What a man! As ugly in character as in person—and only a clerk!" cried Lydia, whose family pride forbade her from not commenting on his inferior rank, and whose vanity forbade her from not commenting on his pompous, bloated features. Through her mind ran invented scenarios; disgusting caricatures of the disastrous proposal; and then the astounded reactions of the rest of Wearham when she happily enlightened them all of her knowledge on the subject.

"Poor Mr. Newbury," said Jane in her quiet way, her pensive expressions and sorrowful glances imparting enough sweetness and sympathy to the exposed character of Mr. Newbury to absorb and compensate for the antipathy towards that gentleman from the rest of the party. Sarah, who was present, said not a word, for her sentiments Elizabeth already knew; Herbert offered to thumb his nose at Mr. Newbury should he ever happen to walk past, which was a scheme violently opposed by even Lydia, for the sake of preventing a spectacle; and Mary only sighed, and announced that she would go to the parlor and practice her favorite concerto on the pianoforte. Mary experienced a sense of jealousy that her sister should receive any proposal of marriage at all, even if it be from a foolish man who gained the admiration of none and censure of many.

The dismal weather prevailed; it seemed that the citizens of Wearham were paying their dues to nature for the previous week's pleasant, gentle conditions. Thick, gray clouds loomed low over the sky; sometimes rain drizzled down from the skies; sometimes thunder roared and lightning flashed; sometimes rain, thunder and lightning subsided, but it grew so dark that it seemed night in the mid-afternoon. All who were wise remained shut up in their houses, their faces near the sweaty glass of their windows as they anticipated the sunshine that never came, and then huddled closely to their warm hearth-fires. There would be no liberal spreading of gossip of Mr. Newbury's failed proposal by the Bennet family's means; there would be no call-taking, or ball-dancing, as everyone remained depressed by the gloom, and hypochondriacs lived in perpetual fear of catching cold.

Elizabeth in particular was continually disappointed by the visiting tempests and unmoving clouds, as whenever she built up for herself vain hopes that Amelia or Georgiana would take it upon them to visit Northberry, it seemed that the weather only worsened. However, she could finally set aside all of her anticipations about an "unexpected" visit from her two companions as the day of the dinner-party drew nearer. The doubt in her mind assured her that the storm would surely rage and quite shake the whole house that day, as to ascertain the postponing or cancellation of the date; but when the day did come, her mind was set at ease when she found that it was only overcast; and not as dark as usual, though it was by no means a bright, lustrous day. But she could be tolerably happy with the prospect of almost certainly attending the dinner party that day; she found that life became incredibly dull in that week spent in only idle, indoor employments; and it seemed that Mary was the only one who held up tolerably well, despite Mr. Bennet's declaration that they would not go stir-crazy.

The ladies had repaired to their toilettes, and all were busy with their hair-curling and dressing. Jane and Elizabeth were together: Jane studying her flaxen curls for imperfections in the looking-glass, and Elizabeth piling dark locks atop her head in an elegantly simple style. Jane's spotted green muslin became her well, and though Elizabeth's pale blue attire was decidedly inferior to her elder sister's, and did not fit as snugly, she looked better than she usually did. Through her mind swarmed what could be swarming through Jane's mind, for she had been unusually quiet on the subject of Mr. Newbury, and Elizabeth had a great longing to know if she had made a judicious decision in the mind of her sister.

"Do you think that I acted well in rejecting Mr. Newbury?" asked Elizabeth, finding that she could think of no proper segue into the subject. Jane ceased caressing her hair, and looked at her sister intently, hesitating before she replied, though she did not seem to be at all afflicted with surprise at the abrupt interrogation.

"Of course, Lizzy," was Jane's reply; "if your heart revolted against the match, then you have done a favor not only to yourself, but to Mr. Newbury as well, in preventing a lifetime of unhappiness. His sense of dejection must be severe; and I feel for him and his sorrows; but I would be much more saddened if a marriage were to occur between two people where affection was not equal both sides. Rest assured, Lizzy, that even if he be blind with misery now, soon his vision will return, and he shall see as I do; shall see as I hope that you do, too. You must not let your conscience reprove you; for you should not feel sorry for doing good."

Elizabeth smiled at this sensible, sincere response from her sister, and kissed her forehead.

"You have quite set my mind at ease, Jane. I do not know why I even allowed it to bother me; but I assure you now that I feel light as a feather. Now, for something lighter—how well you look! I am sure that Mr. Darcy will be overflowing with admiration when he sees what a supreme beauty you are; there cannot be one comparable to you in all of Derbyshire."

Jane colored at the compliment, but her blush subsided when she allowed release a laugh, as her humility refused to allow herself to believe that she could be an object of admiration from a man such as the great Mr. Darcy.

"What nonsense you say! I am sure that Mr. Darcy has never looked at me twice in his life. You must take all of the substance of that compliment and bestow it upon yourself."

"If I must do so, it still puts you in better standing. If he does a double-take of me, it would only be to remark at some peculiarity in my features; and I would be seen with a much more critical eye than you. Every man softens when he beholds your presence: I believe some of your nature is imparted onto them."

Sisterly, complimentary conversation ensued; and they quitted the dressing-room together, both with the expectation of pleasure from dining with the Darcys. There would be no taking the open carriage with the ominous threat of precipitation; but that was well enough for the Bennets, and they soon set off from Northberry after they had organized themselves in the entrance hall. It was only a very short while before they pulled up the drive of Donley Park, the abode of Amelia and Mrs. Darcy. Lydia made irksome exclamations of how relieved she was to be away from the house; but Sarah soon quieted her. The party receiving them exited the house as the Bennets alighted from their carriage, them as much desiring a change from the dullness of unchanging company.

Mr. Darcy thought that the two eldest Miss Bennets made a fine pair as they walked up the stairs to the house arm-in-arm. They quite contrasted, what with Jane Bennet's fair locks and rosy complexion; her full figure and gentle green eyes. Miss Elizabeth, on the other hand, had dark hair and inky, intense eyes, with an olive skin tone and a lighter, slighter shape than that of her elder sister's. The only unification of appearance between the two was the pastel shades in their dresses; and the only indication that the same blood flowed through their veins was the similar way that their smile wore upon their face, the curve of their brows, and shape of their eyes. He thought them both quite handsome, though in vastly different ways. The ladies' trek inside was halted as Miss Elizabeth shook Georgiana's hand warmly; and then their synchronization of step was broken off altogether as Jane made herself a bit aloof from Georgiana and her new friend. Amelia joined his sister and Miss Elizabeth, and seemed to be involved in a lively discussion; he had a curiosity to know what they talked of: but it was not so strong as to induce him to go over. Many subjects that animated a young lady would put him to sleep.

The party migrated inwards, with Mr. Darcy's attention fixed on the trio of ladies of which his sister was included. He was not comfortable enough to converse with the others; and he certainly would not seek out the society of his aunt by choice, as her favorite topic tended to be complaining of the gloom, and declaring that it was having a profound effect on her health. His steadfast observations of the conversation of which he only caught every other word, and could thus not make out anything intelligible, he thought went unnoticed; but when there was a convenient gap in the conversation, he saw that Miss Elizabeth turned, and met his eye. He thought her gaze almost provoking, and immediately turned towards the window.

Amelia had a habit of noticing only what she wanted to notice; and she took a keen interest in the brief eye contact subsisting between her intimate friend and Mr. Darcy. Instantly seizing Elizabeth's arm, as the conversation had ended, she led her towards her estranged cousin, and proudly presented her jewel of a friend to him. Elizabeth was a little confused by this move of Amelia's, but said nothing.

"Well, Mr. Darcy," said Amelia after a brief silence, "what think you of the material of Lizzy's dress? I told her that it is made of such thin muslin, it will surely shred to pieces; but, shocking! she seems not to mind at all."

"If she does not mind, I dare say I ought not to mind either. But I know nothing of muslin."

"Really, Amelia," reprimanded Elizabeth, "I would not have your cousin endure tedious conversation that even I would object to. Finery!—ah, I don't care a farthing for it."

Mr. Darcy was rather struck by the simplicity of Miss Elizabeth's dress. She wore only small pearl earrings; no bracelets, no necklace; and her dress had no lace, no frills. But he thought that this suited her very well; the plain stripe of her light frock was all the adornment that was needed to improve her natural good looks. There was something rather contemptuous in her tone; he was quite baffled by her tone. To him, ladies had always spoken softly and sweetly; but Miss Elizabeth did not seem to address the world with a general aim of pleasing.

Sarah, finally defecting from Mrs. Darcy, eagerly joined the party, with a good-humored smile on her face at her luck in throwing herself in the way of people whom she believed she could derive enjoyment in speaking to.

"Hello! Amelia, Lizzy—Hello, Mr. Darcy!" she said cheerfully. "I have just spoken with Mrs. Darcy, sir, and she mentions that you intend to accompany a friend to Hertfordshire in a month or so."

"This is true," replied he with perfect serenity. Georgiana now stood nearby her brother, beginning to listen to the conversation, though her expression indicated no eagerness to speak.

"And to look at an estate, yes?—I am acquainted a little with Netherfield Park, which she told me was your chief interest; but, I admit to this conversation I have an ulterior motive. These three months we have been in want of a tenant for a neighboring estate to Netherfield, called Longbourn. An old bachelor, named Mr. Fulke, was its previous occupant; but, poor soul, he died of consumption! However, Mr. Fulke kept a very good house and made many improvements to it; and previous to his hiring it, it was our own home: and I flatter myself that I also made improvements. It was nothing to Netherfield upon my marriage to Mr. Bennet; but I dare say it is a fair competitor for it now: and I know that we could offer a better rate than the stingy Mr. Morris. It is our custom to visit Longbourn annually; and it would be very convenient indeed for us to give you a personal tour, if you and your friend are at all interested."

Mr. Darcy was a bit hesitant to comply with any scheme of the sort. He turned to Georgiana, however, whose eyes were aglow with the prospect of prolonging her acquaintance with the Bennet family; and her unconscious influence did persuade him a little. He knew that Mr. Bingley would not be averse to any scheme at all; and he would certainly be as enthusiastic about Longbourn as any other fine estate. As he mulled it over in his mind, Mrs. Bennet's suggestion did seem reasonable: and though Mr. Bingley was not in want of funds, a more economical price was never an unwelcome thought.

"I think that such a place would be an object of interest to my friend, Mr. Bingley. I shall mention it to him when I see him again: it has been my intention to discuss with him such business matters next week in Town; and I can communicate your offer to him then."

"Oh! So you leave Leicestershire next week?" asked Sarah, infusing a little disappointment into her tone.

"Alas, they do!" interjected Amelia; "It will be so dull at Donley without their company. But this does sound an agreeable plan—if only I were a benefactor! Hmm! Well, did I tell you, Lizzy, that Mama received a letter from Lord Fitzwilliam the day before last?"

And so Elizabeth and Amelia were segregated from the discussion of the business proposition that Sarah had made, while Amelia raved about Lord Fitzwilliam, and how it was his intention to visit Leicestershire, and take up abode with his humble relations. "With such houseguests going to and fro all the time, she would never be wanting for amusement again. And to have one of those guests be Lord Fitzwilliam, too!"

The tide of conversation became more subdued when Georgiana finally found the courage to speak; and Elizabeth did think Georgiana's demureness a refreshing contrast to Amelia's complete lack of reserve and bold loudness. Mr. Darcy was not insensible to the kind attentions that Miss Elizabeth unwaveringly paid his sister; and her manner with Georgiana did not seem affected or condescending, but arising from a sincere regard and good disposition. Her provoking tone softened when she talked to his sister; her eyes lost their challenging sharpness, and in its stead a warmth of expression. As he observed these pleasant behaviors, and was the object of affability from her step-mother, he quite fixed that the Bennets were one of the most agreeable families in Wearham (despite having a few whimsical young ladies amongst them) wondered how he had ever said that Miss Elizabeth was "strange".


	10. Business

**Chapter Nine: Business**

Though the air remained hot, oppressive, and heavy, it no longer stormed in Leicestershire; and thus, visits to Northberry from Amelia and Georgiana became very frequent in that last week Georgiana and her brother spent there. The intimacy between Elizabeth and her new companion grew as quickly as it had begun; and Elizabeth flattered herself that she had helped raise the poor girl's spirits, as she was less of the brooding, pensive girl that had come to Wearham, and more of the sweet-tempered, kind girl that she had met the summer before in London. Amelia lived in constant anticipation of Lord Fitzwilliam's visit, wishing the time would pass more quickly; but Elizabeth wished for it to pass more slowly, as without Georgiana's company she would be quite lonely, as Lord Fitzwilliam would undoubtedly occupy most of Amelia's time. Despite these fervent wishes, however, time passed at the same pace it always did.

Only once more did Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy meet, which was when the end of his visit drew near, and he and his sister had come to take their leave. When Elizabeth perceived them walking up the drive, she instantly rushed out to meet her dear friend, though her heart was heavy with the prospect of being separated from her. Her initial feelings of sympathy and pity for her had mostly subsided, making way for a sincere like and warmth for her. She did not know what had been the cause of Georgiana's woe; but found that her hot curiosity had cooled, and that she was perfectly satisfied in only consoling her without demanding an explanation. She did not seem the sort who would get into a truly bad business; and was not going to make Georgiana mortify herself in order to satisfy Elizabeth's prying.

Elizabeth shook Georgiana's hand ardently, as they exchanged words of comfort to each other.

"It will not be long before we meet again," said Elizabeth.

"No, it shall not! Hertfordshire I like above all places, though I am yet to see it."

Flashing a warm smile at Georgiana, Elizabeth turned to Mr. Darcy, and curtseyed politely. At the time of this occurrence, the rest of the Bennets had become sensible of their guests, and accordingly bid their adieus. There was no eagerness to linger on any of Elizabeth's family's part, except for on Elizabeth's; and though she had been the first to see the departing Darcys, she was also the last to leave.

"Well, Mr. Darcy," observed Elizabeth, "matters of business tear us apart."

"But matters of business shall bring us together again," he countered smilingly.

"Yes! Well, goodbye, Mr. Darcy. Goodbye, Georgiana!" And then Elizabeth turned, and entered the house in her solitude, as the Darcys had refused the refreshment that Sarah had obligingly offered them. Georgiana and her brother stood several moments in front of Northberry, both seeming to be deep in contemplation at how the Bennet family had made their mark on their lives in those few short weeks they had taken up abode in Leicestershire. But they could not remain long; for the sun's glimmering beams migrated closer to the horizon, and the leave-taking of the other neighboring families had to be accomplished.

Georgiana slipped her arm into that of her brother's as he stared down at the brim of the bonnet concealing her face. His heart was not as heavy when he looked at her; the pleasant company in Wearham was more beneficial to her health and spirits than he could have ever hoped. The bright glimmer in her eyes had found new life, and though she was not quite what she once was, her improvement was remarkable.

"Do you like Elizabeth better now, Brother? Have your prejudices of her 'strangeness' given way?" asked Georgiana.

"Yes," was his monosyllabic reply, and with one last look at Northberry Park, they entered into the shade of a great beech tree; and when they had past it, the view of that house was gone.

* * *

It had been several days since the departure of Georgiana Darcy and her brother, and Elizabeth had accompanied Kitty and Sarah on a morning walk to Wearham. The bright light of the sun did not soothe the chilly temperature of the early day; Elizabeth wrapped her dark shawl closer about her. She had lagged a bit behind, as her eye had attracted her to a smart bonnet through the windows of one of the few shops in the little town of Wearham. She was not particularly disposed to be in raptures over finery; but she still had some of that feminine susceptibility to becoming articles of clothing, and her eye was not burdened by the view of such an object. Turning around, she fully expected to see Sarah and Kitty; but they had turned the corner. Across the street, however, she did see a familiar face: it was Amelia. She appeared to be with a gentleman, whose features she could not ascertain, though she saw that he wore a blue coat.

Her curiosity lured her closer; and as she got a better view of Amelia and her companion, she found that she did not recognize the gentleman at all. He was exceedingly handsome, with soft gray eyes, and auburn-flecked hair. She thought he looked about thirty; and after studying him for some moments, supposed that he must be Lord Fitzwilliam. That pang of jealousy which one experiences upon seeing such a handsome face paired next to a good friend did momentarily course through Elizabeth's veins; but it was quickly subdued, for Amelia at that moment turned her eyes towards Elizabeth. She cried out in a paroxysm of joy, charged at her friend and then called to the gentleman, seemingly eager to have the honor making the introduction between them.

"Lizzy! Fancy meeting you here!" said Amelia warmly; "I have just made a new acquaintance this morning. Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Clough."

Mr. Clough gallantly tipped his hat and bowed to Elizabeth, who accordingly made her own display of politeness with a willing smile.

"Elizabeth Bennet," she said in introduction; "and how do you do?"

"Very well!" was his response, and then the party of three continued down the street together. The necessary civil inquiries as to how one liked Wearham, what brought one to it, etc. were made with a general complaisance on each party's side, and the cheerfulness of being in agreeable company.

"Business," said Mr. Clough to Elizabeth's inquiry as to the nature of his visit. "And are you a great traveler, Miss Bennet?"

"I have never been abroad, if that is what you mean; but I go to Hertfordshire in about a month with my family, as we are looking to let the property we have there."

"Indeed? But that was not the answer that I had hoped for."

"What _had_ you hoped for, sir?"

"Oh!—'No, sir,' was my hope; 'I have never set a foot outside of Leicestershire in all my life, except when I go to my second home in Derbyshire.'"

Elizabeth could not think of Derbyshire without thinking of her new friend who claimed her home to be in that county; and requested why that place, of all places, he hoped would be her second home?

"I am from Derbyshire," he replied with a gallant smile. "It is very tiresome that whenever one meets with an agreeable young lady, he should have to chase her about the country just to keep up the acquaintance."

She unconsciously blushed at the compliment, and Elizabeth was quite endeared to this Mr. Clough for his openness of manner and compliments which did greatly flatter her vanity. She was greatly obliged to fate for this man not being Lord Fitzwilliam, and thus Amelia had no claim on him, even if he did not have a title. Their conversation continued on in this genial way, till they crossed paths with Sarah and Kitty. The introduction was made between Mr. Clough and Elizabeth's relations, and when at last the party broke up, all remained with warm feelings towards the amicable gentleman.

"I quite like him," declared Sarah as they began the trek back to Northberry; "and he clearly admires you, Lizzy. You had better snap him up quickly; men of his breed do not turn up frequently."

Elizabeth colored and murmured, "Do you really think so?" much to Kitty's amusement and gentle agitation.

"Sarah! I feel quite dejected. You plan so many matches for Lizzy and Jane that between the two, there are no young men left to claim me!" cried she with girlish jealousy.

"Nay, my girl," retorted Sarah; "I do it not to neglect! I thought that you were capable, my little protégé, of making your own matches, and you did not need the use of my talents."

Kitty was forced to be satisfied with this though she would have been a very willing recipient of Sarah's said talents. Elizabeth would have transferred her received 'benefits' to Kitty, as she found it very tiresome to be imagined first with Mr. Darcy, and then with Mr. Clough; but was not impudent enough to say so. She wasn't as completely averse to the idea of a match this time round, however, as she had actually met the gentleman in question; and as she considered herself a pretty good judge of character, thought him to be very agreeable. But she would not be hasty; she did not even know that he was single; but whether she was willing to acknowledge it or not, with such pleasing manners, and encouraging talk, she re-entered Northberry with her head full of Mr. Clough.

On the morrow an impromptu visit was due on Amelia's part, and duly given. She arrived in high spirits, as was her wont, and was also the bearer of good tidings; and fortunately for Elizabeth, these tidings were actually good for _her_, and not for Amelia.

"Mr. Clough rattled on about you all the rest of our walk," explained Amelia; "he quite thought you the loveliest woman he ever met, I dare say. I was a bit shocked initially at his open admiration of you; but I think I like him the better for it. Any man who thinks you are quite the thing must have good sense. 'Your friend, Miss Bennet, is the most delightful young lady I have ever beheld'—I believe those were his very words. He asked where you lived; if you had any other relations than Sarah and Miss Catherine; if you were fond of solitary walks through Wearham. I would have been quite wearied by this interrogation if it was not all for your benefit, dear Lizzy. By-the-by, I did reply in the positive to his question concerning walks through Wearham; so I would not be surprised that if you should ever wish to seek him, to just take a ramble through the town, and there he will be, looking for you like a little lost puppy."

"Is this so!" cried Elizabeth, unwilling to believe such a wonderful thing; "I had always assumed that he was married. No Mrs. Clough awaits him in Derbyshire?"

"Goodness no!—you have little faith in me; did I not tell you I would have no desire to introduce you to a young man who was not single?"

"Dear Amelia! I am sorry that I ever doubted you. Now, tell me more about Mr. Clough."

Elizabeth met some disappointment to her inquiry, as she could only learn through Amelia's intelligence what she had already learnt herself: that he was a native of Derbyshire; that he had come to Leicestershire on matters of business; that his lodgings were at the local inn; and that he had a great fondness for fishing, and held the firm belief that Wearham only wanted a stream in order to be the perfect little hamlet. However, as soon as Amelia had pronounced the words, she had fixed on a walk to Wearham the very next day, if the weather proved favorable. Amelia came to the conclusion that her friend was "mad in love with Mr. Clough already", though Elizabeth laughed at this, and flatly denied it. She was only in want of some zest to add to a dull country life; and any new acquaintance was a welcome one. But perhaps Amelia knew Elizabeth's heart better than she knew it herself; for she had certainly never been quite so excited about anybody whom she had only seen and spoken with once.

The weather was favorable the day of Elizabeth's anticipated walk. The lingering clouds of the previous day had dissipated, exposing the bright blue of the sky, and highlighting the pretty English countryside. She set out directly after breakfast, requesting no company, and deflecting any that was offered. Jane, after having been denied the pleasure of accompanying her sister to Wearham, thought that she was behaving quite strangely; but she had not the opportunity to inquire whence this behavior sprung, for Elizabeth was already trudging down that dusty trail to her destination.

It seemed that everything was working out in Elizabeth's favor, for when she reached Wearham, the sight of Mr. Clough wandering the main street immediately arrested her. To the mutual satisfaction of both, they greeted each other, and recommenced the happy conversation of their first meeting. He certainly did look very well, and perhaps even more handsome than previously; and as he simpered, and said clever things, Elizabeth believed that she had found a great treasure of a friend for herself indeed.


	11. Personal Preference

**Chapter Ten: Personal Preference**

Mr. Darcy supposed that he could attribute the prime object of his thoughts orbiting about Miss Elizabeth Bennet because of Georgiana. She was clearly quite thrilled with her new friend that she had acquired in Leicestershire, and was wild about seeing her in Hertfordshire. Mr. Darcy had not planned to even take Georgiana along, initially; but upon observing such an encouraging arousal of spirits, whispered not a word of this original scheme. Though their correspondence could not be a lengthy one, what with there only being a month's lapse before they would see each other again, the first thing his darling sister did upon arriving in their London townhouse was to immediately seize a blank sheet of paper, a pen, and begin composing a letter to Miss Elizabeth. He could certainly not dislike a lady to whom his sister was so endeared to, even if she was but a country lass; and he recalled that they also had property in Hertfordshire to add to their assets. Certainly the Bennet family had their merits, he would grant them.

It was to the surprise of no one that Mr. Bingley was greatly in favor of considering Longbourn for a country estate, and it was then Mr. Darcy who was obliged to write the Bennets a short letter of business proclaiming that there would be no impediments in carrying through with the plan on which they had already intended. All seemed to be going smoothly, and Mr. Darcy found that he was quite pleased with the steady improvement of life since that fateful trip to Ramsgate.

One day, Mr. Darcy had just quitted his library, to find Georgiana in giddy spirits, and clasping that day's post in her little hands. Upon sensing the entrance of her brother into the hallway, she turned, and, keeping a tight hold on that cherished letter on top, handed the rest of the small pile to him. He flipped through them quickly, finding nothing of particular interest; but was certainly sensible of his sister's affected behavior. It seemed that not a moment could be wasted for its reading, as she had already broken the seal, and was unfolding the sheets of paper with eager eyes.

"Did you get a letter, then?" asked Mr. Darcy. The answer to this question one could only hope he could ascertain for himself, but he was no delightful conversation-starter, and thought that this was as good a segue from the happy silence as any. Georgiana lifted her eyes, momentarily agitated by the interruption, but managed to reply in a perfectly contented voice,

"Yes!—it's from Elizabeth."

"I am glad to see you so happy, Georgiana; but do not place too much weight on this friendship with Miss Bennet," warned he concernedly. He had seen the effect of excessive partiality, and had the painful recollection of the effects of a betrayal of this confidence.

Georgiana lowered her hand holding her letter to her side, her mood sobered by her brother's earnest tone.

"You told me that you liked her," she insisted frowningly, childish impertinence infused into her voice.

"Oh! She seems perfectly amicable to me; but it would not be the first instance where my judgment has been very poor, if she turned out to not be so. I only mean to have you on your guard, Georgiana; your independence is important to me."

"I thank you for your concern, Brother, but I don't think that it is needed. Why should you be averse to my being friends with Elizabeth Bennet, when you encourage a friendship between Miss Bingley and me? But perhaps that's only because Caroline Bingley is an elegant, fancy woman, who flatters your vanity with excessive attention to you. And Elizabeth, I suppose, you don't think is handsome at all; and who could blame her for not caring three straws about you!" cried Georgiana contemptuously, darting into the parlor, and promptly shutting the door.

Mr. Darcy stood frozen in place for several minutes afterwards, dizzy with the recent confrontation. It was very rare that a harsh word was exchanged between himself and his sister; and he had only given such a warning out of his genuine concern for his sister's welfare. He consoled himself with such things; for how could anybody be absolutely certain the disposition of a young lady, with whom his acquaintance and Georgiana's had been only the work of a few weeks? It particularly stung him the comparison she had made with Miss Bingley. Caroline did not have, perhaps, the most sound and constant character, but he believed that she was principled, nonetheless; and her being the sister of his intimate friend was a high recommendation in her favor. As if he would recommend companions to his sister based on a biased personal preference! And the more such thoughts swam through his mind, the more he had convinced himself that he surely preferred Elizabeth Bennet over Caroline Bingley, as far as personal preference was concerned. He thought female companionship a good thing for Georgiana; he only did not want her to become run away with her feelings. Her first impression may have given one the notion she was a serene, unaffected girl; but towards those whom she really loved, she was very passionate. Mr. Darcy was particularly careful in preventing such passionate paroxysms for himself; therefore he found it only reasonable to want to prevent the same failing in his sister.

Mr. Darcy returned to his library with the intention of perusing his letters, which were principally those of business. Reconciliation with Georgiana would have to wait till she had calmed herself.

* * *

Elizabeth stood from her writing table as the entrance of Mr. Matthew Clough was announced, blindly shoving her unfinished letter to Georgiana into its drawer. Her departure to Hertfordshire was imminent; and though she greatly looked forward to renewing her acquaintance with Georgiana, she no longer denied that she received excessive pleasure from Mr. Clough's company. He proved to be in her eyes just what he had appeared; charming, good-humored, and with a placid temperament. Once he had introduced himself to the rest of the Bennets, no skills of persuasion needed to be utilized in order for an invitation to be dispatched for his dining with them; his well-bred manners and pleasing compliments spoke for themselves. She and the other inhabitants of the drawing-room curtseyed with the utmost civility, and exchanged equally civil words of greeting.

The week preceding had brought another letter from Lord Fitzwilliam to Mrs. Darcy, with a thousand apologies, and the declaration that his visit would have to be delayed till later in September than he had intended. This had sorely sunk Amelia's spirits, but it took all of Elizabeth's powers to veil her delight at this delay. He would come to Leicestershire exactly when she would be leaving for Hertfordshire; and therefore, Amelia could continue her friendly attentions to Elizabeth in that usual way, without her doting on her favorite cousin. Amelia was depressed that an introduction between them might not be possible; but Elizabeth constantly gave her warm assurances that she already thought very well of Lord Fitzwilliam, based on the intelligence she had received from her friend concerning his many merits and nonexistent faults. Her curiosity to ascertain the Lord's true character, however, was superseded by her wish to have Amelia's undivided affection; and though it may have been a selfish wish, she could not bring herself to feel guilty about it.

The migration to the dining-room was made, with a variety of food already assembled upon the long table in the center of the room. Mr. Clough was Elizabeth's escort, and consequently took the chair next to hers when all were seating themselves. His gentle teasing, pleasant manners, friendly glances, were all to Elizabeth's taste; her attention was fully absorbed by this gentleman. How could one pass a day in a better way than engaged in lively conversation with Mr. Clough, and admiring his discernible intelligence and handsome appearance? She could almost blush, when his gray eyes lit up with vivacity when directed towards her. The attachment between the two was encouraged by all—who could not desire their dear Lizzy to grow fond of such a pleasing young man? Even Mr. Bennet could good-humoredly tease his daughter concerning Mr. Clough.

Through Mr. Bennet's gentle interrogations, they learnt that he considered himself a very apt whist player; and so after dinner had passed by in its unremarkable congenial way, a whist table was set up. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, Mr. Clough and Kitty (for Kitty had a great fondness for cards which none of her sisters could account for) divided into teams, and Mary immediately repaired to the pianoforte to delight them all with a concerto. The rest remained to observe the wonders of the game; and were not disappointed. Mr. Clough could outplay them all, and Kitty was delighted to have such a whist-playing partner; from her came squeals of joy, and bright smiles, as trick after trick went to them: but Elizabeth was conscious that his eyes were more often directed towards herself than they were towards Kitty.

After the Bennets had conceded, and declared Mr. Clough the finest whist player they had ever encountered, Mary's playing subsequently ended; and it was then Elizabeth's turn to tickle the ivories, as Mr. Clough expressed it as his foremost desire, and prize for his excellence in cards. So she played, and he seemed so delighted with it, as if she played ten times better than Mary, though she was probably ten times worse; and so inspired was he by her mediocre execution, he proposed that they sing a duet. Once again was the Bennet family pleasantly surprised on hearing his pleasant bass voice, and smooth, fluid singing. Elizabeth thought it was as sweet and smooth as honey; and once the song had ended, they were met with no mean amount of applause from an appreciative and tasteful family.

Bliss, however, is not a thing that can last forever; and sooner than anyone would have thought, the time came for them to part. Elizabeth's departure to Hertfordshire was to occur on the morrow; and so she was obliged to say her final adieus to Mr. Clough. He had gone out into the hallway after the usual goodbyes were said, and Elizabeth followed him. He turned around and stood before her, his tall silhouette outlined by the dusky shades of twilight, and a look of what Elizabeth felt was real sadness spread across his features.

"Alas! And so you must go!" cried he at last, despairingly.

"Yes; but I dare say we shall not part forever. Soon enough, Leicestershire will reclaim me; and I hope that you will not forget me, sir."

"I dare say we will; though Derbyshire will also reclaim me. You will come to me there, if I be gone upon your return?"

"It would be hard! But I will try."

"Do not you have friends in Derbyshire?"

"Yes—Miss Darcy—but I could not impose upon her kindness. But you are determined we will meet again?"

"Yes, yes, we shall meet again, dear Miss Bennet! I am sure of it!"

Mr. Clough seized her hand and, lifting it to his lips, bestowed upon it a light kiss. Though it could not be discerned in the dim light of the hallway, Elizabeth's cheeks flushed a deep red.

"Good-bye, Mr. Clough!" said Elizabeth regretfully, her heart swelling with warmth for this man, and sadness for having to leave him.

"Good-bye, Miss Bennet! Ah, it is always hard to leave those whom one loves."

And with those words, he was gone. Elizabeth was rather taken aback by his last remark; but the door had already been closed, and the sounds of hooves trampling the gravel drive, by the time she had felt that she had the power in her to speak. She re-entered the sitting-room where she had left her family, with a pensive and somber expression, which seemed natural enough to the rest of her family, for they believed she really liked Mr. Clough. Yes! She _did_ really like him. And she had convinced herself within ten minutes after its being said, that he loved her.


	12. The Tenant of Longbourn House

**Chapter Eleven: The Tenant of Longbourn House**

The dawn was breaking, and Elizabeth was setting off in a chaise-and-four for the Southeast and Hertfordshire. To the little town of Meryton, comparable in size to that of Wearham, did she proceed. Her heart was still heavy with last night's conversation with Mr. Clough. So it seemed that when her prospects were so high, she would be wrenched away from them! But she wore a smile on her face, even if it was only felt in the muscles of her cheeks, and not the beatings of her heart. The optimist inside of her reminded how much she wanted to see Georgiana; what a happy thing their reunion would be; and that her family would increase their income should they find a tenant for Longbourn. She had always looked forward to annual visits to Hertfordshire with great delight, and a pleasing change from the normal country life; but this year, today, her heart did not settle in Hertfordshire before she had gotten there; it was still in Wearham: and the distance between the two grew greater with every step those fine stallions took.

Beside Elizabeth sat Jane, her hair concealed by a straw bonnet, and her face turned away from Elizabeth as she stared out the window, undoubtedly filled with the anticipation that Elizabeth ought to have felt. They sat for some time in mutual silence, sitting placidly in their comfortable traveling clothes, and either looking out the window, or at the seat across from them, stacked high with hat boxes and suitcases. At length, however, the eyes of the two sisters met; and Jane perceived Elizabeth's demeanor, which was gloomier than the occasion called for. Out of solicitous concern, she asked her sister, what was the matter? And Elizabeth, realizing that she would eventually be obliged to divulge all to Jane at some point or another, began her impromptu explanation.

"Do you recall, Jane, when I walked out into the hallway with Mr. Clough last night?—Well, we talked a little there. And he said—I believe that I recollect correctly; I find it hard to forget, really—'It is always hard to leave those whom one loves'. I don't know: I don't know if this is being presumptuous, but do you think; do you think he meant he loved me? It has been in my head all this morning and last night; I have been thinking it over; but I really cannot be too certain."

Jane did seem surprised by this profession. Her delicate sensibilities had ascertained some sort of affection subsisting between her sister and Mr. Clough, but had never assumed that he was a lover. Elizabeth was teased about it, but Jane had seen it only as jesting: and even though it was not in Jane's disposition to exaggerate, she could not deny that Mr. Clough's parting sentence did seem to allude to his being in love with Elizabeth. Their acquaintance in her eyes seemed so slight, that this was quite unexpected. There was no reason, however, to doubt Mr. Clough's character, for he had been nothing but charming and agreeable; and Jane was never disposed to think ill of anybody. Jane was certainly started, surprised; but if he really did love her, and Elizabeth welcomed his affections, who was to say nay to these two young people?

"Goodness, Lizzy!" cried Jane at length, after this period of reflection; "I do not think you are presumptuous; unless he is in love with Kitty, I cannot imagine what else he might mean. But does this make you happy, Lizzy? Or do you view him as another Mr. Newbury? Pray, I hope that he has not upset you! It won't do to have you out of humor."

"Make me unhappy? Oh, no!—Mr. Clough is by far the most agreeable gentleman of my acquaintance. What a suitable husband he would make; he has all of the attributes which I would most like in a companion. I only wonder at his meaning! It only seems to be too wonderful that he should love me! Jane, tell me at once if I am speaking madness—but do you think he might propose to me?"

"Propose! If he loves you, I hope so. Good Lizzy, I really do like Mr. Clough; I could not conceive for myself a better brother-in-law."

"Now that I think of it, it was most generous for him to suggest such a thing to me. Now I have these future weeks to think on it; and I can be more certain of my affection for him by the time we return."

"Exactly, dear! Your Mr. Clough would not behave ungenerously."

Elizabeth blushed, and dismissed his being 'her' Mr. Clough; and immediately afterwards said that she was now quite contented on the subject, and that she could be at leisure now she had gotten the opinion of another. This was enough to pacify Jane, and they soon began to talk of indifferent subjects. Elizabeth really did feel better; Jane agreed that he loved her, and she knew that she at least really liked him. What was the sense in fretting over it, anyway? She would see Georgiana! Their correspondence was very regular, but lines of ink on a paper was very inferior to seeing, touching, talking with its writer.

* * *

The taxi which transported Mr. Darcy and his sister to Hertfordshire at last came to a stop in front of their lodgings, where they would reside in Hertfordshire till Mr. Bingley had hired his chosen estate and they became his inmates. He had scarcely seen Georgiana so excited; and though he was relieved with this new tide of good humor and seeming to overlook her trauma courtesy of Mr. Wickham, still he had that skepticism in his mind towards her new confidante, Elizabeth Bennet. However, as he had had a carriage ride from London to think of it, he supposed that his hypocrisy was astounding; after all, had he not begged for Miss Elizabeth's kindness? Indeed, it would have been more damaging to her character had she not obliged him; and who could not be endeared to his darling Georgiana? With these thoughts setting him at ease, he could be pretty certain that Miss Bennet did not intend to take advantage of his dearest relation; and so they alighted from the carriage, each elated and content, though on vastly different levels. Mr. Darcy also thought, for very different reasons; but a keen observer might have argued otherwise.

It seemed a promising day for touring estates and reuniting friends, for it was bright and sunny. It was cool enough that if one stood about idly, they might feel a bit of a chill; but with the exercise of walking about and seeing new sights, the temperature was ideal. Brother and sister had scarcely gotten themselves settled into the inn and unpacked their belongings when the door was thrown open, and Mr. Bingley's entrance announced by a maid. He was all smiles and complaisance as he greeted his old friend, with his eyes brightened by the excitement of selecting an abode, for it had been an event to which he had looked forward for some time. His cheeks were flushed with color, his speech quicker and more enthusiastic than was even typical for him. Mr. Darcy, though not considering himself in bad spirits, thought he must have appeared very somber next to his joyous sister and friend. He could sympathize more with Mr. Bingley's situation, as he never had the pleasure of looking forward to a long-absent acquaintance. The Bingleys were a self-made family, their position is society considerably heightened only recently with the present Mr. Bingley's predecessor's success in trade; and what with a hundred thousand pounds at his disposal, anybody with such good fortune would be naturally ecstatic.

"So, Darcy!—where are we wanted first?" asked the excited Mr. Bingley.

"Mr. Bennet has promised to show us round Longbourn in an hour," replied Mr. Darcy, after pulling out his watch and glancing at it.

"Excellent!" cried Mr. Bingley and Georgiana simultaneously. This well-timed exclamation, however, seemed to only make each victim more the giddier; and soon Georgiana was recounting all she knew of Elizabeth Bennet with great energy, and Mr. Bingley receiving it as if it were some great gospel or marvelous scientific breakthrough.

"And does she have any brothers or sisters?" asked Bingley.

"Oh, yes! She has four sisters, and a brother; but the boy is only about nine, so I am afraid you have not just discovered for yourself your next fencing partner. They are all such pleasant people; I know that you will like them all: indeed, who cannot? Even Brother said that he likes them; and you know as well as I do that he likes nobody."

"That is not true!" interjected Mr. Darcy indignantly; but he seemed to go unheard by Bingley, who merely laughed and then continued:

"Four sisters!—and are they all as charming and handsome as Miss Elizabeth?"

"Oh! All charming, to be sure; but, though Lizzy is such a great friend, I do not think that she is anything remarkably handsome. I do not mean that she is ill-favored in appearances; I mean, that she is not beautiful in that usual way that you would see in sculptures and paintings; her beauty rather grows the better you know her. The eldest sister, Miss Jane, is by far the prettiest though: the nicest green eyes she has! And much taller than Elizabeth, too; Elizabeth is just a slight little thing."

This description, though rather brief and vague, did appeal to Bingley's taste, and he asked to know more of what the eldest Miss Bennet looked like.

"Well," began Georgiana thoughtfully, "she has silky yellow hair, which naturally curls, I think; it must, for it always looks so well; and a rosy pink complexion. Her features are all very soft, very feminine; no hard lines on her at all; everything pleasing to the eye about her. Picture in your mind the fairest angel and I think you will find this fancy and Miss Bennet are very like."

"However, she smiles too much," said the always-persevering Mr. Darcy.

"Smiles too much? Perhaps she smiles a lot, but it is so very becoming for her. Mr. Bingley, I dare say you will have to judge for yourself! You shall see her very soon, so there is no need for a very thorough description," concluded Georgiana. However, this talkativeness which had overcome her in her blithe humor subsided when Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley commenced discussing more technical issues; and so she was left to admire the Bennet family and anticipate seeing them in silence.

Within the hour, the Darcys and Mr. Bingley had set off for the short journey to Longbourn; and were soon there, and greeting the Bennets, and Mr. Darcy was introducing his friend and prospective tenant to them. Georgiana and Elizabeth greeted each other with a warm embrace, which was more than they had endeavored to do upon their separation, thus proving that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Had Mr. Darcy not been examining Miss Elizabeth with unabashed curiosity as he compared the image he had formed of her in his mind to the reality and discovering she was actually quite handsomer than he had supposed, he would have seen that Mr. Bingley's eyes were almost constantly directed towards Jane, obviously thinking that she quite lived up to the expectations that Georgiana had placed in his heart.

Elizabeth, however, was a keen observer in spite of all of the surrounding felicity; and her favorable first impression of Mr. Bingley was heightened by his obvious admiration of Jane. Though he was obliged to speak with Mr. Bennet on matters of the estate, he perhaps looked more at her sister than he looked at her father; and rather wondered how much of what he was being told he actually heard, for he seemed to go distracted.

The tour of Longbourn commenced, and they all walked through the serene halls and through dark rooms with their furniture covered with white sheets and the blinds drawn closed. Even the bleakest rooms Mr. Bingley was delighted with; any alterations that Mr. or Mrs. Bennet recommended he would not hear of; the house was perfect exactly the way it was. They had entered a little sitting-room, in the wing of the house which had been recently built on, and Mr. Bingley had become the adamant admirer of a view through one of its latticed windows.

"I simply must hire this house!" he declared, joyfully. Mr. Bennet came up behind his prospective tenant, looking out through the window, only to see a little avenue lined by maple trees. With a smirk, he said dryly,

"Well, I shan't be the one to discourage you from making a rash decision."

Seeming to not notice Mr. Bennet's tongue-in-cheek manner, Bingley replied with warmth,

"No, I suppose not! But I must have this house. Shall we settle it now?"

Mr. Darcy thought of making attempts at dissuading his friend from what had been correctly labeled a "rash decision"—he had not yet seen Netherfield, which he was to see the following day. But upon reflection, he supposed that to dampen Bingley's enthusiasm was a nearly impossible task; and Longbourn certainly was a fine house, with a very generous rent being offered on it. Even if it may not have turned out to be as fine as Netherfield, it was a better investment till Mr. Bingley could be reasonably expected to purchase an estate.

And they did settle it. The house was already furnished; it only wanted a little bit of upkeep which a year of neglect had inflicted; and his servants could be moved in, and the house tidied by the following week. Georgiana was very much in favor of this, for it would mean she would be residing in the house of which her friend's family was owner; and any little things which Elizabeth had added to the house (which was very little), she could perpetually delight over. Mr. Darcy was the only one who was not particularly ecstatic about this; but why should he have been? It would hardly affect him. The Bennets planned on carrying out their holiday in Hertfordshire at the local inn; but no! Mr. Bingley would not hear of turning his new proprietors out of their own house. What a happy party they would be; always socializing, always thrown into each other's company.

"We will quite loathe each other by the end of it," observed Mr. Bennet, who had never been a great fan of excessive company himself, and was looking in the direction of the library even as he spoke these words. Mr. Darcy was probably thinking something along the same lines; halls filled with giggling youths (though he may have been a "youth" himself) was not his idea of entertainment; a book, even if it did not talk back, was at least filled with sense—and if it didn't even have that merit, it could be thrown to the side and another one taken up more easily than a companion could. But Mr. Bennet, Mr. Darcy, and perhaps Mary were the only ones of this mind; all the others were wild about it; and they would not have heard any protests even if they had been spoken.

In anticipation of this great party that would be assembling once Mr. Bingley had established himself as the tenant of Longbourn House, there was much visiting amongst the Bingleys, Darcys, and Bennets. Georgiana and Elizabeth got on even more splendidly than before; and it had become Mr. Bingley's habit to engage himself in a tête-à-tête with Jane as much as possible without bordering on incivility towards the others. However, like nobody being enough averse to the plan of having numerous inmates at Longbourn to speak against it, nobody was enough averse to Mr. Bingley's harmless preference of Jane Bennet to speak against it. They were both young and handsome; so why should they not be drawn to each other? Elizabeth, recalling all of the pleasures she had received from Mr. Clough's company, could rejoice in drawing parallels between her experience and her sister's lively conversations with Mr. Bingley; and once the meshing together of the parties began, who could say where their intimacy might lead?


	13. Vivid Recollection

**Chapter Twelve: Vivid Recollection **

Perhaps there was something in the air of Longbourn; after all, it had overseen the deaths of the late Mrs. Bennet and poor old Mr. Fulke. But as Mr. Darcy laid down his first night in his guest chamber, which was in a part of the recently-constructed wing of Longbourn, the last thing that was on his mind was that the house was haunted. The clean linen, freshly papered walls, and bright décor did not speak of restless spirits or gloomy phantoms. In fact, the fresh scent of the room and placid nighttime weather effectively lulled him to sleep within the first five minutes of his laying down; for he was very tired from packing and unpacking, going to and going fro. The floors did not creak, the walls did not moan; only hot coals glowed in the dying hearth-fire. The only forces apparently present in the room were forces of gravity, which effectively closed Mr. Darcy's wearied eyes, and transported him away from what was sensible and real, and into that unknown dream world, those fancies of our mind, which we typically forget as soon as we exit it.

* * *

A chapel nestled in the countryside; pews set in straight rows; windows of stained glass with sunlight barely penetrating through the colorful gothic panes. Then a plethora of people occupying the pews; a clergyman dressed in traditional garb and holding a thick Bible; an organist with his fingers poised on a fine instrument's keys; ladies dressed in silk gowns; gentlemen in their most formal attire. Then an excited murmur of the crowd, quickly silenced as the organist's song begins and swells. A long aisle separating two sections of pews; a lady in white descending down the aisle. Her face is veiled, and she wears a wreath of blue hydrangea about her head, and a bouquet of peonies clasped between her hands. Dark, silk curls are arranged elegantly; she is grace itself; her descent has ended.

Wedding vows are exchanged with only the drone of the clergyman and "I wills" echoing through the chapel, till one in the audience succumbs to emotion, and lets out a great sob of happiness; the bride laughs; but no other interruption occurs. With this ceremony thus completed, bride and bridegroom exit through tall doors, and spectators accordingly file out of the chapel.

"I have never felt like such a spectacle all my life," says the bride, coloring. Her veil is thrown back now; her olive skin, her dark lustrous eyes are exposed to the pale sunlight of winter. However, a reply is not to be given; for bounding up to bride and bridegroom is a woman. She is a short, stout woman of about forty; her flaxen curls and vibrant green eyes are very like her first daughter's; her delicate jaw line is like that of her second's. The sun reappears from behind a billowy cloud and illuminates a pearl broach in her hair, sparkling and shimmering in spite of its obvious age. In her hand is a handkerchief which she uses to dab her red and swollen eyes; she gives the bride a very warm embrace, and directs the most complaisant smiles towards the groom.

"Oh, my dear Lizzy!" cries the woman in a voice chirpy and incessant, though at present infused with true sentiment of feeling. "With you and Jane now married, I don't know what I shall do! I shall go distracted."

"There is nothing that I would like better," says a voice; and the woman's husband emerges from the throng, placing a steady hand on his wife's trembling shoulder. "Now, Elizabeth, I had better take your blubbering mother away from you; Jane, you see, waits impatiently." And with a nod of the head behind him, Jane can be seen in a dress of lavender with her arm firmly inserted in Charles Bingley's. Off is led this woman; then the approach of Jane and Bingley. The sisters exchange kisses; the friends give each other a hearty handshake. From Jane are congratulations given to bride and bridegroom; the latter responds warmly,

"Thank you, Mrs. Bingley."

"What is this!" cries Jane with some gravity; "I am your sister now; I forbid you to call me 'Mrs. Bingley'—to you, I am Jane."

"Ah, you see, Jane has become more ornery with marriage," says Bingley smilingly; "take care that Elizabeth is kept in line; though it is less work to just submit." This earns him a playful jab in the side from his wife, and the following declaration from his sister-in-law:

"He shan't have to worry about that; I am already as ornery as is required."

Similar exchanges occur, till the crowd disperses, and a carriage is ordered to transport bride and bridegroom to the wedding breakfast. The black vehicle approaches, led by two russet stallions. The bride is handed in, the bridegroom enters, the door is closed; silence ensues, except for the clicking of hooves against ground. Now husband and wife, they only observe each other, as they see each other now in a different light. Then, abruptly, she throws herself into his arms, and wraps her arms about his neck almost possessively, her face buried in his shoulder and hidden by chocolate locks. Similarly, he rests his arms around her waist, and kisses her pretty little head. She looks up, and he is arrested by her unblinking eyes; they seem to consume and intoxicate him; he sees nothing, thinks of nothing, but the beautiful creature before him.

* * *

Mr. Darcy opened his eyes; and, finding he was very alert, immediately sat up. Hertfordshire was still blanketed in darkness; dawn did not threaten the inky blank skies visible through his window; no remnants of that evening's fire remained. He was alarmed by his dream; and he had the vivid recollection of it as if it was an actual memory, and not a dream or fancy. All of the faces and places he had seen were fresh in his mind; he felt his surroundings, he thought he tasted them; but they were only something that his subconscious had conjured up? In it were people he had never seen!—the woman who had wept with happiness over Elizabeth; but it was certainly not Sarah Bennet. Both had blonde hair, but that was where the similarity ended: and what strange scenarios he had created for himself! Marrying Georgiana's friend (for he had always viewed her as such), and fancying that Mr. Bingley had married Jane Bennet! How he could describe every ornament that had adorned the characters of his dream, every shadow and blemish! And this recollection did not fade: he remembered how Elizabeth had looked at him, and touched him, and the tender tones in which she had spoken to him. It was very unsettling. He knew that he would be unable to rest again and silently dressed by the dim moonlight, then pacing out into the hallway, searching for a room which would be suitable enough to reflect upon his strange experience.

Elizabeth was similarly disposed, though not due to an unwonted dream or nightmare. It seemed that she had so much to think of that sleep could not be bothered with; and she had sat with her back leaning against the headboard for some hours, contemplating these many things. A noise, however, roused her from beneath her warm sheets; it was not particularly loud: but her ears, accustomed to an almost eerie silence, were arrested by the slightest clamor. She supposed that one of Mr. Bingley's hounds had gotten loose in the house at night; and, slipping on her yellow frock and lighting a candle, set off in the direction from whence she believed the sound had come.

Down the hall she went, carefully listening for any renewal of the thud which had alerted her; and at last she went past a closed door, where she thought she heard the sound of incessant footsteps, like somebody pacing back and forth. Not entirely sure if this was merely a delusion, she opened the door to ascertain whether or not someone or something was behind it: and was arrested by the sight of Mr. Darcy. He started, and turned around, obviously not expecting to be intruded upon at such an hour of the night: and Elizabeth was equally surprised at the encounter. She immediately turned a deep crimson, for supposing it was merely a hound, had not done up her hair; it fell loose to her waist, unkempt and not brushed. She murmured a quick apology, and had turned around, fully prepared to make a quick escape; but she was stopped.

"Don't leave just yet," he said quietly; "I suppose that I should give an explanation for my roaming around the house at this hour. I hope I didn't wake you, though?"

Despite Elizabeth's embarrassment, she was rather curious to know his explanation (especially since he seemed so eager to give it), and was not tired at all; so she set her candle down upon a small table and seated herself on a sofa. After assuring him that she had already been awake, she began to absently braid her hair while anticipating being enlightened.

"I was awoken by a strange dream: I know, it sounds stupid enough; but it was not quite like any dream I've ever had before. Usually my dreams are farfetched, ridiculous: forget them within a few minutes of waking. It does seem impossible—but this dream—of this dream, my memory of it seems to become more detailed as time passes. It was so; so real. I don't suppose you've ever had any like it, Miss Bennet?" said Mr. Darcy, feeling rather foolish all the while, especially considering the nature of his dream.

"No, I never remember my dreams. What was it about? Was it frightening?" Her face began to contort with mirth.

"Frightening!—no, not at all;" and, wanting to keep from describing it, added: "there is one woman in particular whose image I seem to recall most acutely; but curiously enough, I have never seen her in my life."

"Really? Well, what did she look like?" Elizabeth was rather amused by Mr. Darcy's seemingly childish phobia of a dream, and only hoped that her insincerity would go undetected.

"She reminded me awfully of your sister—Miss Jane, that is—for she had the same color of green in her eyes, and yellow hair. However, she looked about five and forty. Though her irids were the same shade as Miss Bennet's, they had more of an almond shape. You could tell she had been a beauty; her cheeks were round and full, her complexion was fair and rosy. She had a birth mark of some sort above her right eyebrow—her eyebrows had a steep arch in them. In her hair she wore a pearl broach; I remember it very well: there was one large teardrop-shaped pearl on the end, and studded diamonds arranged in a shape which was generally triangular, for it was narrower towards where the pearl rested. It curved at the end, and came to a small point. This woman—she wore a green dress, a little duller in color than that of her eyes—but, well, I shan't bore you with any more details."

As Mr. Darcy had elaborated on this description, Elizabeth became more and more interested; and by its conclusion, she was rather alarmed herself. She instantly stood, and, seizing her candle, said in a voice void of the previous amused curiosity:

"Would you follow me, sir?"

Mr. Darcy wasn't quite sure what the purpose of his following her was; but there was no particular reason to bind him to the sitting-room they were in presently, so he did as he was bid. Elizabeth set a rather fast pace through the dark halls, and down a flight of steps; and as they walked, Mr. Darcy asked where it was that he was being taken?

"The room that has been set aside for storage till the last of our own furniture can be moved out of the house. I want to show you something."

Elizabeth proved true to her word; soon a door was flung open, and they entered the dark room, which was filled in a disorderly fashion with various pieces of furniture. She took the flame from her candle and lit a lamp which happened to be sitting upright on a sturdy surface, unlike most of the articles strewn about the room. The piles of clutter were quite incomprehensible to Mr. Darcy; but immediately Elizabeth circled one end of the room, and then, her eye catching what appeared to be a ladies' dressing table, pushed open one of the drawers and seized something within it. She walked over to the lamp, beckoning Mr. Darcy to come and see whatever it was that she had gotten; and, as she unclasped her hand and set it beside the lamp, he could only stare in awe. It was the pearl broach that he had seen in his dream; the one that he had just described; and it was exactly like. He picked it up and turned it over, unbelieving that it was an actual, tangible object, and not an illusion. Was it possible that he could have seen it before, and reconstructed it in his dream? He asked Elizabeth if she had ever worn it.

"No, never," was her reply; "I don't imagine anybody has taken it out of the drawer since my mother's lifetime."

"Your mother's lifetime?" he asked, puzzled.

"Oh! I suppose you imagined Sarah was my mother; she's only my father's wife. My mother died when I was about five years old. Sarah _is_ Herbert's mother—however, that is not of much importance. I know that my mother's portrait is somewhere about; I will show it to you," explained Elizabeth, and commenced her search for the late Mrs. Bennet's portrait amongst the mess. She returned a few minutes later holding a miniature of her mother, and handed it to Mr. Darcy.

Once again was he dumbfounded. It was all consistent with the lady he had dreamt of; the one who certainly made herself seem Elizabeth's mother: indeed, all of the circumstances fit together that he had actually imagined this woman whom he had never seen before! The hair, the eyes, the nose, the cheeks—they were all just as he had imagined and remembered, though this version of Mrs. Bennet had her looking a deal younger. He set the broach and the miniature next to one another and speechlessly admired the coincidence, turning a bit pale. For the question still remained—why did such a thing occur? How could he have possibly known what this woman and this pin looked like so as to replicate it while he slept?

"You look rather ill, sir," said Elizabeth nervously; "perhaps you had better get some rest."

Mr. Darcy looked up and simply shook his head, then saying:

"I know—I know this was the woman I dreamt of."

"But even if she was—why would you dream of my mother? How could that be significant to you? Did she speak to you in it? What did she say?" Questions seemed to be flooding Elizabeth's mind all at once; feeling that if she knew the answers, she could at least be easy.

"I don't know; she didn't speak to me: but she spoke to you."

"_I_ was in your dream! What did she say to me?"

These questions were beginning to make Mr. Darcy very uncomfortable. To disclose any more details of his dream would be humiliating himself; why had he wanted to speak with Elizabeth about it, anyway? He could have told Georgiana; at least she was not the primary object of his dream. He abruptly stood up, and, saying that he really was feeling tired and that he had much better get some rest, quitted the room. Elizabeth lingered behind for a few minutes afterwards, looking at the likeness of her mother and then the hair clasp, not quite sure what to make of the events that had just past.

* * *

_I loosely based this chapter off of an anecdote that my mom related to me. She was sitting in the living room one day with an old boyfriend of hers (named Mark, if I recall correctly), and for some reason he was intently staring out the window into the front yard, and then began moving closer to the window. My mom asked him what was the matter, and he described a man that he had seen standing in the front yard and waving to him, in front of a tree (though there was actually no tree there and no man). My grandparents overheard this, and then my grandma found a photo album and showed Mark a photograph of my great-grandfather. My mom said that he turned sickly pale, and said that that was the man he had just seen waving to him: and a few minutes later, my grandpa remembered that there used to be a tree where Mark had seen the man in front of, but it had been chopped down some time ago. My mom told me that before Mark had seen the photo of my great-grandfather, "he described my grandpa to a T". Creepy, isn't it? _


	14. Half Truths

**Chapter Thirteen: Half-Truths**

Mr. Darcy wondered what it was that he had done to offend Nature; for his vivid, realistic dreams persisted. The strangest aspect of his dreams, he thought, was how consistent they were: the late Mrs. Bennet was always living, he was always married to Elizabeth, and Bingley was always married to Jane. He wasn't sure of the purpose of these dreams, if dreams had purposes; but he knew that he would rather have been without them, as they tended to leave his mind reeling and his body exhausted from lack of sleep. They did, however, sharpen his powers of observation: for now he observed the eldest Miss Bennet and Charles Bingley most carefully, and was surprised to see the obvious attraction that he had been heretofore ignorant of. This would not be the first young lady whom his friend had excessively admired; but was not it strange he had dreamt of their being married before he had even noticed this admiration? Perhaps, he thought, it was his subconscious' way of delivering him a wake-up call. After a week, he thought that the "purpose" had been fulfilled, as he went one night without once dreaming, or remembering dreaming; but the proceeding night, the following dream ensued.

* * *

There is darkness enveloping the familiar grounds of Pemberley; a man alights from his horse, wearied from a long journey. He looks up and sees windows glowing with candlelight; they lead him past the large pond which thrives with plant life in the sultry summer months: they lead him to the drive covered with light-colored gravel. There is a yew tree to his left; and though it is dark elsewhere, no object can be perceived beneath the shade of it. He looks up to admire the stars; it is a cloudless night, and they shine brightly. When his gaze is directed earthbound once more, he can distinguish the silhouette of a lady before him, and quickly approaching. She throws her arms around him, and gives him passionate, feverish kisses, crying, "You are come home early!"

"Yes," is his reply; "I concluded my business a little earlier than I had expected."

She eagerly takes his hand into hers, leading him to a small garden round the side of the house. The bright colors of the flourishing flora are subdued by night's dismal gaze; faint shades of purple are barely discernible amongst the shadowy blues. The garden has a globular path etched through it; and in its center a bench of white, backless and with curving arms. They sit, and he admires his lady in her flowing dress of white silk; the expression in her eye is filled with that fervor of a lover; her hand desperately clutches his with trembling excitement.

"Tell me about it—your business, I mean," she says, edging closer to him so that a lock of her dark hair brushes against his cheek. The sweet perfume of his wife is intoxicating; her request is mangled in his mind, dizzy with passion. He can hear her quick breaths, feel her warm breath caress his cool lips; and his voice is scarcely audible over the gentle chirping of grasshoppers as he replies:

"Not much to entertain, love."

She looks up at him with an arch smile; her left hand presses against his chest as she leans in to kiss him.

* * *

At breakfast, Mr. Darcy felt particularly uncomfortable, with the memory of this dream fresh in his mind, and flashbacks to that odd reverie persistently reappearing in his mind. He observed Elizabeth as she sat next to Georgiana, animatedly discussing with her some point; how different did she appear now: how serene and happy, as compared with the anxious ardor that he had envisioned her possessing! What an altered creature she had been in his fantasy! It seemed that the world moved in a rapid blur about him, and it was only Elizabeth whose every motion he could discern, whose image he saw with perfect clarity. She turned away from Georgiana; she turned towards him. Her eyes locked with his with that challenging gaze, exactly like when he had been observing her at the dinner-party in Leicestershire; but instead of looking away, and into that endless blur of people and voices, he continued staring. She arched her eyebrow; and then, turning away, began to laugh at something another had said. As soon as this happened, it seemed he came to his senses; time went at its normal pace; there was nothing foreign about the habitual movements of the others. He looked across the table anxiously, and his eyes sought Mr. Bingley. He sat next to Miss Bennet, and leaned towards her, saying something in a whispering voice, and gesturing to Mr. Darcy. The latter became instantly paranoid that something of his behavior was being laughed at, mocked; and excused himself as expeditiously as he could.

As he left the breakfast parlor, Elizabeth could not help but observe how affected his behavior had been since she had come upon him that first night they had all stayed at Longbourn. With some mild concern as could be expected to exhibit towards the brother of a friend, she said to Georgiana:

"Your brother has behaved very strangely recently; you don't suppose anything is the matter with him?"

Georgiana frowned.

"He has been very quiet lately, but I can't imagine why. Oh, Lizzy! You don't suppose it's on my account, do you? I can't bear the thought of him suffering for me."

"I can't be sure; but I think it might have to do with—well, would it make you feel any better if I talked to him about it? Only if you recommend it, though, Georgiana: I do it only for you."

"You are too good, Lizzy. It would make me so happy if you would!—it is just that, I never quite know how to bring up these sorts of things; usually it is I needing consolation. But maybe—maybe I had better see him myself. I can't be so much of a fool as to burden you with this."

"No, my dear, don't vex yourself about it. I will get him to speak with you," said Elizabeth, bearing in mind as she did so that peculiar dream whose absurd coincidences could only really be understood by herself. She was, however, happy to pacify a friend; for Georgiana did seem at ease as she likewise excused herself. She only hoped that she would not find him so very strange as he had made himself appear in the past few weeks; for she had yet an unopened letter from Amelia whose contents she was eager to read.

She walked through several corridors, glancing about in vain for Mr. Darcy; and she was set on turning around, as she was feeling very silly looking about for him like a nurse for her naughty little child who had run off in a huff, when she at last came upon him. He was sitting on a sofa, with a book in his hand that he was not reading, and was rather staring off into the distance, as if his mind was engaged in some other world, with a pensive expression on his face. She quietly entered the room, apparently unnoticed, and eventually sat across from him, blocking his view through the window and into the garden. After several moments he started, and then colored, snapping his book shut as he suddenly became aware of his surroundings.

"Miss Bennet—I, I apologize. I was just—" he stammered.

"No apologies are needed," she replied nonchalantly, "I have only been here but a minute. You have been behaving strangely for longer than that, though. Georgiana is very concerned about you, as she expressed to me during breakfast."

"Oh! I thank you for your concern. Surely, I will speak with Georgiana and—"

"Forgive me, but does it have something to do with your dreaming about my dead mother?" Elizabeth gazed at him steadfastly all while she said this in a quick manner.

"Not—not exactly. I mean that—isn't there an assembly we are all going to this evening?"

Elizabeth could not possibly see how his latter comment could have anything to do with his distracted behavior which now seemed to Elizabeth to be bordering on madness, but replied in the affirmative. He smiled warmly, and said,

"And I may have the honor of dancing with you the first two dances?"

"Um—all right," said Elizabeth, puzzled. This, however, seemed to content him, and he stood up, with a look upon his face suggesting that everything had been sorted out, and there subsisted a perfect understanding between them of his mysterious dilemma. Elizabeth likewise stood, and though he had his eyes longingly fixed on the door, he managed to tear his gaze away from it to say:

"You must think that I am absolutely barking mad, madam. And, if that _is_ what you think—well, I suppose you've gotten pretty near the truth."

He then left the room, and Elizabeth seemed to notice a pattern of being dumbfounded whenever this happened. Barking mad indeed! She only hoped that he would explain himself more thoroughly to his sister, as she could rather empathize with not wanting to reveal his troubles to only a friend of his sister. Forcing herself to be satisfied that he had some sort of grand plan, she went to retrieve her letter from Amelia, tearing it open and preparing herself to be enlightened with the latest occurrences in Leicestershire. She had lately spoken of her encounters with Mr. Clough, which Elizabeth supposed would have to be a sufficient substitute for seeing the man himself. She eagerly perused the letter, therefore, skipping over the parts which she decided to be rambling and frivolous, and feasting her eyes on a paragraph containing her favorite gentleman's name.

_"_…_my dear Lizzy, I am afraid that the news which I must communicate to you will make you very grave. On Saturday I met with Mr. Clough at the Bateses; and for the last time. Yes; he is returned to Derbyshire, as his business has been apparently concluded. It may lighten the blow for you, however, if I tell you that he spoke of you with the most adoring terms as he said his adieus to me. I remembered these words particularly for your enjoyment: 'though I will miss all my friends in Leicestershire, there is one lady whom I will miss most, and who I do not have the pleasure of saying good-bye to presently'. Now, Lizzy, to whom do you think he is referring? You, of course! What a charming man he is; I suggest you chase after him to Lambton (that is where he lives, you know): you will not find the likes of him anywhere else. It is a shame that you have gone all the way to the Southeast of England; for I know that you would be an engaged woman otherwise. Speaking of such things, I do not mean to inspire envy; but Lord Fitzwilliam has been most attentive to me lately. He always says exactly the right thing to make me smile; he is such a wit! At that same party at the Bateses, he was so very genteel, and kept himself very near me! And at the assembly the day afterwards, he danced with me twice; and I think he would have danced with me all night if he could have…"_

Despite Amelia stating it her explicit intention to not do so, Elizabeth was rather envious. Why was it that she had to be separated from Mr. Clough, just when she felt so certain that if he would have made her an offer, she would have accepted? It was such an unhappy circumstance. With some sadness she put the letter down. It would not do to think of such disagreeable things; there were much more interesting things to occupy her mind. Interesting things such as why the usually frigid-tempered, composed Mr. Darcy was behaving like Lydia when Sarah insisted that no, she did not need a third new bonnet in the period of one sennight.

* * *

Mr. Darcy was grateful to Providence when he happened upon Georgiana in a solitary ramble through the garden. He had certainly been very ungrateful to his darling sister as of late; had he not decided, after all, that she would make a much better confidant than Elizabeth? He had not been minding his behavior; and was rather embarrassed that he had now made himself the object of speculation and ridicule. He eagerly joined his sister, taking her arm into his, and looking down upon the quiet countenance of his sister. Soon they came upon a convenient place to sit, and he was tacitly bid to sit down by Georgiana. She pushed off her bonnet, so that it was slung behind her back, and held up by the silk blue ribbons about her neck. She hesitated to speak; she seemed to be wanting for him to say the first word; and though it was his plan to do likewise, he recognized that it would be better to offer his explanation, than have her demand it.

"I am so sorry, Georgiana," he began. "I have been behaving most unlike myself. There is a very simple explanation, my dear, which I should have hastened to reveal to you before. I have been getting very little sleep lately; due to these—recurring—dreams that I am perpetually having. I hope that you did not think it was because I do not enjoy the company of your friends, or am angry with you; I wonder at how I allow such a little thing to bother me at all, really." He did feel a little guilty about concealing some of the truth from her; but the neither of them had ever been superstitious, therefore the truth would have seemed much more like a contrived lie. He blushed slightly as he said this; but was surprised when she saw Georgiana frown in response.

"Is that all?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," said Mr. Darcy uneasily. Had Elizabeth told her of the nature of his dream—or, at least, what of its nature that lady knew of it? He was beginning to severely repent the half-truth he had told, and was about to divulge all in his state of guilty conscience, but Georgiana instead interrupted his thoughts by saying:

"You must think me very silly, Brother. It was just an odd fancy that I had; I surely imagined the circumstances. Only a lack of sleep! Of course, of course…"

"What odd fancy, Georgie?"

"Oh! I am much too embarrassed to admit it now!" replied she, coloring.

"Well, if you had rather not—"

"—oh, I might as well say. I will just feel all the sillier for not being able to admit my error. I had seen you—I _thought_ I had seen you, at least—looking quite a lot at Elizabeth, and; I suppose I thought that there was something between you. You know, that you were in love with her—or something. I'm so ashamed of myself! But I feel better about it now that I've told you."

"Really?—I don't know where you got that idea," said Mr. Darcy uncomfortably, and then conveniently recalled that he had an urgent letter of business to post, and excused himself from his sister's company.


	15. Abhorrence

**Chapter Fourteen: Abhorrence **

Mr. Darcy usually hated assemblies. Its main components was a moderately-sized room filled with more people than it could hold, a small band whose instruments were off-tune, the monotone rambling of the aforementioned crowd, women who gawked over his salary, and the daughters of these women. This assembly in Meryton was no different; all of these components were in tact; it was only that Mr. Darcy didn't notice them. He had been staring not at Elizabeth, but at her dress, as they entered, so as to make him quite ignorant of the circulating murmurs of his income and comments on his person. White was the fashion with ladies, so it ought not to have been a great deal surprising that Elizabeth wore white; only, it was white silk, with the lace about the neck and detailing in the skirt amazingly reminiscent of the dress which he had observed her wearing in his dream. He realized how strange the application he had formed in his mind would sound; but nevertheless, at the first convenient opportunity that displayed itself to him, he asked Elizabeth:

"Is your dress made of silk?"

"It is, sir," she replied with a baffled expression. What was it to him what material her dress was made of? "I bought it in Meryton when I went with Kitty yesterday. I've—never worn it before, if that was what you meant."

He only nodded his head vigorously, hoping that the subject would be dropped, and then commented that the dancing was about to begin. Recalling her promise that she had been taken so off-guard when it was requested, they stood in line for the dance across from each other. They bowed to each other, and the band shortly began its lively country number, and dancing commenced. The dance began with relative silence between them, during which Mr. Darcy felt constantly more humiliated over his odd question, as she probably assumed that he meant to be condescending. However, he hoped that he had learnt better than to allude to his dream. Any questions which she would subsequently ask after such an explanation would have been more than he would have been able to take in order to maintain his composure.

Sitting down amongst the crowd was a young lady and her elder neighbor. The former had not those aesthetic enticements which typically made one of seven-and-twenty particularly attractive to young men; her hair was a raven black with no curl, her features sallow and plain. While her younger sisters were charmingly grouped with soldiers in their scarlet coats, she was left to entertain the middle-aged Mrs. Phillips, whose head was always full of gossip and devoid of good sense. She sighed as her dull grey irids followed the figures of two strangers moving across the dance floor. She asked her companion if she knew who they were, for that was the sort of thing on which Mrs. Phillips could give a detailed account. This neighborhood gossip was more than happy to oblige.

"Oh yes, Miss Lucas! The gentleman—tall, stately fellow he is!—is Mr. Darcy. Has ten thousand a year, I hear, and owns a large estate in Derbyshire. And the lady standing with him is Miss Bennet; she is my _niece_, you know—and admired everywhere she goes, of course. Have you ever seen such well-paired dancing partners?—such elegance, such grace!" Mrs. Phillips sighed with contentment as she fantasized of partaking in some of Mr. Darcy's fine carriages and grandeur if he were to become her nephew. She and her husband had always been a bit aloof from the Bennets since the death of her sister; but who could allow such aloofness when there was a fortune to be had? Had she been an impartial observer, such as Miss Lucas was, she may have noticed the queer looks being exchanged between "such well-paired dancing partners"; but Mrs. Phillips was fain to exaggerate the good qualities of her kin and forget the bad.

"I did not know you had a niece," commented Miss Lucas.

"Oh, yes! She is my sister's daughter; the Bennets own some handsome property in the neighborhood—Longbourn, you know. That is near Lucas Lodge, is it not? They have just gotten a new tenant for it, as I'm sure you know; Mr. Bingley, that is: which was their chief purpose in coming to Meryton. They do make annual visits, but I suppose they are not usually so social. Mr. Bingley, I dare say, convinced them to come, for he is as amiable a man as ever there was—at least, that is what _I_ have heard, though I am not personally acquainted with him. My sister, dear Eleanor! is not here, if that is who you are searching the room for; she has been deceased these fifteen years. Anyway, if the Miss Bennets had _another_ motive for coming to Hertfordshire other than to secure a tenant, I shan't be the one to say."

By now, Miss Lucas had gone distracted, for she had received a little more information than her curiosity had wanted. After Mrs. Phillips made a few more biased observations, and pointed out all the Bennet family to her, Miss Lucas excused herself with as much politeness as could be mustered when quitting one whose company is tiresome. She had been actually seeking out her sister Maria, and not the deceased Mrs. Bennet; and having found her, sat down beside her. It seemed that the two sisters were of one mind, however, for Maria's first words were:

"Well, Charlotte, who do you suppose those two strangers are? One doesn't often meet with such sort in Meryton."

"The lady is apparently a relation of Mrs. Phillips, as she just finished telling me so eloquently. The gentleman is very wealthy; but certainly doesn't look very agreeable. I believe that he is having a contest of some sort with this Miss Bennet to see who can look the haughtiest."

"Indeed! And who do you suppose is winning?"

Charlotte smilingly replied: "She is. He is doing a very fine job of looking proud, but there is something in his countenance which makes him appear beguiled. She is giving that sort of expressive look which could be translated to something to the effect of, 'I would rather not put up with you, but I suppose I haven't any choice;' though if I was asked to dance by a man of so much consequence, I neither could say nay to him. If you are rich enough, my dear, you can do as you please, and be as disagreeable and haughty as you like."

At length, the first two dances ended, and Elizabeth moved away from Mr. Darcy in favor of Georgiana's company. She observed Mr. Bingley asking Jane to dance, and looked over this transaction with contentment. Then she began to speak on topics which are usually broached when two young ladies have a tête-à-tête, till Georgiana was applied to answer some frivolous inquiry from Kitty, and thus Elizabeth felt obliged to wander about and perhaps meet some new acquaintance, as was custom at assemblies. In her wanderings, she happened upon Lydia in conversation with an officer. Looking over this man, she found that he was very charming indeed; dark eyes, which rivaled the shade of Elizabeth's own, and hair only a shade or two too dark to be called blond.

Lydia's attention soon fixed upon her elder sister, with an eager appeal that Elizabeth join her. Though Elizabeth could not rely on Lydia for any intelligent discussion, she was not averse to being introduced to her companion; and there was such a sincere smile which came over the gentleman's lips, that she could have believed him akin to Mr. Clough.

"Lizzy, this is Mr. Wickham. Mr. Wickham, this is my sister, Elizabeth," said Lydia.

Elizabeth curtseyed civilly and Mr. Wickham bowed with all of the gallantry which could be expected to accompany such an endearing smile. They commenced in asking each other how they liked Hertfordshire, what their business was there, et cetera. In their affable talk, they slowly made their way towards where the rest of Elizabeth's party was chiefly assembled; and Elizabeth was quite thrilled with the thought of Mr. Wickham dancing with Georgiana, for she had been sitting down without a partner half the night. And so her plan seemed to be going along splendidly, for Mr. Wickham had consented to an introduction with her friend; and so she was set on doing so, when Georgiana turned away from Kitty, and fixed eyes with Elizabeth's new acquaintance. It was not a gaze which signified innocent curiosity as to his identity, but one of fear and antipathy; for her face turned pale, and an icy, uncharacteristic expression was reflected in her eye. Mr. Wickham, however, did not look affected; but she supposed that she had dare not attempt to make an introduction, when she saw how altered Georgiana's appearance was from the mere sight of him.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I believe Mrs. Bennet has been calling for me these past minutes," said Elizabeth, curtseying once more and leaving Mr. Wickham to make his own deductions under this false pretense.

As Elizabeth approached Georgiana, she saw that her state of discomfiture had only increased; still was she pale, still was the expression on her face a mixture of anger and terror. She had opened her mouth to make an inquiry as to her health; but before she had any opportunity to do so, Georgiana seized her arm with startling alacrity and began to lead her friend through the throng of the crowd, and to the edge of the room, where she discreetly led her through a pair of doors. Beyond these doors was an unlit corridor, with a gloomy and oppressive air. The shadows masked the expression of both ladies; but all was communicated through Georgiana's quick breaths and tight hold on Elizabeth's hand. Georgiana looked about wildly for a few moments to ascertain whether or not they were alone—which they were—and then Elizabeth immediately asked in a loud whisper,

"Pray tell me what is the matter."

"It is _that_ man! George Wickham!" hissed Georgiana, pronouncing the final two words as if they were profanities.

"What? You know him? Lydia only introduced me to him five minutes ago."

"Well, I've known him longer than that!" cried Georgiana waveringly, and then gesturing to a bench which she seemed to have discovered amongst the inky blackness, "Do sit down, Lizzy, and I will tell you everything. I wonder that I did not tell you before; you deserve to know."

"If you are averse to this Mr. Wickham, you needn't give any explanation if it pains you to do so; your assertion of his bad character is all I need, and I shall never give him another glance," said Elizabeth assuringly, though her curiosity was piqued.

"No, no; that won't do at all. I am attempting to adopt a new philosophy; that I shall speak my mind to those whom I think are deserving of it, even if they are unwilling to adhere. I suppose you didn't know that Mr. Wickham was the son of my late father's steward?"

Elizabeth replied that she did not.

"He was; and my brother and he were somewhat of adversaries during their boyhood; almost something of a sibling rivalry, though they were not brothers. He was, however, my father's god-son. Fitzwilliam and George Wickham eventually went to Cambridge together; I suppose they continued in the same way there; but Papa and I thought very highly of Wickham. There seemed no reason to question his character; he always behaved so agreeably, especially around me, and made himself generally well-liked at Pemberley. I am not entirely sure of the particulars—but when my father died, it was Papa's intention to provide for Wickham to become a clergyman. He only wrote us, however, six months after Papa's death—something which I never thought strange at all till recently, as young men are always going off and away—to say that he did not mean to become a clergyman, and would rather study law, and he was sent three thousand pounds to compensate for what Papa had left him in his will. I think about three years afterwards, he changed his mind; he _did_ want to become a clergyman again; but Fitzwilliam would not give him further assistance, as he had already been compensated. All of this, however, I was not made privy to till this summer. In summer I was taken from school to spend the summer at Ramsgate; and who did I meet there, but Mr. Wickham? I was reminded of all of his agreeable manners which he had displayed to me as a child; I could not think of anyone more amicable than him; and, Lizzy, I don't suppose you are immune to such irresistible charms either, are you? I feel so silly about what happened now! But I will explain what happened anyway. I fell in love with him—at least, I _thought_ I had—and Mrs. Younge, who was the lady staying with me at Ramsgate, only helped to fill my head with thoughts of him, and allowed us to meet on a very regular basis. Eventually he requested that I elope with him, which certainly seemed a very good idea at the time; and it had nearly all gone through, till my brother showed up a day or two before. Wickham begged I not say a word to Fitzwilliam about it; but oh! I could not bear to deceive him; and I told him everything, at which point Wickham's true character was unfolded to me, and I realized what a lousy mistake I had been. What a foolish wretch I was! I am embarrassed to even think I could be so hoodwinked by this man; his designs were clearly mercenary. My brother, then, wrote Mr. Wickham a very pretty note—well, it was not so pretty, it was actually rather foul—and off we went. I was so distraught, that he thought it would be a good idea if we removed to Leicestershire for a little, to get my mind off things; and that is when I first met you, Lizzy."

"Good God, Georgiana!" said Elizabeth with astonishment, "And so that man really did all of those things? How terrible! How tainted I feel to have even associated with him for five minutes!"

Georgiana's response was to give her friend a hearty hug, which had not that feeling of one supporting the other, but a tight, firm embrace. No tears were shed by Georgiana; and Elizabeth marveled at her strength. They sat together in this manner for a minute or so, and then exited the corridor. Elizabeth was glad that she was enlightened, though she had explicitly said that she did not mind either way; but neither had any desire to remain any longer within the same walls of the odious man who had been the object of their discussion. Supposing that it would be the same case for Mr. Darcy once the identity of that officer was known, Elizabeth and Georgiana found where he was sitting and walked up to him.

He was sitting solitary in a corner, not much disposed for conversation, and making this fact clear with his overt body language. He found that all of his free time was given over to contemplating the nature of his dreams, though they remained as much of an ambiguity as when they had begun. What did it mean that he had seen Elizabeth wearing that dress the night before she had ever worn it? How had he described a hair clasp with such detail, the face of the departed Mrs. Bennet? What about the thousand other things which occurred in his eerie delusions? Was there any truth in them? Or were they mostly fabrications? Determined to answer for himself these questions, he hardly noticed when he was approached by Elizabeth and his sister; but soon enough his attention as acquired, however uneasily, and he impatiently waited for them to give their explanation for interrupting his important internal debate.

"Sir, we are leaving," said Elizabeth gravely.

"We supposed that you would want to come with us," interposed Georgiana.

"Oh? Why?" Mr. Darcy's curiosity was not such as was usually displayed by persons giving such vague explanations; but his heart was not into this discussion.

"Well, do you see that man over there? In the red coat?" asked Elizabeth.

"There are scores of men in red coats," snapped Mr. Darcy.

"Aye; but I mean the one chatting with the lady in the puce gown over _there_—tall, light brown hair—a handsome figure, really—"

Mr. Darcy was finally arrested by the sight of the loathsome George Wickham, upon which he immediately stood, his eyes narrowing. If nothing else would wake him from his absent state of mind, the sight of this man would. Like a lion protecting its young, he quite forcefully took Georgiana's arm with hot looks of disdain being directed towards the morally-challenged criminal in question.

"Yes. We _are_ leaving."

And they left.


	16. Good News

_Author's Note: To address a question about who Darcy was protecting from Wickham, it was only Georgiana. He wasn't really thinking about Elizabeth at all at that moment; he was just worried about his sister. I suppose the point was to illustrate that he isn't head-over-heels crazy for Lizzy at this point._

**Chapter Fifteen: Good News**

Under the pretext that Georgiana was feeling ill, the trinity set off from the assembly. There was a comfortable tranquility that blanketed the streets of Meryton, with only the pale moonlight and the barely-visible stars to guide their way. They had decided against ordering for the carriage, for a walk was always so much pleasanter, especially when one had thoughts to contemplate. Mr. Darcy was inwardly smoldering with anger; the very sight of that detestable villain was sufficient temptation to make him become senseless with passionate rage. Wickham had undoubtedly gone to Ramsgate by design; and at first, it did not seem unreasonable that he had joined a regiment in Hertfordshire with similar motives. Upon further reflection, however, he realized the absurdity of his predicting their visit in Hertfordshire. Unless he had some correspondence in Leicestershire that could have been calculating their every move, such a thing would have to be attributed to mere luck; and Mr. Darcy was not about to give Wickham credit enough for being able to think up such an elaborate scheme.

Elizabeth's sentiments were a bit pleasanter, though her mind too reeled with thoughts of Mr. Wickham; she never would have supposed that he was anything less than sincere and charming. But so it happened that he was the greatest wretch of Georgiana's acquaintance; that he was a scheming, lying scoundrel! With a pensive frown she continued her trek towards Longbourn. Her solace for these unhappy feelings, and a bit of heightened distrust of others, was that she perhaps felt at this moment the most secure in the company of the two Darcys. There was something very consoling about their presence which had either been not present, or gone unnoticed before; something of a filial protection enwrapping them. Mr. Darcy's arms were both occupied by his sister and his sister's friend's analogous arm; with the flame of resentment rekindled, they could not help but put out a warm glow.

It was only about halfway through their walk that Mr. Darcy became conscious of Elizabeth's hand on his arm; formerly he had been too preoccupied with Wickham, with Georgiana. But now he was recalled to the previous musings of his mind. Her expression was serene enough, given the circumstances; her features were scarcely lit up by the moonlight; but it was enough that he could be transfixed by those expressions of which he had become increasingly conscious during his stay in Hertfordshire. His gaze, however, did not go undetected, and she lifted her eyes to his. There was no smile, no cheerful glance in return; it was only a steadfast observation, a curious, wondering perusal. Still was he affected by the difference of her looks from what he had seen in his dream! Then her eyes were once more fixed on the road ahead of them, and he checked where his own eyes wandered, for he recalled Georgiana's nettling comment earlier that day.

* * *

About a week later, Mr. Darcy had been for some time sitting in the solitude of the library, aimlessly perusing some volume on the table before him. He was determined to come to a decision on how long he and his sister ought to remain in the county, with Wickham's presence in mind. Christmas drew ever nearer, a fact of which all were reminded by the frost which covered the landscape in morning, and the light snows which they occasionally endured. Yes, he ought to stay for Christmas, even if the custom was to spend his at Pemberley. If another being, if another force persuaded him to this conclusion, he refused to acknowledge it.

He was interrupted by an abrupt knock on the door; and he bid that his prospective visitor come in. When the door was opened, he saw that it was Charles Bingley whose entrance he had just permitted. The heavy, oak door clicked behind him, and Bingley procured for himself a chair, and drew it up to his friend's. The typical, pleasant expression for which Bingley could be best remembered was not absent from his features; there was only the addition of some other apprehensive feeling. It was not an uncommon occurrence for Bingley to seek his friend's counsel; therefore, Mr. Darcy merely set aside his book, and waited for the commencement of an explanation.

"Darcy! I hope that I have not intruded upon your privacy," remarked Bingley with the utmost politeness. After being assured that he hadn't, Bingley continued on.

"Good, good. You very well know that I am never quite sure of things; especially how people are feeling. I always get it wrong. Well—my point is, Darcy; that you are rather perceptive, I think, about these things. I would be much obliged to you if you would give your opinion about a feeling which is very dear to my heart.—"

"However, I do not think that acknowledging my perceptiveness is your point. My man, what seems to be weighing on your conscience?" inquired Mr. Darcy with friendly solicitude.

"It is—it is not really a matter of conscience," said Bingley nervously, "it is about Miss Bennet; the eldest one."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I was thinking—if it would be prudent—to make a proposal to her; a marriage proposal, I mean."

Bingley was really looking disconcerted at this point; averting his eyes from his friend, and toying with the tail of his coat. It was clearly not a subject on which he felt with much conviction, or with much indifference. But his friend's reaction, had Bingley been disposed to observe it, he would have found to have been surprisingly gleeful; and this glee was not for Bingley's sake. Mr. Darcy now assured himself that he had always foreseen this—it was some assurance that he perhaps was not mad—that these dreams were greater parts premonition and less parts fancy than he had previously allowed himself to believe. And so, perhaps his intuition had been more insightful all the while! His heart was swelling with pride within him, and he exclaimed warmly:

"Making a proposal of marriage is hardly ever the _prudent_ thing to do."

"No—I suppose not. But, Darcy, do you think that she will accept me? I do not want to make a fool of myself—but—"

Mr. Darcy, at this point, was bent on having Bingley go through with his suggestion; a suggestion he probably would have thought wildly ridiculous under different circumstances. A marriage between his friend and Miss Bennet would hardly raise the former's station in life. But if Fate thought that it was meant to be, he wasn't about to meddle with it! He could ascertain that what he held on to so tightly was sanity, if she _did_ accept, rather than the opposite.

"I say, Bingley, go for it!"

"So you do think she will accept me! This does put my mind at ease a great deal—I thank you—but if you are not averse to imparting upon me a little more advice; well, what should I say?"

"What! You want me to write down a marriage proposal for you?"

"Do you think that you should? No doubt, it would make good—guidelines—"

Although Mr. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth, he could not help but laugh with contentment now. All of the odd-shaped pieces and fractions of his dreams seemed to be coming together to form a well thought-out puzzle; and he was beginning to delight in the construction of this.

"I jest, Bingley. I am afraid that I have no more practice in proposing marriage to a lady than you do; I dare say if I was a great scholar on the subject, I would not be a bachelor. But I'd imagine I would want to get it over with as quickly as possible."

"Get it over with as quickly as possible; yes, yes! Surely I will want to do that. There is no use in drawing these things out; it is just begging for an awkward moment. It is like swallowing some foul-tasting medicine; when you put it in your mouth it is so bitter, but once you have got it down, the effects are elating. Well, thank you, my friend! I do not want to keep the medicine bottle staring me in the face while I tremble with anticipation, so I think that I shall directly find Miss Bennet, and swallow it down!"

Mr. Darcy said that he thought this was a most excellent plan, and that Miss Bennet would undoubtedly be charmed by his interesting use of metaphors and similes.

* * *

All while Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were having their quite singular tête-à-tête, Jane was demurely working on a bit of embroidery. She had been speaking with Elizabeth a little earlier, but then the post had come with a letter from Amelia; and the latter had gone up to her chambers to peruse its contents in private. Jane's thoughts more than once wandered to Mr. Bingley, for only a very dull mind could concentrate on embroidery alone whilst embroidering. She could review with pleasure every encounter she had with that gentleman; there was nobody more capable of making her smile or laugh. Sarah teased her that she was in love with him; and if there was any truth to this, she was reluctant to admit it to herself. She could not rule out the possibility that Mr. Bingley was merely a very amiable man, who had no designs on her, and sought only her friendship. To admit that she felt for him any feelings more tender than friendship would be opening her gates till the river of disappointment flooded in; it was better that she remained on her guard, and judiciously kept her heart out of harm's way.

With this mindset, she was very surprised when the object of her thoughts materialized before her without ceremony. Her attention was drawn to his hands, as he seemed to be attempting to rip his fingers from his palms very viciously; and had it been proper, she probably would have advised him to stop this activity. After a very abrupt greeting, he began to pace back and forth across the room with unwonted anxiety. She immediately felt concerned on his behalf, as she supposed that he had some foul news to impart; had something happened to one of her sisters? She was beginning to feel quite nervous and vexed herself, as they continued on in this way for some minutes. But then Bingley unexpectedly stopped his aimless ramble, turning about on his heel to face Jane, and said in a manner so quickly that it was incomprehensible:

"Miss-Bennet-will-you-marry-me?"

After Jane decided that she really had no idea what had just been said to her, she kindly asked if he would repeat himself.

"You mean—you want me to say it again?" He looked a little faint.

"If you wouldn't mind, sir."

"I have come here—to ask—you—a favor." Now he sounded out of breath, as if he had to put forth every iota of energy within him in order to form coherent words.

"I would be most happy to oblige, if I knew the nature of this favor? Is it of a lengthy sort?"

"I hope that—you would be happy—to oblige. And—it is of—the er—'lengthy sort'."

This was succeeded by a rather long pause, which was interrupted when Jane said, with perfect serenity,

"I was rather hoping that you would not keep me in suspense any longer."

Mr. Bingley seemed to have newly awakened from some reverie judging by his surprised look, and then replied:

"Of course not. It's just that I was thinking—" His voice dropt into silence.

"What were you thinking, sir?" said Jane encouragingly, egging him on almost like a mother would her child who was recollecting some unpleasant memory.

"—I was thinking that I loved you. And, you know the most logical consequence—is that—you would—you know, marry me. Does that seem—all right—or—oh, I forgot to say a metaphor! I am an absolute failure at being a lover!"

Jane, though it was not in her nature to laugh at a fellow creature's expense, could not keep from going into a fit of girlish giggles at this. Mr. Bingley had turned three shades of scarlet, thinking that no woman would want a man who could not wield the English language as a knight did his sword; but it was really quite on the contrary, as Jane could not think of anything more charming or endearing than the mess that Mr. Bingley had made himself into. And all for her! She was flattered beyond anything; a beautiful smile overspread her features, lighting up her face, and she then cried:

"Of course I will marry you, Mr. Bingley!"

Emotion seemed to be flowing from Jane more than ever before; no longer did she have to tuck away her unacknowledged love for Mr. Bingley; no longer did she have to keep her composure. She was a caged bird freed; every worry which had been festering in her heart was a thousand miles away. Mr. Bingley's feelings were pretty much the same; what a relief that Jane really did care for him! But he should have known that Darcy would not have recommended his proposal had he not earnestly supposed her accepting. There was still some nervousness, though, for as he had never before been an engaged man, he wondered at what behavior was expected of him. Undoubtedly young ladies filled books with what was their ideal wedding, their ideal husband, their ideal proposal. Oh dear! As he looked around the room, he saw that there was nothing remarkable about the little sitting-room in which they stood; there was no stormy ocean, neither brilliant sunset, nor perfumed garden to set the backdrop. And he had given no eloquent speeches, no flowery imagery. Has she really agreed to marry him? Yes, he recalled, she had!

"Excellent!—What do you suppose we ought to do now? Shall we—shake hands?" asked Bingley at length.

"If it was a business agreement, I would be very happy to shake hands with you. But I think that is hardly the case." Jane then boldly stood nearer her fiancé and gave him a hasty kiss on the cheek. It was so light that Bingley hardly realized what had happened till it was over; and as he glanced at his darling creature before him with some surprise, she immediately blushed a deeper shade of red than he was, and immediately left the room. It was not from anger or disappointment that she did so; it was only out of embarrassment; and once she was standing in the hallway, she thought it was also an excellent opportunity to do hold some private celebrations.

* * *

Elizabeth, on the other hand, had her eyes intently fixed upon Amelia's letter while Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley were in cheerful discussion and Jane was embroidering, both sisters at that time happily oblivious of it all. She became immediately engrossed in her letter from the cheerier salutation than was Amelia's wont, which read as follows.

_My dearest, loveliest, sweetest Elizabeth,_

_You should hardly be surprised about the news which I am prepared to impart to you. My hand trembles from joy! But I will keep you in suspense no longer. Lord Fitzwilliam and I are engaged. No, your eyes do not deceive you; he proposed to me two hours ago, and I, of course, had to write to you immediately. You can imagine how completely and inexpressibly happy I am; I am sure there is no other woman on this earth presently as happy as I. I only wish that I could see you as blissful, my dear! But perhaps Mr. Clough will make this joyous day complete and be at your knees. But I am getting fanciful now. By-the-by, my darling Frederick and I shall be married in January. A winter wedding, I confess, was never what I had in mind; but who can be particular about these things, when there is so much conjugal felicity to be had? I do hope that you will consent to be my maiden of honor, for there is nothing I should like better than to have you so near me when I am made the happiest of women. You cannot stay in Hertfordshire forever, for I long to have you once more within a walk's distance. When you meet my Frederick, I am sure you will get on so well with him; I know not one whose good humor equals his. Mamma is probably in the best spirits she has been in since her own wedding day. I will have a house in Town, and a country estate in Yorkshire! I will be "Lady Amelia"! I know not how I will go on with so many things before me! Pray, come home soon, Lizzy, for you will be sorely missed. Now I must go, for Frederick wishes to see me—I am sorry that I was not able to make this any longer._

_Yours etc._

_Amelia Darcy_

Despite Elizabeth having juvenile, jealous feelings over Amelia's doting on Lord Fitzwilliam in the past, she could sincerely rejoice over her friend's happiness. In fact, it sent her into such a tumult of high spirits, that her first impulse was to immediately tell Jane, or Sarah, or anybody; and so she had dashed out of her chambers, and was frantically searching for someone with whom to share her knowledge, when she happened to spot her elder sister, uncharacteristically skipping through the hallway. Elizabeth's usually keen observational skills had taken a holiday at present though, as she ran up to her sister to tell her the good news; and Jane similarly approached her sister to divulge her own good news.


	17. Engaged!

**Chapter Sixteen: Engaged!**

Both Elizabeth and Jane were so overflowing with happiness, that it came out in the form of very lively, but incomprehensible speeches; and they became no more audible with their constantly overlapping each other while speaking. After a few minutes of this, although neither knew what the other one said, they gave each other a very warm embrace, with something which had the tone of congratulations. This seemed to have raised some interest in the rest of the household, for then a nearby door flew open, and Mr. Bingley came down the hall, his embarrassment still fresh in his mind, and his disappointment in not being able to acutely recall Jane's kiss. He was quickly recalled to his senses, however, upon seeing Elizabeth, as she asked her elder sister:

"Now, Jane, really tell me what is going on. I didn't comprehend above one word in ten."

"Engaged! I'm engaged!"

"Engaged! To whom?"

"Mr. Bingley!" cried Jane, which had the dual purpose of being a response to Elizabeth's question, and a greeting for the man himself. Elizabeth smiled, thinking that it was a very good day indeed! and shook hands with her future brother-in-law.

"Now, Lizzy, tell me what news you have to impart," said Jane.

"Amelia is engaged to Lord Fitzwilliam!"

"How delightful!—how fortunate we all are!"

With this exclamation, Elizabeth could not help but think, _except me_. While her heart and Mr. Clough resided in Derbyshire, she was trapped in this world where happiness occurred all around her, but not to her. However, she soon stopped herself from thinking such selfish thoughts; her sister and best friend were to be married! What news could be more delightful other than the announcement of one's own wedding day? Surely _that_ would have been preferable; but one cannot have everything. Despite a little pang of jealousy, she could not help but be gleeful; doubly so now with this second piece of pleasant news.

It just so happened that all of this commotion was taking place exactly in front of the library door; and although Mr. Bennet had been secure in his abode, and had bolted the door so as to prevent interruption, even his curiosity was excited by the noise which he heard emanating from the hallway. Although he refused to partake in silliness himself, he was never averse to observing it, and in turn mocking it; so, with the expectation of amusement, he threw open the library door, and was surprised to see that it was his two eldest daughters (whom he considered to have the most sense) acting so, and that Lydia was not present at all. Mr. Bingley, who formed the third member of the trinity, immediately turned his eyes upon his future father-in-law (though Mr. Bennet was at present ignorant that he was to be so), and seemed to be struck with a sudden revelation.

"I _knew_ I had forgotten something!" he cried suddenly. Jane and Elizabeth ceased their merry chat, and turned towards him with puzzled expressions.

"I mean—I had forgotten to apply to your father," continued Bingley, addressing Jane.

"Apply to me for what?" asked Mr. Bennet hesitantly.

"You know—to, uh—" murmured Bingley nervously, and then pausing with a searching look on his face, as if he was scanning his vocabulary for the appropriate word.

"To marry Jane," interposed Elizabeth helpfully. Bingley looked relieved.

"Yes! And, is there an appropriate place where I ought to do this? Some sort of ceremony that is to be got through?"

Mr. Bennet, who had never been a great fan of ceremonies or tête-à-têtes with men about twenty years his junior, was not eager for such a thing to occur. Therefore, he merely said:

"I am sure that there is; but I have no wish to figure it out. You can marry Jane; just bear in mind that if either of you ever displease me, I can evict you."

He then shook hands with Bingley good-humoredly, and Elizabeth then enthusiastically announced the news of Amelia's engagement; and then Sarah and Kitty came walking down the hall, who immediately joined the gathering; and then Lydia, and then Georgiana and Herbert seemed to have noticed this crowd as well. With so many explanations, and conversation, and chatting going on, it was all an incoherent jumble, really; and Kitty, feeling particularly overwhelmed by this, decided that she would be better off sitting in a room with Mary where conversation was sure to be either strained or nonexistent, rather than trying to make out whatever important news that was being exchanged and only understanding every other word.

She had not gone far down the hall, when she saw that she was being approached anxiously by Mr. Darcy. He had been meditating upon his thoughts further, and was therefore unhappily excluded from all of the gaiety going on in the hall; but was now most keen on learning whatever he could.

"Miss Catherine," he said; "have you any notion of what seems to be all of the excitement?"

"Not really," Kitty replied quite honestly; "all I know is that there is something about engagements. I know that I did not hear it correctly, but it sounded like both Lizzy and Jane were engaged to Mr. Bingley—but that seems hardly likely. I'd imagine just the one of them is engaged to him. And, perhaps, the other is engaged to somebody else? That does make sense. I heard some mention of a name, 'Fitzwilliam'—oh, that is your Christian name, is it not? Perhaps you are engaged to one of my sisters. Yes, that would make sense, I suppose."

This was not so much an explanation as it was Kitty musing through her thoughts aloud; and Mr. Darcy was excessively confused by it. If he was engaged to one of the Bennet sisters, he thought it very strange that he would not be sensible of it. He quickly dismissed any notion of this, though this did not keep his thoughts from running wild. Was he really an object in the conversation? Had he behaved too overtly? He swallowed down his suppositions and continued on, and was relieved to see that Georgiana was present. Catching her eye, she came over to him, and asked what exactly was the matter?

"Miss Bennet is engaged to Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth has just received a letter with news that our cousin Amelia is engaged to our other cousin—Frederick, you know," she explained quite plainly. Mr. Darcy was inexplicably a bit disappointed with this, and silently cursing the day that he was christened his mother's maiden name. Realizing that he was thinking quite nonsense, and not knowing what he had expected to hear, he thanked Georgiana for what he could not doubt as being a faithful account of the happenings. Mr. Darcy was then approached by Bingley, with whom he shook hands (the latter had shaken hands with most of the household by now), and thanked for his good advice, and adding that he was not even driven to such lengths as using some clever figure of speech.

"Oh!" replied Mr. Darcy smilingly, "I did not actually mean that it would be necessary to use a metaphor to charm Miss Bennet. I wasn't in earnest."

"Of course you weren't," said Bingley, though coloring slightly in spite of himself.

Later that week, wedding invitations were received by the Bennets and the Darcys for the wedding between Lord Fitzwilliam and Amelia Darcy. With the date of this union now fixed for the twelfth of January, Jane and Bingley could scheme their own marriage to occur around this date; and the week following Amelia's seemed as good a time as any. This still allowed for Christmas to be spent at Longbourn, and the migration of the entire party (for Jane ought to be married in Leicestershire) for the first week in January. Mr. Darcy was not sorry to return to Leicestershire. He had for some time been looking upon his departure from Hertfordshire with repulsion; but now he would remain with those whom he felt he had made himself comfortable among. He had been initially irked by Lydia's incessant flirtatious comments directed towards himself and Bingley; but even this he had accepted as something she did unconsciously. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet both had great sense, sharing more in common than he had supposed with the former. Herbert behaved as much as could be expected of a young boy; Mary, though not exactly providing interesting conversation, was not bothersome; Kitty, though impressionable and occasionally silly, was sweet-tempered on the whole; and Jane was as kind and caring a creature as could be met with.

In fact, it was only Elizabeth whose character he still found the least bit enigmatical. He saw much more of her whilst he was asleep than when he was awake; for she seemed to hardly acknowledge his existence unless addressed, and treated him with no more interest than if he was any other man that could be spotted on a crowded London street. Whatever reasons he attributed to her nonchalance, he never supposed the truth, which was that she was really _not_ very much interested in him. Mr. Darcy was so unused to being not regarded by the fairer sex, that he really didn't think that such a thing was possible. Of course, he acknowledged that he was treated by her differently than he was by other women; but it would have been especially unpleasant to acknowledge _why_, since she was his chief object of interest, while he was her last.

Elizabeth's thoughts concentrated mainly on Mr. Clough, although these concentrations did seem in vain. Her depression on the subject she masked well, but this did not prevent it from being foremost in her thoughts; as she recalled every doting expression, every flowery speech which that gentleman had directed towards her. She read and reread the letters which Amelia had written her describing some aspect of his character, some quote which was directly flattering to Elizabeth herself; she remembered the approval he had received from her friend, from Sarah, from her entire family. And yet, they were so far apart! Were it in her power to leave directly for Derbyshire, she would have done so without a glance back at Longbourn or any of its inmates.

With Christmastide at last at an end, there was offered a final lazy evening within the walls of Longbourn bereft of the clamor of packing and going to and going fro. Judging by the uncharacteristic quietness of the filled-to-capacity house, it seemed that all were taking advantage of the evening to reflect and consider. Elizabeth, at least, was doing this; for now was a prime opportunity to release her dreamy sighs and indulge in her fanciful whimsies as she rehashed memories of Mr. Clough from her mind for the nth time.

It so happened that a rare event had occurred; for when Elizabeth entered the library to fetch herself a book, her father was absent from that room. After taking an appropriate pause to look upon the empty room with awe, she proceeded to obtain her book, caring not what its contents were; and thinking that the leather binding on one was particularly charming, chose it. Glancing around the library of which she was the only occupant once more, she spied a lovely window-seat beside a latticed window looking out upon the grounds, which were dappled with snow, and thought it a fine place to seat herself. So she stretched herself out upon it, resting her head against the curving arm of the seat, and opened her book to some page near its center. After reading a few lines disinterestedly, she was overcome by some reverie; and, her thoughts wandering uninhibited, she soon fell into a pleasant sleep.

Mr. Darcy neither was doing anything remarkable. He had taken a brief tour through one of the gardens with his sister, and, with the latter set on practicing a new song on the harp, was only accompanied by his own shadow. He had, like Elizabeth, been thinking quite a lot; but he thought that he ought to stop all of this thinking nonsense, as he found that he would rather leave the deepest secrets of his heart shaded in obscurity. Unfortunately, there were few diversions available for him to keep him from thinking; Mr. Bingley was constantly in the company of his fiancée, undoubtedly in earnest conversation; and Mr. Darcy would rather not gossip with Lydia or philosophize with Mary. Thus, he was drawn to the library, where he might find some incomprehensible volume which would be satisfying to tax himself over, and afterwards be left with that warm feeling of satisfaction one gets from understanding something that others would only widen their eyes at and not touch.

After gently knocking on the closed door to the library and receiving no answer, he felt satisfied that there was no one within, and that he would subsequently disturb no one. Upon opening the door he was arrested by tall rows of bookshelves lining the walls, and a handsome desk in which one might find it convenient to peruse one of the many books in the library. He was about to take a look at some particularly thick tome, but his peripheral vision picked up on some moving figure to his left. Turning on his heel towards a tall latticed window, he saw that he was indeed not alone. Her face was almost entirely obscured by long russet locks that fell in front of it, but this did not hinder him from immediately ascertaining the sleeper's identity. Impulsively, he began to approach her. She seemed so perfectly serene and perfect, like a porcelain doll; and with the soft sunlight pouring in through the window and onto her lounging figure, he was distinctly reminded of his observation of her lying in the field outside of Northberry. It was all so picturesque: the contrast of her fair skin against the blue paneling behind her; her delicate hand resting against her cheek, and the other limply holding a book. As he walked closer, he saw that she was reading (or had been reading, rather) _Paradise Lost_.

He was perfectly transfixed by the scene; no thoughts went through his mind; his surroundings wholly enveloped him. No chains bound him; he could stare unabashedly now, for there was no one to be appalled by it. Elizabeth moved her head slightly in her sleep, a curl slightly bouncing about her cheek; but soon her only movements became what they were before, just steady breathing, the rhythmical rise and fall of her chest. Mr. Darcy moved his hand towards her cheek, but just as quickly withdrew it as he came to his senses. What was he about, standing there like a fool? He _was_ a fool! Here was this lady, whose family was respectable enough, but nothing noteworthy; here was this lady, who hardly paid him any notice; who probably cared not if he lived or died. And who was he?—why, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley! His prospects were not low; he could have anything he wanted; he had always gotten everything he wanted. So why then, in spite of himself, was he seeking that one thing which, to him, seemed unobtainable? Why was his heart racing, when everything of sense within him shouted its repulsion? Why was he looking at her so tenderly, and dreaming so wildly, and thinking so abominably, when there was really no foundation for it? A fool, indeed! Vexed and confused by the war waged within him between his head and his heart, he swiftly left the room in search of something which would involve _not thinking_—that had been his primary goal, anyway.


	18. Buying Time

**Chapter Seventeen: Buying Time**

A summer breeze whispers through a woody grove; golden blades of grass sway, wildflowers bloom. A woman flounders during a leisurely walk; a thick elm tree is her support. Following closely behind is the tall silhouette of a man, whose brow is knitted with vexation, and whose concentration is solely fixed upon the aforementioned woman. A solitary tear rolls down her cheek as the painful recollection of unwanted and unwonted news is realized; she collapses like a rag-doll into his arms. There is no consolation, no brightness to fill her thoughts with, except to numb herself from all feeling. He feels enough for the both of them; he lifts her chin and stares into her tear-shrouded eyes, softly wiping them away from her cheek. His sorrow and pity and grief is so overwhelming that it is almost tangible; he can feel it within him as easily as he can the helpless being in his arms, see it as clearly as the sunlight dancing amongst the trees. She whimpers some inaudible plea; his response is to clasp her more tightly in his arms. Several minutes pass away in this manner, the silence filled with only the melodies of songbirds and sympathetic murmurs.

She has gained a little strength; she can glide softly along the trail with the aid of his arm. Her head is drooped low, the shadows hiding her eyes reddened and swollen from weeping; they sit down among the flaxen grasses in the warmth of the sun; behind them is a view of a grand house resting in a shallow valley, and surrounded by a thick wood. At last, she looks up; but her strength seems to falter. In the faintest of whispers, she says in a tone of deep sadness:

"I feel so selfish; I forget that your mother, you hardly knew—"

"Do not think such things; it will hardly make you feel any better. We all have had our equal share of grief; it is only how you bear it that marks the difference between the melancholy and the gay. You must adopt a little of your own philosophy, you know."

"And what philosophy is that?" she replies innocently, sighing with all of the woe with which her heart is laden.

"Think only of the past as its remembrance gives you pleasure."

A little smile; it is not discernible to the lazy observer, but it is enough to lighten the weights entrapping his heart. She nestles into his welcoming arm, a pensive expression now beginning to supersede the unbearably miserable one.

"That is more easily said than done," she says at length. Then, pausing slightly, continues: "Did I ever tell you about the time that I nearly died?"

Although this does not seem the most cheerful diversion, it is a diversion nonetheless; and he asks in the gentlest of tones for an embellishment on this note. Her eyes avert downwards; she twists the fabric of her green frock, but is not urged to continue; she sets the pace of the conversation, though it is a painfully slow one. Then, releasing the twisted muslin, commences.

"It was shortly before Lydia's birth; I was probably about five years old. I remember nothing else, being so young, around that time; but this memory is so particularly vivid. I recall that the day was bright and sunny—a little like today, actually—and I, being the naughty child I was, had slipped out of notice and was wandering the grounds unsupervised. There was a snowy white duck walking about near the pond at Longbourn, and I was instantly attracted and intrigued by it. I stumbled along at my own pace, with my infantile belief that I could catch it if I only ran fast enough; and I was going along so recklessly, that I recall falling once and scraping my knee. But that did not matter—I just kept running—and the duck had noticed; it was poised to take flight. I was determined, though, that I should not let it get away; I went more quickly; it was hovering above the ground; and, in a wild, nonsensical fit of wanting to touch it, I reached out my hand and grabbed at its tail feathers; but I missed. It swiftly glided over the pond; and I, who had seen nothing but that tempting, pretty bird before me, had not noticed that I stood at the edge of the pond. Being the artless little thing I was, I tripped over a root and fell in. I immediately panicked as soon as I felt the dirty, muddy water hit my face. You can hardly blame me for not having the faintest idea how to swim; and I began to wildly kick my legs, and scream with all of my might; but it was all in vain, I could feel myself sinking. I was so terrified, I was certain that I was going to die; I couldn't grope at the shore, although it was so close by, I was so preoccupied in my panic. But then I felt a hand; at first, I thought it was an angel, come to take me away to heaven; and I immediately stopped my wild thrashing. I began to pull myself up along with this help; and soon, I was laying in the grass beside the pond, and staring up into the bright cloudless sky. Then, I was sat up; and I realized, as a familiar face stared into mine, that it was not an angel; it was Jane. She had heard my wailing, and had instantly come to my rescue—she was only seven, but I am still convinced that she saved my life that day."

She sinks into silence, her voice fading away with her last sentence. To him, she is the only other person in the world; there is nowhere but the field surrounding them; the sadness that suppresses them is a blanket that will wrap them together.

* * *

Mr. Darcy awoke with the cool, wintry morning chilling him, the cold sunlight of dawn flooding through his window. He recalled his dream, depression filling him as if they were events that had actually occurred. If he was a man whose tendency was to feel less, and took each event in his life as a page into which he could form a comic, he might have laughed at the absurdity of these dreams, and how affected his conscious self was by the subconscious. And if he was a man whose head was more in the clouds, the line separating fancy from reality might have been blurred, since he seemed to be living some absurd alternate life while he slept. But he had too much sense to be confused by this; although they seemed vivid and real, feeling and sensation was much more potent in his awakened state. That he was influenced by these premonitions, he had no doubt; but they had not yet become him.

Nonetheless, he was still perplexed by these foreign sentiments which burdened him. If he could have paid any sum of money in order to take them away, he would have done so in a heartbeat; but one cannot buy or sell feelings; he was forced to cope with what he was dealt. He had little time to do any coping, however, for then his valet entered his chambers, and informed him that he had better get dressed directly, or he would be late for the early departure scheduled from Hertfordshire. They were to go to Leicestershire, where he and his sister would attend both weddings, and then be homebound in a fortnight. A fortnight! That would not be sufficient time sort out the knots in which his heart had become entangled.

The human race has a pretty notion of the workings of time. In reality, it ticks by at a steady pace of sixty seconds per minute and sixty minutes per hour, regardless of circumstances. Time does not race, for it has no competitor. It cannot be bought, for no one sells it; it cannot be wasted, for there is no bin in which to toss it. Things cannot be done in no time, for it is always present; nor can they be done in good time, for it does not distinguish between "good" and "bad". Time cannot be kept, since it is the keeper. Time cannot be killed, since it was never alive. Things cannot be done on time, for they cannot be done under it. But, since writers like to add the element of irony to their tales by contradicting themselves, and because I cater to what can be supposed as a chiefly human audience—Mr. Darcy felt very acutely that he needed to buy some time.

With ideas floating around his mind, he paid little attention as he was dressed and readied for a day of traveling. Before he had even realized it, he was seated in a carriage with Georgiana at his side, and the similar scenery surrounding Longbourn and Meryton was quickly disappearing as they headed north. Georgiana pillowed her cheek with her hand, her eyes fixed on the ever-changing landscape out of the window. Mr. Darcy shifted a little in his seat, before commenting that he was glad to be leaving—implying that he was glad to distance himself from the perfidious Mr. Wickham, but he was not so indelicate as to directly state so. Georgiana, however, picked up on the allusion, and agreed; Leicestershire provided them with much pleasanter company.

There was a charming little hamlet through which their travels took them, and at which it was decided that the entire party would stop to lunch. Elizabeth was thankful as she alighted from the carriage to be free from the confined air and suppressive size of the vehicle, even if it was only temporary. The inn before her was a respectable-looking place, and with all having but a light breakfast, none were averse to satiating themselves here.

When they had all been seated, with plates of food placed before them, there was a general feeling of fatigue enveloping the party which silenced any of the usual small-talk which went on. Bingley and Jane talked in a low voice to each other, and Lydia exclaimed how fatigued she was; but other than that, everyone just dropt their heads to their food, and considered it wearily before lifting their forks and taking a bite. Though most were too tired to notice the silence, especially since there was enough noise being made by those not of their party, Mr. Darcy felt anxious. His anxiety was only heightened by his sitting across from Elizabeth. There was certainly nothing particularly delightful about her appearance at present; her clothing was plain and chosen for comfort, not for looks; her hair was considerably unkempt; and the backdrop of an inn, though nice as far as inns go, was nothing picturesque. Regardless of all of this, however, Mr. Darcy found that he was noticing her presence as much as he was that of his lunch. With a memory of the anecdote he had been told while he slept that night, his curiosity once again prevailed over his propriety, and he asked whether she was fond of ponds.

"To be honest, sir, not really," said Elizabeth with an inquisitive glance.

"I recall that there was a rather large pond at Longbourn; I thought perhaps it was a favorite spot of yours," he explained, answering her tacit question, though this was not as much of an explanation as it was a lie, and barely sufficient to account for the seemingly capricious interrogation. Elizabeth grimaced at this brief description. It was slight enough that nobody would have noticed it unless they were looking for it: and this was precisely the reaction that Mr. Darcy was looking for.

"No, I avoid it whenever I can," she said matter-of-factly; "Ponds have never held much charm for me—dirty, mucky things that they are."

Mr. Darcy only nodded, and exchanged not another word with her till they were all heading back to their carriages. Elizabeth had noticed this pattern he seemed to be forming of asking strange, unconnected questions; and she did give it half a minute's consideration: but, since she simply could not account for it, pushed it out of her thoughts, deciding that it was Mr. Darcy attempting to make some sort of effort at conversation (for he was no proficient at this).

There was nothing worthy of a lengthy description that occurred in the fortnight which afterwards passed. Both weddings were joyous, emotional affairs, as is their wont. Elizabeth found that Lord Fitzwilliam was an amiable, kind man, who would make her dear friend a very good husband; though his good qualities she did not find to be as potent as they had been described by Amelia. But lovers can never be counted upon to give accurate descriptions of their sweethearts, as they are fain to exaggerate the good, and entirely leave out the bad. In the course of these two weeks, Elizabeth also became acquainted with her two sisters-in-law, whose names were Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst. She was not very much impressed with them; they were elegant ladies, to be sure: but their manners were not to be compared with their brother's. They seemed to think it a very unfortunate thing that Jane was not a duchess, or had not thirty thousand pounds to her name; and although Elizabeth found it hard to look past this snobbery, they were not truly heartless creatures beneath the surface. Actually, the doting of Caroline upon Mr. Darcy she could be thoroughly amused by, as she paid him specific attentions—attentions which were unceremoniously repelled, though this repulsion seemed to go unnoticed by the lady. Jane's happiness in being united with the man she loved can be supposed to be very severe, especially when one factor's in her natural tendency towards gaiety; and perhaps more so on the part of Mr. Bingley, since he was more violently jovial in nature than his bride. Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were to return to Hertfordshire, while Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam were to retire at the former's London townhouse. Happily, Mr. Bingley had set aside his insecurities about being a poor excuse of a lover; and Amelia had set aside hers about being not worthy of her darling Frederick, and that he would change his mind.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth was feeling that life would be rather dull and gray, what with the absence of her dearest friend and dearest sister. It took some convincing to assure herself that she did not envy them—she only missed them. That she also missed Mr. Clough, is hardly worth mentioning, as this was quite a constant feeling. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, was in better spirits, since he had thought of, discussed, and decided on a plan which would "buy him some time". Nothing could be more agreeable to Georgiana, either; and thus, when they paid a visit, which should have been one of leave-taking, it took a bit of a different turn.

Elizabeth had recently received a letter penned by her dear Miss Georgiana, with an invitation that she accompany them to Pemberley, rather than part ways the following day. Nothing could have delighted Elizabeth further. It eliminated all of the bleakness of life which awaited her, or at least delayed its onset; and she could not easily forget that Mr. Clough was also a native of Derbyshire. Perhaps all hope on her part was not in vain! A happy attitude she could adopt now, with such prospects before her.

So the visit was paid, and Elizabeth could receive them with the most gracious of smiles, as she dreamt of moonlit walks and earnest conversations with Mr. Clough. It can also be deemed reasonable that Mr. Darcy should misconstrue these ecstatic exclamations and looks, for he had not taken into account that she might have in mind some other lover. After all, she was the only object on which he concentrated; and when one is thus blinded with infatuation, who can suppose that some third party had possession of that object's heart? Though Georgiana and Elizabeth were great friends, he believed that some other factor contributed to her ecstasies. He admitted to himself that he thought _he_ was that other factor—but, poor soul, how wrong he was! Everybody has dreams, whether they are of standing atop the highest mountain peak or lying on a tropical beach: but the road traveled to get there is hardly ever taken into account.


	19. Coincidences and Confessions

**Chapter Eighteen: Coincidences and Confessions**

The carriage stopped. Elizabeth was rudely awakened from the half-sleep in which she had been indulged for most of the ride. She was in Derbyshire—she was probably only five miles from where Mr. Clough was! With this thought providing her enough strength to lift herself out of the carriage, she stepped down onto the gravel drive, examining the scores of servants whose task it was to carry the luggage. It was only a few moments afterwards, when she had collected her senses, that she was arrested by the sight of the building in front of her. She could only stare in wonder for a few moments at all of the elegance and majesty of Pemberley. She had seen fine houses before, with their perfectly manicured gardens and gaudy ornaments; but Pemberley was of an entirely different breed from those houses. It did not want good taste, or simpler adornments; the grounds, as she turned and looked around, were perfectly wild; and if not for the house, there could not be much suspicion of it being inhabited by anyone. She had dismissed Amelia's assurances that Pemberley was beyond anything else; Elizabeth had never known any place which she liked better than Northberry; but now all of her thoughts concerning that were tainted, what with the view before her!

"How do you like Pemberley, Lizzy?" said Georgiana, who seemed to have materialized before Elizabeth. The latter took her friend's hands into hers, exclaiming warmly:

"I like it so much—it is absolutely charming! I had never imagined what a fine place you called your home, Georgiana." This did not seem sufficient enough commendation to describe all of the awe which was inspired within her; there were not words strong enough to articulate her feelings.

"We can give you a tour, if you'd like—that is, unless you are too tired from your journey. Tomorrow, perhaps?" said Mr. Darcy, who was apparently also standing nearby. Elizabeth immediately shook her head, insisting that she was not at all tired, and was very much in favor of a tour that day, if it was not too troublesome to them. Mr. Darcy could not have been much more delighted with Elizabeth's curiosity to see the house, for it was exactly what he had been wishing. Georgiana, too, was eager to have her friend familiarize herself with the surroundings which she herself delighted in.

Untying the ribbon beneath her chin which held her straw bonnet against her head, Elizabeth ascended up the small staircase which led up to the veranda before the front entrance behind her friends. She likewise shrugged off her traveling cloak, both being received by the friendly but elderly housekeeper. With these distractions now done away with, Elizabeth could notice the entrance hall; and it was as lovely and chic as its exterior suggested. Tall marble pillars supported a balcony from which one could see clearly through the high windows; a staircase, though not winding or like that in a fairy-tale, but sturdy and regal, led the way to this view. There were soft fabrics which kept the room from feeling like that which one would find in a museum, and there were personal touches here which served as reminders that this was not a house for gods, but for humans.

There seemed rooms enough to house all of Derbyshire; yet Elizabeth never felt as if she was lost, or bewildered; she could distinctly remember the location of each room. Every view through every window depicted some spectacular wood or copse, or some delightful walk which Elizabeth longed to explore. She stood in a parlor, with soft yellow paneling and furniture of rich maroon fabric. Georgiana stood proudly next to her grand pianoforte, her finger tracing along the edge of the fine mahogany instrument as she described its brief history with energy. Elizabeth turned away from the window to see Mr. Darcy smiling complaisantly towards her, pleased that she was pleased. She had never noticed his smile before—probably because it was rarely bestowed—but she found it to be particularly infectious, and was soon smiling herself.

"Which of the rooms do you like best so far, Elizabeth?" asked Georgiana cheerfully, with the childish innocence which was a great part of her personality. Elizabeth was surprised when her answer required no thought at all, and she immediately said,

"I like the sitting-room through that door (nodding to a door on the far end of the room). You know—the one with the blue wallpaper, and the little writing-desk in the corner where you said you write all of your letters."

Georgiana tilted her head to one side, which was supposed to signify confusion.

"I—don't think that we showed you that room yet," she said tentatively.

"You must be mistaken," responded Elizabeth quickly, "for I remember it distinctly."

"We entered through that door," interposed Mr. Darcy, gesturing to a door opposite of the one leading into the blue-papered room, "and the only door through which the room you describe, Miss Bennet, can be entered, is that one." He gestured then to the door which Elizabeth had similarly done in her previous description. Elizabeth was beginning to feel a little perplexed now, for she was quite certain that she had seen that room.

"I _do_ remember there being only one door—but—I absolutely insist it has already been shown to me. There is a painting on the wall adjacent to the one in which the window is situated; a landscape that Georgiana painted when she was eleven; and everyone thought it looked so well that it was framed. And the view through the window, it looks down upon the large pond near the south end of the house. And the rug, it has a stain on the one corner, which was from wine being spilt by—" She stopped now, for Georgiana and Mr. Darcy were positively staring at her now. Brother and sister were thinking at this point that they either had very faulty memories, or that Elizabeth had somehow learnt all of this information from some outside source.

"I don't think that there is any stain—" said Georgiana quietly, who was absolutely confounded by this.

"There is!" insisted Elizabeth, sounding now a little desperate. She swiftly walked over to the door and opened it, coming upon a room exactly like that which she had described. Of course she had seen this room before! Everything about it was familiar! Her eyes fixed on the woven rug below her feet as she immediately found the small stain, which was barely noticeable, and pointed it out with childish impertinence to Georgiana.

Mr. Darcy went a little pale, saying, "I don't know how you could possibly have known—"

"Because you told me—there is no other explanation for it. How do you suppose that I could know it otherwise?"

This _was_ a question which Mr. Darcy was asking himself. He was no stranger to the bizarre, considering the freakish dreams that he had, and how they seemed to coincide with reality; but this he mostly explained away as being some acute sense of intuition. Could these specific things which Elizabeth described be merely that? His curiosity, to say the least, was piqued; and he could not stop himself from asking,

"The dining parlor—where is it?"

Elizabeth sensed that she was being tested, and, intent on proving that she had indeed been informed all of these things, demanded that they follow her, for she certainly knew the way! She seemed to blindly navigate through the hallways and down staircases, driven by some mad force of determination within her. Everything was a hazy blur about her, till she took a last determined step into the dining parlor, looking quite satisfied with herself. Mr. Darcy, however, was in wonder at how she knew the way, never having been shown this room either; and Georgiana was almost petrified with fear, since one has a tendency to fear that which is not understood.

"Have you been here—to Pemberley, I mean—before today?" asked Georgiana.

"Certainly not," said Elizabeth, pacing about the large table in the room's center, "There has never been any occasion for me to come here till now. I suppose you will insist that I have not seen this room before, either?"

"You have not seen this room before," said Mr. Darcy unhelpfully.

"But I certainly have!" she cried, and then, just to prove her point, walked over to a tall cabinet. She immediately opened the second drawer from the bottom, then taking out a container which apparently held ink; but rather, she pulled out a gold key from within it, dangling it in front of her face.

"This is the key which unlocks the closet at the end of the hall," she explained, then setting it down on the palm of her hand.

"It is well enough that we should have shown you a room and forgotten it," said Mr. Darcy, "But why would we give you the location of a key which opens a closet? A closet where things of value are kept, nonetheless? Can you make sense of that, Miss Bennet?"

Until this point, it had seemed perfectly reasonable that she should know where this key was kept; but with this explanation, the realization of how odd of knowledge this was struck her. What use could she possibly have for that little key she had enclosed in her palm? How _did_ she know that, anyway? As she mused through her memory, she had a perfect recollection of the appearance of each room, of simply _knowing_; but she could not recall it ever being explained to her. She could conjure up surroundings, but not circumstances. It seemed the most obvious thing in the world that extra ink was kept in the top drawer on the left of the large desk in the study which was directly across from the drawing-room on the second floor—but was it really that obvious? That wild strawberries grew in the summer was common knowledge—but was it common knowledge that wild strawberries grew in abundance in the field near the grove at the northeast corner of the grounds where the trail that flanked the little stream ended? It was not even summer—it was January! Was she insane, or had she been informed of these things at some undefined point in the past?

Looking a little faint now, she quickly put the key back where she had found it, now coloring a deep red, quite mystified by her own behavior now as her companions were.

"Perhaps I should show you to your room, Lizzy?" suggested Georgiana timidly.

"Yes, I think I am just—tired. But I'd rather just go by myself, if you don't mind."

"Of course, though I don't think you know the—never mind. Your things have been taken to the guest room across from the conservatory."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said disconcertedly, and, in spite of herself, found the guest room across from the conservatory with no difficulty at all. She was really quite glad with the room's proximity to the conservatory, for she was very fond of the chrysanthemums that—no, she reminded herself, she did not even know if chrysanthemums grew anywhere near Pemberley. She only had a very strong _feeling_ that they did.

* * *

Over the course of the next several weeks, Elizabeth did her best to mask that she was nearly better acquainted with Pemberley than Mr. Darcy and his sister were. When Georgiana was frustrated at not being able to locate a piece of sheet music, Elizabeth suggested as innocently as possible to look on the bottom shelf nearest the door in the library; but she was met with skeptical looks, especially when Georgiana met with success by finding it in that spot.

Elizabeth's opportunity to be reunited with Mr. Clough came when she was to venture into Lambton with her friends, for they were to all attend a dinner party the following week, and Georgiana was keen on getting a new dress for the occasion. It was not that she had an insatiable vanity, but that she was so eager to please her hosts that she would feel as if she was doing them a dishonor by not wearing something new. They were all three walking down the street, with the tailor shop in view, when Mr. Clough caught Elizabeth's eye. And how ecstatic she was to see him! Quickly excusing herself, she rushed over to his side, where mutual happiness was shared, and a short conversation succeeded these professions of glee. Mr. Darcy observed it all from a safe distance, who hadn't counted on Elizabeth knowing anybody other than himself and his sister, but deciding that it was not impossible for her to run into an old acquaintance, though Lambton was but a tiny place. His immediate supposition was that he was a relation of some sort—perhaps a cousin—since he recalled Elizabeth's once mentioning that she had an aunt who had lived in Lambton before her marriage. Thinking that this must be the case, he turned away from them, and focused his attention on his sister.

Mr. Clough said many flattering, flowery things to Elizabeth, which were the things that she remembered best about him. When he announced that he had business to tend to and must immediately depart, she was initially disappointed; but when he leaned in more closely to her and whispered in the most intimate of tones that he would meet her outside the gates of Pemberley the following day so that they might take a private walk, she could not help but feel feverish with delight and anticipation.

When Elizabeth entered the tailor's shop, Mr. Darcy was immediately arrested by how uncommonly ravishing she looked. Her complexion was glowing, her eyes had an additional luster about them; she had all of the characteristic symptoms of a woman in love. Poor Mr. Darcy, however, at this moment felt that he had never felt so violently for anybody else in his life. The night previous, Georgiana had questioned him as to how long her friend ought to stay at Pemberley—and Mr. Darcy confessed that he had not much considered it. It was true that he had not considered it, for he had not ever imagined her leaving. He recognized now this was not due to some carelessness of planning, but because Elizabeth's presence now seemed a necessary of his life; as necessary for his survival as breathing and eating were. How he had gone on before, he could scarcely remember: she was in his every thought; his every dream; his every breath. Perhaps he was Mr. Darcy of Pemberley; perhaps she was only Miss Bennet of some obscure family in some obscure house; but regardless of all of that, regardless of every boundary which divided them from each other, he knew now, as he gazed into her beautiful eyes, that he loved her. Elizabeth could never outstay her welcome, because that welcome lasted forever.

"Who was that gentleman you were talking with?" asked Georgiana absently while she looked through various colors and styles of fabric.

"Oh!" said Elizabeth, unconsciously blushing, "Mr. Clough—he is an acquaintance of mine. I have agreed to meet with him tomorrow morning, so I hope that I can be spared."

"Of course you can; but you will be back by dinnertime, I hope?"

"Oh yes, most certainly."

This seemed to satisfy Georgiana, for her inquiries ended there, and Mr. Darcy was much too preoccupied with his own feelings to attempt to decipher Elizabeth's. Even if he would have noticed the becoming blush overspreading her cheeks, or caught the gentle tone of her voice when she spoke Mr. Clough's name, he certainly would have dismissed it as meaningless directly. For, to quote Mr. Clough and the many others who have said it for a lack of something more creative, "love is blind"—and to quote another gentleman who is universally despised: "and deaf too".


	20. The Course of True Love

_I've decided it's about time I say something again. I'm trying to not drag the plot of this out too long, so that a.) You won't get bored, and b.) I won't get bored, which is why I didn't really linger on the describing the weddings, etc., as they aren't really important to the plot. So, yes, the following chapter is also moving things swiftly along. Also, I just discovered all of ten minutes ago the "stats" section (I know, I'm lame)—but it was a happy discovery for me. This story has over twenty thousand hits, so you can imagine how loved I feel at the moment—loved enough that I've posted this today instead of tomorrow. So thanks everyone for reading this, and don't forget to write a review! I do read every review I get—whenever I see one it's like a little gift; don't be afraid to give suggestions to me, either: I'd love to hear your input. _

**Chapter Nineteen: The Course of True Love…**

Elizabeth left the house for her walk with Mr. Clough the following morning in the liveliest of spirits. What then occurred, Mr. Darcy was not privileged enough to know. He had gotten no great amount of sleep that night, for he had been too much preoccupied in secretly forming a resolution that would free him from the web of pent-up emotions in which he had become entangled. Little did he know how distracting such a thing was; he could concentrate on nothing else: he even, on occasion, forgot to breathe. As the time for Elizabeth's imminent return to the house drew nearer, his building anticipation was reflected in the frenzied beatings of his heart and shallow contractions of his lungs.

These queer alterations in behavior did not go unnoticed by Georgiana, whose senses were always tuned to notice those of her brother; and with a voice infused with sisterly partiality, she asked,

"What is the matter, Brother?"

Mr. Darcy set down his pen that he had been holding in his hand for some minutes, and with which he was yet to make a mark. He turned around timidly to see his sister sitting on the sofa across from him, her hands folded in her lap, and her large blue eyes filled with a wondering, compassionate expression.

"Do you remember—do you recall—" he began cautiously, his voice fading into silence for a few moments.

"Do I recall what?" urged Georgiana gently.

"Something you suggested—in Hertfordshire—when you thought—behaving oddly. I mean, you thought that I was."

Georgiana's concern was only heightened by this explanation which was comprised of disconnected sentences. Her brother had never delighted in speaking, but when he did, it was usually eloquently put. It must have been something serious indeed to reduce him to mumbling mangled phrases in an attempt to communicate.

"Now, be serious with me, Fitzwilliam. I cannot possibly understand what you mean when you talk in such a manner."

Mr. Darcy sighed, massaging his temples. How was he to put it obliquely enough to keep him from saying it outright, but make it comprehensible to Georgiana? After searching through his mind for some appropriate allusion, he found that he could think of none. At present, he was no better a wielder of the English language than was his good friend Charles Bingley; and it was unfortunate that that gentleman was not present, for he could have sincerely empathized with his friend in his downfall. In light of not being able to find any elegant phrase to utilize, Mr. Darcy realized that he would have to communicate to his sister the truth by "puking it all out" at once.

"I l—love, that is—Miss Bennet." Pronouncing these words, difficult and unpleasant as it was, was actually very similar to puking, in that there was a great relief to be had afterwards. Mr. Darcy now, at the very least, had a confidant in his dilemma.

"I see," said Georgiana, her expression and attitude not altering in the slightest. There was that childish, unassuming aspect to her personality; but it was not the only aspect, for there was also one of calm understanding, and she had the spirit of a counselor. "And do you plan to do something about it?"

"Yes. That's—the problem—I guess."

"You mean to propose to her?"

Mr. Darcy, relieved that this at least did not require some explanation, merely nodded.

"Well—I would wish you luck, Brother, except that would imply that I think you will need it. Rather, I will wish that you need not resort to luck in order to receive a favorable response."

He murmured something along the lines of a "thank-you" in response; and then, gathering his wits about him, or rather, what wits he had left to gather, asked shyly:

"Does she—talk of me? Ever?"

"Not often," replied Georgiana honestly; "But then, neither do you talk of her often to me. You have been very sly with me."

Their conversation, however, was cut off by the entrance of the footman, who announced Elizabeth's return from her walk. She was shown into the room, with the loveliest of smiles on her red lips, her face flushed and glowing, her tiered frock floating at her ankles as she stepped lightly and greeted her friends, blissfully ignorant of the discussion which she had just intruded upon. Georgiana only directed to her brother several earnest, meaningful glances, before Elizabeth proposed, in her high spirits, their all taking a walk. This seemed a strange suggestion, especially since she had just returned from a walk; but to be young and in love is to be irrational.

Indeed, this proposition would normally have been met with skeptical looks, which were now liberally bestowed upon Elizabeth with consideration to that series of coincidences occurring on the day of her arrival; but no such exchange occurred, with consideration to present circumstances. In fact, nothing could have been more agreeable to Mr. Darcy as far as an opportunity to speak with Elizabeth alone was concerned—but it was at the same dreadful. When Mr. Darcy made his confession to his sister, he puked; but this did not acquit him from disease. There was another and much more important confession to be had.

Georgiana quickly excused herself from any obligation to go on a walk, for she was much too tired; and this was, fortunately and unfortunately, met with no opposition.

"Of course; good night, Georgiana," was Elizabeth's good-humored reply; for nothing (or she thought nothing) could dampen her spirits now. With one final parting glance at her brother, Georgiana quitted the room.

Once the click of the door closing and Georgiana's footsteps had faded away, filling the silence was the now only wild beating of Mr. Darcy's heart. He inhaled deeply in some attempt to calm himself, but it was all in vain. He was alone in a room with the mistress of his heart—how could he possibly be easy? What conversation then ensued as to which walk ought to be taken, he heard not. But before he could be even a little bit the master of himself, they were exiting the house, and he had offered his arm to Elizabeth. She took it, not at all imagining the effect it would have on her companion; indeed, he immediately regretted offering it up at all, for he thought the constant sensation of her hand gently caressing his sleeve would drive him mad, and make him incapable of all rational thought.

The view through which Elizabeth perceived the world at that moment, on the other hand, was vastly different. Rather than a hazy, murky world, all was bright and full of color. The tranquil chirping of birds and whoosh of a gentle zephyr were sounds which filled her ears; an invigoratingly cool temperature and a row of pines lining the walk filled her senses. With this acute notice of everything, she was consequently able to notice her companion's peculiar behavior; his silence and far-off gazes, his seemingly arduous breathing and his nearly tripping over his own feet. It did seem strange that he could be fatigued from so leisurely a walk; but eventually concluded that the chilly February air was a bit too much for him. As they were now walking through a garden with a circular trail carved through it, she saw that there was a stone bench which would provide adequate seating in allowing her companion to catch his breath. She proposed sitting down for a bit, which was a proposition gratefully accepted by Mr. Darcy.

As they sat, Elizabeth's arms lung loose at her side, languidly brushing against the bench; she looked about at all of the vegetation before her. Her wrap fell off her shoulders and fell down her back, but she hardly noticed—all of this Mr. Darcy took note of, however. He knew that he would have to speak now; and he took a few last, desperate breaths before he began by saying:

"I confess I had an ulterior motive in agreeing to go on this walk with you."

Elizabeth turned towards him, her brow arching with interest, but said nothing.

"Do you remember—when I told you about—that dream…" he trailed off into silence.

"You mean the one where you were pacing the floor in the dead of night and—described my mother?" asked Elizabeth helpfully, though her voice and expression were now a bit uneasy. Mr. Darcy breathed a sigh of relief and said:

"Yes." Then, shifting his position and gaining some confidence: "It is not the only dream—that I have had like that."

"Indeed?"

A pause. "Indeed. But I will also confess, that I did not describe my dream in its entirety when I spoke with you about it that night." He could no longer bear to look at her, so his eyes dropt to his hands, which were fidgeting nervously.

"I don't blame you, sir; there could hardly be any occasion for doing so," responded Elizabeth nonchalantly.

"Yes, that was what I thought—at the time. But, Miss Bennet, have you thought much about how you know—things about here?—about Pemberley, I mean."

"It is a topic which nobody could fail to be mystified by," muttered Elizabeth, the cool assertion of her last sentence dissipating; "and I have given it some thought; but not of late. It simply cannot be accounted for; therefore, I find that it is not worth—thinking of."

"It _is_ all very mystifying; but ambiguities frustrate me. And I do not know why these things have been happening; but perhaps I have some idea of its—causes and consequences."

Elizabeth was reasonably confused by this; but Mr. Darcy, lifting his eyes once more to hers, seemed to be desperate for her understanding. She was not sure what he meant; what point was to be made; but judging by the intensity in his eyes, it seemed of utmost importance to him.

"You seem to refer to more than one 'thing'," she said, mostly to break up the silence.

"Yes, of course I do: I refer to your inexplicable knowledge, and mine."

He paused once again after this, but Elizabeth had no comment to add, no query to make. A troubled feeling churned in her stomach, and she twisted her foot about in the gravel for some sort of distraction from what was immediately before her.

"Is your loathing of ponds, Miss Bennet, inspired by some event?"

Elizabeth looked up, not comprehending how this could be relevant to their discussion. She only nodded her head.

"Perhaps, when you were five, you were chasing a snowy white duck and you fell into that large pond outside Longbourn; perhaps, you felt that you were going to die, but your eldest sister saved you from drowning?"

"How do you know that?" snapped Elizabeth, her foot now still.

"Because you told me."

"No, I didn't!" she insisted.

"Just like I didn't tell you where the key is kept that opens the closet at the end of the hall? Just like I didn't tell you where Georgiana keeps her sheet music?"

"Mr. Darcy!" cried Elizabeth, exasperated, "What does all of this mean?"

"In that dream I described, I failed to mention that you encountered your mother at your wedding—_my_ wedding—_our _wedding. And after that, I dreamt of you, sitting there, just like you are now; it was dark, and I had come home from traveling. And after that, I dreamt of you, holding a child in your arms, and passing it on to your mother. And after that, I dreamt of you, standing in the dining parlor, and handing me that key whose position you so unaccountably knew. And then, I dreamt of you, sitting in the field at the northeast corner of the grounds—and you were sitting next to me, and you were sobbing, and then you told me of the day that you almost died. And there must have been a hundred others like it in between; and I did not want to see it, I did not want to dream it: but I did anyway."

Elizabeth's feeling at this moment can be reasonably conjectured, when you remember that this was a man whom she had scarcely given a second glance to; a man whom she viewed as merely the brother of her friend. She was quickly attempting to dismiss that these were all strange, wild fancies; but she could not, for it was laden with truth: it coincided with what she was already experiencing. Why did he have memories of what had never passed—or rather, what might have passed? It was all rushing upon her like a tidal wave; connections being made, realizations uncovered: and with it seemed to be everything that she had forgotten.

"I remember," she said incredulously, "It was dark, and I was sitting here, and you were sitting there—and I said 'tell me about it; your business, I mean'. And then, and then…" And then she stopped speaking, for she had come to see how ridiculous it all sounded. It had come upon her all at once, and just as quickly faded as the wave receded back into the sea.

She had turned away now, wishing herself in some parallel universe, some faraway galaxy. She felt a hand clasp her shoulder, and quickly turned around. If she had never noticed Mr. Darcy before, she most certainly did now; he was so discomposed, that she feared he might never recover himself. His eyes were blazing blue flames, he was something of a—well, Elizabeth didn't know. The truth was right before her, it had been before her all the while; but one can only see with open eyes.

She was feeling faint: she felt herself melting, like the wax of a candle beneath a burning flame; the cheery colorfulness of the world had faded to black. She felt herself being maneuvered like a limp rag-doll; an arm around her waist, another beneath her knees; the sensation of being closer to him, of being engulfed in his arms. Her willpower was sinking, she was a hot puddle of wax; her head was draped across his arm, she could look up and see that he was staring into her eyes. Words didn't need to be spoken; she knew _now_ that he loved her; it was frightening and exhilarating and numbing at once. She hadn't asked for it, she hadn't wanted it, but it was there.

"Marry me," he breathed in the softest of tones. She closed her eyes with the hope that doing so would allow her to gather her wits about her, but this suppression of one of her senses did not curtail the others; she could taste his breath on her lips, and feel his hand stroking her shoulder as she shivered and trembled violently. It seemed ridiculous that she was responding in such a way, to somebody whom she had never paid any particular notice of!

She was tottering at the edge of a cliff, where she could either grab hold of the ground, or take the thrilling fall into the abyss. At the bottom there could be an Eden—or there could be only solid rock through which her demise would be met; at the top it may have been only a treeless plain or a fruitless valley, but at least that was something to hold on to.

_These violent delights have violent ends_

_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder,_

_Which, as they kiss, consume.+_

There were the two alternatives before her, as she lay in the arms of one man while she had sworn off her heart to another; and she knew which choice she had to make: she had to grab hold of the ground and pull herself up. So with a newfound strength, like melted wax hardening once more into something solid, she sprung out of his arms, still dizzy with the entire experience, and still breathing as heavily as her chest was pounding.

"I can't," where her first words, spoken hoarsely and as if she had just run a marathon; "I'm already engaged." And then she ran as quickly as her feet would carry her, her eyes clouded with unshed tears, as she anxiously searched for an appropriate place to cry.

But then she remembered. She already knew where such a place existed—although she had never seen it. And this was no great comfort to her at all.

* * *

_+This quote is from William Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet"._

_Well, there you have it. The "car crash" that was bound to happen. My only fear is that it came off a bit too melodramatic. _


	21. Never Did Run Smooth

**Chapter Twenty: …Never Did Run Smooth**

Bitter tears streamed down Elizabeth's cheeks like an unrelenting rain. Why making a prudent decision and holding fast to her principles was the source of so much anguish, she dared not attempt to comprehend. There was much that was incomprehensible about her situation, really: that she was an hour ago as blithe as a moth in the company of a flame; that she was uncertain of things now with which she had felt with conviction then; that Fate seemed to be willing her to leave the calm and grassy shore and swim into the rapids of a river.

She came upon a thick grouping of heath and undergrowth and threw herself down behind it with all the violence of a woman scorned. As she lay there, insensible of her surroundings, she could not but begin to make the inevitable comparison between the three proposals of marriage she had now received. First, the image of Mr. Newbury's pompous proposal appeared in her mind. He certainly seemed to have no doubt of an acceptance! And when she did say what he thought was the impossible, she was chilled to the bone by the recollection of pure venom in his eyes. So quickly did his sentiments change! So quickly affected by caprice! As he exited that room, his expression left Elizabeth no doubt that he would have willed her to the fieriest pit in Hell had he the opportunity. And what a contrast that was from Mr. Clough's proposal! He expressed himself so eloquently and with such sweetness and warmth as would solicit any woman's heart. She had been left in no doubt as to his affection—his warming gaze that had so delighted her she did not think could be easily forgotten. She could imagine him before her, as they walked down the shady grove, and he tenderly took his hand into hers.

"My dearest Miss Bennet," was how he had begun. "Surely you cannot be at a loss to imagine my motives for asking you to come here today. It has been long since we were in each other's company in Leicestershire; but ever since we have parted I have wished to see you again. I hope that you have not forgotten me in this too-long lapse of time between our meetings; I assure you that _my_ love has endured."

He looked into her eyes with an earnest gaze, and she was overflowing with warm delight as she spoke her assurances that not a day went by without his occupying her thoughts, and a mutual agreement that neither wished to be separated from each other for any length of time ever again.

Warm delight: that was her sensation upon receiving Mr. Clough's addresses. It was enough to elate her then; but it seemed strangely inadequate now. When Mr. Darcy had stared so openly into her eyes with unrelenting passion, when he had held her and asked her to marry him! It was nothing like that feeling of warm delight; it was like being consumed by a blazing inferno. There was all the difference between the two proposals as there is a difference between a slight headache and a blood-curdling fever. But though her emotions ran helter-skelter, never did she entertain any thought of actually changing her mind. It was all impulse, all folly! They would forget each other in a week, she was certain, and perhaps years hence laugh about it as two friends sharing an absurd experience.

Meanwhile, Georgiana Darcy was sitting on the chaise in a second story parlor and clasping an unfolded sheet of paper in her hand. Elizabeth had discreetly slipped it into her hand as she had entered the room; and as Georgiana's eyes devoured its words, her shock and mortification grew as she went on. It read:

_My dearest Georgiana,_

_As I write this note to you, written in what is I assure you the gayest of spirits, I have a gentleman sitting next to me, and he is an angel. Mr. Clough, whom you saw me conversing with outside the tailor's shop yesterday, is to become my husband. He is to post a letter today writing my father for his consent to our marriage; and till his blessing is received (and I have little doubt of its not being so), you shall be the only creature outside of my immediate family who is privy to this wonderful news. You needn't tell your brother till a formal announcement has been made, for I should not like to have everybody in Lambton whispering about it. I will give this note to you at the first available opportunity._

_Yours affectionately,_

_Elizabeth Bennet_

Georgiana's exasperation upon perusing this note was severe. Only a dwindle of hope remained that her brother's pursuits for her friend's affections were not in vain. She knew that it was right to be happy for Elizabeth, but all she could feel initially was disappointment. Her brother had seemed so ardent in his confession to her! Elizabeth would have made the very best sister for her! Still, Georgiana could hope that upon realizing her love for Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth's sentiments would change: but when she read the note again, it seemed that it was certainly not the case. She had so little faith in her brother that Lizzy felt he could not be trusted with information of her engagement—she thought him a gossip! How very odd that she had that notion of him. She frowned and refolded the note, setting it on her lap as she considered the circumstances that had presented themselves before her. She could not bear the thought of her brother being heartbroken; and she sat for several moments in absolute silence as she wondered what would become of them all as a result of what seemed to be a grave misunderstanding. Deciding that the best and least she could do was to console her brother, she rang the bell, and a maidservant appeared before her with a solemn expression, as was her wont.

"Molly, you had better fetch some wine from the cellar."

"A glass for you, miss?"

"No, not for me: but a lot more wine is going to be required than that. Actually, you'd better make it whiskey."

* * *

Elizabeth had collected herself enough to move, whereupon she began to wander about with no real destination in mind. She stopped now, however, as she was once more overcome with that unwelcome sensation of déjà vu. Dead vegetation was all around her: all of the color in the small meadow was unsaturated; the once clear blue skies had faded to gray. There was only the trickle of a stream and the cawing of a lonely raven to be heard; only death and decay to behold. She was seeing the world through a scratched and hazy lens; but still was the familiarity of the scene present. When she closed her eyes, she could envision the plain dotted with strawberries, see the robin hopping through the yellow grasses in search of a meal, and smell the potent scent of summer wildflowers. But when she opened her eyes, none of it was there. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes once more, but furiously blinked them away. There was no one to deceive her emotions to; she only had to fool herself that she was not affected. 

"But I _am_ affected!" she thought; "Why is it that nothing is new to me in this place? Have I forgotten to feel the sensation of newness? Why are these inexplicable things occurring to me? Oh, to be in Leicestershire again among friends! To be far away from all of these people in Derbyshire whom I have not yet known for a year, and to have only Mr. Newbury to worry my head over!" She paced over to an elm tree, running her finger along its bark, and finally leaned against it, staring out blankly into the bleak landscape and longing for the past.

Mr. Darcy stood on the other side of this clearing. He felt hopelessly lost; not lost in his grounds, but lost in his mind. Elizabeth's being engaged to another man was as comprehensible to him as was his appendages running off in the night and attaching themselves to a stranger. And like his appendages, he felt his very existence dependant upon her. Fool he was, he had built his mansion on a bed of twigs—why ought he to be surprised when those twigs snapped, and the mansion collapsed with it? The only thing to do was to pick up the pieces and seek out firmer ground.

His eyes moved from the dried brush beneath his feet upwards; and it was then he saw her. That tree, that place, that expression; it all eerily reminded him of that one fanciful dream. He quickly shook off the thought, however, and boldly marched forward. Them both wandering around would do no good. He hadn't actually thought of anything to do or to say, and by the time that he had caught Elizabeth's eye he was regretting approaching her at all. She was clearly in no state to talk; her eyes were swollen and red from crying—she was in an obvious state of discomfiture. Yet it was too late to turn back now. He had put it in his mouth, and now he had to swallow.

Elizabeth attempted to straighten her poise upon perceiving Mr. Darcy approaching her. He was certainly the very last person whose presence she wanted to behold. She thought that she would never be able to view him in quite the same cool, indifferent manner that she had previously; she could never look into his eyes again without recalling that wild, passionate gaze he had given her; she could not imagine listening to him without recalling the intimate tones he had used with her. Oh, why did this day ever happen! It was almost enough to make her sob violently once more, but she swallowed it down.

"I'm—" Mr. Darcy began, but then stopped for a loss of words. He was a comfortable distance away from her now, but not so far that his words would be inaudible. What was he going to say? "I'm a fool"? "I'm still hopelessly in love you even though circumstance speaks against it"? No!

"—sorry," he finally decided. He looked down bashfully, which was a great habit of his when he was a five-year-old boy and his mother was introducing him to people whom he had no desire to speak with. Elizabeth didn't reply for some time afterwards. What was he sorry for? Was he sorry for having ever loved her? Was he sorry for his impropriety? Was he sorry that she refused him?

"There's nothing to be sorry for," she replied hesitantly, though her voice carried farther than she had thought it would, and though she hardly believed it. Then, when no reply was met with, thoughtfully added: "This will all amount to nothing in the end. I dare say we shan't even remember it ten years hence." Perhaps this was not such a thoughtful thing; it was more of Elizabeth's wish: and in speaking it aloud she hoped it would be made more tangible.

"You have little faith in the constancy of men," he said mournfully.

"No indeed," she protested, "I have great faith in the constancy of men; but more than that, I have faith in the sense of men. Men will not trouble themselves with loving one whose love it is impossible for them to obtain—where there is no hope. And once they realize the hopelessness of this love, it shall not even take them a week to get the thought out of their heads."

"You presume to know much about men, considering you are not one yourself. And these truths you speak of do not apply to women?" Mr. Darcy wasn't quite sure what he was about in contradicting Elizabeth; but it agitated him severely that she should imagine that his love for her was as changeable as the direction of the wind.

"No, they do not apply to my sex. Women aren't logical creatures—with sensibilities, but without sense. Man's love, in my experience, has regard to—probability." As she said this, she thought of Mr. Newbury and his capricious love for her.

"'Love' and 'sense' have never been synonymous in anybody's mind: quite the contrary, in fact."

"I can't possibly decipher your meaning," said Elizabeth, though rather fearing that she did understand him than fearing she didn't. Mr. Darcy felt that he was being taunted, and was not wholly appreciative of this feeling.

"I only mean that love has no regard with respect to likelihood, nor does it consult sense. It just does whatever it bloody well pleases, as I had suspected you may have noticed. It doesn't fade away like the morning dew, which seems to be your presumption, madam. But I shall not remain to vex you any longer. Good day."

And he abruptly turned and began to walk away, highly annoyed. It was only about halfway back to the house that he realized that his anger was in no way justified. It was all a silly conversation; whatever she thought ought to have been inconsequential to him. _Ought to have been_! Why, he was no better than he was several hours previous! And he felt immeasurably guilty by the time he was ascending the steps to Pemberley House, in supposing that he had upset her more. It was a foolish thing that he had spoken to her at all, so soon after his disastrous inability to contain his emotions. It was a foolish thing that he had ever proposed to her!—a foolish thing that he had ever fallen in love with her at all, really! But what other kind of love is there than a fool's?

He walked into the parlor with the impulse to do something rash—what he thought he ought to do, he hadn't yet planned. But when he threw open the door his plans were thwarted upon finding that Georgiana was already awaiting him, with a bottle of whiskey in her hand and a glass on the table. She was typically opposed to his unfortunate habit of turning to drink when faced with a dilemma; but she realized this was no time to quarrel with him now. She had only the intention of being accommodating. And Mr. Darcy probably would have found it very strange right away that she was situated in such a manner, seemingly anticipating his disappointment, if he had been less in an unpleasant mood. With a sigh, Georgiana poured the amber liquid into the waiting glass and handed it to him as he approached.

"I'm very sorry, Brother," she said mournfully as he stared into the glass he held before his eyes, expressionless.

"How did you know?" he asked finally. Georgiana, who had been anticipating this too, handed him the note which Elizabeth had given to her, and took the glass from him so that he might read it, and with the hope that he might not want any of it after all.

His eyes quickly scanned over the note. He could not but feel slightly sick to his stomach upon learning that if he would have only gone to her the day before—but, he reminded himself, even then, she may have still rejected him. But what if she wouldn't have! If he would have had the prospect of reliving the past several days, he surely would have seized it and thrown himself at Elizabeth's feet at the first possible opportunity. But alas! It was not to be. There was the truth written in that lady's hand plainly before him: she was engaged to this Mr. Clough, and she was happy. And shouldn't he have been happy too? He could not but think that

_Love seeketh not itself to please,_

_Nor for itself hath any care,_

_But for another gives its ease,_

_And builds a heaven in hell's despair._

And perhaps this was so, when viewed in one light. But this was not the light with which his love was being viewed. It was another, which stated

_Love seeketh only Self to please,_

_To bind another to its delight,_

_Joys in another's loss of ease,_

_And builds a hell in heaven's despite._+

He could think of naught but how his happiness, his prospects, and even his life, apparently, had been destroyed by the ominous Mr. Clough. Had he known how much misery that gentleman would make him the object of when Mr. Darcy had fixed his eyes upon him, he surely would not have been so composed and so indifferent. He had been so preoccupied in convincing himself that he ought to marry Elizabeth that he had not thought that he would need to convince _her_. As he turned to face his sister, he could read the signs of earnest distress on her face: and he couldn't bear it. He couldn't bear dear Georgiana being perplexed over _his_ misfortunes.

"My dear, you had better go," he said wearily, placing the note back into her hand. She silently acquiesced, picking up the bottle and glass and preparing to quit the room.

"No: leave that there," he added, gesturing to the whiskey. Georgiana only set them down upon the table and left without another word.

Georgiana did feel suppressed by the circumstances surrounding her as she paced down the hall. Her head hung low, her own happiness inevitably affected by the utter lack of it within everyone else. Elizabeth would have no wish to remain at Pemberley any longer; she would have to check her words before speaking of her brother before her friend; both would have to conceal their own displeasure and pretend to be joyous of Elizabeth's engagement. It was not a very agreeable thing to do, yet there it was. Who would have guessed that an upcoming marriage would be so bittersweet! It was certainly not the case when Mr. Bingley or Amelia had gotten married; it was an occasion for _real_ celebration.

Georgiana started when she looked up and saw Elizabeth standing only a few meters away from her. They locked eyes, both emanating their melancholy humors. Elizabeth was actually quite pleased to see her friend, even if her expression did not indicate it; for she felt herself desperately in need of advice, and her young friend was the only one from whom she could receive it. They drew closer to each other, and eventually stopped when their proximity was very near. They spoke no words of greeting, but merely hugged each other as one would hug somebody whose mother had just died.

"Come and sit," said Georgiana affably and lead her friend into the study, which was the room most expeditiously reached. They sat next to each other on the sofa, holding each other's hands, and sharing a silence which was not uncomfortable, till Elizabeth broke it by saying:

"Do you think that I made the right decision?"

Georgiana's immediate impulse was to tell her that no, she had made a horrid mistake, and that she had better go and tell her brother she had changed her mind before he became too drunk. But that was not advice; that was fancy: that was what would make the situation more agreeable to herself and her family. So instead her response was:

"It is hard for me to be impartial, considering that I know Fitzwilliam better than anybody in the world, and I have never exchanged a word with Mr. Clough. But if you believe that the latter will make you happier than anybody else, I have no right to advise you against it. In matters such as these, I think you just have to follow your heart."

"That would be easy enough if one's heart was fixed in one position and not floating out in the abyss," muttered Elizabeth to herself, though Georgiana had no trouble hearing this comment.

"Oh Lizzy! This must all be very sudden; very unexpected—" began Georgiana warmly, but she was cut off by an inquiry of Elizabeth's.

"How long have you known?—Known that your brother was in love with me, I mean?"

"I only learnt of it for certain five minutes before you entered the room today; indeed, we were still speaking of it when your entrance was announced."

Elizabeth only nodded as a response, and then excused herself, declaring that she needed to be alone.

* * *

_+The two stanzas quoted are from the poem "The Clod and the Pebble" by William Blake as a part of his 1794 collection, "Songs of Experience"._


	22. Accepting Fate?

**Chapter Twenty-One: Accepting Fate?**

Elizabeth was leaving. It was not only because of the people who resided there, but because of the foul memories contained within the walls and the trees of "that place"; because of the strange sense of knowing; or the strong _feelings_ of knowing, rather. Indeed, Pemberley had entirely lost its charm for Elizabeth. It was hardly that house's fault; but still was it reminiscent of misery to her. By this time, her dear Mr. Clough was already on his way to Leicestershire. It had not taken too much convincing or too farfetched of an excuse to persuade him to hasten their departure to that county, for it had been their intention all along to be married near Northberry, as Mr. Clough's only family was a younger brother at university who had a propensity for saying too little and drinking too much.

The carriage was piled high with her luggage, her cloak was securely fastened round her neck, and her bonnet tied to her head. The only thing left for Elizabeth to do was to bid the Darcys goodbye, and without much hope of seeing them much in the near future, for she could not fathom their heeding the wedding invitation which they would inevitably receive. She would correspond with Georgiana, of course; but she admitted to herself she had not much of a desire to see her face-to-face if her elder brother was a necessary accessory.

She walked over to Georgiana, who was dressed modestly in a primrose frock, and shook hands with her while they exchanged friendly adieus. She then turned to Mr. Darcy, whom she imagined had only made an appearance for propriety's sake. She could hardly bear to exchange with him a look, so she assumed that it was likewise in his case. There was the fresh recollection in every look of those wretched events that one fateful day; there was uneasiness with the mere knowledge that he was nearby. She was convinced that it was not out of anger, hate or scorn that this discomfiture existed; and though she could state what feelings were _not_ associated with it, it was impossible for her to state what feelings _were_. A grave bow and mechanical curtsey were the gestures by which they parted, accompanied by monosyllabic phrases.

Mr. Darcy, at this point, was truly sorry that they had to part on such ill terms; he much rather would have looked upon the love of his life's (for he could still not shake the idea that she was, even if he had somewhat come to terms with her being unattainable) face for perhaps the last time with some mutual feeling of contentment. But he was certain that she wished him ill, just as she was certain he wished her ill, though neither was really the case. What had occurred between them was disastrous, and had either of them been a gossip, almost scandalous. There were two results of it, which almost seem to contradict themselves: they both built a barrier between them and began to tear a veil which had been covering the truth of the nature of their acquaintance. It did not mean that the veil had completely torn: it had only begun to unravel; only glimmers of light were shed upon its subjects, only vague hints at the truth were to be had.

And so Elizabeth turned away form her former hosts, climbed into the waiting carriage, and with a strike of a whip, she was leaving. It was only due to some irresistible, inexplicable feeling of nostalgia that she poked her head out of the window and looked back at the shrinking images of Pemberley and its inhabitants. Georgiana was looking away at some distant object; but she was certain that Mr. Darcy looked straight at her, as he had been unable to do for the days following his proposal. She wanted to look away; it was almost too much for her: but somehow she managed to stare unblinkingly at his silhouette illuminated by the morning light till it was out of sight.

"Sometimes I am sorry that I ever proposed going to Leicestershire," were Mr. Darcy's first words to his sister once the carriage bearing Elizabeth Bennet had wheeled out of sight. Georgiana looked up at him sadly. "But then I remember what a good friend she has made you, and then I am not sorry at all."

"Oh, Fitzwilliam!" cried Georgiana with gravity as she affectionately caressed his arm; "It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all!"

"Except that I never gained anything, and thus had nothing to lose," thought Mr. Darcy privately as he escorted his sister into the entrance hall. Georgiana then parted from him in the hall with the intention of practicing a song on the harp. She could not bear to look at the pining expression on his face any longer, even if he denied its being there, or his feeling anything of that nature.

Mr. Darcy continued on through the empty hallway alone. He genuinely believed that he could accept Elizabeth's engagement to Mr. Clough. He had gotten on eight and twenty years without her at his side—he could manage eight and twenty years more. He had always had the ability to live without her: perhaps he didn't _want_ to; but he had only fooled himself when it had become his belief that her presence was a necessary to his existence. Yes, he could accept it—he just needed to be certain of one thing first. With a sudden idea which he hoped with provide him with some closure, he scribbled out a hasty note to his sister and was off.

* * *

Elizabeth was welcomed home with open arms by her family, which was an event helping her spirits that were greatly lacking in enthusiasm considering her circumstances. Jane and her husband, as well as Amelia and hers, were due to arrive in a fortnight's time; and she was certain that both of those ladies would also add to her cheerfulness. Sarah, whose vanity was more disposed to spoil her step-daughters than herself, had already a great many suggestions for Elizabeth's trousseau. Lydia was all envy and jealousy, and thus less agreeable than usual; and while Kitty attempted to lighten Lydia's heart by elaborating on the tantalizing prospect of bridesmaid's dresses, these were mostly in vain. Mary had queued up a long list of philosophical things to say to her sister, and Mr. Bennet was as happy as he could be with the prospect of parting from his favorite daughter. Herbert was wondering what all the fuss about weddings was, as it was only sitting for an extended period of time in a church, and then being stuck with some unpleasant person of the opposite sex (for people of the opposite sex were always unpleasant, and especially sisters) for the rest of your days.

Mr. Clough made as charming a fiancé as he had been a suitor, complete with endearing but generic phrases and chivalry. Mr. Clough's committing an impropriety was about as likely as it was for a carp to take up flying. Elizabeth, as well as the rest of the Bennet household, felt a great tenderness towards this man, and doubtless he would make a very good husband and brother-in-law. He was everything that was desirable, what with his good looks and well-bred manners, and everybody liked him. Elizabeth could easily comprehend her spending the rest of her days with this man, and whiling away the time very agreeably, and not having much of a regret in her mind for doing so. She did not think Mr. Clough was _irresistible_: but this was not a required trait in a husband. She wasn't even sure if she knew what irresistible was, for she could think of no instances where this quality could be met with in a man; at least, if she did believe herself to have some notion of it, it was more of her simply "knowing" or "having a strong feeling" as to what it might have been.

It was a fine day in early March, a little less than a week before Elizabeth and Mr. Clough's scheduled marriage, that they took a walk through Wearham. This was not an uncommon event, as two young lovers are fain to take long walks with only the other for companionship—after all, two's company, but three's a crowd. The town's gossips had squeezed as much as they could out of the announcement of their engagement; but it has lost its zest, so Elizabeth and her fiancé could walk about in public arm-in-arm without raising much speculation.

It goes without saying that Mr. Newbury and Elizabeth encountered each other as little as possible since the former's rejected proposal to the latter, so Elizabeth was somewhat alarmed when she saw none other than Mr. Newbury approaching from the opposite direction. What was even more perplexing to her was not whose gaze he averted, but whose he solicited: for she was certain he looked directly at Mr. Clough and smiled. Not a smile which would indicate pure or genuine happiness, but more of a smirk. Elizabeth really could not bear the thought of Mr. Newbury's wishing her future husband ill, and was greatly offended by this gaze. She was most eager to pass him, and shut out every thought of him from her mind; but instead, Mr. Clough said to her:

"I shall be with you again in a moment, my dear, but I have just thought of something very pressing which I must tend to."

And before any further inquiries could be made, he had detached his arm from his fiancée's and was walking away into the crowd. Elizabeth immediately turned, and was surprised that she saw him having a tête-à-tête conversation with none other than Mr. Newbury. She could not make out what words were being exchanged; but just seeing them converse was enough to distress her. Was Mr. Newbury slandering her to her sweetheart? Was Mr. Clough reprimanding him for his tacit mocking of their relationship? Whatever it was, she did not think that it could be anything pleasant: and she was relieved when her favorite gentleman rejoined her.

"Was that Mr. Newbury you were just speaking with?" asked Elizabeth with feigned indifference.

"Indeed it was," replied her companion; "it was he whom I had needed to speak with—for business matters."

Mr. Clough was in no way ill-tempered, but Elizabeth had noticed he had a great distaste in discussing his "business matters". And whenever she asked about them, he would always make some comment on how he was probably boring her with details, and that ladies do not generally take great pleasure in discussing the price of tea in Austria. So she said no more on the subject, thinking that it was not impossible that he should have some sort of business with Mr. Newbury—after all, Mr. Newbury was a clerk, Mr. Clough was a businessman, and Wearham was a small town, so it was almost inevitable that they should cross paths. Only she, who admittedly harbored some resentment against the man, would notice such a subtle smirk as she had observed!

Soon the couple was headed back to Northberry, where Mr. Clough completed his daily habit of staying till after dinner, and then took his leave. By this day Mr. and Mrs. Bingley were comfortably housed within the walls of Northberry Park till after their sister's wedding; and it was a situation which provided great comfort to both Elizabeth and Jane, who had never been accustomed from being so long away from each other. The sisters almost felt as if it was all as it had been, when one was not married and the other was not engaged. Mr. Bingley, though very fond of his wife and not wishing to be ignored, did not discourage the attention Jane lavished upon Elizabeth. He was certain that if he had had such a close relationship with his own sister Louisa, he would have behaved quite similarly in preparation for her wedding. As it was, he was very used to the atmosphere of being in a house filled with Bennets from his experience when they had all been at Hertfordshire, so he was not uncomfortable to be left in the company of his wife's family.

"Good morning, Charles!" said Kitty kindly upon his finding her alone in the drawing-room the morning proceeding the aforementioned encounter with Mr. Newbury. She set aside her work, showing that she was not averse to some friendly conversation with her brother-in-law.

"Good morning Kitty," replied Mr. Bingley with equal jollity, taking up the chair across from her.

"So, what do you think of this business of a wedding? Will you be glad to have Mr. Clough as a brother?" Elizabeth's wedding was the subject upon the tip of everyone's tongue, and almost universally discussed.

"Oh, weddings are always very agreeable! Mr. Clough's manners are very pleasing—I think him to be a very good man. No doubt your sister shall be very happy with him, and I shall be likewise."

"Yes, that is exactly what I think. Mr. Clough always takes care to pay particular attention to everyone, which is a quality I don't think is commonly met with. I'm just surprised that Lizzy is no more taken with him than we are." As she said this, Kitty thought back to a brief conversation she had had with Sarah; and though it was all spoken in jest, she could not help but wonder behind her step-mother's meaning, as she had a way of assiduously dissecting her words.

"What do you mean?" asked Bingley with a slight frown. He had never been much in the way of observing people's behavior himself, so he did not feel himself in the right to either agree with or dismiss this observation.

"It is just that, she does not seem as wild about him as, for example, you were for Jane—or even as wild about him as she was before we left for Hertfordshire, though you would know nothing of that. You would speak of Jane or at least allude to her with every other word when you were engaged. But I suppose not all attachments are the same. It just seems to me she could have been just as likely to marry your friend, or any other man of her acquaintance for that matter, as Mr. Clough."

Mr. Bingley thought that this was a very interesting thing to say, and only said that it would be a very difficult thing to achieve for Elizabeth's affection to be greater than his own for his darling wife. They then began to speak of more superficial things, and they whiled away the time most agreeably before the rest of the family began to trickle in.

* * *

Wedding invitations had been sent, and subsequently received by those to whom they were addressed. One such was received by the Darcys of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Georgiana held the hot-pressed sheet of paper in her hand, her eyes scanning the neatly-written calligraphy before setting it down beside her. Her brother at that moment walked through the door, looking slightly disheveled from trekking into Lambton while the wind blew considerably hard. Georgiana observed that he seemed to be having some sort of business or other there more often than he usually did, and she thought it rather suspicious that he avoided giving any particulars about the nature of his visits into the little town. She raised her brow as he sat down, and then laid out the invitation before him.

Mr. Darcy's idea had not given him the closure that he had wanted, to say the least; for he was slightly nettled by the results yielded, and was rather regretting executing his idea at all. However, it had been done, and he had formulated some consolations for himself which had begun to take effect, and his anxiety had been steadily decreasing. Indeed, he was quite determined to give it up all together, and go on as he had before. There was no use in lingering or fretting over the past; he was convinced that only when he had achieved absolute acceptance of the idea that his dreams (which he now labeled as "unpleasant") would subside. Their frequency had dissipated over the past weeks, but they were by no means gone.

Yet, as he picked up the invitation, there was the past staring him directly in the face! Well, he was not certain as to why Georgiana had shown it to him at all, for they were certainly not obliged to go. Considering all that had past between them, it would probably be quite a surprise if they _did_ turn up, rather than if they _didn't_. He put it back down and looked at his sister inquisitively.

"I think that we should go," said Georgiana placidly, taking the sheet of paper up in her hands again and looking it over with what seemed to be satisfaction. Mr. Darcy inwardly cringed at the idea, and immediately contradicted her wish.

"Why not?" entreated Georgiana with a slight frown; "You have said yourself that you are quite over her; and what could be better closure than to witness the event of her marriage itself?"

Mr. Darcy did heed his sister's words, and after several moments' consideration thought that perhaps this _was_ the closure that he had been seeking out all along. He would see Elizabeth as Mrs. Clough, and perhaps be finally able to cut the remaining strings of his heart which were still attached to her. And that thought aside, he could not but recall and repent their stony words of adieu—though he could not repent their parting _glance_, for he _had_ been affected by her gazing back at him from the carriage window, as vain and hopeless as it all seemed. What would be the harm in seeing her for one last time as Miss Bennet?

"You're right," he said in thoughtful acquiescence; "we should go."

* * *

_I like this chapter much better than the last two, which were rather icky; but those things had to happen. And thanks to everybody who has been leaving reviews! If you need something to talk about in them, I'd be interested to know what you think about the balance between dialogue/not-dialogue. I never know if I have too much dialogue, too little, or have reached a happy medium._


	23. Shutting Out Displeasure

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Shutting Out Displeasure **

It was the day of Mr. Bingley and Kitty's tête-à-tête that Amelia and her husband brought tidings of Mr. Darcy and his sister's arrival in Wearham so that they might attend the wedding. Elizabeth hid her mortification at this news the best she could; she reconciled herself to the idea by thinking it would be a very nice thing to have her dear friend Georgiana at her wedding. There was, of course, the displeasing prospect of meeting with Mr. Darcy; but this too she could console herself over, for she would eventually have to be able to look at him again without remembering that he was once in love with her, that he had once asked her to marry him.

This meeting did occur between them the following day, and it was not as unpleasant for Elizabeth as she had anticipated it to be. As one gets used to stains in the carpet or scratches in the windowpane and becomes no longer agitated as to its origins, one can get used to having a disappointed lover. Mr. Darcy, however, experienced quite a different sensation. While he had been carefully building up the walls around his heart, it seemed that one glance at Elizabeth blew it all down like an angry tempest. He recalled what he had learnt in the time lapsing between the last time he had seen her and the present, though he had since dismissed it as having any merit, and suddenly the fire was once more stoked. He did still have, however, the ability to hold his tongue: and so he was able to converse coolly with the one who had scorned him and her recognized lover, bearing in mind that he would probably have another opportunity to speak with Miss Bennet before she became Mrs. Clough one last time.

Before, I alluded to a veil which concealed the truth, and which had been torn due to Mr. Darcy's proposal. It seemed that Mr. Darcy's half of this veil had now almost entirely fallen off, and a reasonable consequence of this was that Elizabeth's half would begin to give way.

It was the day of Elizabeth's wedding, and Mr. Darcy had not gotten the desired second meeting that he had counted upon. Elizabeth was making her toilette with Sarah, whose advice as far as grooming was concerned was always appreciated. Indeed, Sarah could pride herself on her step-daughter's appearance, for she looked as heavenly as an angel. She wore a silk gown of peach, with white flowers braided into her hair, which had been curled and fell in ringlets down her cheek. Her cheeks were rosy with the faint existence of rouge upon them, and she had pearl earrings and delicate jewelry to adorn her neck and wrists. Her dark eyes glimmered with the prospect of being a bride, and she felt that she was at last beginning to become the heartfelt delight that a woman soon to be married is expected to be. Sarah kissed her brow, giving her the warmest assurances that she looked very well. And as Elizabeth peered at herself through the looking-glass, she could not very well contradict her.

A knock at the door startled the felicitous mother and daughter, and then entered a maidservant. She looked a little alarmed, but attempted to soften the blow of her look by commenting on how well her mistress looked.

"A gentleman has come to see you, Miss Bennet, on what he assures me is the most urgent business," explained the maid. Elizabeth, under the nervous apprehension that Mr. Clough had come with some foul news, asked if the gentleman gave his name. God forbid that his fool of a younger brother had gotten himself into trouble on her wedding day!

"Mr. Darcy, I believe."

"Mr. Darcy?" said Elizabeth, infusing into her tone all of the annoyance she felt at his coming at such a time. What could he possibly have to say to her so soon before her wedding? Of all men, Mr. Darcy! "Turn him away! There can be no occasion for his wanting to speak with me."

The servant silently acquiesced and exited the dressing-room. Sarah, who had inevitably observed it all, was rather surprised at the bitter tone that Elizabeth had used when speaking of the gentleman, and didn't think it characteristic of her to order a servant to turn a man away. It must have been something very urgent to bring him to Northberry at this time, as he could not but be aware that she would be in preparation for her wedding.

"Hadn't you have better seen Mr. Darcy, Lizzy? It must have been something very serious indeed to bring him here," scolded Sarah gently.

"Oh! If Mr. Darcy has something serious to say, I do not want to hear it."

Sarah frowned.

"Why is it that you have no compassion for poor Mr. Darcy?"

"Why are we speaking of 'poor Mr. Darcy' when it is my wedding day?" cried Elizabeth bitterly, wanting to change the subject. Sarah, however, was more intuitive than to be thwarted by such an exclamation, and was determined to make sense of it all.

"My dear Lizzy, you know that I only do what I believe is best for you; and I think that you had better tell me why you would not hear Mr. Darcy out. I cannot imagine your refusing to speak with him, or anybody really, who came claiming to have urgent news, unless you had a particular reason for avoiding them. Perhaps, that you fear what the news might be because you have an idea of it?"

"Sarah, what are you implying?" asked Elizabeth in an accusatory manner, crossing her arms like an indignant toddler.

"I want you to tell me why it is that you are avoiding Mr. Darcy. You grimace whenever his name is mentioned; when we saw him and his sister in the street you protested against our going and seeing them; and you came home a week earlier than you had anticipated from Pemberley. My dear, this may have gone unnoticed by everybody else, but I am afraid that it did not escape me."

"I don't see what possible good could come from explaining my scruples with that gentleman."

"You will forgive me if I say something coarse—but if you do not explain, then I shall be left with only my presumptions, and you very well know that my presumptions can be a little bit on the ridiculous side. But there has only ever been one circumstance which has caused me to behave like the little girl you are being now aside from when I _was_ a little girl; and I shall be inclined to think the same thing of you if you leave all of these ambiguities for me to blindly piece together."

"And what is this 'circumstance' to which you refer?"

"I was a girl of four and twenty, and quite on my way to becoming an old spinster: and I was helplessly in love with your father, though I did not think that he would ever give me a second glance, let alone marry me. In consequence, I avoided him assiduously, and could not bear the thought of him in an attempt to put him out of my mind. You would not want me to be thinking such things of you, would you?" Sarah did not seriously think that Elizabeth was in love with Mr. Darcy, but she thought that this would be a sufficient taunt to get her to confess the truth. Elizabeth scoffed.

"I have never heard anything more ridiculous in my life, Sarah! It would be very inconvenient for me to be in love with Mr. Darcy, considering that today is my wedding, and he is not the bridegroom," was her response.

"Very inconvenient indeed; but love, in my experience, isn't necessarily convenient."

This conversation was becoming too reminiscent of the one that Elizabeth had had with Mr. Darcy in a clearing outside Pemberley one bleak February day, and she was thus further upset by her step-mother's words.

"Yes, I know, love does whatever it bloody well pleases," she said, gritting her teeth.

"You have called me ridiculous, yet you have denied nothing," Sarah pointed out, all but ignoring her last comment, as its gravity could not possibly be understood by her.

"I thought you were a little more perceptive than that, Sarah. And now this discussion is over." Elizabeth stood up and exited the dressing-room swiftly, and not without harboring some anger. She had not time to engage in such petty talk with Sarah; she had a wedding to go to—her own wedding. Today she was a bride! That thought did cheer her a little bit, as well as the encouraging comments she received from her family who awaited her in the drawing-room. Their departure to the small chapel just outside of Wearham was imminent, and Elizabeth was feeling slightly anxious on top of her mild agitation.

"I'm going to take a bit of a walk," she said, approaching the door. She was met with protests from Kitty that she would tear her dress and from Jane who thought it might tire her out too much, but she ignored both of these. She was convinced all she needed was a little fresh air, and she would be as pleased as ever.

There were the rolling hills that she remembered and loved; there was the pond in the distance; there were the carefully-tilled farms which she had observed for years past. It was relaxing to look back to times where she was less on edge, where her greatest concern was that she would be overwhelmed with boredom and know not how to spend her time. She exhaled a deep breath, keeping diligently to the path so that the hem of her dress might not be muddied. She could almost feel her anxiety wearing away as she went on, and was grateful to the effects of a pleasant morning walk. She refocused her eyes on objects less distant, and it took all of her willpower to keep from falling over. There was Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy had been wandering around Northberry's grounds after being turned away by the maidservant in hopes of coming across any of that place's inhabitants. He had never supposed he would have the good fortune of meeting Elizabeth on the trail, but there she was. He almost forgot the task at hand at first, for his breath caught in his chest. She was the personification of grace and beauty! Oh, if he had ever deceived himself into believing that he did not want her to be his as desperately as the day he had made his foolish proposal, he was deceived no longer! With her adorable look of surprise as she identified him, he could have dropt to his knees and kissed the hem of her dress, begging like a lovesick puppy that she reconsider and make him her husband instead.

"Miss Bennet," was what he said instead with grave solemnity. Before she could turn away, he added: "I have been wandering round the grounds in hopes of meeting you or one of your family members. I would very much desire that you read this letter immediately." In his hand he did indeed have clasped a letter, which was clearly addressed to Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

"You had better not give it to me, for I shall not read it."

Mr. Darcy was even a little surprised by the sound of pure loathing in her voice, which did indeed taint his idea that she was an angel descendant from the heavens. He could not wonder at her being displeased with his presence; but had he really done anything worthy of making him such an object of apparent hatred? What did she think would be contained in that letter?

"I assure you, madam, you will want to read it, if you will only look at it—or I shall explain it to you now, if you would prefer—"

"I don't know what sort of propaganda you intend to feed me, but I assure you that I will not eat it."

Mr. Darcy flushed hotly with agitation and snapped:

"'Tis not propaganda!—and it is most certainly not some renewal of my love, if _that_ was what you were thinking!"

Though Elizabeth felt that she had endured quite a bit of abuse from both Mr. Darcy and from Sarah, but these words seemed to cut to her particularly. _She_ was insulted that he thought she was expecting a renewal of his sentiments, and _he_ was insulted because he thought she was expecting a renewal of his sentiments. But the more she thought about it, the more she wondered _what_ she had expected. If not that—what could he possibly have to say? She was a little curious—but no—she would not listen to his cant—she was marrying Mr. Clough.

"I assure you it was the furthest thing from my thoughts," she hissed, though she inwardly confessed to herself that this was not entirely true, and it was actually not true at all; "And now I will bid you good morning, sir." And she turned on her heel and marched back into the house without a look back.

As Mr. Darcy stood fixedly on the trail, with his letter still firmly grasped in his hand, he realized that he had gotten a little too passionate in his entreaties that she read his letter. There seemed no hope for its being read by her now; so with a slightly sickened feeling in his stomach, he thus left Northberry Park in favor of preparing for attending a wedding. On his trek back he reminded himself that he had previously dismissed the gravity of the contents of his letter, and that he really had little reason to doubt Mr. Clough's intentions for Elizabeth being genuine. Once he had assured himself of this, he subconsciously chanted to himself: "forget her, forget her, forget her!"


	24. According to Plan

**Chapter Twenty-Three: According to Plan **

Attendees of the wedding were assembled in the pews of the chapel. What with its stone walls and leaded windows it had somewhat of a solemn air about it, like what is felt when in the company of an aged man whose eyes are dimmed and whose actions are a constant reminder of what was done in former days. Roses adorned various nooks and crannies, and soft fabrics were spread throughout in an attempt to conceal the forlornness of the church, but this was about as effective as placing a shining jewel atop an old and dusty wardrobe. Nonetheless, the pews were filled to capacity, and the gentle murmur of voices could be heard echoing throughout the room with its vaulted ceilings and gothic arches. The general consensus was that it was a happy occasion, and so the lively chatter reflected this—with the exception being Mr. Darcy, who sat stiffly beside his sister and thought of all of his fancies and wishes, and recognized that this day was a reflection of how that had all amounted to nothing.

Mr. Darcy, like the chapel, seemed more fit for a funeral than a wedding; but his spirits were slightly softened by the appearance of his good friend Charles Bingley, whom he had not much occasion to see, for he was a married man. They shook hands jovially, though with most of this joviality on the part of Mr. Bingley, who could sincerely rejoice in his sister-in-law's paved path to happiness, whereas Mr. Darcy more stood for the principle "one man's meat is another man's poison". He did, however, manage to smile, as it was impossible to not be influenced by Mr. Bingley's consistent good humor.

"And how d'ye do, my man? What has occupied your time these past months?"

"Oh, nothing of consequence," said Mr. Darcy thoughtfully, for he supposed that it really _was_ nothing of consequence, given the event that was to occur in a very short period of time.

"What? You haven't had to chase away any of Georgiana's suitors?"

"Any young man with sense is afraid enough of me to keep away from her; and therefore none that do dare to come within range can have any sense, and I can't have my sister marrying a man without sense," he said dryly. Bingley chuckled good-humoredly, and then greeted Georgiana, who directed many a sly look towards her elder brother for his comment.

It did not escape Georgiana that her brother had not entirely given Elizabeth up. Though he did a fine job of masking his true sentiments with well-meaning jibes such as the one aforementioned, she had the opportunity of observing him in less-guarded moments, when a sad, mourning expression enveloped his face, and when he was not disposed to speak or joke. She was indeed sorry that things had not worked out so as to leave everyone with mutual happiness, but she was not so naïve so as to be ignorant of the ways of Nature. What mistaken sentiment she did feel, however, was that it was doing her brother much good to be attending this wedding, when in reality he was only reminded of what he had never gained and what he had never lost.

The wedding party was now assembling in the front of the chapel, with the ladies in their smart lavender dresses and the vicar dressed in his long robes, preparing to wed the young couple whose arrival was now imminent. Sarah Bennet and her husband sat restlessly at the front, the former sorry that she had quarreled with the young bride lately and the latter sorry that he would now be seeing much less of Elizabeth as a married woman. It was Jane who then appeared beneath the doorway, with a look of slight exasperation which did catch the attention of the wide majority of the room. She approached her father and step-mother at a hasty pace, whispering to them some news which had their faces growing as expressive as their daughter's. They instantly stood and exited the room with Mrs. Bingley, with no placid look becoming them. As the heavy door swung shut behind them, the noise in the room immediately elevated as people conjectured as to what had been the cause of such alarm. Was the bride ill? Had some pressing business of the bridegroom's prevented his attendance that day? Or, more likely: had her dress been torn?

Mr. Bingley was vexed that his wife was vexed, though he knew not the cause of her distress. He was encouraged, however, by Mr. Darcy and Georgiana to discover what was the matter; and he needed no further encouragement than this, for he had soon set off with the intention of uncovering the mystery which had lately prevailed itself upon him. Outside, he saw Jane standing very close to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, and could make out some of their conversation.

"We oughtn't speak a word of it to her; we had better not cause any unnecessary alarm," said Sarah. This was met with murmurs of acquiescence from her companions.

"Indeed, that was what I thought, Sarah—at least, not till we know of anything for certain," responded Jane in the same loud whisper. Mr. Bingley was then seen by the trinity, and his wife gestured for him to come over.

"Now, what is this that has occurred, my dear?" he asked his Jane with appropriate husbandly concern.

Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy and many of the other guests were fidgeting uncomfortably in their seats as they waited for some sort of event to occur which would explain the discomfiture exhibited by the bride's family. The crowd's curiosity was only piqued when they saw the conversation of the bridesmaids, who had been previously standing about so elegantly, become more excited, and soon they too had departed the room in order to discover what seemed to be delaying the beginning of the wedding. Mr. Darcy had half-expected Bingley to return and impart his findings with him, but no such event occurred: he and his sister were obliged to sit with the rest of the ignorant guests for what seemed a longer stretch of time than it actually was.

Then, the desired event occurred: a door was flung open, and the bride herself had entered the room, though apparently in a flurry of emotion. Her apparel, which had previously accentuated her beauty, now only drew attention to her pale and despairing expression; she looked mortified, afraid, angry, disappointed, all at once. Elizabeth's entrance, with all of her exasperated turnings of the head as if she were looking for somebody frantically, was shortly proceeded by that of a lady whom Mr. Darcy recognized as his cousin Amelia. The latter seized the former's arm, drawing her closer to herself and saying some words to her which were inaudible to Mr. Darcy. He was quite certain that Elizabeth was crying now, though he was at too far a distance to distinguish any dampness about her eyes: but her expression indicated it. The crowd was now deathly quiet, as each set of ears in the vicinity was tuned into making out the conversation between the two ladies.

A man stood up. Mr. Darcy, who had the misfortune of sitting behind him, could distinguish nothing about his appearance except that he wore a blue coat, and was rather short and stout. This caught the attention of Elizabeth and her friend, the former directing her gaze at him with absolute disdain, and the latter with mild bewilderment. This, however, did not seem to tame his courage, for he walked down the center of the aisle and approached the bride very decidedly, his countenance expressing that it was the most natural thing in the world for him to do so. He muttered something in low tones to the pair; and Elizabeth, somehow managing to turn paler than she already was, was escorted out of the room by this stranger. Amelia, looking wildly at her departing friend and her companion, quickly quitted the room.

The click of the door marked the beginning of an uproar amongst the crowd. Everybody was now getting up from their seats, and eagerly chatting to their neighbor, undoubtedly with the design of learning the details of the conversation which had just occurred. Mr. Darcy could not account for this queer behavior of everyone at all; and Georgiana, seeing a young lady whom she had met during their visit to Leicestershire the preceding August, quickly began to talk with her in earnest but inaudible conversation in an attempt to be made knowledgeable of the goings-on. Mr. Darcy was indeed perplexed by the noise which filled the room; but more than that, he could not but recall Elizabeth's expression as she had entered the room. Was there to be no wedding that day? With that thought in mind, he felt that he should have been glad of it; he might be spared the pain of seeing Elizabeth married to some strange man; but he found that he was not. Surrounded by the throngs about him probably rejoicing in scandal, he could not be one of them. Instead, he paced across the stone floors and gazed out the window.

Through this window he could see a tree, and beneath this tree there was Elizabeth, and beside Elizabeth there was the mysterious gentleman whom he had witnessed escort her outside. Tears fell freely upon her cheeks, and the previous state of regality and elegance that he had observed in her as she took a stroll about the park was nowhere to be found. And her companion did not seem to be much of a counselor, for _his_ composure was very great, and his sneers Mr. Darcy observed were not taken gracefully by the lady.

As these scene played out before him, Mr. Darcy felt ashamed—not for the mysterious gentleman, but of himself. It had been his desire to have Elizabeth, to make her into some sort of a possession; and when he could not, he had gone off sulking. Why was he sulking? She thought that Mr. Clough would make her happy—and shouldn't _her_ happiness have been enough to elate him? If he had loved her properly, he should have been able to rejoice in her felicity, even if he was not included in it. It was a selfish, parasitic love; and he was humiliated that he had ever indulged in it. But as he recalled her pained expression, and witnessed what had now become uncontrollable sobbing, his self-seeking love for her metamorphosed into something else. Seeing her suffering had some how brought him to realize that she too was a human being, and not an object; she was as much entitled to happiness as he was, even apart from him; she was not one of those queer, fanciful dreams, but something as tangible and real as the clothes on his back.

And with this revelation, he saw the gentleman beside Elizabeth beneath the tree turn away with the same smug look, apparently congratulating himself for something. Had the wretch come to triumph over Elizabeth? It was too nasty a thought, especially when he considered that _he_ might have been that man. He turned away from the window and saw that Georgiana was at his side.

"What has happened, my dear?" he asked her sadly.

"Oh! It is the most dreadful thing!"

* * *

_Earlier _

Elizabeth sat in her solitude in a small room in a small chapel. She had been greatly distressed by her encounter with Mr. Darcy; but now was not the time to fret or to worry. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—the day that she dropt the name of Bennet and became Mrs. Clough. She had, indeed, reconciled herself to it all, despite Mr. Clough not being "irresistible", and despite Sarah's ill-natured remarks. She had built herself into quite a happy mood, really, and was now anxious to have wedding begin rather than anxious because the wedding was going to begin. The looking-glass in this small room allowed her to flatter herself on her appearance; for today she felt herself allowed to praise herself, and to not be afflicted with false modesty. She did look very well; she was a bright blossom amidst a dreary field.

She heard footsteps and the opening of a door which signified somebody's entrance, and she swiftly turned about in her chair to see who it was that had come. She saw that it was none other than her friend Amelia, whose dress of lavender complimented her complexion nicely, and whose hair was curled very similarly as hers was into dark ringlets that framed her face. Her expression, however, which was anything but appropriate for a wedding, quickly sobered Elizabeth's mood.

"I know that something is the matter, Amelia," said Elizabeth, standing.

"I—don't know how I'm going to tell you this—" said her friend in a voice uncharacteristically somber and quiet. It seemed that it had only been minutes since Elizabeth had seen her friend in the jolliest of spirits and speaking with all of the fervor and energy which was her wont. Elizabeth, needless to say, was alarmed by this transformation, and very much wanted to have it accounted for.

"Well, tell me quickly," replied the bride with a little uneasiness in her tone.

"Mr. Clough is not here."

Elizabeth took a few moments to process this, but then immediately declared that such a thing was not possible. It was certainly the time for the wedding to begin—how could he not be there? She immediately supposed there must have been some mistake, some misunderstanding; or perhaps some dilemma had prevented him from coming: indeed, something must have gone terribly array.

"What has happened to him? Has he been injured?"

"Oh Lizzy! They have looked all about town, and he has been seen nowhere. Indeed, we did not want to tell you unless it was necessary; but your father has just returned from visiting the inn, and the innkeeper said that he had left early this morning, and with all of his luggage."

Elizabeth went pale. Why would he have left, without giving notice, and so suddenly? She had heard nothing of this till now; he had spoken of no particular concern of his, nothing that would impede his attendance at the wedding, the previous day. She shook her head violently—it made no sense, she could not possibly believe it.

"It must be a misunderstanding—something very grave indeed must have happened in the night." Elizabeth was beginning to sound frantic now.

Amelia frowned; but before she could make any attempts to console her friend, Elizabeth had darted out of the room. She tore down the hall, thinking that they must all be wrong, that he must have been waiting in the chapel all the while, and they had somehow overlooked it; today was his wedding day! Today was her wedding day! It was not something that you just did not turn up for. She threw open the door, looking around wildly for her fiancé: but he was not there. There was certainly a fair share of people sitting in the pews, but her beloved was not among them. There had been some chatter amongst the crowd, but she noticed now that it had died down: and then Amelia came darting after her.

"My dear," entreated Amelia, "do not do anything too rash; you were probably right, it is probably all some misunderstanding."

"Yes! But he is not here—the bridegroom is not at his own wedding!" cried Elizabeth, tears now streaming down her face. It wasn't fair; why was she being tortured by Fate, by God, in this cruel manner? What had made her deserving to be an object of such humiliation?

What occurred then did not fail to surprise Elizabeth and Amelia. None other than Mr. Newbury stood up in the crowd; and Elizabeth could not help but glare at him. Had he come to triumph over her? However, the desired effect of his being discouraged by her looks did not happen; he continued on approaching them as coolly as he had begun.

"Why is Mr. Newbury coming this way?" asked Amelia confusedly; but as Elizabeth really had no idea herself, she could not give any answer. He now stopped, standing only a few feet before them. His stature was as stiff and imposing as a man of such limited height could be; his expression was haughty and almost amused. If Elizabeth had been offended by his smirking at Mr. Clough, she was most certainly offended by his looks now.

Nothing was going according to plan for Elizabeth. This, however, cannot be said for Mr. Newbury.


	25. Underestimation

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Underestimation **

"Miss Bennet, you had better come with me," said Mr. Newbury, holding out his arm to the distressed young bride, with the same look of amusement and hauteur upon his features.

Elizabeth could really not think of anything more disagreeable than going off with this man, whom she had abhorred for almost as long as she had known him. Curiosity, however, killed the cat: and Elizabeth could not easily resist going with him, especially given his determined countenance and apparent satisfaction. She was really not surprised that he _would_ be satisfied; but she had never supposed that he would display it in such a public way, in a chapel which was indeed filled with people. She hesitantly took his arm, whereupon he smiled that same smirking smile she had detested in him before, and they ascended the aisle to the large pair of doors at its end. Amelia watched it all from a distance without having the slightest clue as to what the vile Mr. Newbury wanted with her dear friend; and upon observing their exit she did likewise, thinking that this was something she had better inform the rest of the wedding party of.

Elizabeth was led out of the chapel and into the shade of a willow tree, where the day was warm and pleasant, apparently in spite of her. She hastily detached her arm from Mr. Newbury's at the first available opportunity, standing resolutely before him, both wanting and fearing to know what he had to say. To be sure, she did not think it was anything of consequence; but it was odd that he seemed apparently so eager to speak with her privately. That it was going to be unpleasant, she was equally certain of: but this she was prepared for.

"Miss Bennet," said Mr. Newbury, "You must be wondering where your 'dearest' Mr. Clough is at this moment, since I am sure you are aware he packed up and left at, say, four in the morning."

Elizabeth bit her lip. How had he learnt of it, when she had only so frequently learnt of it herself? Was he taunting her? Either way, the vicious tone of his voice could not be denied: and though she had rejected his love, though she was not his wife, how was it possible all of his tender feelings had been done away with? What had become of the foolish, laughable Mr. Newbury: and where had this seemingly unfeeling monster come from? Mr. Newbury continued:

"You are probably wondering how I have known this, what with my sitting in the church along with the rest of your ignorant wedding guests. You may be very surprised, madam, at how much I do know: I dare say I know more than even your petty little relatives."

She was feeling the full weight of these words, and now tears flowed down her cheeks afresh, as her mind filled with more questions. What an insulting, unfeeling man!

"And you may be surprised to know that I have anticipated this: not for minutes, hours, days; but for months."

Elizabeth finally gathered up the courage to ask: "But how?" which immediately procured a stifled chuckle from her companion.

"I will tell you how. 'Your' Mr. Clough, charming and lovable as you clearly found him, has been, since his first arrival in Leicestershire, been following _my_ orders. I think _you_ have poorly underestimated me: I think that everybody has. You may not know, Miss Bennet, that my father, though wholly unknown to me in his lifetime, left me an inheritance of a hundred thousand pounds. I suppose he finally felt some guilt towards abandoning my mother, poor wretch she is, and thought that something was due to his only son: or perhaps he had no one else to give his money to.

"My mother, though you may see her as a feeble invalid, is not as innocent as she looks: she is the greediest woman _I_ have ever had occasion to meet. When I was younger, every scrap of money that I ever managed to save, she somehow disposed of due to her extravagance: and so when I inherited this large sum of money from my father, I could not very well have her aware of it if I wanted to keep it. A fool and his money are soon parted. So I became a clerk, and lived humbly, though I was really nowhere near as destitute as the neighborhood thought I was. I can't say I'm sorry for it, either: I cannot stand high society, what with everybody putting on their aristocratical airs."

Elizabeth was wondering how all of this history pertained to her, and how it accounted for his anticipating Mr. Clough's sudden departure this day months beforehand, interesting as it was: but now the connection came out.

"So now you cannot really be surprised that I should have a great deal of money to get an old friend out of a scrape. I have known Mr. Clough since I was a boy, and we were always great companions. So when he applied to me for some money, as he had gotten into a bit of debt, I was happy to oblige: that is, if he would do me a favor.

"I remembered the lady who had broken my heart: the lady who had judged me by my clothes and my income; the lady who did not look at me for who I was. That lady, of course, is _you_, Miss Bennet."

"I did not reject you because of your clothing or your income," protested Elizabeth, her voice cracking and warbling with her tears. But either she spoke quietly enough, or Mr. Newbury simply chose not to hear her: for he did not acknowledge her words at all.

"Mr. Clough had always been a charming man. He was everything that I was not, really: handsome, tall, and amiable; and as I read his letter one night, I thought to myself: 'This is a man whom Miss Bennet would fall for'. I knew directly what favor he would have to do for me. All he needed to do was make you fall in love with him, and then not show up for your wedding day: and heartbreak, humiliation, all of that _you_ would experience, just as _I_ had upon your rejecting me. It was not a deal the chap could resist: I would pay him ten thousand pounds, which you must admit is more than your dowry is."

Elizabeth did not want to believe it. Mr. Clough and Mr. Newbury had been working together all that time! It did explain why they had been speaking with each other the previous week: but no, it could not be!

"You are a liar. Mr. Clough left Leicestershire when I went to Hertfordshire, and the neither of us thought we would meet again, till I happened to be staying with some friends in Derbyshire."

"Oh-ho, don't be too presumptuous, missy! Mr. Clough could not very well stay in Leicestershire all that time, for all 'business' does end, and he would surely begin to raise suspicion. It was a damned inconvenient thing you alighted to Hertfordshire with some friends; but even if you would not have gone to Derbyshire, I assure you Mr. Clough would have had some 'business' in Leicestershire again. But really, I cannot think of things working out more smoothly: after all, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and I certainly think that was the case for you."

This all made too much sense for Elizabeth to readily deny it now. What Mr. Newbury said coincided with events that she knew had occurred: and it seemed much too elaborate for him to have made it up. She had been cheated, duped, conspired against! She began to cry harder than ever now as she recognized the truth of the contemptible man's words.

"You, madam, have been jilted," were Mr. Newbury's final words to her before he turned away smugly, and marched with the some pronounced steps away from her.

She spent some minutes sobbing loudly, unable to do anything else. When she looked up, she saw that the doors had been flung open, and people were filing out. Oh! What they would say about her! She saw that some stopped to observe her; to pity her: but she did not want their pity. She only wanted it to all be undone, for it to all be forgotten about: but she very well knew that no such thing would occur. It was then that she saw Mr. Darcy and his sister as one in the crowd. She could not keep herself from staring at him in her realization that it must have taken no small amount of willpower to go there: and he was apparently conscious of this, for his eyes turned toward her, and they glanced at each other, only for a moment; and then he and Georgiana were gone, gone out of sight.

She realized that _there_ was true goodness. Perhaps he was not as universally charming as Mr. Clough, but there was somebody who behaved nobly. He had loved her, even though he knew no good of her; he had not resented her, or sought out revenge on her, as had Mr. Newbury; in fact, he had tried to save her from the fate she was suffering! She could not help but feel that he knew of something in Mr. Clough's behavior that was not quite right—why else would he have brought that letter? Why else would he have come knocking at the door of the woman who had scorned him with 'urgent news'? She had behaved so abominably towards him! She repented every foul word she had said to him or spoke of him. She did not fully understand _why_ she had been so cruel; but she knew that she was sorry for it. What could be a more selfless act than trying to assist somebody who had insulted him, somebody to whom he owed nothing, from whom he could gain nothing! At this point, Elizabeth gave Mr. Darcy a lot more credit than Mr. Darcy gave himself.

Upon Elizabeth's recognition of her being a fool, and of her judging people too much by appearances, by their first impressions, she saw that her friends and family were approaching her: the people who _truly_ loved her. She had misjudged Mr. Newbury, Mr. Clough, and perhaps most unforgivably, Mr. Darcy. Indeed, the first of these had humbled her!

She collapsed into Jane's arms with the first available opportunity, crying on her shoulder just as she had done when they had months before thought of their dead mother who had been shunned from this world, just as she had done when she was a girl of five and had seen her mother's cold, lifeless face cradled in her pillow. And now it seemed that the only of her three suitors who had really loved her, the only one whose intentions had been true and good, she would never see again.

* * *

_Come on, you guys didn't really think I'd have some random guy propose to Elizabeth at the beginning of this story for nothing, did you? Anyway, you may have realized that since this chapter explains almost everything, there isn't much plot left. So just one more chapter after this one that wraps everything up. I wrote an epilogue as well, but I think it kind of sucks, so I'll only post that if a lot of people want me to.  
_


	26. Discarding the Veil

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Discarding the Veil**

Once she had cried all of her tears away, Elizabeth was obliged to explain the circumstances which had been described to her by Mr. Newbury: and so she did. The shock of her family and friends was nearly as great as her own had been, and their disbelief actually surpassing it. They would not, could not believe that Mr. Clough would do such a thing: not after he had simpered, wooed, and made love to them all. A week had gone by without any whisper of Mr. Clough before the rest of the Bennet family would believe it; and then they had to satisfy themselves with doting on poor Elizabeth, and consoling her when she inevitably fell into a glum mood. Even Lydia was sweet and sympathetic; even Mary could set aside her book to pour her sister's tea; even Herbert could dismiss all of his assumptions about the horrors of marriage and be sorry that his sister's had fallen through.

Sympathy, however, was not what Elizabeth wanted. She could not very well tell her family so, for it was all they could do. What she wanted was change; what she wanted was a new beginning; what she wanted was to close this chapter of her life and begin anew.

It was about a fortnight since that horrible day. Horrible, at least, it was called by everybody. But let us not forget that on that horrible day Elizabeth was properly humbled; on that horrible day Mr. Darcy realized how vain and selfish he had been; on that horrible day the men who had cheated and deceived Elizabeth ceased their cheating and undeceived her. Why is the day that a dam bursts any worse than the days beforehand where the water was building up, where the wall was losing its strength, where the architects drew up a poor design? Every cloud has a silver lining—or is it that every silver lining has a cloud?

Anyway, it was a fortnight since that _memorable_ day: whether it can be deemed "horrible" or not is all a matter of perspective. Elizabeth was having one of those rare moments where she was alone: where she was not being waited on hand and foot by her loving family, or receiving calls from neighbors where they expressed their sorrow for Elizabeth's predicament (though this does not mean that their intentions were any purer than Mr. Clough's). She was sitting on a bench in the garden, and looking out at the curve of the hill upon which the apple orchard was situated. Orange sunlight dappled through the leafless branches of apple trees; dead leaves carpeted the ground. Elizabeth was suddenly arrested by the recollection of a day when young Miss Darcy sobbed on her brother's shoulder on the bench on which she sat, and when she wandered off and away to the field beyond the orchard, wondering what it was that had upset Georgiana. Oh, how she did understand what had upset Georgiana now! What sort of a feeling it was to be deceived in love!

She picked up a twig beside her, idly brandishing it about. She didn't know how much longer she was going to be able to bear her life, the way it had turned out now. She would be forever known as "the poor girl whose fiancé stood her up at the altar"; and it was not a label which she was entirely willing to wear. Mr. Newbury had indeed done well. A slap or a punch, the pain is only temporary: the stain of a memory, not only in Elizabeth's own mind but in the minds of everybody in Wearham, however, does not so easily fade.

The rustling of the garden's leafy rug caught Elizabeth's attention, and she saw Lady and Lord Fitzwilliam approaching her. Her solitude was short-lived, but she was not entirely sorry to see her friends. It had been upon Amelia's insistence that they stay to console Elizabeth; but Leicestershire was no longer her home: she belonged with her husband in London. Elizabeth stood, tossing the twig away.

"Oh Lizzy, I was just hoping that we would find you here!" said Amelia, flying into her friend's arms and hugging her tightly.

"I suppose you are leaving soon?" asked Elizabeth sadly, stepping away from Amelia's embrace after several moments.

"My dear, we must. But I was hoping that this would not mean good-bye between me and you, for Frederick and I would very much like your coming to stay with us in London."

"You are most welcome, being such a close friend of Amelia's," seconded the affable Lord Fitzwilliam. "I am sure that a change of scene would be very beneficial."

"Yes! It would do you a world of good!" cried Amelia. Elizabeth, however, did not need such encouragement: she immediately accepted. She could think of nothing better than going away to London, where hardly anybody knew of her quandary, and where she could stay till the gossiping died down. Scandal is delighted in by everyone except those who are involved in it.

* * *

Elizabeth had been spending her time pleasantly in London, what with all its diversions and great size. It wasn't necessarily the best place to take long morning walks, which was something she enjoyed in the country, but nobody went to London for that. She had seen what seemed dozens of plays—at least, enough so that she could hardly keep track of them—and had met many of Amelia's new friends and Lord Fitzwilliam's relatives who lived nearby. Yet, there was one relative of Lord Fitzwilliam's whom she constantly expected to see, but she did not. She wasn't quite sure _why_ she wanted to see him, as it hardly seemed it would do her any good at all; fools don't very often want to cross paths, for it reminds the other that they are a fool themselves.

In Elizabeth's case, however, it was an exception to the rule. It was the first of April; the sunlight melted in through her east-facing bedroom window: and Elizabeth had an irresistible impulse. She immediately got up, dressing herself with unnecessary haste—was her dress green or yellow? She hardly knew. She said good morning to her friends, and ate her breakfast at not a dissimilar pace from how she had dressed.

"I am going to be gone for a while to-day, since we have no engagements," announced Elizabeth; "whether I will be twenty minutes or five hours, I haven't any idea. So you needn't be alarmed."

Amelia and Lord Fitzwilliam begged to know where it was that she would be going, but she would tell them nothing. It was not because she was sworn to secrecy, or determined to keep it: it was because she wasn't quite certain where she was going herself. Before she knew it, she was in the center of a busy London street, with throngs of people, horse, and mule alike about her: what direction she was headed to, she could not have told any of these people; she may as well have been walking with her eyes closed, for all the attention she was paying as to location.

* * *

With a bored sigh, Mr. Darcy dipped his pen into the ink once more. Writing out his bills was a tedious but necessary task; and he could not delegate all responsibility to his steward. Though, he confessed to himself, it was no more tedious or monotonous than was going to smart parties with Miss Bingley. He was not so great a blockhead so as to not have noticed that Caroline Bingley was set on making herself especially agreeable to him. With her being Mr. Bingley's sister, he felt that he ought to have been sorry to not be more appreciative of her endeavors: but he was neither sorry nor appreciative. The only thing it succeeded in doing was grating on his nerves. He really could not imagine her as the mistress of Pemberley; he could only imagine _one_ woman in that position: and he could not even be certain if he would even see her again.

Where were his thoughts wandering! He shook his head and made quick strokes with his pen. The sooner he concluded his business, the sooner he could return to Pemberley and Georgiana: return to his constant companions, and those who would remain constant. He looked up from his overwhelmed desk at the opening of a door. His footman stepped in.

"A young lady has come to see you, sir," he said. Mr. Darcy was immediately annoyed, supposing it to be Miss Bingley or one of her cronies. The servant detected this emotion, and suggested that he advise her to come back at some other time.

"Did she give her name?" he asked, setting his pen aside.

"No, sir; she seemed rather surprised to learn you were at home at all."

"Tell her to wait for me in the parlor."

"Very good, sir," said the footman with a bow, though betraying through his expression that he would not have agreed to see the mysterious lady himself. Mr. Darcy was not quite sure what to expect, but he was not averse to anything that would help break up the monotony of his day. His footman had not recognized her, so he could at least be assured that it was not Miss Bingley.

He descended the stairs of his London townhouse, his curiosity persuading him to take a slightly faster than leisurely pace. The door to the wainscoted parlor was opened—and almost all was at it should have been. The hearth glowed with a warm fire; the curtains were drawn open and allowed the light to pour in; a novel he had been perusing lay on the table. What was amiss, though, was the young lady sitting on the sofa. Elizabeth! He was certain of its being a hallucination at first. There was no earthly reason why she would will herself into his house, into his company: not after how he had behaved, not after how she had treated him with such angry disdain. She stood and curtseyed. He could discern the uneasiness in her countenance, the lack of audacity and sauciness in her glances. But despite all of this, she was still Elizabeth: he had seen her adorning the plain yellow frock she wore now only too many times; her dark curls still accented her fair olive complexion; she was still the artless creature he had fallen in love with.

Elizabeth was indeed uneasy. She had only been driven by some mad impulse to see the place—she had only wanted to look at _it_, and not its owner. She was too ashamed of herself to desire his presence! She was unworthy to behold it! She noticed now, however, his involuntary smile, and likewise involuntarily turned three shades of red.

"I would not have come, had I known you were here," she explained hesitantly after being entreated to sit down. She hadn't meant it as an insult, nor was it received as one: it was received only with the most interested curiosity.

"I wonder you came here at all, then," was the reply that was given. This was a question whose answer even Elizabeth herself was not quite certain of. She pulled off her white gloves, which had rather faded to a yellowish-gray, and began to absently toss and twist them about in her hands. She was beginning to burn with the fever that had infected her the day of his proposal two months prior, even though she had since so carefully guarded herself from it.

"I wanted to see the house," she said simply, as if that ought to have been explanation enough.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked awkwardly, discerning that she wasn't much in the way of explaining herself.

"Oh, no thank you." Their conversation seemed to have come to a halt for the next minute or so, where Mr. Darcy employed this time in studying Elizabeth's hands while Elizabeth examined a watch resting on the mantelpiece that glimmered in the sunlight. Why had she come?—or, a better question, _how_ had she come?

"I suppose Georgiana gave you the address?" asked Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth shook her head.

"Ah—then—my cousin, it must have been."

"No, sir, nobody told me the address. And don't ask me which way I came here, either, for I may as well have been blindfolded."

"You—walked?" Mr. Darcy was beginning to have a vague understanding of what motives had brought Elizabeth to Grosvenor Street. She replied in the affirmative, and then, becoming conscious of nearly tearing her gloves to shreds, threw them aside with unnecessary violence.

"So you sort of knew the way, as you knew where the dining parlor in Pemberley is."

Elizabeth blushed even more. "Yes, sort of like that." Silence enveloped the two once more, Elizabeth contemplating whether she wished herself a thousand miles away from Mr. Darcy, or a few feet closer to him. Mr. Darcy was probably thinking something rather similar; but when Elizabeth could not decide upon an answer, she asked him a question which had been weighing upon her mind for some time.

"You knew what Mr. Clough was about, didn't you?" It had not escaped her notice that Mr. Darcy had avoided this subject, which was brought up quite unceremoniously by the rest of her acquaintance, and she was grateful for it. Now, however, she actually had some desire to speak of it.

"I had my suspicions, I confess, but knew nothing for certain. I made some inquiries about Lambton, and learnt that he had been involved in some risky speculation which, not surprisingly, failed, leaving him in a bit of debt. The idea popped into my head that his designs might have been mercenary, but then I realized, well—"

"I understand." Elizabeth could feel her cheeks burning now, as she acknowledged that her dowry was not very much, and would certainly make very few men significantly richer than they were beforehand. If it was a fortune Mr. Clough was looking for, he might have been able to woo many other, more eligible young ladies. She was glad for Mr. Darcy's delicacy, however.

"I then dismissed any thought of his intentions being insincere."

"But you were going to show me the documents anyway," Elizabeth reminded him. It was now Mr. Darcy's turn to blush.

"Yes," he confessed; "I had resolved on not speaking a word of it; that is, until about five minutes after meeting with you again. I couldn't bear the thought of your being the least bit deceived."

Elizabeth felt that this somehow confirmed her suspicions that Mr. Darcy, in spite of everything, did not wish her ill. She was ashamed to think how she had treated him, when it was only his wish to save her from being deceived and mistreated, which had undoubtedly occurred! Mr. Clough had never mentioned anything of having debts to her; she had never, out of delicacy, _asked_ him about it, supposing that these were things which he would discuss with her father, and bearing in mind his distaste for discussing "business matters". Had she only been not so blinded by love!—but was love really her folly? Or was she, rather, in love with the _idea_ of being in love with Mr. Clough? She did not feel those feelings which abandoned lovers typically feel; in fact, she did not miss him at all! She felt more repentant of having offended Mr. Darcy than she did of having been offended by Mr. Clough.

At length, Elizabeth looked up at Mr. Darcy, who was sitting across from her. As she gazed into his crystal blue eyes, as she stared into the "windows of his soul", she was struck, like a tree is struck by an unexpected bolt of lightning and stripped of its bark; she had unveiled the true nature of her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy. She was no better than was Sarah in her vain endeavors to hide her affection from Mr. Bennet. She had wept bitter tears after rejecting Mr. Darcy, she had avoided him and spoken his name in a growling tone, and she had refused to listen to him or to look at him, because she could not bear the thought of Mr. Darcy being somewhere, alive, in this world and not thinking of her. She was jealous of the idea of his being happy when she was not! How silly, how vain! She spoke of him as if it gave her misery because she wished that he would be miserable without her. Of course—how had she been so blind? How had she not realized that she loved him on the day that her love had made its beginning? How had she not realized that in his outpour of love, she had drunk and absorbed that love herself?

Apparently Mr. Darcy noticed her altered expression, and it was certainly an expression which only the Elizabeth in his dreams had displayed: an expression which he had never witnessed upon the Elizabeth that resided in the realm of reality. It was tender, thoughtful—dare he say loving? Could it really be that despite their constant misunderstandings, their constant reading of one feeling as another, their constant misconstruing of circumstances—could it really be that they now had a perfect understanding of each other? Mr. Darcy had a slight fear to learn the answer to this question—but fear is more often than not coupled with hope.

"Elizabeth?" was the question he asked her. She, however, would not allow herself to hope as he had, and did not look up.

"Elizabeth," he said now, no longer a question, but spoken in a tone one uses when begging for the other to listen to the words that were spoken. He now stood from his chair and sat next to her on the sofa.

He repeated her name again; and when she did not respond again, he lifted her chin by cupping it in his hand. She was forced to look at him now; her eyes spoke of her hope and her even greater fear. She inhaled unsteadily, and then asked:

"Yes?"

Now tears formed in her eyes and began to roll down her cheek.

"Why do you cry?"

"I cry because I am afraid," was the only explanation she was able to give. It seemed to take all of her willpower to form the syllables, for she gasped for air between each word. He brought his other hand to her cheek and wiped away the trails of tears with this thumb.

"What are you afraid of?"

Elizabeth was on the verge of saying, "you"—she had parted her lips to form the syllable—but then she realized that he was not of whom she was afraid. She closed her mouth, and then, opening it again, said instead:

"Myself."

Mr. Darcy wrapt his arms around her, hugging her to himself tightly. Elizabeth was ashamed that she had ever allowed his love to pass her by; ashamed that he had had to love her for so long in spite of circumstances, in spite of sense. She could do no more than put her arms around his neck and accept his caresses and kisses on her cheek; close her eyes and, for the first time in a long time, be perfectly happy.

"Elizabeth," he said at length, "You torture me. I have not, for one moment, ever stopped loving you once I had begun. I thought that I had lost you forever, and with you my heart. I can go on without you, but I will never be the same, I will never be what I once was. Take me, all of me, or take only my soul: but I assure you that you will not leave here today empty-handed. Marry me, and I will be complete, I will be more than I ever was: or leave me, and be only the mistress of my soul and nothing more. I would not and cannot love you less, regardless of what you do or say next: but I beg you to not leave me to wallow in my insanity."

"Don't say such things," whispered Elizabeth, now looking into his eyes.

"You mean that you will not have me?" he asked, momentarily fearing that all of his attempts were once more in vain. She, however, only laughed.

"You misunderstand my meaning," she said, now smiling despite the tears still drenching her face; "You are the only man I will ever love or marry from this day forth. Speak not of despairing for me, speak not of your insanity or your sorrow, for these sentiments you shall never have the privilege of experiencing as long as I am able to prevent its being so."

* * *

_Well, there you have it, your sappy "hopeless romantic"-type ending. I kept rewriting it, and I'm not completely satisfied with it, but it'll do. I still think the epilogue is a bit "blah" and sort of spoils the sappy abrupt-ish ending, but since people seem to want it, I'll post it soon._


	27. Epilogue

_Well, by popular demand, here's the epilogue. :-) I suppose I'll end the way I began—with something very short._

**Epilogue**

The shock that was received by Amelia upon being made Elizabeth's confidante in the matter of her newly-made engagement can be supposed. This shock can also be multiplied by seven when you factor in how unexpected this was to the rest of the Bennet family. Mr. Bennet, however, did give his consent, for he had never any reason to think ill of Mr. Darcy; and, though it was not a detail widely discussed by the Bennets because they were not complete buffoons, Mr. Darcy would certainly provide his daughter with a great deal of pin-money and a large estate to reside over. Sarah Bennet was probably one of those among the Bennets who were the least surprised, given her suggestion to Elizabeth as she made her toilette that fateful day, even though she had not believed it herself at the time: but it did make sense to her once she learnt the news. Georgiana was wild with pleasure at the thought of Elizabeth at last becoming her sister, and her brother at last as happy as she had always believed he deserved to be. Jane was as equally happy for her sister, who would now be enjoying marital bliss as she was.

They were married in the summer: and I am happy to report that Mr. Darcy showed up as scheduled, and he did not do so much as exchange a word with Mr. Newbury beforehand. It was a very pleasant affair, attended by many. Even the somewhat ambiguous Mrs. Phillips came, and she assured all of her neighbors that she had been the one who had noticed the attraction between the pair first in that Meryton assembly-room. Whether her neighbors agreed with this, is, however, a different story. One sensible man and wife, at least, by the name of Gardiner would give no credit to such claims, and were perfectly satisfied in being happy for the bride and bridegroom.

It probably won't surprise you that Elizabeth became very easily acquainted with Pemberley; and its charm for her reappeared as quickly as it had previously worn off. And it will take no greater amount of comprehension to foresee that Georgiana and Elizabeth made as good of sisters as they had friends. The Bennets learned to love Mr. Darcy even better than they had Mr. Clough, realizing that his manners, though not as much designed to please or to charm, were sincere; and he always behaved in the most affectionate manner towards Elizabeth, since he really loved her. Jane and Bingley were frequent visitors to Pemberley, and eventually gave up Longbourn in favor of purchasing an estate within thirty miles of it. Amelia and her husband, too, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy saw quite frequently whenever they were in town.

When Longbourn had been abandoned by the Bingleys, it was succeeded by an amiable young gentleman who took a particular interest in young Miss Lydia; and who, captivated by youth and beauty and the appearance of good humor which youth and beauty generally give, he eventually made his bride. Whether Lydia deserved such good fortune, it is not my place to say; and whether this amiable young gentleman became less amiable and more cynical after spending many years with Lydia as his wife, it would be better not to say.

Mr. Darcy's family, unfortunately only too aware of Elizabeth's inferiority as far as station in life was concerned, were not very fond of her at first. However, once they had gotten over their pride, their sensibilities were somewhat touched by the genuine love that Mr. Darcy and his wife shared. One Lady Catherine de Bourgh let her resentment last the longest, feeling that she had received a personal offense by Mr. Darcy not marrying her own daughter, as it had been her lifelong wish to unite her estate with his. At length, however, she did condescend to visit the new mistress of Pemberley; and finding her if not a very willing recipient at least a very graceful recipient of her somewhat tedious advice, owned that she was not so much of a coarse brute as she had formerly dismissed her as being.

As for some of the less-favored characters, it may satisfy you to know that Mr. Wickham did have the audacity to visit that tavern in Lambton once more, whereupon he received a very hard slap from Miss Lucy, who had learnt through some of her gossiping friends what had happened to Miss Georgiana Darcy to distrust that vile man's intentions. While this was occurring, Mr. Clough was enjoying his part of the ten thousand pounds that he didn't owe to creditors through gaming, and happened to witness this, seizing the opportunity to tease Wickham for his idiocy. Mr. Wickham, it may be known, had no good temper, and especially for teasing: and so Mr. Clough spent the next week or two afterwards with a very black eye. Wickham then quitted the country as expeditiously as possible, where he enjoyed the company of some Spanish ladies, till they too realized him for what he was and had him thrown into debtor's prison as soon as possible (since one of Mr. Wickham's few talents was to collect debts wherever he went). Mr. Clough, on the other hand, married a hard-featured woman with a personality not dissimilar to Lady Catherine de Bourgh's, and sufficiently suffered for his deception of poor young Elizabeth Bennet under the tyrannical rule of his wife.

It can be said that Fate did its job, and did it well: that all of the yins and yangs balanced out; that karma was in full effect. And of the deceased Mrs. Bennet, Darcy as well as Elizabeth looked upon her with the fondest memory, especially after having one very long discussion as to the premonitions which had initially drawn them together; and they were then evermore sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the woman who, by perhaps inflicting upon them these dreams and notions, had been the means of uniting them.

—_Finis_

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* * *

_

_Yep, it's over. I hope you didn't have any great expectations for this epilogue, since it's dialogue-free and not really something I had planned out. I have to say though, finishing this was a proud moment for me, since I've never finished any story of great length (one-shots and short stories excepted)—at least, not properly finished it. I suffer from a lack of motivation. And I give a big thank-you to everyone who reviewed my story, especially those who consistently did so. It really means a lot to me, and I take all of my reviews very seriously. If I ever get around to revising this, I will definitely take into consideration some of your suggestions. _

_I do have an idea for another P&P fanfic that has been floating around in my head since before I even began to write this story, so I may get around to writing some of that soon. It's had a lot of time to mature in my mind, which is hopefully a good thing. Anyway, writing Amour Propre was a lot of fun, so I hope that you had just as much fun reading it. _


	28. A Self Review of 'Amour Propre'

_Here is a self-evaluation of _Amour Propre _which I wrote mainly for my own reference, whenever I get around to writing a second draft of this; or, more likely, to remind myself of what I need to concentrate more on when writing in the future. I decided it may give fans some more insight into what the heck I was thinking when writing this, so I'll share it with you. And then, of course, I had to tack on the last paragraph for some self-advertisement. If you haven't read _Amour Propre _yet, I suggest you don't read this beforehand, as MAJOR SPOILERS are included. No prose below, sorry—just me yammering on._

**A Self-Review of _Amour Propre_**

The most obvious mistake in _Amour Propre_ is that the whole supernatural subplot is an afterthought, not even vaguely mentioned before about chapter twelve. It's shoved in your face, without any foreshadowing or hints that it's coming. Of course, I hadn't initially planned to add any such element to the story, but it ends up being essential to the logicality of the plot. First and foremost, my Elizabeth Bennet is not witty or lively, which is a flaw in itself; and there is that many of the prejudices she has towards Darcy in _Pride and Prejudice_ do not exist. As Darcy was not one to just fall for a country bumpkin with nothing to recommend her but some pride for Northberry and some beauty, I had to make for some kind of attraction. Thus, the unwanted dream sequences and peculiar 'knowing-things-without-cause' was thrown in. The second reason that the supernatural element was essential was so Bingley could be married off to Jane quickly and easily, without it being opposed by Darcy. Of course, we had to get this couple together, but at the same time they had nothing to do with the main plot; so this proved as an effective means of getting them out of the way, and with some rationale behind it.

There are several unique characters of my own concoction in this story—Sarah Bennet, Herbert Bennet, Amelia Darcy (later Fitzwilliam), Lord Fitzwilliam, Mr. Newbury, and Matthew Clough. Sarah's purpose in the story is that she is the means through which the Bennet family can afford to have a house in Leicestershire in addition to the estate at Longbourn. She's an irrational mixture of wisdom and silliness, which doesn't mesh at all; I should not have made her seem the sort of match-making, buddy-buddy with Amelia-type in the beginning. Making her more of a motherly, sober figure would have made much more sense. As for Herbert, he plays a very small part, and only exists at all to do away with the entailment so that we don't need to deal with Mr. Collins; no character development here. Amelia, I think, is _too_ silly, especially to be close friends with Elizabeth Bennet. In _Pride and Prejudice_, we see that Elizabeth is attracted to sweet-tempered people like her sister Jane, or shrewd, sensible people like Charlotte Lucas. Amelia is, I think, sweet-tempered, but more like Lydia than anything else. She's really rather one-dimensional, and I think I should and could have spent more time on rounding her out. Lord Fitzwilliam, of course, serves the purpose of being Amelia's beau, and ultimately provides a means for Elizabeth to meet with Darcy again.

Mr. Newbury seems a lot like Mr. Collins. He's buffoonish, annoying, and conceited; and I think when he proposes to Lizzy, it makes it all seem like too much of a parallel between _Pride and Prejudice._ I don't think this is necessarily a good thing, as it may turn some readers off, thinking that it will continue in the same vein. How Mr. Newbury is not like Mr. Collins, though, is that he is much more cunning and, of course, vengeful. The difference is demonstrated that while, in P&P, Mr. Collins is reluctant to believe Elizabeth is actually rejecting him, Mr. Newbury becomes immediately angry and leaves in a rage. He's a bit too evil, I think. I should have made some attempt to give background as to why he's such a total a—hole.

Mr. Clough, like Mr. Newbury, is an original character essential to the plot. He could be best related to Wickham; his true character is foreshadowed in chapter seven, where he actually interacts with the Rat himself. That chapter also points out how he has great faith in luck and fate, and for that reason doesn't have many scruples when it comes to gambling and such. He has the advantage over Wickham, though, of being cleverer; as is also demonstrated in chapter seven when he wins at cards with Wickham as his adversary. Where Mr. Wickham, in _Pride and Prejudice_, could only compensate Lydia (a plan which backfires when he is paid off to marry her), Mr. Clough is able to dupe Elizabeth into almost-marrying him with success. Like Mr. Newbury, this guy obviously has some serious issues, perhaps originating from their childhood; or perhaps these two rascals have just been bad influences on each other.

One of the subplots in _Amour Propre_ is where Georgiana is continually distraught throughout the first part, much to the dismay of Elizabeth. This is not a very interesting subplot, as anyone who's read _Pride and Prejudice_, or even seen any of its adaptations, will know what Georgiana's deal is—the almost-elopement with Wickham. I think I could have done to have not put as much emphasis on this, which may have left room for a more interesting and original subplot to be thrown in instead. The eventual point is, though, that Elizabeth is never taken in by Wickham.

My two least favorite chapters are chapters nineteen and twenty. Their titles which, when put together, say: "the course of true love never did run smooth"; which is of course a Shakespeare quote, and is not as clever to me now as I thought it was at the time. I dislike these chapters because they're filled with soap-opera-grade angst, and Darcy's proposal is totally out of character. Also, the bit with the whiskey was a sad attempt at humor on my part, which ends up just being dumb, and which leaves one with the impression that Georgiana is encouraging her brother to become an alcoholic. I think these chapters needed to be handled with a much more formal proposal on Darcy's part; and instead of Elizabeth running to cry in some random field…the more logical reaction would be that she might lock herself in her room.

Also, another aspect of the story that I hated pretty much as soon as I published it was the end of chapter thirteen, where Georgiana voices some suspicions that she thinks Darcy is in love with Elizabeth. This could have been so much better if it would not have had about the last three paragraphs, and instead had Georgiana go away not explaining herself. With her actually telling Darcy, and then him running away like a baby, it just completely ruins any element of interest or wonder on the part of the reader.

You could say there are two climaxes in this story—the dreaded chapters nineteen and twenty, and then the whole sequence with the marriage that never happens, and where Mr. Newbury explains himself. I'm much more satisfied with the latter climax, as this finally reaches the plot twist which has been building ever since Mr. Newbury's failed marriage proposal, and which ties together that seemingly random event with our other favorite character, Mr. Clough. I make a few hints as to their connection, the most obvious being when Clough ditches Lizzy to go and have a word with Newbury. Hopefully this is something that the reader was unable to completely piece together before the wedding, and which I think is eased into more gracefully than the supernatural subplot. This whole thing is the "meat" of the "meat and potatoes" of _Amour Propre_, and I think is much more interesting than the romance or supernatural aspect.

The romance, of course, is the potatoes. I think the last chapter, "Discarding the Veil", I could have fleshed out into several chapters, and made it a bit more interesting and doubtful. The second proposal is your typical cornball ending, with the idea of Lizzy crying admittedly sort-of stolen from Rosamond crying in _Middlemarch_. I know, appalling, my daring to compare the lovely Elizabeth Bennet with Rosamond Vincy. I rewrote the last chapter several times, but I'm still not satisfied with it. It's almost of the same caliber as chapters nineteen and twenty. I don't know why I keep trying to write romantic scenes—it's obviously not my forte. It's all a bit abrupt for my taste; doesn't build any suspense. As to why I thought it would make a good ending without the epilogue, is because such an ending was used in Elizabeth Gaskell's _North and South_, which turns out being very effective and sweet. This wouldn't have worked nearly as well, though, since the chapter was rather icky on the whole.

The epilogue, I decided I hated once I had written it, but now that it's there, I think that it helps make clear some of my intentions that I never really explain beforehand. What I didn't like about it initially was how everyone really gets their just rewards, where I think that it would have given the reader some food for thought if I hadn't explained what became of Wickham, Clough, etc. Real life doesn't exactly work that way, so I think it made _Amour Propre_ less believable. Also, I should be trying to leave the reader wanting more than satisfying every plot aspect. The most important implication is that, in the last paragraph, it ties the ending of the story to the beginning where Mrs. Bennet is on her deathbed. Basically I'm saying that perhaps the supernatural stuff that goes on can be accounted for by some force of nature guided by Mrs. Bennet; that maybe she was looking out for her daughter and guided her to the man that she was meant to be with. The last sentence, of course, is my mutilation of the last sentence in _Pride and Prejudice_: "Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them." Everyone is always contorting and quoting the first sentence of P&P, so I thought I would do something different by using the last. It's a little awkward, and I think I should have used 'ever sensible' as Jane does, rather than 'evermore sensible', which makes less sense; but all-in-all I think it pulls of the desired effect.

So, overall, I think that _Amour Propre_ has many messy aspects, and its most redeeming quality is the plot twist where Clough and Newbury are discovered to have been buddy-buddy all along. Where it suddenly switches to Charlotte Lucas' point of view was to provide an outsider's insight; but I think this too could be done away with, as it only ends up seeming incongruous with the rest of the story as it leads to nowhere, and she is never alluded to again. As to the quality of my prose, I can't say if that is redeeming or not, as I don't think I can judge such a thing.

I may as well take advantage of this self-review by saying that I have been posting my latest story, _Gossamer Webs_, for some time now. It doesn't use any of the original characters from the _Amour Propre_ universe, thankfully, and is a sequel to the original _Pride and Prejudice_. I have used some similar themes from this story, though, in that I try to establish some sort of unexpected 'interconnectedness'; but I am trying to improve upon what this story lacked in character development, and sloppiness. I haven't been getting as much feedback for it as I did for this story or _Haste_, so if you liked this story I hope you will check out my other if you haven't already, and share with me your thoughts and ideas. The whole point of publishing this is so that I can have my stories read by others; and hopefully receive some sort of constructive criticism which will help me improve my writing. Otherwise, there's not much point to all of this.


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