"I say, Darcy, I wonder what would the Old General throw at us this time?" Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked jestingly as the carriage lurched and swayed at high speed.

"You shall know soon enough," Darcy smiled, as ever amused despite himself by the more than fitting name that his cousin had chosen for their Aunt. "We are making good time. We have just passed Westerham, I noticed. We should be at Rosings before noon."

"Heaven help us!" muttered Fitzwilliam and leaned back against the cushions.

Darcy nodded his assent and turned to look out of the window. The smile he had worn for his cousin dissolved into a frown as her face appeared before him, unbidden.

Will it ever stop?

She had been with him everywhere he went. She had been in the house in Berkeley Square, smiling at him from across the long, dark mahogany table, she had walked with him the halls of Pemberley, leaned over his shoulder in the dark nights, as he sat at the desk in his study, and cut up his sleep and his peace with dreams of her, day and night.

Will she ever leave him?

A part of him prayed she never would.

Darcy poured a brandy for himself and one for his cousin and walked to stir the embers of the fire, still glowing in the great fireplace of Rosings' library.

It had been a long, tedious week, and he had found his aunt's company more taxing than usual. He had attempted to withdraw to the study and occupy - or claim to occupy - as much time as possible with Lady Catherine's estate business, but he could not avoid her at dinner, nor retire from the drawing room in the evenings as soon as he would have wished to.

Darcy drew a long breath. He had found his aunt's inclination to pontificate difficult to bear at the best of times, but her constant veiled or not so veiled allusions to his duty to marry and continue the lineage at Pemberley were now grating sorely on his frayed temper.

Duty! he all but spat to himself, earning a sharp glance from the Colonel, who looked up from a folio he was half-heartedly leafing through.

"Cousin? I beg your pardon, I was not attending. Did you say something?"

Darcy negatived with a wave of his hand and thankfully Fitzwilliam did not pursue the matter.

He ought to be more careful, he reminded himself. Richard's perception surpassed that of the majority of his acquaintance. A brief smile curved his lips, as he remembered Bingley's comment about Fitzwilliam endeavouring to drink him under the table to extract his secrets. His cousin would have been happy to, without a doubt - but fortunately he was not about to attempt it at Rosings!

The smile vanished as the dark stately room, full of grandeur but very little comfort, brought back to him the weighty burden of expectations.

Duty to his family, his lineage, his estate.

What of the duty to oneself? What of the basic need for happiness, or comfort, or truth?

What of the deepest truth of his soul?

Was he to live a lie for the rest of his days?

Was he to forever lie to the unfortunate woman who may one day become the mistress of Pemberley, unaware that she had acquired nothing but an empty shell? There were dozens of women of his acquaintance who wanted only that, the station and the lustre, but he had never imagined that he would offer for any of them. He had always wanted a true communion, a marriage more than in name only, and never doubted that one day it would be his.

It did not appear remotely possible anymore.

Not because he doubted that there were, somewhere, amongst his future acquaintance, fine young ladies, of good breeding, good fortune and with the right connections. It was unreasonable to assume that they would all be vain, artificial or empty-headed. He might one day come across the perfect example of the accomplished female. But she would not be Elizabeth.

The sound of his cousin dropping the heavy folio on the table by his side made Darcy start.

"I do not know how you bear it, Darcy!" the Colonel said with a smile, as he walked towards him. "Lady Catherine's constant prodding about your marriage to Anne," he clarified, in response to Darcy's anxious stare. "Why do you never set her to rights on that score?"

"Anne does not wish it," Darcy replied quietly, sipping his brandy.

"I beg your pardon?! You mean to say that Anne desires the connection?"

Darcy shook his head.

"No, no more than I. But she is quite reluctant to face our aunt's displeasure for longer than she has to. There will be time enough for that, she says, when I have decided I do wish to marry."

"And will that be anytime soon?" Fitzwilliam ribbed good-naturedly.

Darcy turned towards the fire.

"You never told me of your trip," he attempted to change the subject, without much hope that he would be successful. Richard could be as obstinate as a hound with a bone if he did not wish to drop a topic. To his surprise, this time he did.

"My trip?"

"Your trip from Plymouth. You said you were to call on an old friend."

"Oh, that! It was quite enjoyable, in point of fact. Brandon is a good man and great company, if you get him going. I know nothing of the particulars, of course, but I believe he has had more than his fair share of ill-luck."

"How so?" Darcy feigned interest, glad that the focus of his cousin's conversation was moving away from him.

"Darcy, I am shocked! Are you saying that you are now about to stoop to gossip?" Fitzwilliam laughed at his own sally, then refilled his glass. "I have always got the impression, in our times in active service together, that he did not choose to be a soldier, and was in point of fact running from some distress in his past. My guess was that it had something to do with a lady, of course."

"Why would that be the only reason?" scoffed Darcy somewhat distemperedly, distress related to mystery ladies in one's past not currently being his favourite topic.

"Why not? He is too good a man to have run away with the military circus to escape some misdeeds and besides, there is just something he said..."

"One night, over brandy?" interjected Darcy with an odd smile.

"Something like that. Anyway, I may be a loud soldier with coarse manners to you, Cousin, but I am not about to repeat a confidence, and particularly not those of the vino veritas sort."

"That is good use of Latin, for you at least!" Darcy shot, good-humouredly.

"Thank you, Cousin. Anyway, to return to the subject of matrimony, from which you have so skilfully drawn me - good attempt that, Darcy! - I am rather pleased for my friend. I believe he will soon be wed, or at least he should be, if he gathers his wits about him and proposes. And he would be a damn fool if he did not! The lady is delightful. Not in possession of a great fortune, I gather, but of a decidedly attractive disposition. She is witty and handsome and it appears that her society is doing wonders for my friend."

"I am happy for him," commented Darcy, dryly. "But what is with all this glowing praise? You will make me believe you are quite taken with her yourself!"

"You would not be so surprised if you had met her," Fitzwilliam replied, this time without the half-jesting manner that had pervaded his earlier discourse. "Yes, I might have been... If she did not appear to have Brandon's interest and if she had any fortune, or had I not been a second son, I might not have decamped from Delaford as soon as I have... And you would have had to visit the Old General by yourself this year, Cousin", he reverted back to raillery, to mask some genuine feeling he had no wish to share. "As it is, I will be pleased to wish him joy. Miss Bennet is the best he could have hoped for."

Darcy's only thought at the time was satisfaction that his hand did not shake as he took the glass to his lips. The fiery liquid burned all the way.

"Miss Bennet?" he finally brought himself to ask, and to his dismay, his voice did shake.

He masked it with a cough.

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Her family lives at Farringdon Lodge, in Devonshire, just a few miles from my friend's estate."

Darcy's thoughts circled around him in an ungovernable whirl. Fitzwilliam, however, was not quite finished.

"I had wondered at the time why this sounded familiar... But of course. Farringdon. Was not your aunt married to Sir Edmund Farringdon? You inherited the Farringdon estate, did you not? I thought there were no children from that marriage..."

With no hope to gather his wits against such a sustained cannonade, Darcy made no answer. Fitzwilliam carried on to his own conclusion.

"In that case you must have at least heard of the Bennets then, Darcy. Are they your tenants?"

With an effort, Darcy brought himself to speak. He was not ready to open his heart to his cousin. Despite their closeness, he could not even entertain the thought of telling him anything of her. Another falsehood came much easier.

"No, they are not. The Lodge had not been part of the estate for years. It has been sold or given away by my uncle a long time ago - I believe to the rector of the parish."

Fitzwilliam nodded his acceptance of this. There was no reason why he should not.

Thankful for small mercies, Darcy soon took himself to his chambers, before Fitzwilliam might remember that he did not in point of fact answer whether he knew the Bennets or not.

Back to his chambers, Darcy paced. And drank.

Brandon. Mrs Brandon. Mrs Elizabeth Brandon.

It was to be expected it would happen sometime, but he had never thought it would happen so soon.

Five long strides to the window. Five long strides to his bed.

What sort of a man was he, this Brandon? Did he love her? Would he make her happy?

Did Elizabeth love him? Presumably she did - otherwise she would not be accepting his addresses. He did not doubt she would not be prevailed upon to marry solely for material considerations.

Married. Elizabeth married. Mrs Brandon.

He attempted to picture himself bowing to her to offer his congratulations, should they ever meet in town, and her graciously accepting them, on the arm of another man.

The pain was searing.

He dropped on the side of his bed, elbows on knees and head in hands.

What had he been thinking?

He had imagined that the most difficult part was to leave Hertfordshire without offering for her, and that had been his capital error. He could not have known how her vision would haunt him and, even as he had envisaged the possibility of her future marriage, he never even came close to comprehending how devastated he would be when the possibility leant towards reality.

And if this ever came to pass, it would be none but his own doing. Not only because, were it not for his misguided interference, in all likelihood the Bennets would never have set foot in Devonshire and Elizabeth and this Brandon would not have become acquainted.

No, there was much more to it than that. It was his own pride, his own abominable pride in himself that had brought about this utter misery. His pride in the Darcy name and in how far above the rest it stood.

He could not look beyond her low connections, and her relations' improprieties.

There was a two-day journey from Hertfordshire to Pemberley. Five or more, from Pemberley to Farringdon. How did he fail to see that the improprieties displayed by a Mr Collins at Longbourn, or a Mrs Bennet at Farringdon Lodge would be of little or no consequence to a blissfully happy couple settled at Pemberley? And were he to be subject to their senseless effusions every day, would that have been such an impossibly high price to pay for the incomparable joy of Elizabeth's love, Elizabeth's company?

His family would have shunned him. Lady Catherine most certainly would have, but after a week such as he had endured, that would have been nothing short of a blessing! Of the rest of them he needed not be as concerned. His cousins, Richard and his brother, the Viscount, would have loved her - Richard, dash it, was half-way there already! As to the Earl of Matlock and his wife, they would have objected, of course, but would have undoubtedly relented, in the face of his happiness, and her irresistible charm!

Society would have scorned them. No, not 'society'. Most of those whose opinion he valued would have had more sense than to join in the scorn, once they have met her and were charmed by her. It would have been merely some fops with inflated sense of self, some withered matrons and their empty-headed progeny who would have said that, as many before him, he had had his head turned by a pretty face. And what of it? Was he not a hypocrite, or worse still, a fool, to live by the dictates of people he despised?

The vision of Elizabeth's joy-filled face at the Netherfield ball brought nothing but fresh pain.

He could have proposed then. Would she have accepted? Could he have had by now, like Bingley, his own private heaven where the world could not intrude?

Bingley's blotted messages full of happy accounts of his matrimonial bliss have driven him to distraction. All he could do was scan the illegible scribbles for Elizabeth's name, and attempt not to absorb the all-pervading joy that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

To think that he had had the temerity - nay, the stupidity - to warn Bingley off his quest for happiness. Of the two, Bingley appeared now to be the grown man who knew what he most needed and pursued it. As for himself, he thought, he had been no better than a easily-led youth with no mind of his own, swayed to and fro by the opinions of others.

Darcy stood and resumed his pacing.

What was he to do? What in God's name was he to do now?

"You look like the devil this morning, Cousin!" Fitzwilliam greeted him.

"Thank you," Darcy replied with quiet sarcasm and went to pour himself some coffee.

"Truly, Wills, you do not look well," Fitzwilliam insisted with genuine concern, the old childhood name a testament of his affection.

"Do not concern yourself, Richard. I am well. I slept poorly, that is all. Our aunt's blasted guest bed is better suited for lying in state than for decent rest," he added.

At least he did not lie this time - other than by omission. Fitzwilliam merely laughed.

"Do not let her hear you!" he cautioned, and went to choose something from the selection of courses their aunt's cook had regaled them with for breakfast.

The mere sight and smell of food made Darcy's stomach turn, but he did not dare concoct some excuse for not coming down for breakfast, in fear not of his aunt's displeasure but of Fitzwilliam's dangerously good nose for bad lies.

Darcy took his coffee to the window, looking out over his aunt's manicured lawns and topiary, where not a leaf was out of place. The air of formality and constraint the entire place exuded was stifling him.

He cursed his own weakness the night before, which had made him decamp in fear of betraying his distress, thus missing the chance of hearing more of what his cousin might have had to say about his sojourn in Devonshire.

What sort of a man was Brandon? Darcy vaguely remembered from previous conversations, to which he now wished he had attended better, that he was about five years Richard's senior, and a very private man.

A quiet, subdued man, seven years older than himself. Fourteen years older than her.

What did Elizabeth see in him, how would her lively spirits suit his sombre temper? How could she escape a life of misery, which such a difference in age and temperament forewarned? Did she know what she was about if she accepted the man?

Fitzwilliam's voice at his elbow made him start so badly he spilled his coffee.

"I do apologise, Cousin!" the Colonel said with some amusement. "Do you not think it is high time you told me what is troubling you?"

"There is nothing troubling me!" Darcy protested with some emphasis, but his cousin merely shook his head.

"Fitzwilliam, I know you like the back of my hand. Your habit of clinging to windowsills when you are uncomfortable is nothing short of endearing, but a tell-tale sign nevertheless. As to nearly scalding me with your coffee..."

Darcy sighed.

"Do not play elder brother with me, Richard. You are not that much older."

"Whereas you'd like us all to believe you were born middle-aged! You need not carry the world on your shoulders, Cousin. Come back down and talk to us mortals sometime, it might do you good. Do not fear," he added, lifting a hand to forestall Darcy's protests, "I was not about to suggest we should talk now, when we expect our aunt to join us for breakfast. There's always the library and, failing that, there's a long journey back to London."

To Darcy, that sounded very little like a reassurance and a great deal more like a threat.

The thought of a morning shut away in Lady Catherine's library, with his tormenting thoughts, was nigh unbearable to Darcy. A long, punishing ride seemed the only means to achieve a temporary reprieve from the demons within, as well as from the threatening imposition of Lady Catherine's overbearing presence, or Fitzwilliam's affectionate but unwelcome concern.

He rode relentlessly over his aunt's fields, chasing after a sense of peace that was not to be found. Exhausted in body as well as in mind, Darcy came to a halt and dismounted on the lane which led further away from the turnpike road. The Rosings park palling was still the boundary on one side and, leading his horse, he soon passed one of the gates into the ground and was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look into the park. It looked less imposing from that angle, its rigid landscaping softened by the sight of the untamed woods that bordered it, the tall, imposing trees casting their branches as well as their shadows over the edge of the lawns.

Had Elizabeth ever visited here, she would have no doubt chosen the freedom and the majesty of the shaded woodland paths, over the precisely geometrical walks Lady Catherine's gardeners had designed. He would have accompanied her and would have talked of anything that came to mind, her small hand safely ensconced in the crook of his arm... Darcy shook his head and removed his riding gloves with a gesture of annoyance.

Elizabeth would not visit here.

He had made quite sure that the possibility would never arise.

And was now paying dearly for his careful machinations.

Darcy turned to lean against the park palling and gaze unseeing into the woods before him.

Over the course of a mere half-evening and a long, sleepless night, the enormity of his misjudgement had became as apparent as the burden of its weight on his chest; and the incontrovertible self-centeredness and arrogance of his actions finally struck him, as he stood there, in the ancient temple of the forest, closer to his Maker and truer to himself than he had ever felt in his entire life.

He had left Hertfordshire wreathed in self-pity, with the misguided gratification that he had done a noble gesture and had ensured the comfort of the woman he loved. But had he truly loved her?

"Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude.
Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends."(*)

Darcy caught his breath as the beauty and the overwhelming depth of the words of the Bible came to him.

He had thought of nothing but himself. His name, his duty, his lineage, his estate.

Not her. Never her. Not her sentiments or her wishes or anything that she held dear.

He had abandoned her in her hour of need, cradling, in his self-righteousness, a sense of personal injury and loss, blaming the dictates of society, his ancestry, the world, but never himself.

And now?

The possibility that Fitzwilliam had accidentally revealed had shown him the extent of his failings, as well as of his self-deceit.

He had told himself, that long time ago in Hertfordshire, that the bequest of Farringdon was destined to give her the power to choose, but even then the thought of her marrying another had been too painful to dwell upon. He had pushed it aside hoping... What? That she would be comfortable enough at Farringdon as to never marry? That he would never get to hear of it? No, he could never have believed that. His connection with the Bingleys would have made it impossible. He had merely told himself that the removal from her society would lessen her hold on him. That he would remember her as a delightful dream of his youth, as he would finally settle in the pattern destined for him, in the right sphere and with the right woman. That he would one day conquer this wholly unsuitable attachment and then whatever she chose to do would not matter that much.

He was wrong. In that, as in many other respects, he was wrong. He could not conquer this.

He could not forget her.

He could forget her mother, her sisters, her cousin. He could forget all the considerations that had prompted him to distance himself from the connection. But nor her.

Six long months and a brief conversation with Richard had made small work of all his misguided notions. He needed her. And the thought of a lifetime without her was unbearable.

Darcy was in no frame of mind to dwell on philosophy and on the perverseness of the human nature, ready to recognise the worth of a true blessing only when it has become quite out of reach. He had become, however, sufficiently attuned to his own failings to recognise them as such.

He had chastised himself for self-centeredness, and realised that it still coloured his every response.

As soon as he had heard of Elizabeth's possible engagement, his first thought had been to travel post-haste to Devonshire. To win her and, regardless of her sentiments, to prevent at all cost the dreaded eventuality that she might be happy with another man.

Because he loved her.

Because he could not live without her.

Because he no longer even wished to try.

In the wake of his epiphany, from the depths of his soul, the question emerged.

If he loved her, how could he bring himself to destroy her peace?

In his arrogance, he had dismissed the connection as beneath him. He had been selfish and overbearing, and cared for none beyond his family circle, thought meanly of the rest of the world, wished at least to think meanly of their worth compared with his own. He had not offered her his hand and his heart and all that was Pemberley. He had arrogantly purchased her comfort instead, without any regard for what her wishes might have been.

Darcy winced at the thought that in some respects, it had been worse than establishing her in some house as his mistress. At least in that she might have had a say. The humiliation he had inflicted, without even her knowledge, weighed on him as he prayed that she would not learn of its extent until he had had the chance to atone for it.

Whichever way he thought of it, the truth remained. He had never taken her wishes into account, and however much it cost him, it was high time he did. If Elizabeth had come to care for Brandon and had set her mind on marrying him, he had no right to interfere. And if she did not...

Darcy dared not dwell on hopes too bright to contemplate at this juncture. He remounted and rode back to Rosings, having cleared his mind sufficiently to decide upon his course of action.

Not being the sort of man to dally once he knew what he had to do, Darcy carried out his self-appointed tasks as soon as may be.

Firstly, that evening in the library, he forestalled Fitzwilliam's further enquiries with the candid admission that there was indeed something weighing on his mind, but he could not discuss it at present, and asked his cousin to bear with him, with the promise that as soon as he felt at ease to speak of it to someone, he would be the first choice. And secondly, as soon as the prescribed fortnight at Rosings was completed, he returned to London to collect his sister and set off to the only place he knew where he would be certain of gaining the earliest intelligence of what was happening to Elizabeth.

He hastened back to Netherfield.

(*) Corinthians 13:4-8

"Well, it appears that you have missed your chance, my dear," Mrs Jennings said to Elizabeth one morning towards the end of June, nodding significantly in the direction of Colonel Brandon, who was sitting away from the rest of the party, in earnest conversation with Marianne.

Elizabeth laughed lightly at this. It was, word for word, almost exactly what her own mother had said, no more than two weeks ago, and it came as no surprise, given the number of times the subject had been canvassed between Mrs Bennet and her dearest friend. All that Elizabeth could do was to give the same answer to both.

"Let me assure you once again, Ma'am, that I never had any designs of the sort on the Colonel!"

"Well, be that as it may, but you could have had him. Now, it appears that his inclination lies elsewhere..."

Elizabeth shook her head, reluctant to repeat to Mrs Jennings that theirs had merely been a communion of minds, and that the Colonel's 'inclination' for her company had not been of a romantic nature, anymore than it had been on her own side. Having recognised the futility of the exercise, Elizabeth kept her own counsel and turned to look with a fond smile at her two friends. Mrs Jennings could well sing her triumph now and congratulate herself on her powers of perception as, for once, she had stumbled upon the truth in her perpetual quest for attachments between the people of her acquaintance.

Unlike Mrs Jennings, Mrs Bennet had no reason to find any personal satisfaction in the matter, and had therefore been very vocal in her displeasure. Elizabeth had to listen many times to her bemoaning the fact that a daughter of hers could, by now, be well on her way to becoming the mistress of Delaford, and no assurances on Elizabeth's part that the Colonel had never harboured any intentions of matrimony towards herself could bring about a much-desired end to the matter.

"This is neither here nor there!" her mother had exclaimed, on one of the occasions. "Gentlemen hardly ever know their own minds in cases such as these. They want but encouragement in the right direction! But you cannot possibly mean that, Lizzy! Everybody saw his attentions to you! Why, Mrs Jennings was prepared to wager he'd propose before Easter! Now what are we to do? With the Colonel snatched by that artful girl, there is no one left for you to set your cap at. The younger Whittaker boy simply will not do, he is but eighteen and a far better match for any of your sisters, I'm sure!"

"Mamma! Pray let me assure you that I have never 'set my cap' at the Colonel!" Elizabeth had laughed, embarrassed by her mother's misplaced notions. "As for his 'attentions' to me, please believe me, Ma'am, there was nothing of the sort! We merely happened to like books and enjoyed talking about them, more so than many others of our current acquaintance, and that is all there was to it!" she had concluded, attempting to keep matters simple, for her mother's benefit.

Mrs Bennet had patted her hand.

"There, now, Lizzy! You need not keep up the pretence for me. You have your own pride, to be sure, and I know it's in your nature to make light of a bad business, but you should not teaze so. I do not blame you, for I'm sure you would have got him if you could, but did I not tell you, child, that you should make haste to secure him, otherwise another will take his fancy? A little more encouragement from you would have surely done the trick! I do not suppose there is the least chance in the world of you ever getting him now. Well! It is just as he chooses. He is a shallow, undeserving man and at his age he should know better than allow himself to be swayed about in this fashion! Serves him right if she should make him miserable, that artful, odious girl, after having turned his head as she did! Though I shall always say that he had used you extremely ill and if I were you, I would not have put up with it!"

As all Elizabeth's efforts to reassure her mother were for naught, her only recourse became an avoidance of the topic, but that only served to make Mrs Bennet turn to Kitty and Lydia instead. Elizabeth had lost count of the number of times she had been occasioned to hear her mother's loud and plaintive voice carrying through to her from another part of the house, with variations on the same theme:

"Well, girls, what is your opinion now of this sad business of Lizzy's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it to anybody. I told Mrs Jennings so the other day. I never would have thought it of the Colonel, though! He used to be so obliging and agreeable! Not one to talk much, but what does that signify! Your dear father, bless his departed soul, never used to talk to me a vast deal, and yet we've had as good a life together as any. And look at him go now! The Colonel I mean, of course, not your father, God rest his soul! Look at him go, led by the nose like I know not what! I blame it on those Dashwoods, you know! Very artful people indeed! They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of anyone, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly to think of it, and to have neighbours that think of themselves before anybody else. Delaford would have suited very well indeed! I have but one comfort now, that should any of you not marry, there'll still be a roof over your heads at Farringdon or at Netherfield. Not that this should be of any concern to you, Lydia, my sweet, for I am sure you shall make a splendid match! Our connection with dear Bingley must throw you in the path of other rich men. And, with any luck, someone will soon offer for you too, Kitty. But mark my words, I fear our Lizzy will find herself an old maid before we know it, like that poor Charlotte Lucas, for I am sure I do not know how she will get a husband now!"

Elizabeth could do nothing but shake her head at this, saddened by her mother's insensitivity, but to a certain extent also mildly amused by the most unusual fashion in which Mrs Bennet would choose to express her maternal sentiments.

"No one ever listens to me!" she would then predictably announce, as she had done countless times before. "Nobody can tell what I suffer to see my daughter's rightful place usurped by some newcomer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied!"

Thankfully, Mrs Bennet was sufficiently aware of her own and her daughters' interest, as recent additions to a community under the Middletons' patronage, and sufficiently mindful of the gentleman's family connections and ties of friendship, so as to grudgingly refrain from venting all her frustration in Sir John's presence but, much to Elizabeth's chagrin, her opinions were freely and frequently expressed to Mrs Jennings. As for the family at Barton Cottage, she could hardly ever speak of any of them without being rude, and Elizabeth knew that many months would pass until she could at all forgive Mrs Dashwood's middle daughter.

Despite her own and Kitty's extreme mortification, Elizabeth could only hope that as time wore on, Mrs Bennet would eventually reconcile herself to the situation, and pray that her friends at the Cottage would not pay much notice to her mother's sudden disinclination for their company. For her own part, Elizabeth knew that she could do no more than ensure, by her continued manifestations of friendship, that no-one was left in any doubt of her own satisfaction in the way the Colonel and Marianne's acquaintance progressed.

To her great pleasure, Elizabeth was soon occasioned to find that, as their close friend, she could be of considerable use to both, in lending a sympathetic ear to what they had not been prepared as yet to disclose to each other.

The Colonel had been the first to enlist her in the role of confidante, shortly after his visit at Barton Cottage, following Marianne's accident. As the others were playing croquet on his lawn, he had offered Elizabeth his arm for a turn about the garden and, quite unexpectedly, had begun:

"Miss Marianne, it appears, has a great fondness for Shakespeare..."

"Yes, it appears so," she concurred and for a while they were silent, until Brandon resumed very quietly:

"I once knew a lady who in temper and mind greatly resembled your friend... There is a very strong resemblance between them, in mind as well as person... The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of fancy and spirits... I must beg leave to apologise for my intrusion in Miss Marianne's reading the other day, it was... That particular quote was a great favourite of hers... and to hear it read so... vibrantly by Miss Marianne was... unsettling."

Elizabeth made no answer, as none was required, and they continued their walk in silence.

She had been given reason to suspect a short while ago, before anybody else, that the Colonel might harbour a partiality for Marianne, and it became progressively obvious, as time wore on, that it was indeed so - partiality which, to Elizabeth's surprise, Marianne had eventually appeared to return.

Having perceived the Colonel's sentiments, Elizabeth had been at first concerned for him, not only because of the striking opposition of their temperaments, but mainly because she was aware, from remarks dropped casually by Marianne, that she considered Brandon old enough to be her father, and certainly past the time in life when he could be animated by love, or contemplating matrimony.

However, to her great surprise and mild amusement, it emerged from Marianne's subsequent confidences that the incident earlier in May had bestowed upon him an aura of a romantic hero, sufficiently interesting to make her desirous of knowing more of the man beneath the cheerless reserve she so despised.

Aided by - one might now say - the quite fortuitous circumstance of her sprained ankle, they had more opportunities to further their acquaintance, as it had given the Colonel the excuse he needed to call at the Cottage much more frequently than he would have otherwise felt he could. Their encounters were marked at first by shyness and constraint, but repetition brought familiarity and familiarity bred not contempt, but confidence and comfort.

Their attachment had begun with youthful romantic notions on Marianne's part, but an increasing intimacy with Brandon's ways and inner thoughts, which he progressively felt more comfortable to disclose, gave it a sounder basis of admiration, respect and understanding.

On his part, as a result of his acquaintance with Elizabeth and with the benefit of her lively disposition, on one side, and of the unadulterated joy of seeing his interest in Marianne returned, on the other, Brandon had become less taciturn, less reserved, and more inclined to show glimpses of his former self, before the oppression of spirits brought on by the misfortunes which had plagued the best part of his youth.

After quite some time, the truncated confidence shared with Elizabeth was eventually fully disclosed to Marianne, and the melancholy account of a disastrous love only served to heighten her interest in the Colonel, strengthen the belief that still waters ran deep, and overturn most of the young woman's deeply held convictions regarding her ideas of perfection in the man who would eventually attach her, along with her previously unshaken belief that passion was the apanage of her own age and disposition. No formal announcement had been made, and none was yet expected, but in this instance Mrs Jennings wit could flow long. The people it was directed to had become truly attached, and happily so.

"I am hoping he would propose soon," Mrs Jennings resumed suddenly, startling Elizabeth from her reverie.

"Why so, Ma'am?" she replied, amused.

"Because I was hoping to see it happen before I return to town. I have set my mind to journey there next month, and I would not have wished to miss the grand finale!"

"For your sake, Ma'am, as well as theirs, I hope the Colonel will oblige. Would you like me to drop him a hint to that purpose?" Elizabeth asked archly.

Mrs Jennings laughed heartily, assured Elizabeth that she would not put it past her to do just that, suggested that it might not be such a bad thing, then suddenly turned to her:

"I have no notion why I have not thought of this before, but why should you not travel to town with me? All of you!"

At Elizabeth's expression of surprise, she resumed:

"Your mother, I am sure, will like it above all things, and I know London will be quite thin, and that people of fashion shan't travel to town at this time in the year, but what is it to us! I am sure the Little Theatre would be open."

Having overcome her initial surprise at the impulsive suggestion, Elizabeth gave herself the chance to think on it. Upon reflection, the notion was becoming increasingly attractive, and much less of the half-baked scheme she had thought it at first.

She could see the Gardiners again and, oh, joy, maybe even Jane!

"I am persuaded we can all travel in the barouche box, as neither of you are very large. Betty I can send by the coach, and what a merry journey we shall have! I must speak to your mother and I hope we can settle it to my satisfaction, for I have so set my heart on it! You will all stay in Portman Square, of course, I shall brook no opposition! The more the merrier, that's what I always say! Goodness me, you all would be doing me a favour, for I cannot see how I should endure to be poking about that great big house all by myself! Come, Miss Elizabeth, let us strike hands upon the bargain, and I am sure that, between the two of us, we shall be able to persuade your mother and sisters!"

Knowing full well that they will not require a great deal of persuasion, Elizabeth found herself sufficiently attracted to the plan to assure Mrs Jennings of her support.

Before too long, it emerged that both of the good lady's wishes had been fulfilled. The planned visit to town had only to be mentioned to Mrs Bennet for her to accept the invitation with alacrity, as well as with very vocal expressions of her satisfaction.

As to the Colonel, even without the benefit of a hint, he had that same evening proposed and been accepted with all the joy he could have wished for. Their circle of friends greeted the subsequent announcement, made after Mrs Dashwood's consent was sought and happily given, with the customary abundant wishes for everlasting felicity, of which only Mrs Bennet's were tight-lipped and - to Elizabeth - distressingly insincere. All that her daughter could hope for was that the welcome prospect of a trip to town would offer sufficient distraction and provide her mother with enough reasons for delighted anticipation as to help her overcome the vexation of an engagement that would in no way raise her own family's fortunes.

To London therefore they were to go, within a fortnight. Letters had been written and dispatched to their relations in town and in Hertfordshire, and the fever of preparations was the only means of allaying their impatience to be gone. Elizabeth's only regret was the impending separation from her dear friends at Barton Cottage, but she was more than willing to endure it for the sake of being reunited with her beloved aunt and sister.

An unexpected occurrence, however, was soon to change their travel plans.

Just over a week later, a party had been formed to see a very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them at least twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece of water, a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning's amusement. Cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be used, and everything conducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.

By ten o'clock, the whole party was assembled at Barton Park, where they were to breakfast. The weather was favourable, and they were all in high spirits and good humour, eager to be gone.

While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the rest, there was one for the Colonel. He took it, looked at the direction, changed colour and immediately left the room.

"What is the matter with Colonel Brandon?" said Mrs Bennet. "He is certainly not himself these days!" she added ill-humouredly, with a dark glance at Marianne.

"I hope he has had no bad news," said Lady Middleton. "It must be something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my breakfast table so suddenly."

In about five minutes he returned.

"No bad news, Colonel, I hope," said Mrs Jennings as soon as he entered the room.

"None at all, Ma'am, I thank you."

"Was it from his Lordship? I hope it is not to say that your sister is worse."

"No, Ma'am. It came from town and is merely a letter of business."

"But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a letter of business? Come, come, this won't do, Colonel; so let us hear the truth of it."

"My dear Madam, recollect what it is that you are saying!"

"Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?" said Mrs Jennings without attending to her daughter's reproof.

"No, indeed, it is not."

"Well then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well."

"Whom do you mean, Ma'am?" said he, blanching, and strengthening Mrs Jennings belief that she had indeed hit upon the mark and that perhaps the lady in question was not well.

"Oh! You know whom I mean! Has she been taken ill, the poor dear?"

"I am particularly sorry, Ma'am," said he, addressing Lady Middleton at first, but then turning to Marianne as he spoke, "that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which requires my immediate attendance in town."

"In town!" cried Mrs Bennet, expressing everyone's surprise.

"My own loss is great", he continued, his eyes still on Marianne, "in being obliged to leave so agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence is necessary to gain you admittance to Whitwell."

"But we must go!" cried Lydia. "It shall not be put off when we are so near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Colonel, that is all."

"I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to delay my journey for one day!"

"We understand, Colonel, and we wish you Godspeed!" intervened Elizabeth, mortified on her friend's behalf, as well as her sister's.

"There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, that I know of old," said Sir John, "but I hope you will think better of it. Consider, here are the two Miss Careys come over from Newton, the Miss Dashwoods have walked up from the cottage, Mrs Bennet and her daughters, come all the way from Farringdon Lodge..."

Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of their disappointment and, before anyone could interject more protestations, Marianne stood and walked to him.

"I am sure we shall be able to bear it with tolerable composure!" she said towards the party, unconcealed censure in her youthful and unrestrained tones.

Mrs Bennet humphed audibly, to Elizabeth's chagrin, but Marianne did not appear to notice. "Colonel, allow me to walk you out," she said with a sweetness of address meant to soothe the irritation caused by the interference of others.

"Aye, do, Miss Marianne," cried Mrs Jennings, "and then perhaps you might find out what his business is."

Marianne's eyes flashed dangerously, but the Colonel laid a hand on her arm and gave her a warm smile, then, with unperturbed composure, he took his leave of the party and left the room with his betrothed on his arm.

"I wish I could tell you, dearest, how distraught I am to leave you at a time like this!" he said earnestly, taking both her hands in his, as soon as they could be assured of privacy.

"Pray, think nothing of it!" replied she with energy. "It is you I am concerned about. You do not look well."

"I shall be well, do not make yourself uneasy on my account. I am distraught at not knowing how long I shall have to be gone. Please, let us sit. I must tell you what this is all about."

"There is no call for that, you must know!" she replied, not wishing to relinquish the hold of his hands. "If you are required to leave in such haste, there must be a good reason for it, and there is no more I need to know about it."

"God bless you for that, my dear!" he said softly as he brought her delicate fingers to his lips. "Nevertheless, I would be much easier if you knew."

Marianne could not disagree with the sentiment, so she sat on a sofa, claiming only Brandon's company beside her, and the privilege of holding his hand between her own. A long, painful tale followed, haltingly told and lovingly listened to, a continuation of the confession begun at Barton Cottage; the sad story of the daughter of an unfortunate mother, both entitled, in their own ways, to special places in his heart.

"And the man, the perpetrator of this...?" Marianne asked as soon as she could speak, her voice muffled by tears. "Do you know his name?"

"Yes," Brandon said darkly. "Poor, wretched Eliza had confessed it all to me in her letter. The scoundrel is well known to me and to the people here at the Park." He drew a long sigh and resumed: "Much as it pains me to see the poor girl's misfortune becoming public knowledge, I cannot protect her at the expense of any of the ladies of my acquaintance... and particularly yours. He must be exposed for what he is! John Willoughby of Allenham cannot be allowed to show his face in polite society, at least not in this part of the country!"

Marianne caressed his hand.

"I do not wish to let you weather all this alone," she said quietly, and suddenly a new notion returned all the customary animation to her previously subdued manner. "I would like to follow you to town, as soon as it can be arranged! But of course! Mrs Jennings, I am sure, will not object to one more addition to her party!"

"Marianne, you cannot!" he protested energetically. "I should not wish you touched by this! It is not fitting-!"

"It would be very fitting to be close to you!" she admonished gently. "You will be much engaged, and I expect no less, but when you have had your fill of it, you could visit me at Mrs Jennings - if you can bear it, that is!" she amended, only half in jest. "And we could speak of other things, for a few hours at least."

Brandon carried her hand to his lips, her concern and obvious affection warming his heart, yet he knew he could not give in, much as he would have wished to. He was about to begin in his attempt to dissuade her, when all of a sudden Marianne's complexion became deathly pale, and she could barely whisper:

"You do not contemplate... Surely you do not intend... to... meet with Mr Willoughby?!"

To this Brandon replied gravely, his eyes never quitting hers.

"Yes. One meeting shall be unavoidable!"

She drew a sharp intake of breath and, tightening her grip on his hands, was about to attempted to dissuade him from this dreadful plan which filled her with anxiety for his safety, but then saw the futility of it. To a man and a soldier, this was a fancied necessity which she knew she could not shake, and therefore should not censure.

"I will follow you to town!" she merely stated, with quiet determination.

"Marianne! I cannot allow you..." he began, but she put her fingers to his lips.

"I shall not be dissuaded! You will do what you need to do, and so shall I."

In the face of her gentleness and obvious devotion, Brandon abandoned the thankless task of playing the devil's advocate; then, with earnest expressions of tender regard, finally took his leave.

Marianne returned to the drawing room as soon as she was convinced that her complexion no longer betrayed the signs of tears. The first voice she heard was Mrs Jennings':

"... she is a relation of the Colonel's, my dear, a very near relation. We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the young ladies." This did not deter her for long and, lowering her voice but a little, she said to Mrs Bennet, "She is his natural daughter."

Expressions of surprise burst from many quarters, but Mrs Jennings paid them no heed, for she had noticed Marianne's entrance.

"Ah!" she cried. "There comes Miss Marianne. What can you tell us, my dear?"

"Only that she is not the Colonel's natural daughter!" she replied icily, forgetting for a moment, in her indignation, not only her place, but also the fact that she would soon need to ask a favour of the older woman.

"So he did have to return to town because of Miss Williams!" Mrs Jennings cried exultingly, untouched by Marianne's words. "And he would not say that she was taken ill, so it must be the only other reason that young girls find themselves in need of assistance for," she added, nodding knowingly.

"Whatever do you mean, Ma'am?" Lydia asked, and Mrs Bennet tutted.

Mrs Jennings continued unperturbed:

"Young men! Troublesome young men! This reminds me of a truly sad story that came to my attention less than a fortnight ago, when I received a letter from a distant cousin. Miss Steele is her name, Miss Anne Steele. She wrote me of her younger sister..."

"Surely, Ma'am", Lady Middleton hastily interjected, in a manner so different from her customarily subdued tones as to betray her acute discomfort, "this cannot be of any interest to anyone save the Miss Steeles. People so wholly unconnected to any of the parties surely cannot..."

"Tut, tut, dear!" her mother interrupted, "I was just about to give these young ladies an account of what it would be wise to beware of! In short, our Lucy made herself agreeable to Lady Ainsworth, a woman of great fortune and high fashion, and she was invited to travel with her to Brighton, as her companion. Now, Lucy always had a knack of showing herself as else than what she was... In short, using her connection with Lady Ainsworth, she had persuaded a number of people that she was a young lady of great fortune herself! Amongst those of her recent acquaintance, there was this young man - I shan't call him a gentleman, now - whom she thought really well of. He had the most charming manners, the most gentlemanlike address, and appeared to be in the possession of a good fortune. To conclude, our Lucy was persuaded to elope with him, and, mind, in doing so, she had discarded a long-standing engagement with a most honourable young man, whom she had met in her uncle's house. Their engagement was of a peculiar kind, her intended was to come into his inheritance sometime soon, at his mother's pleasure, and they had agreed to keep the engagement secret, for fear that his mother would not have approved. And then Lucy goes and throws it all away for the sake of Mr Wickham, who not only did not have a brass farthing to his name, but had abandoned her in London, right after they got married, when he had discovered she was not an heiress after all!"

Elizabeth had not attended to half of Mrs Jennings' story, just as she had paid no heed to her gossip in the past, but at the mention of Mr Wickham's name, her attention was suddenly piqued.

"And what had happened to your cousin, Ma'am?" she asked despite herself.

"She wrote her sister, who in turn wrote me, begging for assistance. I did everything I could for the poor girl, but what a wretched business! She is returned to Longstaple, to her uncle's house, who had been persuaded to receive her and is, I believe, now hoping for an annulment. Her chances with her young man are of course completely lost, particularly as she had wanted to spite him for keeping her waiting for so long, so she had put a notice in the paper about her marriage!"

It was not solely Elizabeth's interest that had been piqued. Shortly after hearing the story, Lydia exclaimed loudly that it could not be the same Mr Wickham that they were acquainted with, that he could not be married, and vowed to write her acquaintance in Meryton to find out if the story was pertaining to the same man. Elizabeth had no doubt of it. She had heard, before her departure from Hertfordshire, that the regiment was to encamp at Brighton for the summer, and she did not imagine that the watering-place could have hosted two Wickhams as false-hearted as the one she had the misfortune to encounter.

On her part, Marianne decided to abandon the plan of broaching the subject of London with Mrs Jennings, in favour of a better time. However, her little conundrum found an easier resolution than she had expected. There had been no need to ask any favours of Mrs Jennings, as the good lady herself came to speak to her, later that afternoon, about how young lovers should not be parted, especially so soon after they had reached an understanding, and warmly invited Marianne and Elinor to share with the Bennets her hospitality in town. Heartily ashamed of her own intolerance of the older woman, Marianne gratefully accepted.

To town they were to go, indeed, the only alteration to the original plan being the inability to fit, all together, including the Miss Dashwoods, in Mrs Jennings' barouche box.

As it happened, they travelled quite comfortably, for Colonel Brandon had left word that a carriage should await Miss Marianne Dashwood's pleasure, to convey her and her sister to town.

By mutual agreement, the Miss Dashwoods and the elder Miss Bennets travelled together, leaving the barouche to the merry party of Mrs Jennings, Mrs Bennet and Lydia - for merry they were, and her mother was no exception. As Elizabeth had fervently hoped, the joy of a visit to town and the prospective delights awaiting thenceforth had gone a long way in leaving Mrs Bennet with little thoughts to spare for Miss Marianne and her role in damaging her own daughter's prospects.

It was a long but pleasant journey, despite Marianne's subdued spirits, which her sister and friends unsuccessfully endeavoured to raise. Her all-pervading concern for the well-being and safety of her intended prevented her from enjoying the journey as much as she would otherwise have done, and all she could think of was her impatience to find herself in town, and once more in his company.

They arrived three days later and although Marianne had dispatched a note to Hanover Square as soon as it could be arranged, she had yet to receive a reply.

They had been in town but two days when, as the Bennets were readying themselves to visit the Gardiners - some more noisily than others - a visitor was announced, to see Miss Dashwood.

Marianne sat up in anxious expectation, but to her surprise, the caller was not for herself, but for her sister. Elinor looked up as the visitor was admitted, blushed profusely and remained silent, but Marianne advanced towards him with undisguised joy. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every other of her feelings, strong in itself and strongly spoken.

"Dear Edward!" she cried, "this is a moment of great happiness! This would almost make amends for every thing!"

The newcomer murmured something indistinctly about the joy being his but, overwhelmed by the large company, he said very little to Marianne and even less to Elinor before the introductions were performed, and then he took a seat on a sofa towards one side of the room, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Elizabeth could not help the feeling that this arrival meant much more for Miss Dashwood than for Marianne, although the effusive greetings were forthcoming only from the latter. Persuaded that their own departure would undoubtedly improve the situation, she hastened her relations, and soon they all set off to Gracechurch Street.

The delight of seeing her dear uncle and aunt was more than anything she had experienced in the last half-year. All was joy and kindness, and although the reunion was noisier than she would have liked, she could not bring herself to begrudge her mother the happiness in seeing the dear family from which they had been for so long and so forcefully separated, no matter how loudly it was expressed.

During a cheerful family dinner, plans were laid out for a visit to Netherfield. Elizabeth's aunt and uncle, it emerged, were planning to take a tour of pleasure, and Jane had kindly offered to have her four nieces and nephews in her care for the duration. The Gardiners have settled to travel to Netherfield, on their way to the North, and suggested their sister and nieces accompanied them.

Over and above the trip to Hertfordshire, for Elizabeth they had reserved a scheme of even greater felicity, in the form of an invitation to accompany them on their tour. Elizabeth found herself torn between the desire to spend more time with her most beloved sister, and the double joy of travelling in the company of some of her dearest relations.

After some deliberation, it was all settled to everyone's satisfaction. The reunited family would travel to Netherfield in a few weeks, spend a couple of days there, then Elizabeth would depart with her aunt and uncle and return within the month for a sojourn at Netherfield. The rest of her family would remain with the Bingleys, but not for the entire duration of the Northern tour, for fear of offending Mrs Jennings. The Bingleys will be able to return Elizabeth to town once her visit came to an end, as undoubtedly they - or at least Jane - would wish to see their relations once more, before they journeyed back to Devonshire. No scheme could have been more agreeable to all, and they parted with expressions of delighted anticipation.

Upon their return to Portman Square, Mrs Bennet soon withdrew to her chambers, too tired to spend more than the requisite time in company, but the younger ladies remained in the drawing room with Mrs Jennings and the Miss Dashwoods. As soon as she was reunited with her friends, Elizabeth could tell that something momentous had happened in their absence. At first, she was concerned that there might have been some bad news received from the Colonel, but their countenance, Elinor's in particular, reassured her that there was nothing to fear in that quarter. Her friend, habitually so composed and reserved, was flushed with nervous excitement and as for Marianne, she verily appeared ready to burst!

No communications were made in Mrs Jennings' presence as, given the lady's penchant for gossip and her interest in other people's affairs, they knew full well that it would spread much further than it should, and that they will not hear the end of it in the near future. It took therefore a good measure of self-restraint to keep them sufficiently subdued until such time as it was polite to withdraw, without abandoning their host to Lydia's mercy, for her comfort and entertainment.

It was then and only then that a small confrerie of four was invited to gather in the Miss Dashwoods' chamber, where Elizabeth and Kitty were first prepared to hear an astonishing account. To Elizabeth, who had eyes in her head and a good head on her shoulders, it did not come as a great shock to hear that the decidedly uncomfortable-looking young man who had visited in the morning had actually done so with the intention to propose to Miss Dashwood, anymore than she was surprised to hear that he had been accepted. The rest, however, constituted a less predictable tale, and Elizabeth listened with some concern to what her friends had to say regarding their family history and Mr Ferrars' connection with the Dashwoods, as well as about the forthcoming opposition to the engagement, fully expected from the part of his family. As to the romantic account of Mr Ferrars' journey into Devonshire, only to find that he had missed them by a day, and his hasty return to town, to follow Mrs Dashwood's directions to Mrs Jennings' house, Elizabeth received it with almost as much affectionate pleasure as Elinor experienced when she had given it.

Less than a mile away, as the crow flies, in his own study in Berkeley Square, Mr Darcy was in considerably different spirits. He lowered himself in the great winged chair behind his desk and rubbed his temples. It had been a long day, and a long night awaited him. He had spent the entire morning poring over estate business, and the struggle to give it his undivided attention had brought on a headache. As with everything in recent months, it was nigh impossible to give anything his undivided attention, save to careful but futile endeavours to extract from the Bingleys some intelligence of Elizabeth.

During his visit, there had been no news from her, good or bad - although 'good' or 'bad' bore redefinition, depending on the listener.

Darcy drew a long breath and closed his eyes.

The visit with his closest friend had taxed him beyond anything imaginable. The happiness, the laughter in his life only served to remind Darcy what it was that he had lost.

No, not 'lost'. Never even given himself the trouble to gain, in the first place.

Even a blind man could sense the devotion Bingley and his young wife shared - and Darcy was far from blind. Quite the contrary, with his perception heightened by his own wretchedness, he was aware of every look, every smile, every whisper showing that Mr Charles Bingley Esq. was happily married to the woman of his dreams, and that her devotion for him was absolute.

And Darcy could not bear it.

The only gain from this visit had been Georgiana's obvious enjoyment of it. She had positively blossomed under Mrs Bingley's affectionate attentions, and it had been a balm to her wounded spirits to have constant proof that not all attachments are feigned, and that true connubial bliss is not merely an imagination.

Darcy could hardly recognise the dejected girl he had brought into Hertfordshire in June in the luminous young lady who left him no more than a week ago to travel to Pemberley, in Mrs Annesley's company.

As for himself, he had decided he could not impose on the Bingleys' hospitality indefinitely, for their sake as well as his own. And so, he had returned to town, to peruse the society pages of the London papers, looking in dread for the announcement of an engagement of which he did not wish to know.

Darcy descended the steps that led away from his club with a brisk pace and no small measure of annoyance. The nothingness of these people! There was not a person present that day with whom there was the slightest chance of pleasant, intelligent discourse! That he could have borne with most of them for so many years was nigh incomprehensible!

He was about to return to his carriage, when the mildness of the day induced another notion. There had been some rain in the early morning, but then the weather had cleared, and the air was pleasantly refreshing. He would rather not return to Berkeley Square so soon; he could hardly find reasonable employment in any case!

Darcy dismissed his carriage with the thought that a walk will do him good. He wandered off to spend some time in Hatchard's and James Edwards'(*1), and by the time he had left his favourite small bookseller's in York Street, his disposition had taken a turn for the better.

He stopped in Pall Mall to buy some music for his sister - to follow the pianoforte he had recently acquired for her - knowing full well that gifts would not compensate for his absence, nor would they assuage his guilt for having left her for so long with none but Mrs Annesley for company. Still, it could not be helped. Thankfully, this lady was completely trustworthy and her all-pervading kindness had been a long-standing support for Georgiana. Darcy sighed. He knew that although he ought to, he could not return to Pemberley, not yet. Perhaps the answer was to ask Georgiana if she would be willing to travel to town sometime soon.

He requested that his purchases were delivered in Berkeley Square and walked out into the cool, pleasant air. Pall Mall was busy but not offensively so and, on the spur of the moment, Darcy turned right towards the Mall and thence into Green Park. He was still reluctant to return to Berkeley Square so soon, but he preferred to merely own to himself that exercise was beneficial, and that the Library ensconced in the Park had proven itself well worth visiting in the past. Darcy walked slowly up to the Reservoir, his gaze wandering over the wide expanse of green, broken here and there by lime-trees and tall chestnuts. He smiled to himself, safe in the knowledge that although the Queen's Walk (*2) might be fashionable with some, the time of day was anything but, and he will not have to endure his enjoyment being curtailed by unlooked-for encounters with the denizens of the ton and their progeny.

Darcy walked past the Fountain, the droplets sprinkled in the air and blown about in the light breeze making the day appear even fresher. He regretted for a brief moment that he had not taken this morning's purchase from York Street with him, instead of having it delivered. It would have been quite pleasant to find an unobtrusive bench and enjoy a good book and a moment of peace, if any was to be had.

It appeared that the notion had occurred to at least two others. Just in front of him and slightly to the left, on a quiet alley, two young ladies appeared absorbed in their books.

Or perhaps not so absorbed. One of them, suddenly distracted, abandoned her volume on the seat, stood and moved a few steps away from her companion, only to turn and look into the sky, her palm sheltering her eyes from the sunlight that impeded her vision.

What was she looking for, Darcy wondered, his curiosity slightly piqued despite himself. Clouds? Swallows? Were there any young ladies left in London who would show an interest in something so mundane as a lovely day? Or indeed an interest in anything at all, rather than exuding what they deemed to be a highly fashionable ennui?

Darcy looked again, then stared.

It must be another figment of his imagination, surely! It could not possibly be...

"Elizabeth? By God, Elizabeth!" his voice came in a quiet whisper and before he knew how it came about, he found himself a few steps from her, his countenance unrestrainedly suffused in all the joy such an unhoped-for encounter had produced.

"Miss Bennet! What a delightful surprise!" he said, before he could even attempt to remember common civility, or his habitual reserve - only to find, to his extreme mortification, that he had immediately followed it with "You look... remarkably well!"

Good grief! he mentally chastised himself. Could he possibly have been more gauche? Well, yes, in point of fact. He could have said 'You look even more beautiful than I remembered', which was, in truth, on his mind at the time, he futilely reasoned.

"Mr Darcy!"

The unexpected encounter in an unfamiliar place with a reasonably familiar person, as well as his surprisingly warm welcome made Elizabeth more open in her manifestations than she would otherwise have been. Instead of a restrained curtsey, she offered him her hand. Darcy took it, belatedly remembering to bow politely over it, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest blush. Darcy nervously cleared his throat and looked away, then down at his feet.

No, this would not do! This unexpected, wonderful chance... what fool would waste it on mere commonplaces? He swallowed and, uncharacteristically, threw reserve and caution to the wind as he offered quietly but earnestly:

"I consider myself exceedingly fortunate to have happened upon this spot, Miss Bennet. It has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of seeing you."

"Indeed, it has been a while, Sir..."

"Above seven months, I believe. We have not met since the 26th of November, when I have had the honour of dancing with you at Netherfield."

Elizabeth looked up in surprise to find his memory so exact and for a few brief moments their eyes met, before she looked away. His openness of manner was nothing short of extraordinary and although she found it pleasing, Elizabeth knew not what to make of it. She looked back to the gentleman, only to witness his countenance changing under her very eyes, from the earlier friendly welcome to a solemn and almost sombre air. Curiously, Elizabeth found that countenance much easier to read, and soon discovered she had been correct in her estimations, as Mr Darcy offered his sympathy on her father's passing.

"Thank you," she replied softly, then was again silent. Perhaps she ought to have renewed her expressions of gratitude for all his efforts in preventing this very outcome, Elizabeth thought.

And yet she could not do it. She could not, would not speak of those days of hope for her father's recovery - or she would find herself bursting into tears in the middle of Green Park!

To her relief, Mr Darcy spoke again:

"Have you been long in town?" he asked, rather more sedately.

"But two weeks, Sir."

"And are you staying with your relations?"

"No, with friends in Portman Square."

"Oh."

He stopped, his mind devoid of all rational thought other than he had to find an excuse to remain at her side. He hoped he did not sound as boyishly eager as he felt when he asked:

"Would you care to take a turn around the Gardens? Or perhaps walk across to Hyde Park? I would be very happy to escort you. Unless of course you were otherwise engaged..."

"No, Sir," she smiled. "My sister and I are entirely at leisure. You remember my sister Catherine, of course."

Of course. He had entirely forgotten her companion. Darcy turned and bowed restrainedly to the young woman he remembered as one of Elizabeth's wild sisters. His reserve returned in full, along with some measure of disappointment. It was entirely unreasonable, and of that he was well aware. Of course she would walk with a companion. It was natural and desirable, though for his own peace of mind he would have preferred to know her escorted by someone more reliable than a younger sister, and a foolish one at that.

To his surprise, in response to his bow he received a reserved curtsey and a few polite words in greeting, without any of the girlish giggles he had come to expect from Miss Kitty and Miss... what was the youngest called? Lilly? No, something else... Lydia, rather.

"I apologise", he recollected himself, remembering their employment prior to his appearance. "I should not wish to disrupt your morning..." he added, hoping to be contradicted, and to his relief and not insubstantial pleasure, Elizabeth obliged.

"It is of no consequence, Sir. It is always a pleasure to come across an old acquaintance, particularly when least expected. How have you been keeping, Mr Darcy? I trust you are well..."

"Very well, I thank you. And you? Is your family in good health?"

"I thank you, yes, they are well, Sir."

Miss Catherine excused herself with a few words and a brief curtsey and returned to collect her own volume and her sister's from the bench and gather them in her reticule.

In the silence that followed, Darcy's disquiet returned in no small measure.

By every standard, he was now required, he knew, to enquire about her family's comfort in Devonshire - but everything within him recoiled from any reference to Farringdon. He sighed, privately thinking that he would have been better served by far, had he more rigorously adhered from the very beginning to the original opinion that all manner of deceit was his abhorrence.

Having withheld the truth of his involvement last autumn was, although condemnable, at least in keeping with his thoughts at the time. To discuss Farringdon now and feign no connection with it would be indefensible.

"Would you... that is..." Darcy offered hesitantly, then cleared his voice and resumed with more coherence and more apparent composure. "It would be a pleasure to call upon you and your family, if it is convenient", he said civilly and Elizabeth looked up, not altogether convinced he was in earnest. As far as she could remember, he could hardly tolerate her family in the past, and in some cases with good reason! However, detecting nothing but politeness in his address and some genuine interest she could not justify, Elizabeth allowed that they would be very pleased to receive him.

"And whereabouts in Portman Square are you staying?"

"Oh, of course, I apologise. We are houseguests of Mrs Jennings', a family friend from Devonshire, and she lives at number twenty-one".

Darcy nodded, happy in the knowledge that he had been able to mask his relief at this intelligence. Ever since she had mentioned staying with friends in town, rather than her uncle and aunt, of which he had heard from Mrs Bingley, part of his mind dreaded the possibility that the circumstances were as such that she and her family were Colonel Brandon's guests.

He wished - feared - that any intelligence could be had on that score, but knew he would still have to wait to acquire it. She would hardly have cause to give it, and he could not ask.

Miss Catherine had returned to their side and all three stood in silence for a few moments, until Elizabeth offered a comment regarding the changeable weather they had been having lately.

"Quite so!" Darcy concurred, recollecting himself. "Knowing your fondness for walks, Miss Bennet, I should imagine that the wet weather had taxed your patience severely. Or would I be wrong in assuming that it had the power to keep you indoors?" he added, a glimpse of Elizabeth's appearance in Netherfield's gardens to tend to her sister returning to him, to warm his heart and his countenance.

"Only in part, Sir," Elizabeth laughingly owned, and the amused sparkle in her eyes robbed him of all power of speech, until with an effort he was able to turn to her sister.

"If I remember correctly, you used to favour walking as well, Miss Catherine." Either that, or the society Meryton had to offer, Darcy thought, rather unkindly, but endeavoured to check himself. He would show Elizabeth's sister every civility and would do well to remember that his own conduct had - although in very different ways - been far from irreproachable.

"Yes, Mr Darcy, I did," he heard Miss Catherine concur, "and still do, perhaps to an even greater extent. I have to confess to being a willing participant in all of my sister's schemes," she concluded with a fond smile to Elizabeth, which Darcy unconsciously mirrored.

"Excellent!" he replied. "In this case, I have great hopes that I might be able to persuade you to take a turn about Hyde Park."

Elizabeth checked the time. It was past two o'clock and she pondered for a short while.

"I must confess myself quite tempted, Mr Darcy, as I have caught a glimpse of the Serpentine on my last visit, and I had left town with the regret of not having had the chance to walk round it," she finally said.

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," Darcy offered with a warm smile, "but I feel I must warn you, it is almost three miles all round."

"What is three miles of good road?" Elizabeth replied, with a brow slightly arched in that fashion which Darcy found positively irresistible. "A delightful walk, I do not doubt, yet... I fear it is rather late to embark upon it now," she owned, despite herself, and Darcy concurred, with obvious disappointment.

"Indeed, I daresay it ought to be attempted much earlier in the day... But perhaps you would permit me to escort you - and Miss Catherine - back to Portman Square, and a better time can be arranged," he suggested and Elizabeth smiled.

"That is very kind, Mr Darcy, but I should not wish to detain you. We were in fact hoping to have a look around the Queen's Library before making our way home."

"A remarkable coincidence," he replied, privately diverted by the thought that he would have claimed it to be so in any case, regardless of the truth of the matter. "I would be honoured to accompany you, as I have walked hither with the same intention myself."

The Miss Bennets graciously accepted and all three wandered off, talking companionably of everything and nothing. They spent a pleasurable half-hour in the Library, though Darcy knew full well that if he had any interest for the books to be found therein, he ought to return at a later date, as all he could do at the time was to look at her over the book he was holding as a guise, incredulous of his good fortune and grateful for the inspiration that had guided his steps towards Green Park that morning. The thought that she would otherwise have been staying not a mile from his home - and him being none the wiser - was too much to contemplate.

Finally, Miss Bennet and Miss Catherine declared themselves satisfied and ready to return to Portman Square, and all three made their way out into the Park. They wandered along the shaded alleyways, discussing the plays currently performed in town, and Elizabeth expressed her regret that they happened to visit at a time when the Opera House would be closed.

"Which music do you favour?" Darcy asked, grateful for the chance of learning anything of her.

"Oh, Mozart's, beyond any comparison!" Elizabeth decidedly answered and Darcy smiled despite himself, charmed by her unconcealed enthusiasm, as by everything about her.

"My sister's preference lies with the German composers, particularly Beethoven, and at one time Bach, but Mozart had also become a recent favourite," he mentioned casually.

The inclination towards Mozart had in effect heralded the beginning of Georgiana's recovery of spirits after Ramsgate, but that he did not disclose.

"There can be no equal to Beethoven's style, not in our time, to be sure. His music is so... majestic, so uplifting! It puts me in mind of the noblest sentiments known to man. Mozart's is delectable in an altogether different fashion. It is alive, and mischievous sometimes, but positively delightful. It can be too light, and bright, and sparkling for some, I do not doubt (*3). But then there is no accounting for tastes, is there?"

"No," Darcy smiled, "there is not!"

He cast a glance in her direction and then forced himself to look away so as not to stare, wishing he had the liberty of letting her know that she was the most alive, the most delectably mischievous and positively delightful lady of his acquaintance, and the handsomest as well - or, failing that, wishing at least that he had had the inspiration and the intrepidity to offer her his arm when they had set out on their walk. It would have been odd to do it now... would it not?

Nevertheless, the day had offered the lengthiest and less strained conversation they ever had, in the entire course of their acquaintance, and the enjoyment had not been curtailed by any officious or embarrassing interference. On that note, Miss Catherine had been a most agreeable surprise. She had been reserved, polite and occasionally showed herself quite well informed. She had been nothing like he had remembered and indeed had expected her to be.

"Will you be staying long in town?" Elizabeth politely enquired, after a pause in conversation.

"My plans are not fixed at the moment," Darcy replied quietly, looking away, "though I should imagine I shall return to Pemberley for at least part of the summer. Will you be returning to Devonshire soon?"

Elizabeth made no answer and Darcy turned towards her with a slightly questioning look, only to find that her attention had been drawn somewhere ahead. Darcy's gaze followed the direction of hers and eventually rested on the gentleman advancing towards them.

"I do beg your pardon, Mr Darcy, I was not attending!" Elizabeth apologised. "You were saying...?"

"Merely enquiring about your return home," Darcy repeated slightly puzzled.

"I should imagine it would be sometime in September," she replied lightly and turned with a welcoming smile to the gentleman who had by then reached them.

"Good afternoon, Colonel. What a surprise! I apologise, gentlemen, I believe you have not met. Mr Darcy, may I introduce Colonel Brandon, one of our Devonshire neighbours and a dear friend. Colonel, this is Mr Darcy of Derbyshire."

And all of Darcy's delight in his good fortune of the day turned to ash.

A neighbour and a dear friend. A dear friend.

She had introduced Brandon as 'a dear friend'. What did that signify, a dear friend?

Her words reverberated in his mind and spun with dizzying velocity.

It might have signified anything or nothing, but it was not the words that inflicted the pain.

It was her obvious pleasure in the encounter that did, and her welcoming smile for the other man. And her loss of interest in his conversation. And the fact that she had not qualified their own acquaintance in any way. Brandon was 'a dear friend'. As for himself, he was apparently nothing.

The pain, as he had once imagined, was indeed searing.

Darcy bowed perfunctorily to the other man, and straightened to take a proper look at him.

He looked very gentlemanly, to be sure, and - one might have to concede - had a fine countenance. Fourteen years older than Elizabeth, was he? To his distress, Darcy had to own that he did not look it, particularly at this moment, as Brandon had turned to Elizabeth with a few words of greeting.

Darcy bit his lip and looked away. He would have thought that Richard was a better judge of characters. Reserved, and a very private man, that was how he had described Brandon in the past. Darcy all but humphed out-loud. For a very private man, he was doing a remarkably good job of showing that he was clearly happy about the encounter.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here, Colonel?" Darcy heard Elizabeth ask, as he forced himself to attend to the conversation.

"I called in Portman Square only to be told that the young ladies had gone out with the intention of taking a walk in this park and visit the Library. I am surprised, however, that you would choose to leave the Library before your friends," the other man replied in a quiet voice which Darcy could not but own that it was warm and pleasant, and the smile directed towards Elizabeth made him clench his hands behind his back.

No more so than the understanding smile he received in return.

"I am afraid you were sadly misled, Colonel. We left the house together, but the Miss Dashwoods were to visit in Harley Street."

The Miss Dashwoods?

"I see," was the Colonel's sole reply and for a few moments they continued their walk in silence.

To Darcy's even greater annoyance, Miss Catherine, who had in the beginning walked at Elizabeth's right, had now ceded her place to the Colonel and had chosen to move to Darcy's left. Thus, when they quitted the park and discovered the pavement on Piccadilly not quite wide enough to admit four, he had found himself necessarily lagging behind at Miss Catherine's side, while Brandon remained at Elizabeth's.

And had offered her his arm, and was accepted.

Darcy seethed. He should have offered Elizabeth his arm when he had the chance, he told himself petulantly, only to wince in pain at his own childishness.

It would not have mattered. Elizabeth might still have chosen Brandon's support over his.

Having offered his arm or not half-an-hour ago was inconsequential.

Not having offered his hand half a year ago was anything but.

He could not take his eyes of them, despite years of training in all the written and unwritten laws of conduct in polite society, nor could he refrain from attempting to listen to their conversation. With the few steps' distance and the commotion of the great boulevard, he could hear very little and understand even less. But he could not miss the air of intimacy and easy camaraderie between them. Their friendly, communing smiles and the almost affectionate fashion in which Elizabeth had patted his arm at one point in the conversation told more than words could. She was very comfortable in Brandon's presence, much more so than she had ever been in his.

Was that supposed to be a good sign?

One is hardly ever this comfortable when one is in love, was that not so?

Darcy sighed as he dismissed all such notions as rationalising and wishful thinking.

If affection was declared and reciprocated, then there would be comfort. And bliss.

For another.

"Would you be able to stay for dinner, Colonel?" Darcy heard Elizabeth ask, and then she added, "I would assume that our party would be complete before too long."

The Colonel gladly accepted the invitation and Darcy had the pain and pleasure of suddenly finding himself the object of Elizabeth attention as she turned to him.

"I hope you will be able to join us too, Mr Darcy," she offered, rather perturbed by the thought that Mrs Jennings, Mrs Bennet and Lydia were an acquired taste - which, if memory served, he never truly got to acquire, as far as her mother and her sister were concerned - and that they would undoubtedly grate on his sensibilities. She wished she could have introduced him instead to the society of her uncle and aunt Gardiner, as she would have liked him to know that Jane - and more recently, Kitty - were not her only relations for whom there was no need to blush.

Still, it could not be helped. Elinor, Marianne and the Colonel would have to suffice in terms of intelligent, sensible and decorous company.

She needed not concern herself with how the renewal of his acquaintance with her less decorous relations and friends would affect him. It did not come to pass. Mr Darcy sensed her reservations - and completely misinterpreted them. With all his previous enjoyment turned into bitterness at the thought that the affectionate invitation was Brandon's, and his was merely the forced civility, he politely but coldly declined the pleasure of dining in Portman Square.

Had he chosen to attend, he would have met the Miss Dashwoods, and would have soon come to the right understanding regarding the Colonel's affections, as the gentleman would have been hard-pressed not to betray any sign of them in Miss Marianne's presence - and had that not sufficed, Mrs Jennings' wit would have done the trick.

He did not. He returned to Berkeley Square in spirits more dejected than ever, persuaded that the engagement Fitzwilliam had spoken of was, if not yet a reality, then a very certain possibility, and that he might as well return to Pemberley.

Yet he knew he would not. Not until the dice had fallen and all hope was lost.

Darcy could not bring himself to visit in Portman Square until full ten days had passed - only to be told that the lady of the house would be delighted to receive him, but Mrs Bennet and her daughters were no longer in residence. A brief call sufficed for Darcy to acquire the intelligence as to them having departed for Netherfield not three days previously, and for Mrs Jennings to rejoice in the unexpected delight of being offered such good reason to quiz and teaze her young friends, when they were to meet again, about the obvious disappointment of the distinguished young man who had come to call upon them. It was a pity she could not tell which of them he actually came to see, but after some deliberation, Mrs Jennings decided it was not such a bad thing after all. She could of course teaze them all.

(*1) Booksellers and publishers regarded as some of the most fashionable of the time. ('The London Book Trades 1775-1800: a topographical guide'. Compiled by Victor Berch; Edited by Ian Maxted)
(*2) "The Green Park (just south of Piccadilly) is now devoid of buildings and has virtually no artefacts, but it was not always so. The Park once contained lodges, a library, an ice house and two vast 'temples' called the Temple of Peace and the Temple of Concord. During festivities in the Park the two temples were destroyed. In 1749 the Temple of Peace, erected to mark the end of the War of Austrian Succession, exploded during a firework display and in 1814 the Temple of Concord, erected to mark 100 years of the Hanoverian Dynasty, was also destroyed in a similar way during the Prince Regent's gala. The Park was enclosed by Charles II in 1668, stocked with deer and provided with a ranger's house. It was known as Upper St James's Park but by 1746 it was called The Green Park. Various improvements at the beginning of the 18th century made it more of a pleasure garden. The Tyburn Pool was built, and in the 1720s a reservoir was made to supply water to St James's Palace and Buckingham House. This reservoir was called the Queen's Basin, and with the adjacent Queen's Walk, planted in 1730, soon became a fashionable venue. Unfortunately, The Ranger's Lodge, the Queen's Library, the Queen's Basin and the Tyburn Pool had all been demolished by 1855." History and Architecture of Royal Parks of London (www.royalparks.gov.uk).
(*3) Jane Austen on the recently published Pride and Prejudice, in a letter to her sister, on the 4th of February 1813. ('A memoir of Jane Austen', E. Austen-Leigh, The Folio Society, London 1989)

Elizabeth leaned into the cushions, a pleasant sense of drowsiness enveloping her as the carriage swayed gently, almost luring her to sleep. They have been on their way for quite some time, the Gardiners and herself, and the eager anticipation with which she had set off from Netherfield in the very early hours of the morning had gradually given way to the tiredness she was eventually bound to feel, yet she was not ready to stop or rest. The enchantment of places never seen before was enough to spur her on.

The visit to Netherfield had been everything she had hoped for - and more. The delight to see Jane, and to see her so happy, could not be surpassed by anything, and yet her joy on her sister's behalf had been increased even further when, at the first opportunity for private discourse, Jane had told her in the strictest confidence that she was expecting an addition to her happy household, sometime in early spring. Elizabeth had held her and wept with joy, then wiped her face with the tip of her fingers in a most unladylike fashion, and attempted to shake off her own sensibility by laughingly remarking:

"So, the time to teach your children to play their instruments very ill is drawing near! Oh, Jane, I am so happy for you! And for Charles, of course."

Jane embraced her sister once more and whispered, close to tears:

"I miss you, Lizzy! I wish you would come to live with us!"

"Someone needs to keep Mamma and Lydia in check!" Elizabeth laughed, to make light of the situation. "It would be unfair to expect it of Kitty already. She had only recently acquired some sense herself!"

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane laughed, forgetting herself, "you remind me so of Papa!"

As soon as the words had escaped her, Jane covered her mouth and whispered, dejectedly.

"I am so sorry, my dear! I should not have said that!"

"No, Jane," Elizabeth answered, tears in her eyes, "in point of fact, it is one of the loveliest things you could have said to me."

They held each other then, and wept freely, the sisterly bond they shared making the burden lighter. Then Jane dried her face and said matter-of-factly:

"We should dress for dinner. I hope you like your room, Lizzy. I have selected it especially for you, as it overlooks the eastern fields. The view is lovely first thing in the morning, all swirling mist and glittering dew, and I thought you might appreciate it, given you are such an early riser... Georgiana was enchanted by the prospect, and I do believe she rises almost as early as you do!"

"Oh! You have met Miss Darcy, then."

"Yes, and she is delightful! Mr Darcy and his sister have been visiting with us for a while last month. I only wish you had arrived sooner, or that they stayed for longer, so that you could have met her yourself. Having said that, I do believe Mr Darcy will be quite disappointed to have missed you. He had enquired most particularly about you several times, when he was last with us!"

"I cannot imagine why!" Elizabeth answered, a slight blush colouring her cheeks at the intelligence. "We have come across him in town though, quite by accident, Kitty and I," she imparted.

"You did? How did that come about?"

Elizabeth shared with her elder sister the details of the unexpected meeting in Green Park, along with some of her own thoughts on the matter.

"It was quite a shock to see Mr Darcy devoid of his habitual reserve in the beginning, but I daresay he had regained it soon enough! I can never comprehend the man!" she finished with a smile.

"Mr Darcy is quite an intricate character, I grant you, but I have come to discover myself that he is very pleasant company once you get to know him better."

"Perhaps!" Elizabeth conceded, with a little laugh.

The unrestrained, agreeable conversation they have had in the park led her to believe that it could be true, although the man's propensity to return to his cool reserve without any warning or apparent reason was positively infuriating!

It would have been a gross falsehood to claim that she had not thought of Mr Darcy occasionally, ever since their paths had diverged last autumn, and a great deal more since their puzzling meeting in town. As she had once confessed to Jane, he would remain in her memory as one of the most intriguing gentlemen of her acquaintance. And one of the most intelligent, and perhaps one of the handsomest. It was indeed difficult not to acknowledge his superiority, when faced with the likes of Sir John. Even Colonel Brandon, whom she esteemed and regarded with great fondness, would be found lacking by comparison, in many respects.

But that is neither here nor there! Elizabeth reminded herself. Despite the obvious pleasure with which he had greeted her in Green Park - which in itself had been a great surprise - there was no denying the fact that he had not called upon them in Portman Square, as he had requested permission to. But, perhaps he could not in her mother's presence be what he was before herself, or Kitty, or Jane. It was a painful, but not an improbable conjecture.

Or perhaps he had been unaware of their leaving town so soon. Elizabeth tried to remember if she had imparted the intelligence and found that she could not.

Or perhaps he was a very busy man.

Or perhaps she ought to leave him to his own devices and return to her wise decision of old to not make herself unhappy over him!

Elizabeth squared her slender shoulders and turned to look out of the carriage window. The rolling hills and pleasant meadows leading up to Oxford and beyond were enough to entice the eye with all the delights of beautiful countryside, and the vague resemblance to the environs of Longbourn could do nothing but further raise them in Elizabeth's appreciation.

Their all-too-short time at Netherfield had been a delight, she thought with a smile, although the mere couple of days had flown by in a manner which Elizabeth would have found hard to bear, had she not known that she will have her dearest sister all to herself before too long.

It had been good to see old friends again, and familiar places, although some were tinged with bitter memories. The necessary visit to Longbourn, in particular, had been a very difficult moment, especially having to see her father's beloved library turned into Mr Collins' realm. But that was the way of the world, and Elizabeth was resolved to accept it as best she could.

Jane and their aunt's presence had been a balm to her soul, and Elizabeth was grateful for them, and for all the blessings in her life.

The time to start on their trip northward was upon them before they knew it and, at the beginning of August, they set off in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One enjoyment was certain - that of suitableness as companions: a suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear inconveniences; cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure; and affection and intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there were disappointments abroad.

They travelled to Derbyshire without much delay, stopping in but a few notable places, as they had already determined they would linger and indulge their curiosity for other worthwhile sights upon their return. Their proposed destination was Lambton, the little town Mrs Gardiner hailed from and where she had lately learned that some acquaintance still remained.

To her surprise, Elizabeth discovered from her aunt that Pemberley was situated within five miles of Lambton, and Mrs Gardiner expressed a wish to see the place again.

Elizabeth was in two minds about the scheme. While she would have enjoyed the opportunity of touring the place, she felt awkward of doing so without proper invitation, and was compelled to share the sentiment with her relations.

"Awkward?" her uncle asked. "No more than Blenheim or Chatsworth! There was no awkwardness there!"

"No indeed, Sir, as I have no acquaintance with the families of either Blenheim or Chatsworth. There I was at liberty to be a visitor. At Pemberley, without proper invitation, I feel more like an intruder."

"We should not visit, then, if this is your wish," her aunt intervened, placatingly. "But perhaps we should at first enquire whether the family is down for the summer," she wisely suggested.

Their enquiry, prior to leaving Lambton, was answered in the negative.

To Pemberley therefore they were to go.

The day dawned bright and clear, and no impediment presented itself to the planned excursion to Pemberley. They drove the five miles with undisguised anticipation, and finally turned in at the lodge. The park was very large and contained great variety of ground. They drove for some time through a beautiful wood, gradually ascending for half a mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound.

It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground; and in front, a stream led to a lake, with nothing artificial in its appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.

The house itself, when they applied to see it, did not disappoint. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor and Elizabeth saw, with admiration for his taste, that it was neither gaudy, nor uselessly fine, with more real elegance and less useless splendour than was the fashion of the time.

For the first time, Elizabeth comprehended the true magnitude of the Darcys' position in life.

She had known, as far back as the year before, in Hertfordshire, that Darcy was above Charles in status, by as much and possibly more than the difference by which Bingley stood above the Bennets. However, she had never imagined that the disparity between Pemberley and Netherfield - or between Pemberley and everything she had ever experienced, for that matter - would be so marked. It was a humbling feeling, which made her feel rather uncomfortable.

The housekeeper, to whom they had applied to see the house, was a remarkably pleasant and welcoming lady, whose main enjoyment appeared to be the opportunity to speak of her master and his sister. A very favourable account of both followed, making Elizabeth wonder how could the perfect landlord and master that Mrs Reynolds described deport himself with such insensitivity at the beginning of his sojourn in Hertfordshire. And yet she could not find fault with the older woman's account. She had seen herself that side of him which exuded consideration and kindness, as well as the power to influence other people's lives.

Finally, they were escorted to the paintings gallery, for which Mrs Gardiner had expressed a great deal of interest. Elizabeth could not quite join her in the sentiment. She knew very little of the art, and could not find the same enjoyment as her aunt in the works of great masters. She would have liked to see the library, however, and said as much to Mrs Reynolds. The affable lady readily agreed to escort her there, while her relations admired the paintings.

Elizabeth followed the older woman down a wide staircase and along a corridor, then Mrs Reynolds opened a door and admitted her into Elizabeth's notion of heaven. Large windows allowed the bright sunlight in, and it threw joyful, tantalising spears of gold over the most outstanding collection of books she had ever seen. Warm-coloured chairs were scattered about the place, for the pleasure and comfort of all who sought their enjoyment there, and in one of these chairs Elizabeth espied a very young lady, curled up with her book. The lady looked up and straightened as they entered, and Mrs Reynolds began to apologise, at the sight of her.

"I do beg your pardon for the interruption, Miss Darcy!" she said, much to Elizabeth's consternation, when it became clear that the intelligence they had received in Lambton regarding the family being from home was unfounded. "I did not know you were within when I offered to escort Miss Bennet to see the library," Mrs Reynolds apologised, then added, "Miss Bennet had expressed a great interest for it."

Elizabeth was torn between embarrassment at having intruded upon the family and some curiosity to see Miss Georgiana Darcy, of whom she had heard so much. She was reluctant to claim any connection to the family, however, when suddenly, to her surprise, Miss Darcy came to greet her and asked:

"This may seem forward and rather odd, I fear, but I cannot pass the opportunity of asking. Would you happen to be related to Mrs Bingley of Hertfordshire? She was Miss Bennet prior to her marriage, I was given to understand..."

"Mrs Bingley is my elder sister," Elizabeth answered with surprised pleasure. "I saw her a week ago and she told me of her delight in having made your acquaintance, Miss Darcy!"

The younger lady blushed becomingly.

"The pleasure and honour were all mine. It has been a privilege to become acquainted with your sister. Mrs Bingley is one of the kindest and most generous people I know! You will forgive my asking of your family connections, but I should not have wished to pass the opportunity of properly welcoming one of her relations!"

"You are very kind!" Elizabeth answered, wondering once more at the extent of the deceit perpetrated by that scoundrel, Wickham. That he could have described such an obliging young lady as haughty and proud added another sin to his long list of like 'accomplishments'.

"Have you had the tour of the house, Miss Bennet? I would be delighted to show you around, if you had not!" Miss Darcy offered, to Elizabeth's renewed surprise.

She acknowledged the gracious offer and replied in the affirmative, complimenting Miss Darcy on her delightful home and thanking Mrs Reynolds for her efforts. The housekeeper concurred:

"I daresay the usual tour is largely completed, with the exception of the west wing, that is. Miss Bennet and her party have not seen it yet."

"Then perhaps I could escort you there. And it would give me great pleasure to have your company for tea afterwards, yours and your party's, of course!" Miss Darcy added, shyly.

Although diffidently, the offer had nevertheless been made, which in itself would have greatly astonished her brother, had he but witnessed it, and would have made him think of Mrs Bingley's beneficial influence once more, and more gratefully. The invitation was gladly accepted, and Mrs Reynolds returned to attend to the Gardiners and order some refreshment, while Elizabeth and Miss Darcy were to tour the library and the west wing together. The library, as expected, gave Elizabeth great pleasure, and she could easily ascertain that it had been the loving work of many generations, who had enhanced their collection not for effect, but out of genuine interest.

"This is indeed a delight!" she could not help exclaiming, reverently touching the spines of some of the books, friends of hers of old.

"You are most welcome to return and enjoy it at your leisure," Miss Darcy extended, albeit shyly, and Elizabeth smiled.

"I thank you, Miss Darcy, you are most obliging, but I fear a lifetime would not be enough to acquaint oneself with all the wonders this room holds!"

"This is probably the case," Miss Darcy smiled in response, "but you are welcome nevertheless."

Privately acknowledging that tarrying for longer in the library would do nothing but stir an appetite which the available time could not sate, Elizabeth declared herself at her companion's leisure to continue on their tour, and they walked towards the west wing, conversing companionably about the places Elizabeth had visited in her travels.

The west wing housed the music room and, on its northern side, an elegantly fitted-up saloon, whose aspect rendered it delightful for the summer. Elizabeth expressed her admiration for the refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, which the saloon offered, as well as of the beautiful instrument placed in the corner of the very elegant music room.

"Thank you," Miss Darcy replied. "It is just come down for me. A present from my brother."

"I have heard much praise of your proficiency at the pianoforte," Elizabeth said, remembering Miss Bingley's raptures, so long ago, at Netherfield.

"I am sure it has been greatly exaggerated," Miss Darcy replied, modestly. "I must admit, I am very fond of music, and I would like my skills to do it justice, but I fear I fall short of my expectations... Do you play, Miss Bennet?" she added, in an attempt to divert attention from herself.

"Aye, but very ill indeed!"

"I believe you are too modest!" Miss Darcy offered with a smile.

"May I return the sentiment, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth laughed, "even more confidently so, as I was given to understand that you practise constantly, which is more than I can say for myself!"

"Then perhaps you could be persuaded to visit again during your stay in the area, and we might compare our skills!" Miss Darcy offered, with a boldness that surprised even her - not merely because she was not in the habit of giving invitations and hardly ever gathered the courage to play for company, but particularly as she could scarce remember the last time she had found herself driven to further an acquaintance so recently established. There was, however, something very appealing about Mrs Bingley's sister, an openness of manner, an easy, unaffected friendliness that made her wish to know her better. "I would greatly appreciate your society, Miss Bennet," she added with a smile. "We have been very quiet here for some time, my companion Mrs Annesley and I, as my brother could not travel to Pemberley after our visit with Mr and Mrs Bingley. He had to return to town, to await some news of great import, and although he did not explain further, I doubt he would join me very soon."

There it was, then, the intelligence she could not bring herself to seek, and it gave Elizabeth a small measure of satisfaction to have acquired it, although she could not tell whether she was more relieved or disappointed to hear of Mr Darcy's continued absence from Pemberley.

His sister's invitation, on the other hand, although surprising, did not raise disconcerting questions and Elizabeth accepted it with pleasure, pending the concurrence of her companions.

At length, Miss Darcy escorted her back to the main staircase and thence to the floor above, to a delightfully appointed room, less formally imposing and much lighter and airier than any of the ones she had already visited. Elizabeth understood she had been taken to the part of the house reserved for family, rather than that opened to visitors, even before Miss Darcy had explained:

"This is my own sitting room. Perhaps you would like to rest and we could have some refreshment. Mrs Reynolds will escort the rest of your party here. Are you travelling with a large group of friends?"

"No, just my uncle and aunt from town."

"I should be delighted to make their acquaintance," Miss Darcy said politely, but Elizabeth could not fail to notice the return of the young lady's shyness, which somewhat belied the sentiment.

"This is a very pleasant room," she said with a genuine smile, in an attempt to draw Miss Darcy back to their former, less stilted discourse.

"Thank you. My brother had it done up to surprise me, for my return from town. He is the kindest of brothers and very attentive to me!"

"It is no more than you deserve, I do not doubt!" Elizabeth smiled, and walked to admire a couple of charcoal sketches hung above the escritoire.

As she drew closer, the sight of one of them sharply commanded her attention. It was a very accurate rendition of Mr Darcy, but it was not the person portrayed, rather the air captured that made her stop and stare. She had seen likenesses of him, in point of fact there was one in the portraits gallery, where he looked very much the undisputable Master of Pemberley. Not haughty, but powerful; not vain, but self-assured. And in no doubt about his duty, his merits or his place.

This little sketch was a different matter altogether. There was absolutely nothing formal about his air. A warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and the unmistakably affectionate look in his eyes lit up his entire countenance. It was almost as though the artist had caught him in one of his unguarded moments, when he had divested himself of the great, heavy cloak of Master of Pemberley, and had allowed himself to be human after all.

"I did not know you drew so well, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth offered, to fill the silence, having noticed the signature in the corner.

Indeed; she ought to have guessed. It had been his sister that he had sat for. It was for Miss Darcy that light-hearted smile, that affectionate and engagingly self-conscious look. This was no surprise, as Elizabeth knew him to be a devoted brother.

The surprise was that he could look like that, for anyone.

And yet... there was something oddly familiar about the air his younger sister had captured... Puzzled, Elizabeth briefly wondered why, and then the memory returned. Of course. Mr Darcy's countenance, in the very first moments of their unexpected encounter in Green Park, had been closer to this sketch than to any of her previous representations of the man. It was indeed a pity that those moments had not lasted long...

Unwittingly, Elizabeth returned the smile of the portrait.

She had always thought him handsome, but this likeness made him even more so, as it was utterly devoid of the unbending reserve he displayed to strangers, and showed a very private glimpse of how he would appear to the people of his closest acquaintance. Having seen it, Elizabeth could more easily understand his sister's obvious devotion, the bond between him and Mr Bingley and Jane's insistence that he could be quite pleasant company if one got to know him better. Mr Darcy certainly showed very different sides of himself to different people, and Elizabeth found herself wishing she were among the privileged few who got to know him as this sketch portrayed.

"Thank you. It is a likeness of my brother," Georgiana explained, in response to the compliment, and the unexpected voice at her elbow made Elizabeth start.

"Yes, the resemblance is remarkable," Elizabeth offered, for want of a more inspired comment, and to her surprise, this made Miss Darcy eye her with a puzzled expression.

"I am happy to hear this, although I always thought that my brother and I did not look so very similar..."

Elizabeth coloured.

"I apologise, I meant..."

But she could not finish, as Miss Darcy interjected, blushing profusely herself.

"You must think me very foolish! Of course, I should have thought that, as Mr and Mrs Bingley's sister, you must be acquainted with my brother as well."

Elizabeth could only offer "Yes, I have had that pleasure," and then turned to admire the other drawing, before Miss Darcy might be inclined to ask her about their acquaintance. She need not have worried, however, as the younger lady's shyness prevented her from even entertaining such a notion.

To Elizabeth's relief and Miss Darcy's short-lived concern, the door was soon opened, and the Gardiners were admitted, followed almost immediately by the previously ordered refreshment. As soon as the introductions were performed, in an attempt to conceal her revived shyness, Miss Darcy busied herself with the tea things, gladly accepting Elizabeth's assistance, both in preparing the tea and in establishing the beginnings of a conversation.

It did not take long, however, until she had warmed up to the new acquaintance. It would have been difficult indeed not to, as both Mr and Mrs Gardiner were pleasant, genteel people, with a great deal of kindness to recommend them - and should that not have been enough to break the ice, Mrs Gardiner's familiarity with the area supplied them with plenty of topics for relaxed conversation. They moved on to the subject of music and then to that of the most recent performances in town, and a short hour later they parted, mutually delighted with each other.

Miss Darcy had, by the end of the visit, lost all the reserve that would have prevented her from giving the invitation, and cheerfully asked them all to return to Pemberley, thus renewing the offer made earlier to Elizabeth, and extending it to the Gardiners as well.

On the part of the Gardiners, the invitation was regretfully declined, as their previous engagements with a number of families of Mrs Gardiner's acquaintance left them unable to do otherwise. They saw no reason, however, why Elizabeth should feel compelled to join them, particularly as she did not know any of Mrs Gardiner's friends. It was decided, therefore, that Miss Bennet will visit Pemberley again the following morning.

Shortly after, the Gardiners and their niece returned to their lodgings in Lambton, charmed by young Miss Darcy's amiability and gentle manners. No less pleased with them, as soon as she had escorted her guests below-stairs, Miss Darcy hastened back to her sitting room, to write her brother of the delightful young lady of her recent acquaintance.

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