'All good comes to those who wait' claimed the old adage, but Fitzwilliam Darcy seriously doubted its wisdom, as he tugged absent-mindedly at his cuffs, his countenance closed and his jaw set.

With a short, impatient huff, he turned to cast a cursory glance in the tall looking-glass, only to note that he seemed prepared to face another day - outwardly at least.

"Thank you, Wilson, that would be all."

The valet bowed and withdrew, leaving his master to his thoughts, none pleasant. Unwilling to indulge them, Darcy hastily left his chambers and crossed the wide hallway towards his private sitting room, wishing he could leave his thoughts behind with the same ease with which he would discard a coat.. His eyes rested briefly on the small collection of choice volumes lining the bookcase behind his desk, but he impatiently waved off the mere thought of such pursuits, for which he currently lacked both patience and inclination. Hands behind his back, he wondered instead towards the vast windows overlooking Berkeley Square and cast a disinterested eye over the ornamental trees, the neatly trimmed topiary and the 'figure-of-eight'- shaped flower borders.

Bright, cheery sunlight filled the square and Darcy's sitting room.

It did not lift his spirits. He felt restless, heavy-hearted and at odds with himself.

The resolution he had taken at Rosings, very much against his every wish and inclination, had to be cast aside, surely! Not rushing to Devonshire on the spur of possessive jealousy was one thing. Not letting Elizabeth know of his sentiments months later, while she was still unattached, was quite another!

All is fair in love and war. The sudden though made him start. This was not a principle he had ever envisaged following, and yet he now found it ringing painfully true. Needless to say, it was not fairness to Brandon, or rather lack thereof, that had ever concerned him, although in a better world perhaps it should. All that he cared about was Elizabeth.

What would she wish for? What would make her happy?

Yet how was he to know, if he did not ask?

He rubbed his forehead and drew a long breath, as he raked his fingers through his hair.

He will have to ask, and soon. Although he knew not how he was to go about it, nor how would he bear it, if all it brought was pain.

He winced as he turned away from the window thinking, as many times before, that perhaps he had already got his answer, on the day of their encounter in Green Park.

There was not enough vanity under heaven to make him believe that Elizabeth had not chosen Brandon's company over his, that day.

Darcy walked to his desk and sat, leaning his head against the back of the high-winged chair, his gaze fixed beyond a distant spot on the ornate ceiling.

The meeting with Brandon - and Elizabeth's obvious pleasure in it - had severely undermined his confidence and had done away with any ease he might have felt in her company. Whatever opinion he might have held of Brandon, from Fitzwilliam's casual references, had to be cast aside upon making the man's acquaintance. Darcy had seen an amiable, well-spoken man, with pleasant, unaffected manners and a particularly gentlemanlike address, in possession of what appeared to be the quiet confidence of one several years his senior, who had experienced a great deal more of the world and its ways than the young master of Pemberley ever had the opportunity and indeed the inclination to. Reserved as he might be in indifferent company, Brandon clearly had no such encumbrance in Elizabeth's presence. Their discourse had appeared open, almost intimate, with all the ease and friendliness of a close acquaintance - which, despite having known Elizabeth for so many months longer, Darcy could not claim.

It was an altogether novel and very uncomfortable feeling for Darcy to envy another man. Without being vain, he had always been more than aware that his attributes, personal, as well as those pertaining to his position in society, were making him the object of envy to others. There had been times, no doubt, when he had wished for different traits in himself, a greater ease in new and uncomfortable circumstances for instance, perhaps a touch of Bingley's effortlessness in company, if not his readiness for conversation. Heaven help him, there was even a time in Cambridge when he had found himself wishing for a dash of Wickham's openness and charm. That was, of course, well behind him now. Not only because he could not wish for what he could not respect - he had come to respect Charles, after a fashion - but in general, with his own character and disposition he had no reason to be dissatisfied.

Until now, that is. He now found himself wishing for Brandon's ease and confidence in Elizabeth's company, for his intelligent discourse, which appeared to flow effortlessly, without any need to impress. He wished he could dismiss the other as an older, staid, unattractive man, but he could not, on any of those counts. Brandon did not appear staid, was definitely not unattractive, and even the difference in age seemed to work in his favour, making Darcy feel quite the inexperienced, gauche schoolboy by comparison. Indeed, it appeared that he could not feel superior to Brandon in anything but wealth - with which Elizabeth was, by all accounts, least likely to be impressed.

As to her welcoming manner towards their Devonshire neighbour and dear friend, it had been exactly wrought to rob Darcy of any confidence in his own reception.

He had been at odds with himself for days, painfully aware of her presence within less than a mile from his home and unable to determine whether he would be better advised to visit in Portman Square to propose, or to spy. He had done neither, held back by a sense of self-doubt more alien to his nature and more crippling than anything he had ever experienced before.

By the time a visit had become long overdue, he had yet to decide on the best course of action, but he had called in Portman Square nevertheless, only to discover that her passing comment about returning to Devonshire in September had not meant they were to remain in town until then.

How foolish to have thought it so! Of course she would want to visit with the Bingleys, and return at least for a while to the place she had been used to call home!

It was with no great surprise, therefore, just with a great deal of disappointment that he had heard of the Bennets' removal to Hertfordshire. And yet there he was still, battling with the same demons of his own making, instead of following her post-haste to Netherfield!

The thought made him pound the armrests and propelled him out of his chair.

"Enough!" he said aloud, his voice ragged.

Yes, hell and damnation, yes, he was afraid. Of what he might see. Of what he might learn. Afraid that knowing would be much worse than any torment of uncertainty. Afraid that Brandon would have escorted Elizabeth to Netherfield and that he would find them engaged. Or that she would reject him, should he have the chance to declare himself. Afraid of not choosing the right time or the right words to persuade her that his life was not worth living without her!

"Enough now!" he repeated in a whisper, as he strode to tug the cord that summoned Wilson.

He had to ask. He had to know. He had to. He will go to Netherfield, by Jove! And finding her still not engaged - God willing! - he will ask for her permission to court her, and lay open his heart and his intentions, do with them what she may!

The door opened quietly and Wilson bowed.

"I beg your pardon, Sir, I have asked for your coffee and papers to be readied for you in the study, but should you desire them here, they will be brought up directly."

"Thank you. That will not be necessary. I have summoned you for another matter altogether. I wish to travel to Netherfield as soon as it can be arranged," Darcy stated, with an evenness of manner he did not feel.

Spur-of-the-moment departures were as unheard-of in the Darcy household as can be, but Wilson was too well trained to let his surprise show.

"Very well, Sir. May I ask if your visit is to be brief or of some duration?"

Brief? Good heavens, I hope not!

Darcy looked away as he tried to maintain an expressionless countenance. He cleared his voice.

"That I cannot say. I wish to be gone by noon," he added, before quitting his sitting room to descend the wide and intricately carved staircase and then stride decisively to his study, to read that blasted paper for one last time!

The coffee had gone cold, of course, but Darcy did not order another. He sat at his desk with a frown. Had anyone but told him, earlier in the spring, that he would be devouring the society pages before the summer was out, he would have dismissed them for foolishness and impertinence, he thought bitterly and opened the paper, only to fold it in some haste as the door to the study opened and Colonel Fitzwilliam was announced. His cousin bounded into the room in his habitual manner, leaving Darcy no time to relegate the paper to a more discreet location.

"Good morning, Darcy," Fitzwilliam greeted as he advanced and seated himself in the chair across the desk from his cousin. "I must say, I was expecting you to be up and about at this time in the morning, but not that you would have finished breakfast already and installed yourself in your study with..." - he leaned over the desk and casually unfolded the paper Darcy had in front of him - "... the society pages?" Fitzwilliam finished his sentence, with no small measure of surprise and disappointment. "Why would you be reading that drivel, Coz? I thought you were already caught up in estate business, or that you would be reading of the campaign on the Continent, but that?" Fitzwilliam shook his head. "I never thought you in need of any advice of the kind, Darcy, but it appears you have been spending too much time in the wrong company. Speaking of which, for your sake as well as for many others', I hope you do not entertain the notion of making Miss Bingley an offer of marriage!"

Darcy folded back the paper, his annoyance clearly showing, fuelled in no small measure by the fact that he still did not know whether it contained the dreaded announcement or not.

"Thank you for your concern, Cousin, but I can assure you it is entirely misplaced!" he said in a clipped manner, then thinking better of it, he softened his tone. "In any case, I have not had breakfast. Would you care to join me, for coffee at least?"

"As a matter of fact, I was hoping to avail myself of the delights of your breakfast table," Fitzwilliam quipped good-humouredly, "particularly as I had to leave much to early to do justice to mine!"

"Then, by all means, please do!" Darcy invited, as he stood and gestured for his cousin to walk ahead of him out of his study.

They repaired to the breakfast parlour, and the Colonel was soon persuaded to fill his plate and sample the delicacies prepared by his cousin's cook - though it would remain a mystery to Darcy why would Monsieur Gérard even give himself the trouble, since he hardly ever did them justice, and even less so in the last months.

Finally, Fitzwilliam poured himself a coffee and Darcy refilled his cup.

"So, Richard, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit so early in the morning? It is hardly your hour, is it not? Besides, I thought you at Matlock!"

"I ought to have been. A friend came to ask a favour of me the other day though, so I agreed to remain, until today at least."

"Oh?"

"Let us just say I had to make a brief appearance on Wimbledon Common (*) in the early hours of the morning, and that should answer both your questions, in point of fact!"

Darcy turned to eye him with genuine concern and Fitzwilliam waved it off with a light laugh.

"Do not look so anxious, Cousin, I had very little to do with it. I was merely Brandon's second."

"Brandon!" exclaimed Darcy, shocked in no small measure.

Why would Brandon feel he had to call somebody out?

Sudden, intense panic gripped him. Did anything happen to Elizabeth?

The thought that he had no knowledge of anything that might have befallen her, and that it was another man's duty and privilege to protect her and defend her name was nigh unbearable.

"Yes, Brandon," replied Fitzwilliam casually. "Why are you so surprised?"

"I though him at Netherfield, that is all," Darcy replied with feigned unconcern, but his feinte only served to pique Fitzwilliam's curiosity further.

"Why would you think that? I did not know he was acquainted with Bingley."

Darcy made a show of sipping his coffee, to mask the slip of the tongue, then enquired, attempting to sound as disinterested as possible:

"What was it all about, then?"

"I do not know the particulars, Cousin, nor would I gossip if I did know, not even with you!" Fitzwilliam replied, slightly put out. "All I know is that there was some sort of offence involving Brandon's ward."

His ward?

Darcy breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"And is your friend well?" he enquired, casually.

"Well enough. No one was seriously injured, thankfully, although I do believe his opponent ought to have been! Nevertheless, it is done now and Brandon is safe. His fiancée must be quite relieved."

Darcy felt the sudden blow with all the force of a physical impact.

"Fiancée," he repeated, numbly. "Is he truly engaged to be married, then?"

"Aye. These two months or so, I gather," Fitzwilliam confirmed unconcernedly and poured himself more coffee. "It will be announced soon, from what I understand," he continued. "They both wanted to get over this sad business first."

Darcy stood and walked slowly to the window, his arms crossed over his chest, the full weight of his despair crushing. He stared outside, unseeing, for what seemed like a very long time.

The Colonel made to join him, but thought better of it. Instead, he finished his coffee, allowing his cousin his privacy, as he had once promised he would.

At length, Darcy said quietly, without even turning.

"Perhaps you would be so kind, Richard, and give them my congratulations."

"I will, of course," Fitzwilliam agreed and added, rather puzzled. "I was not aware that you were acquainted with either of them."

"We have met," Darcy said curtly, then finally turned away from the window. "There is another favour I would like to ask, Cousin. I would appreciate if you did not mention my connection to the Farringdon estate. It is of little consequence, all things considered," he added tiredly, "but as you will probably be thrown more frequently in Miss Bennet's company, you may have cause to refer to it - and I'd much rather you did not."

This turn in the conversation Fitzwilliam truly did not follow.

"Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Is she in town?"

"No. She is currently at Netherfield," Darcy owned, heartily sick of the futile game of cat and mouse, "but I would assume she will return to town soon."

"Oh! Glad to hear it, actually. It will be good to see her again. What is this business with Farringdon, though? Fear not, I shall do as you ask, but why the mystery? Not quite your style, Darcy!" Fitzwilliam quipped good-humouredly and his cousin shrugged.

"As I said, it is of little consequence. Has the date of the wedding been fixed, then?" he asked after a short silence, unable to stop himself.

The Colonel looked up. His countenance sobered and he slowly shook his head.

"Not that I know of," he said gently, the implications of his cousin's line of questioning finally becoming almost as clear to him as the obvious pain in Darcy's voice. Fitzwilliam put down his cup and advanced to lay a hand on his cousin's arm.

"Have you known her long?" he asked, his brotherly concern and affection undoing Darcy more than most things could. He nodded, confirming all of Fitzwilliam's misplaced notions - until the memory of a conversation they had at Rosings in the spring returned to the Colonel to momentarily confuse him. There had been no mention of Miss Dashwood then, yet Darcy had appeared scarcely less affected...

Putting two and two together and finally making four - instead of any other number - Fitzwilliam said gently, with no small amount of contrition:

"I am sorry for giving you the wrong impression, Cousin. I meant that Brandon was engaged to Miss Dashwood, not Miss Bennet."

The effect was instantaneous.

"What did you say?"

"He is marrying Miss Marianne Dashwood," Fitzwilliam repeated and to his shock and not insubstantial pleasure, his younger cousin finally acted anything but middle-aged, as he forcefully raked his fingers through his hair, exhaled deeply and, excusing himself, all but ran out of the room.

Darcy sought refuge in his study and shut the heavy door behind him, the transition form abject misery to this current state being more than he could bear with equanimity.

He gripped the lion heads that adorned the back of an armchair until the wooden features dug into his palms, for the first time in months drawing a full, unhindered breath that filled his lungs as readily as relief flooded his heart.

Elizabeth was not engaged. Elizabeth was not to be married.

Well, not to Brandon, in any case!

A sobering thought checked his elation. Did she know of this other attachment? Had she been hurt by Brandon's different preference? Or was her heart as blissfully unengaged as her hand had been shown to be?

Darcy released the wooden figurines and absent-mindedly rubbed his thumb against his injured palm. Only Elizabeth held the answers to these questions, and many more, and he intended to ask the ones pertaining to his own happiness as soon as may be.

A knock on the door distracted him from his whirlwind of hopeful notions and at his invitation the butler entered, with a number of envelopes on a tray.

"The post has just arrived, Sir!" he announced.

"Thank you, Heathfield. Please leave it on my desk," he requested rather impatiently, hoping to regain the solitude of his study, only to find that on Heathfield's retreating heels, his cousin advanced into the room, carrying two glasses of brandy.

"Dear old Simmonds was rather shocked when I asked her for these, at such an hour in the morning, but I believe it is in order," Fitzwilliam said with an affectionate smile and Darcy could do nothing but return it. He would have been hard-pressed to be annoyed with Richard today, or indeed on any other day, all things considered.

"There, Coz," Fitzwilliam continued, handing him one of them. "Get this down, there's a good lad, it'll do you a world of good - though I believe you must be rather giddy already, without the benefit of brandy," he ribbed, not unkindly, then settled down in Darcy's chair, behind the desk. He poked at the paper Darcy had left there and pushed it away to make room for his own glass. "Well, at least we have established why you were busying yourself with that!" he quipped. "I am delighted to discover that you have not gone mad, because I was seriously beginning to wonder!"

"Leave off, Richard!" Darcy replied, laughing despite himself, and the Colonel made himself more comfortable in his cousin's chair.

"I believe you owe me a very long and interesting story," he drawled, and Darcy waved impatiently.

"Perhaps - but I fear you shall have to wait. I have to leave London very soon, and I cannot stop and chat, not even for you, Coz."

"I should imagine I can hold my curiosity until we're on the way to Netherfield, then," Fitzwilliam replied lazily and laughed at Darcy's perplexed stare. "Why, do you think Bingley would mind if I invite myself? I should imagine not, he's a pleasant enough chap and his wife is delightful. Come now, Cousin, you do not think I could possibly miss the chance to see you acting the lovesick fool! Not to mention the inducement of renewing the lovely Miss Bennet's acquaintance!"

Darcy smiled at him and rolled his eyes in a manner so unguarded and reminiscent of their boyhood that Fitzwilliam laughed.

"Come now, own it, you just cannot be annoyed with me today, can you?"

"I should recommend you do not try your luck!" Darcy quipped in response, and walked to pull the cord. He sent word to hasten his departure, then collected his post from the desk. There were several letters of business, one from Charles, one from Georgiana, and another from Lady Catherine.

Darcy discarded the letters of business, as well as the one from Kent, and took up Bingley's missive, slightly amused at the thought that he would have opened it with much less evenness of spirit, had it arrived but an hour ago.

He unfolded the letter and picked up his glass as he read, only to forcefully return it to the table. Bingley's blots and scribbles had become more annoying than anything. What was that? Elizabeth expected at Netherfield? When? How? Was she not there already?

Much to Fitzwilliam's guarded amusement, Darcy cursed as he attempted to read his friend's illegible hand. Why did he give himself the trouble of putting pen to paper, if no intelligence was to be conveyed?!

After some effort, the contents had been revealed. Elizabeth had visited at Netherfield for but a couple of days and then had left for a tour of pleasure with her uncle and aunt.

"Bad news, Darcy?" Fitzwilliam asked at his cousin's sigh of frustration.

Why did Charles have to be such an unreliable correspondent?! He might as well tell him at Christmas that she had visited for Easter, Darcy thought impatiently, too disappointed at having missed her to concede that although he might have had earlier intelligence of Elizabeth's travel plans, Bingley could not possibly have guessed the nature and indeed the strength of his friend's interest in them.

His eyes followed the uneven script, only to stumble upon the phrase:

"... we are expecting them to return from their tour by the end of August. Miss Elizabeth will spend some time at Netherfield, with Jane and I, and as you can imagine, Jane is delighted...."

Much as he understood Jane's delight, Darcy chose to forgo its description and returned to his brandy. He would have to cancel his travel plans, he thought, or rather to amend them. He would not travel to Netherfield that morning, but in about a fortnight, to ensure that he would be there well before Elizabeth's arrival. He returned to Bingley's letter, more sedately this time, as he mused over what he could possibly do to occupy his time, until it would be appropriate to make his way into Hertfordshire.

His sister's letter, read shortly after, gave him his answer. In less than a couple of hours, Darcy and his cousin were travelling at break-neck speed to Pemberley.

"I will not press you now, but should you wish to talk, I am more than willing to listen," Fitzwilliam offered kindly, without any of the light-hearted ribbing of the earlier hours, shortly after they had left Camden.

Darcy nodded his appreciation, but still could not bring himself to do so. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and the dizzying speed they were travelling at, instead of comforting, was further fuelling his impatience.

As his carriage took him relentlessly onwards, Darcy looked once more in his pocket-book for his sister's letter and perused it for what must have been a hundredth time. Georgiana's delighted description of Elizabeth warmed his heart, and the thought of Elizabeth at Pemberley, Elizabeth in the library, or in the music room with Georgiana, Elizabeth alive and real where he had but imagined her to be made him curse every single one of the many miles separating him from his heart's desire.

(*) Wimbledon Common and Putney Heath have been for years a popular place to stage duels on matters of honour.

Elizabeth settled herself comfortably in one of the great chairs in the Pemberley library and opened her book. It was an early edition of Mr Swift's 'Gulliver's Travels', one of her father's favourites and eventually a favourite of hers as well, as the acerbic irony could not but appeal to both.

She found, however, that she could not concentrate on her reading, her mind being very much engaged with her present circumstances.

At Miss Darcy's earnest entreaties, she had agreed to spend the entire day at Pemberley. They had thoroughly enjoyed their time together, walking the grounds and comparing their musical skills, chatting amiably about anything and everything and finding each other's company so delightful that, after luncheon, an invitation was extended for Elizabeth to return the following day, should it be convenient. It was not merely convenient, but exceedingly pleasurable, so the invitation had been gladly accepted, leaving them both in joyful and eager anticipation of the morrow.

Elizabeth raised her eyes to look around the warm, welcoming room, and remembered, despite herself, Miss Bingley's officious praise that conveyed no understanding of the place, merely her desire to ingratiate herself with the owner. She had failed dismally in her endeavours, Elizabeth could tell even at the time. Mr Darcy had appeared to receive her unending compliments for his library, his estate, his sister's accomplishments or his own evenness of writing with nothing but the coldest civility. If anything, it had been his cold impassibility to Miss Bingley's assiduous courting that had made Elizabeth dislike him less, in the very beginning of their acquaintance, as the all-pervasive trace of veiled sarcasm that had coloured his every response to such ridiculous fawning could not but appeal to her own like-minded nature.

Elizabeth could not help but wonder what would Mr Darcy think of her increasing intimacy with his sister. Would he be displeased that Miss Darcy had befriended one of the Bennets, or would the distinction he had made, on the night of the Netherfield ball, between herself and Jane, as opposed to the rest of the clan, still apply? Presumably it would, since he had, of his own free will, introduced Miss Darcy to Jane's society at Netherfield, and for a full month as well. However, she could not help wondering what his response might be, were he to return unexpectedly from his endeavours in town, to find her availing herself of the delights of his own library.

Elizabeth closed the book in her lap and stood to restore it to its place, then leisurely walked along the shelves, absent-mindedly perusing the spines. Miss Darcy would return soon from the brief conference with the housekeeper, which had called her away a few minutes ago, and there would be little time to engross oneself in a tome of any description.

She wandered towards some of the more secluded shelves, in a small alcove. It appeared they held not literature, but sketch books.

There will be time enough to leaf through those, she thought. A short glimpse at Miss Darcy's previous works would occupy her time delightfully. It was indeed a shame, Elizabeth thought with an impish smile, that Miss Darcy was so much younger than her brother. It was not to be expected that her drawing skills at the age of ten or less would have done any justice to her subject matter, otherwise it would have been quite interesting to see a younger version of the likeness above her escritoire...

Elizabeth selected one of the sketch books, only to find that the yellowed quality of the pages made them unlikely to be the product of Miss Darcy's efforts, as they looked much older than her sixteen years of age. Even to Elizabeth's unpractised eye, the mastery of the artist was indisputable. She could recognise renditions of various views that caught the eye from Pemberley's great windows, and the accuracy and the lightness of hand, as well as the fineness of detail was astounding. Elizabeth looked for a signature, and could decipher 'Isabella Darcy' in one of the corners, along with a very old date. On one of the next pages she found a likeness which gave her pause, for it reminded her greatly of Mr Darcy, although there were marked differences around the mouth and the eyes. She did not need to see either the date in the corner or the resemblance to one of the portraits in the gallery to guess that it must have been a likeness of Mr Darcy's father, in his youth. She wondered whether there would be one of his mother, as she turned the pages, drawn in spite of herself by the artist's skill.

Having finished perusing the entire sketch book, Elizabeth replaced it and selected a random one, further down the shelf. It was unmistakably the same hand, but she could not readily recognise the setting, although there was definitely something quite familiar about it.

Elizabeth looked up at the sound of the opening door and smiled to her new friend.

"I do apologise for having taken so long!" Georgiana said.

They had agreed, after a few hours together, that they should be 'Elizabeth' and 'Georgiana' to each other. Almost an entire day of easy camaraderie, which included some very happy hours at the pianoforte, appreciating each other's skill in performing some of the pieces, as well as having a decidedly girlish giggle at the rendition of the more light-hearted ones, could not but lead them to progress to the intimacy of Christian names very shortly.

"Do not concern yourself, Georgiana. I was well entertained."

"Have you found anything of interest?" Georgiana asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Yes, these sketch books. Whoever the artist was, the talent is undisputable!"

Georgiana came to look over her shoulder.

"I think you would appreciate that volume over there," Elizabeth pointed towards the one she had just seen. "There are some beautiful views of Pemberley, and a portrait of the former Mr Darcy, I believe."

Georgiana extracted the recommended item from the shelf and was instantly absorbed in its perusal.

"Yes, I remember. I have not seen these in ages. My aunt's old sketch books. Isabella Darcy was one of my father's sisters. She was very talented indeed. I wish I could draw like that!"

"You are not too far off, you know!" Elizabeth offered encouragingly, turning to leaf through the volume she was holding. "Are your own sketch books somewhere here, Georgiana?" she asked. "I should like to see some of them, if you would allow it."

"No, they are still under lock and key in my chamber," Georgiana confessed with a blush, "though they may finish by being displayed here, to embarrass me in front of future generations, particularly when they compare my efforts to my aunt's..."

Elizabeth blinked, suddenly not attending. The sketch she had just seen... She could have sworn that it depicted the view over the valley in front of her home. Her new home in Devonshire.

It could not be, surely! And yet the similarities were outstanding. The same turn of the valley, the same slope to the hills in front, even the same two cedars on the left, towards the foot of the hill, where the winds were not that strong.

She shook her head, dismissing the impression as wild imaginings. There must have been a valley around Pemberley that looked so strikingly similar to the view which had become one of her most familiar sights. There was no other explanation.

"This is indeed a remarkable likeness of my father!" Miss Darcy exclaimed, a slight tremor in her voice, as she had turned the page. "So young as well!"

Elizabeth looked up to regard her friend with affectionate understanding. She too would have treasured a glimpse into her own father's youth. She was about to offer some words of comfort, when her attention was brought back to her own book.

If the previous sketch could have been dismissed as coincidence, she could hardly dismiss the one before her. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, it depicted the front elevation of Farringdon Lodge, viewed from the left side of the lawn, just beyond the magnolia tree.

"Georgiana," Elizabeth suddenly asked, unthinkingly, "did your aunt ever visit in Devonshire?"

Miss Darcy looked up, mildly surprised by the question.

"She lived there. She was married to Sir Edmund Farringdon of Farringdon Park, near Exeter."

Of course. Farringdon Park. The first sketch that looked vaguely familiar, but she could not readily place, depicted Farringdon Park, she could see that now.

Farringdon Park? Was Georgiana related to the owners of the Park? Or to her own father's former school friend? It was a small world indeed!

"Did your aunt have any children?" Elizabeth cautiously pressed on, then thought better of the direction of her questions. Any children that Lady Farringdon might have had could not have bequeathed Farringdon Lodge to her own father, as they could hardly be old enough to have known him in his Cambridge days. It could not have been Lord Farringdon himself, either. Although his age made him a likely candidate, Elizabeth understood that he had died rather a long time ago, many years before the bequest. Perhaps it had been a younger brother, then, or a cousin of Sir Edmund's, who had known and befriended her father, in their youth.

"No," Georgiana answered at length, her attention barely spared from the book. "She did not. My brother inherited the Farringdon estate."

Elizabeth looked up.

"Your... brother?"

"Yes," Georgiana replied, airily. "My uncle had no legal heirs. My aunt inherited his estate when he died, and she left it to my father."

Elizabeth walked back to one of the chairs and sat, with the sketch book in her lap, her mind blank but for one thought.

Mr Darcy. The owner of the Farringdon estate was Mr Darcy.

Georgiana closed the volume she was perusing and came to sit by her friend.

"Why are you asking, Elizabeth?"

She could not answer. She could not even think clearly. Snippets of conversation were chasing each other in her head. Mrs Jennings assuring her that the Lodge used to belong to the Farringdon estate. Georgiana's revelations about her brother's connection to the Farringdons.

Georgiana's eyes dropped to the sketch book Elizabeth was still holding.

"Is this in Devonshire?" she asked and Elizabeth nodded, numbly.

Georgiana looked at the sketch, and then turned it over.

"'Farringdon Lodge'," she read the notice on the back. "Are you familiar with this place?"

"I have... seen it," Elizabeth admitted quietly, not wishing to say more than she should, until she had had a chance to think.

Did Mr Darcy own the Lodge, as well?

Before she knew it, the question had passed her lips. Georgiana looked puzzled.

"I would assume so..." she pondered. "I hardly know. I was very young at the time. My brother would know, of course, or Mr Stratton, our attorney in London."

Stratton and Wells, Attorneys at Law.

The elaborate lettering on the documents pertaining to the bequest to her father flashed before her eyes and Elizabeth blanched as the pieces fell into place.

He had known.

He had known of her father's illness and he had known of the entail.

He had devised a ruse to allow them to have a roof over their heads at Farringdon Lodge.

Because he pitied them.

And all her present comfort, and that of her mother and sisters, sprang from charity.

Mr Darcy's charity.

The thought was unbearable.

Elizabeth took the glass of water to her lips, but her hands shook so badly that she could hardly drink.

"Oh, where, where is my uncle?" she cried. She needed his advice, and the reassurance she had always derived from his calm, sensible demeanour, much more now than at any time in her life. And her aunt's. Their wisdom, their good sense.

They would help her know what to do!

Elizabeth sat at the table, but a minute later was on her feet again, unable to rest either her mind or her body.

She had returned from Pemberley much earlier than she was due to - she had run from Pemberley, unable to maintain a semblance of composure in Georgiana's presence.

In a futile endeavour to save appearances, as well as for her new friend's sake, she had attempted at first to escort Miss Darcy to the music room, as originally planned. She could not play, however, and was grateful to Georgiana for offering to do so. The beautiful music could not soothe her spirits. Nothing could. She could only think of what had been unravelled in the library.

Mr Darcy had given them a home, and the means to live in more than reasonable comfort.

Why? Why would he do so? Why would he take upon himself to support her family? So that the responsibility would not fall on the shoulders of his less wealthy friend? So that his dear friend Mr Bingley could be spared the burden and embarrassment of his newly-acquired connections?

Elizabeth pressed her hands together until her fingers hurt. It did not hurt more than the knowledge that Mr Darcy had striven to put all possible distance between the Bennets and his own circle. Only Cornwall was further away from both Pemberley and Netherfield, and perhaps if he had had the option, he would have relegated them there, she thought bitterly, fresh tears coming to her eyes.

The pain and the folly, the utter folly of having hoped in a renewal of their acquaintance.

The inexcusable folly of allowing herself to wish she could know him better.

He clearly had no expectations of the kind!

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth had soon found that she could not rally her spirits against the wretchedness of her thoughts. She had pleaded a sudden headache, but she was convinced that her excuse had not been credited for one moment.

No wonder, after the display in the library! she thought, ashamed of her own weakness, wishing she had been able to conceal her struggles from Miss Darcy.

Georgiana had been the perfect hostess, regardless. However much or little credence she had given to Elizabeth's excuses, she had offered her the comfort of a guest bedchamber, in which to rest until her headache had abated, and it was only when the suggestion had been insistently declined that she had been persuaded to order the carriage to convey Miss Bennet to Lambton.

Despite Elizabeth's protestations, Miss Darcy had personally seen her to the carriage and, as the door was opened for her friend, she had impulsively walked up and held her hands.

"Elizabeth, I wish you did not feel you had to leave, and I hope we can meet again, as soon as may be. It was a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I hope you will be well soon."

Elizabeth had smiled in return, tears coming to her eyes. Miss Darcy was a delightful young lady and it pained her to know that any future connection between them would be strained beyond endurance. She had turned to wave at her young friend and then allowed her tears to run freely, in the privacy of the carriage, at least until they had reached Lambton.

She had returned to their lodgings and had paced the length of their parlour, her distress extreme and her impatience for the return of her relations slightly less so.

It took several long hours until their voices were heard down the corridor. Elizabeth ran to open the door for them, and her pale, tear-stained face made them start with shock and concern.

"Lizzy! Whatever is the matter, my dear? What news from home?" asked her uncle, as her aunt took her arm and led her to sit back at the table. She then sat on a nearby chair and, holding her hand, urged her to tell them what had distressed her so.

Elizabeth pressed her aunt's hand and looked up to her uncle. The confidence-inspiring look of strength and quiet determination in his eyes forcibly reminded her of Mr Darcy, that long while ago at Netherfield, as much as his demeanour had reminded her of her uncle Gardiner at the time.

The association brought fresh tears in her eyes. He had become, she could see it now, one of the few gentlemen she truly esteemed and respected. Had she even come to love him, despite her determined efforts to the contrary? Such thoughts were not likely to help stem her tears. Quite the opposite, in fact, as they were in vain. She did not have his respect, nor could she have his love.

All she had was his pity. And it burned with all the scorching flames of shame.

At length, she succeeded in rousing herself sufficiently to give them an account of what had transpired, and of the obvious conclusions she had drawn.

"But are you absolutely certain, my dear?" asked her aunt kindly, her eyes full of concern. "Could there not be some misunderstanding?"

"I wish there was," said Elizabeth tiredly, "but I cannot see how. The Farringdon estate belongs to Mr Darcy. His London attorneys have drawn the bequest. It is too much for a coincidence."

"It has begun to look that way," Mr Gardiner agreed, coming to sit next to her and cover her hand with his.

"This cannot stand!" Elizabeth said quietly but firmly. "We cannot allow it. We will have to quit Farringdon!"

"There is no doubt about it!" her uncle solemnly concurred but, with a sigh, Elizabeth pursued her own thoughts, oblivious to the interruption.

They have contrived to start a new life in Devonshire. Make new friends, take roots. The friends would be missed, missed very badly indeed, and Elizabeth did not relish telling her mother, or any of her sisters, for that matter, that their present comfort was in point of fact not truly theirs.

But it could not be helped.

"You know you are welcome to come and stay with us, for as long as you need to," Mr Gardiner said with determination, still holding her hand. "I am sure a satisfactory permanent arrangement will be found. Bingley will want to have his say in the matter, I do not doubt..."

"Goodness!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Jane! And Charles! They are the closest of friends with Mr Darcy. It would grieve them dreadfully to put such a strain on their connection. Particularly Charles, and through him, my sister! Do they have to be told?"

"Lizzy," Mr Gardiner admonished gently, "you are not being sensible. Of course they will have to be told. None of them would appreciate such attempts to protect them. Rest assured, my dear, I have great confidence that your brother can perform that task very satisfactorily himself!"

"I cannot envisage telling Jane..." Elizabeth whispered, sadly.

"Do not concern yourself, my dear. Of course Madeleine or I can break the news to your sister and Mr Bingley. And you should not distress yourself at the thought of an unpleasant discussion with Mr Darcy. I will gladly take that office upon myself!" Mr Gardiner added, with unprecedented sternness, privately thinking of all the connotations that society would have attributed to Mr Darcy's gesture, had it - Heaven forbid - ever become public knowledge. With some effort, he refrained from mentioning his concern to his wife, as the subject was hardly appropriate to be discussed in their niece's presence.

"I believe Mr Bingley will insist to be the one to discuss matters with his friend," Mrs Gardiner interjected, sensibly. "They have known each other many years."

Elizabeth nodded, wretchedly.

"My dearest girl," her aunt said gently, bringing an arm about her shoulders. "Do not distress yourself so. It is unfortunate, to be sure, to find yourself devoid of all the security you had been assured of..."

"It is not that, Aunt," Elizabeth whispered, and then amended. "It is not only that."

"What is it, then?"

Elizabeth shook her head. She could not tell why Mr Darcy's implied contempt hurt more than the knowledge of finding herself at the mercy of others.

That morning they had been equal. He was a gentleman, she was a gentleman's daughter. The difference in their stations was great indeed, but there was no denying that their chance meeting in town, as well as the intelligence acquired from Jane, that he had been sufficiently interested in her pursuits to enquire 'most particularly' about her had been... attractive.

Elizabeth had sought to maintain last autumn's determination not to raise her own expectation and make herself unhappy over him but, until that day, there had been some hope of an interest from Mr Darcy's part, and it had gratified her even more as her visit to Pemberley had shown her sides of him she never knew existed. Mrs Reynolds' commendations; Georgiana's devotion; little snippets here and there, showing him to be a thoughtful, considerate master, a good landlord, an attentive and loving brother, had worked together with Elizabeth's continually improved opinion of him, to present a rather irresistible picture.

She had begun to comprehend that he might be the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. I was an union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgement, information and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance.

That, however, was a distant dream, entertained in the morning - and the difference between what was then and the present moment was devastating. It was exactly calculated to make her understand her own sentiments; and never had she more clearly seen that she had come to love him, than now, when all love must be in vain.

"I wish he did not do this," she whispered at last.

Mrs Gardiner stroked her hair.

"It was exceedingly ill-judged indeed, my dear..." she began.

"It was - is - humiliating beyond measure!" Elizabeth cried.

"That it is, without a doubt. But I would like you to see it in a different light, which might give you at least an ounce of comfort..."

"There is no comfort to be had in this situation!" Elizabeth bitterly disagreed.

"It made your father's last days peaceful," Mrs Gardiner offered gently, as she held her niece's hand.

Her uncle reluctantly concurred:

"We might find Mr Darcy's gesture officious and more than a little insulting, but there is no doubt that my brother would have been very distressed by his concern for you all. You are right, Madeleine. With this thought, Elizabeth, perhaps we could all find it in our hearts to be less incensed by the man's high-handed interference!"

Elizabeth smiled at her uncle, not altogether certain whether that was intended as a sally, or was truly meant as such.

Her aunt and uncle were right. If anything good had come of all this, it had been her father's peace of mind, and for that Elizabeth could find it in her heart to be almost grateful.

Before too long, all that could have been said on the subject, at the time, had been said, and there was little for them to do but prepare for the night. It had been decided between them that they had little inclination to continue on their tour. They would depart in the morning, as soon as it could be arranged, and return to Netherfield.

After a rather frugal breakfast, during which they readily agreed upon the ways to resume their daily pursuits - necessarily abandoned on the previous days - Miss Darcy and Mrs Annesley left the smaller breakfast parlour together, only to go their separate ways shortly after, the former to practise her music and the latter to attend to her correspondence abovestairs. As she turned into the corridor leading to the music room, however, Georgiana's attention was drawn towards the sound of voices coming from the main entrance hall. They were rather faint, to be sure, but their mere occurrence, unexpected in the large and very quiet residence, particularly at such an exceedingly early hour in the morning, was enough to draw her steps thither. She had not yet rounded the corner, when the butler's voice reached her, an earnest, joyous ring to its habitually subdued tones.

"... I will see to it directly. And may I add, it is very good to have you back, Sir!"

"Thank you, Barlow," a most familiar and very dear voice replied, bringing a wide smile to Georgiana's lips. It was all she could do to continue at a sedate step befitting the de facto mistress of the house, rather than rush into his arms, as she would have been more than inclined to do. She made her way into the hall just in time to see her brother handing his hat and gloves to their butler and stopped in her tracks for a moment, taking in the welcome sight. He looked tired, his countenance drawn, but there was an unmistakable look of joy about him that made her dear, handsome brother look ten times more handsome in her eyes!

She advanced towards him, her hands outstretched.

"Fitzwilliam! What a delightful surprise!"

It was not to be the only one. As she approached, Georgiana could see her favourite cousin, on the other side of the grand staircase, his head cocked to one side just so, an affectionate smile lighting up his eyes.

'He would twirl me about just like he used to do when I was ten, if Barlow was not here!', Georgiana thought, diverted, and felt quite proud that she could suppress a giggle.

"And Richard! How lovely to see you both!" she said instead.

"'Tis good to see you too, dearest," Darcy answered first, as always touched by her earnest welcome, the joy of their reunion mirrored in his countenance as he took her proffered hands and carried them to his lips.

Fitzwilliam greeted her in his turn and Georgiana smiled to both.

"You must be so very tired! Have you travelled all night?" she asked, incredulously.

"We have indeed, dearest. There was no reason for me to remain in town," Darcy answered cryptically, then added: "And Richard was kind enough to accompany me at such short notice."

"As I said, Coz, I would not miss it!" Fitzwilliam quipped but said nothing further and, all things considered, Darcy chose not to be drawn into it.

"Would you care to rest first? Or have some refreshment?" Georgiana recollected herself. "Allow me to see to your breakfast. Or coffee, at least!" she added and would have left them, had her brother not detained her.

"Do not trouble yourself, dearest. We need to change from the road, in any case, before we are fit for civilised company," he smiled, briefly indicating his appearance.

He had obviously just alighted from the carriage, his great coat rumpled and covered in dust in places, and Georgiana returned the smile, privately thinking she could not remember the last time she had seen her brother looking anything but clean shaven and impeccably attired - if indeed she ever had!

"As far as I am concerned, a cup of coffee with you will suffice, but I daresay Richard might appreciate something rather more substantial," he added.

After the journey that they had, and the last few hours in particular, Darcy was rather disposed to regard him as an opinionated busybody, but, in the eyes of most, that was perhaps an insufficient reason to starve him!

"Why, thank you, Cousin. The perfect host, as always!" Fitzwilliam smirked, as if he had read his thoughts. "There is no reason to keep anyone waiting, though. I would be more than satisfied with a tray in my room, if that can be contrived."

It had been on the tip of his tongue to quip about the lack of both opportunity and incentive to take one's time over the change of attire when one is following the drum, but he thought better of it and contented himself with a brief and light-hearted chat with his younger cousin. Eventually, they all agreed to take their coffee in Georgiana's sitting room in about an hour's time, and then the Colonel excused himself and retired to his own chambers.

Having relinquished any pretensions to either the patience or the inclination to practise her music given the circumstances, Georgiana repaired to her sitting room instead. Darcy escorted her there and, upon the realisation that these were the very first moments of real privacy they have had since his return, he swept his sister in an embrace as he earnestly searched her eyes.

"Are you well, dearest?" he enquired quietly. "Truly?"

"Yes," she whispered back, her eyes misting with tears. "Very much so! Especially now! And you? Are you well?"

"Yes. I think so. I hope so," Darcy replied quickly, unthinkingly.

Georgiana was puzzled.

"You hope so?"

"I am well, dearest," Darcy answered and pressed his lips on her forehead. "It is good to be back, Georgiana, and I hope you will forgive me for having left you for so long!"

"Do not concern yourself! It is good to have you here, and that is all I care about!"

Darcy tightened his hold about her shoulders and bent his head to kiss the tip of her nose.

"Thank you! You are too good! No, do not protest! For once, I know what I am talking about!" he said quickly and soon left the room, a delightedly confused younger sister staring after him.

Darcy repaired to his chambers, a spring in his step despite the overwhelming tiredness. It was good to be home, to be sure, and the joy of it filled his heart, yet the calm, welcoming atmosphere of Pemberley could not truly reach him, could not truly soothe him. An eager, restless anticipation unsettled him, and he knew that despite his best efforts, it was not at Pemberley that he was to find his peace. Unfortunately, it was much too early in the morning for a visit to the inn at Lambton, therefore any endeavours of the kind had to be postponed, of that he was well aware. He settled for making himself presentable instead and, in the hope of a modicum of tranquillity and comfort, he ordered his bath.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to lose at least some of the tension, to think of nothing but the calm joy of the moment, of the warm water loosening the knots in his tired muscles, as well as the knots in his stomach. He willed himself not to think of how she would look, later in the morning when he would see her, or of what he was to say on the occasion.

The room was perfectly silent but for the crackling of the fire and after the long, punishing ride, the luxury of a quiet, peaceful time in the privacy of his apartments and in the welcome comfort of a warm bath was so enjoyable that it almost lured him to sleep. And yet the tension would not dissipate. In part, it was the tiredness, he knew. The result of having been highly strung for the best part of twenty hours, waiting for something to happen, for the end of his journey to come in sight. He had reached the physical end of his self-appointed journey, but by no means its real end. And the anxiety engendered by the conversation he was soon to have with Elizabeth, substantially fuelled by Fitzwilliam's liberally expressed opinions on subjects pertaining to which, in Darcy's frank estimation, he had no right to possess one, let alone express it, apparently required a great deal more than a warm bath to abate.

In the late hours of the previous night, when Pemberley had become tantalisingly close but still sufficiently far away to rob him of all remaining shreds of patience, Darcy had finally given in to the temptation to speak of Elizabeth, and had opened his heart to his cousin, regarding his convoluted history with the woman he loved. The Colonel had listened quietly enough in the beginning, with only the occasional huff here and there in the narrative. All that had changed, however, when Darcy got to tell of Devonshire and of Farringdon Lodge.

"Excuse me? I fear I do not quite catch your meaning. Exactly what did you just say you did?" Fitzwilliam had asked, the precise, distinct enunciation a clear warning of his opinion on the matter - which he had not the slightest reservations in sharing, as Darcy was soon occasioned to find out. "Clearly, Cousin, you must have taken leave of your senses!" Fitzwilliam had stated matter-of-factly, and Darcy had had to rub his aching temples and cover his eyes, wishing he could have covered his ears as well, as his cousin had proceeded to abuse him and his harebrained scheme for more reasons than Darcy could count.

"I do not doubt you were very pleased with yourself, congratulated yourself on your good deed, I'd wager, but have you by any chance considered the implications? Like the small fact of the utter humiliation Miss Bennet and her family are likely to feel, should it ever become known that they are indebted to you? Or the position they would be in, should this become public knowledge? Did you not consider what sort of malicious gossip could have been attached to the name of any of the Bennet sisters? Ours is not a forgiving society, Darcy, you do not need me to tell you that. Ensconced in the country as they may be, it would have tainted them nevertheless and because of who you are, rumour would not have died down easily! Of all the damned idiotic notions!" Fitzwilliam had cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

There was no other person in his circle who knew him half so well, and had as little qualms about challenging his actions in like fashion - nor would he tolerate it from anybody else. They had been close, inordinately close all their lives, their bond stronger in many ways than the blood ties of brothers. On this occasion, however, it was not merely due to their closeness that Darcy had allowed his cousin to berate him in this manner. How could he, in all fairness, reproach Fitzwilliam for wording the same recriminations with which he had taxed himself, several months earlier? Or indeed, how could he bring himself not to own the truth?

"In all honesty, Richard, no," he had answered tiredly, "I had not considered all the implications. Not until it was too late to do anything about it..."

"Good grief, Cousin! I thought you prided yourself on your understanding!"

"Yes. I did, did I not?" Darcy had replied dryly.

"Well. You know what they say..." the Colonel began with a mirthless laugh and Darcy had huffed in response.

"Pride goeth before a fall and all that! I thank you! I know!" (*)

"I can scarce credit it, Darcy! This is beyond everything! I knew you'd trip and fall one day, Cousin, with all your deeply-held notion that you know what's best for everyone so much better than they know themselves, but I never expected a blunder of such magnitude! You do everything in a grander scale than the rest of us, do you not?"

"Fitzwilliam, desist! I am in no humour to be laughed at!"

"Oh! But you will have to learn, my fine fellow, from what I gather! You will have to learn, and learn fast, otherwise we might as well turn this coach around and head back to London!"

Darcy's incipient smile, the first in the past half-hour, was lost in the darkness of the carriage.

"So you thought that Farringdon was the answer, then," Fitzwilliam had continued, making full use of the licence silently given - not that he had ever felt he needed any. "The right answer between the call of duty and the call of the heart," he had added, an unmistakable touch of derision in his address. "What of the duty to the full preservation of the family estate, then? Apparently not a part of your grand design. How did you plan to reconcile that, pray?"

"I felt that duty could go hang!" Darcy had burst, with the same indignation of months ago, but it did not wash with his cousin.

"It could go hang, but not to death!" Fitzwilliam had replied sarcastically. "You were prepared to relinquish your professed source of happiness, you have exposed a most worthy woman to the threat of the vilest form of gossip, all in the name of duty, but 'duty can go hang', you say. Cousin," he had laughed, "that is rich, even from you!"

"Fitzwilliam, you go too far!" Darcy had warned, stung not only by the validity of the criticism, but especially by his cousin's defence of Elizabeth.

For his own sake, Richard would do well to overcome last spring's partiality to her! he had thought darkly, then instantly relinquished the thought as unworthy of either of them.

"That's as may be," the Colonel had owned, suddenly abandoning his flippant manner. "I will not conceal it, Darcy, the full account of your qualms about the connection has made me more than uneasy! This is not the greatest match you could aspire to, we both know that, nor will it improve Georgiana's prospects in any way. Quite the contrary... No, allow me to finish," he had asked, lifting a hand, when Darcy had started to protest. "I know you must have thought of that and in many ways it is your own decision to make. You cannot be a slave to duty all your life and you can afford to marry wherever you like, after all. I was not aware that this is how you felt, though, about Miss Bennet's connections. Personally," he had continued after a slight pause, "I have not thought them that bad, but then I have not considered them from the perspective of a future alliance. Besides, I am not you..."

"Are you saying I am more conceited than most, Cousin?" Darcy had asked, not really offended.

"No. Only more fastidious..."

Darcy had given a short, wry laugh at this.

"In any case," the Colonel had continued in the same rather solemn fashion, "when we left town this morning, the last thought on my mind was to expound upon the merits of choosing one's partner in life from one's own circle, as my esteemed father would have been wont to do, but I see now that he might have had the right of it..."

"Fitzwilliam, you are not attending..."

"Darcy! Either by accident or by design, you are beginning to sound like our aunt. Desist, I beg you!" the Colonel had interrupted, only partially in jest. "I know what you are about to say! That you have thought long and hard on it. That I do not doubt. And yet have you considered it from Miss Bennet's perspective? Torn loyalties, and the discomfort that engenders? Would you imagine her untouched by your views on her family? You know as well as I do that society will not reward your choice, Cousin," Fitzwilliam had stated quite emphatically, "and neither will family, not for quite some time, if ever. Your sole reward shall be in your home. And I fear for your felicity, and that of Miss Bennet's, if that should be tainted by notions of her inferiority. Early months of joy would turn into a lifetime of bitterness and recrimination. Not a fate I would wish on either of you!"

Darcy had straightened in his seat, about to protest, but in the end he merely smiled. A small, knowing smile that Fitzwilliam did not see.

"I know that, Richard," he said at last. "And you are correct in your estimations. I have thought long and hard on it," he added, ruefully.

"And?"

"Misuse of time and energy. I thought it mattered. 'Society' and the opinion of a handful of small-minded people. Their scorn. Their censure. It matters not."

"I find that hard to believe, particularly of you, of all people."

"I thank you for your flattering estimation of my character! Be that as it may, rest assured, I have been occasioned to learn. It matters not!"

"You have not been put to the test..." Fitzwilliam had pointed out, matter-of-factly.

"Perhaps not..." Darcy had conceded. "I have been put to a different test, however," he had added, thinking of all the months of self-inflicted hell he had endured, ever since he had foolishly determined to distance himself from Elizabeth.

"And have you passed it?"

"I know not. I hope so." Only Elizabeth could tell.

A long silence had followed, eventually broken by Fitzwilliam's wistful tones.

"It is not my place to offer you absolution, Cousin. And you should know better than expect me to applaud your actions if I think them indefensible!" he added with a mirthless laugh, which Darcy ruefully echoed. "I am sorry, Darcy," the Colonel had resumed, his manner once more solemn. "I had set off with you from Berkeley Square with every intention to support you, regardless... That is, I had no reason to doubt you or any of your actions. Your account was... unsettling, though. You are a good man, Cousin, a kind man, a good brother and a loyal friend, but you tend to be rather overbearing at times... And self-centred, after a fashion... Not that you do not care for others! You do, a great deal, but you tend to hold the unshakeable opinion that you know best. I hope you learn to accept that sometimes you do not. And that you cannot always have your own way!"

"Fear not, Fitzwilliam!" Darcy had replied, an edge to his voice. "Believe it or not, I already know that!"

Unaffected by his cousin's obvious displeasure, the Colonel had replied evenly, with an edge of his own.

"See that you do, Cousin! For Georgiana and Miss Bennet's sake, as well as your own!"

Not long after the appointed time, the door to Miss Darcy's sitting room was opened to admit her brother. Her cousin was already within.

"I apologise for my tardiness, Georgiana!" Darcy said, not about to admit that exhaustion had finally got the better of him after all and he had dozed off in the tepid water until roused by Rochester, who had assumed Wilson's duties until such time as his man would have completed his much slower journey from town.

"It is of no consequence," a delighted Georgiana reassured him. "I should be happy to have another cup of tea with you. I should be happy to have another breakfast with you, in point of fact," she laughed. "Fitzwilliam, it is so good to have you back! And you too, Richard," she added, not necessarily as an afterthought, but even had it been, the Colonel could not have had the heart to be offended. His young cousin had been the apple of his eye ever since she could talk, and possibly before then, and in any case, everyone in the family knew and appreciated the singularly strong bond the Darcy siblings shared.

Darcy reached to press and hold his sister's hand as he said quietly but earnestly:

"It is good to be back, dearest, and I hope never to leave you for such a length of time again!"

Georgiana replied in kind, her beautiful eyes wide and only for him, before she remembered to stand and order him fresh tea and coffee.

"How have you been keeping, then, little Miss?" Fitzwilliam teased to lighten the moment and Georgiana laughed through unshed tears.

"I wish you would acknowledge I have grown up, Cousin!"

"Oh, but I do! Otherwise I would have called you Poppet Miss Moppet as I have done these twelve or thirteen years!" replied the Colonel after a sip of coffee and the various tensions coming at loggerheads around the table dissipated for a while as they all laughed.

Fitzwilliam relaxed back in his chair, fondly regarding these two cousins of his that have, in their very different ways, always tugged at his heartstrings. And hoped, for both their sakes, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was indeed everything that he had thought her to be.

Darcy's thoughts were not too far from the lady, albeit in a different fashion. He did not waste much time before bringing up her name in conversation.

"I received your letter before I set off," he introduced cautiously, hoping that Richard would have sense and kindness enough not to tease him as mercilessly in his sister's presence as he had done to his face, when it had become apparent that Georgiana's letter, rather than a bye-and-bye, was the major inducement for their hasty removal north. "I understand you have made the acquaintance of Mrs Bingley's sister, as well as her uncle and aunt from town."

"Yes, and it has been such a pleasure! I truly cannot recall a more enjoyable first hour spent with a new acquaintance! With the exception of meeting Mrs Bingley, perhaps," Georgiana amended with a smile. "I have not been in company with Mr and Mrs Gardiner for very long, just enough to see that they are kind and pleasant people, of affable manners and truly intelligent conversation. I can say, though, that it has been most enjoyable to get to know Miss Bennet better. Have I told you that we spent the best part of Tuesday together?"

"No. Merely that you intended to."

"Well, we did. And it was delightful! A great surprise, in many ways..."

"How so?" Darcy enquired, rather too quickly.

"Miss Bennet is... very different from most young ladies of my acquaintance... There is an openness of manner, a warm friendliness that is very pleasing - without any hint of officious presumption... Oh, forgive me!" Georgiana broke off, blushing. "I don't quite know what I am saying!"

Darcy knew. Only too well.

"And moreover... you will laugh at me...," Georgiana turned towards the Colonel with a conscious smile, "there is also the notion that she truly wanted to spend time with me, rather than..." She blushed, but continued nevertheless. "Rather than put herself in my brother's path," she concluded, with a shy, almost apologetic smile in the direction of said brother.

Colonel Fitzwilliam indeed laughed heartily at this.

"Well! I daresay you have grown up indeed, little Miss, if you have started to notice!" he quipped, rather to Darcy's displeasure.

In his view, Georgiana was uncomfortable enough in company as it was, without the added encumbrance of doubting people's motives. But then again, Richard could be right; she probably had grown up. Georgiana's next sentence rather went to prove it.

"You know I speak the truth, Richard," she said, somewhat diffidently. "Hardly any of the young ladies who seek my society in town do so for the pleasure of my company. Indeed, I would be vain and rather foolish to think so, when more often than not they would invariably ask, five minutes into our conversation, 'And how is your dear brother, Miss Darcy?', followed by oblique but insistent enquiries into my brother's concerns! Elizabeth was different and I must own, it was rather refreshing! Why, she would not even claim an acquaintance with Fitzwilliam! I would not have known they had met, had it not come up quite by accident."

"Oh! Is it 'Elizabeth' now? Already?" Fitzwilliam remarked, and looked over towards Darcy with the sole wicked purpose of amusing himself with his cousin's reaction. To his delight, he got more than he had bargained for, as Darcy's countenance darkened when Georgiana finished her sentence. Fitzwilliam shook his head and chuckled.

"Indeed!" the Colonel drawled, amusement clearly evident in his voice. "Pray, how did it come up?" he asked casually and Georgiana turned to smile at him.

"Miss Bennet noticed my sketch over there," she explained, gesturing towards the wall behind her, and Fitzwilliam left his chair to examine it better.

"Not bad work, little cousin," he said dryly. "You have made your brother here look almost human, which is more than he achieves for himself in some circumstances. What say you, Coz? You look... tolerable, I suppose... in this likeness, do you not think so?" he added as he returned to his seat.

Darcy rolled his eyes and could not suppress a smile.

Clearly, he had told Fitzwilliam much more than he should.

"I must confess myself truly glad, in any case, for having left the impression, in Lambton and the environs, that we were away for the summer..." Georgiana added with a shy smile.

"Why would that be?" Darcy asked.

"It encouraged Miss Bennet to visit. She had made it abundantly clear that she would not have intruded upon the family, had she known otherwise..."

"Oh!"

So she would have avoided Pemberley, had she known him in residence...

Darcy looked away and tried to hide the discomfort engendered by the unwelcome intelligence. Colonel Fitzwilliam's sudden huff took him completely by surprise.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Darcy, desist, I beg you!" he exclaimed, then turned to his other cousin. "But of course, little one. I should not wonder if she felt uncomfortable touring the place without an invitation. Miss Bennet seems hardly the type to attempt to ingratiate herself at all cost, push herself forward or claim a connection merely to impress..." he elaborated, visibly to Georgiana, but Darcy was in no doubt that the tirade was actually for his benefit.

Darcy glanced briefly at his cousin, only to be met with his quizzically raised brow. It was by no means the first lecture he had received from Richard regarding his own misjudgements, nor, he feared, would it be the last. The reassurance derived from the opinion of a detached third party was by no means unwelcome, and yet in some respect Darcy could not help feeling a certain degree of annoyance at his cousin's manner. Not for the first time, he almost regretted having brought him along on this occasion - and having spoken to him about Elizabeth, for that matter.

Darcy shook himself from the unpleasant reverie and returned to the present. He was not, however, to be granted a respite.

"What displeases you, brother?" Georgiana asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Yes, Darcy, what displeases you?" the Colonel echoed, leaning further back into his chair, by all accounts clearly enjoying the opportunity to taunt him.

"Surely you do not disapprove of my efforts to know Elizabeth better! Do you?" Georgiana added, with just a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Of course not! Do not make yourself uneasy, Georgiana! Of course I approve of Elizabeth! Miss Bennet!" Darcy amended hastily, with undue emphasis.

Fitzwilliam chortled and covered his eyes, sadly missing the scowl Darcy aimed in his direction.

"Good! I am glad!" Georgiana retorted, too caught in her own musings to note the otherwise very obvious undercurrents between her brother and her cousin. "I have to own I was rather concerned for a while, after having extended the invitation to Miss Bennet to return to Pemberley and spend the day with me. It had crossed my mind that perhaps I should have reserved judgement, as ours was such a short acquaintance, and not be so hasty in bestowing my good opinion. Sadly, the three of us know where that had led me, in the past..." she added, with suddenly dejected spirits.

Both brother and cousin abandoned their private concerns and raised their voices in heated protest at her self-doubt and mortification; then Darcy came to sit by her and clasped her hand in his, forgetting to take Fitzwilliam to task for ill-advisedly affixing a vast selection of unsavoury epithets to Wickham's name, not altogether suitable in the present company. The thought that Georgiana would doubt herself to the extent of fearing she had been as wrong in her estimation of Elizabeth as she had been about Wickham, the mere thought of associating the two in this fashion almost made him shudder.

When their indignation was spent, Georgiana turned to smile tremulously at the two people she cared most deeply for.

"Thank you! You are both too kind to me!"

Another wave of protests followed. Georgiana allowed them to finish, then turned to her brother.

"I am glad you think I was right to trust my first impression of Miss Bennet. I was not completely comfortable at first, but then I remembered Mrs Bingley and I was reassured. I knew that you approved of her, and besides, as Mrs Bingley's sister, Miss Bennet could not be otherwise than lovely and amiable!"

Darcy forbore to comment on Georgiana's assumption, happy - for everybody's sake - that, as far as this sister was concerned, it happened to be a correct one. Fitzwilliam met his eye and cleared his voice, making Darcy wonder if any of the disclosures he had made the night before will return to haunt him, but in the end his cousin just turned back to Georgiana.

"And what else did you do when Miss Bennet visited?" he asked, recommencing to earn Darcy's gratitude rather than his annoyance.

"Not enough. I wish she could have stayed for longer. We walked the grounds, we played the pianoforte and we talked of everything under the sun."

"That I can well imagine," Fitzwilliam smiled, remembering the young lady's ease in conversation, and was not surprised at her having succeeded in drawing his young cousin out. Or both his cousins, for that matter.

"There was but one circumstance that gave me some unease," Georgiana began hesitantly, and regained Fitzwilliam's attention. Darcy's she had never lost. "It appears Miss Bennet was rather discomfited by some references to our aunt..."

"I should have thought that most people would be discomfited by references to Lady Catherine," Fitzwilliam quipped, earning a reproving stare from Darcy, and he readily apologised, in the full knowledge that his cousin was right, he ought not have shared the uncharitable and indeed impertinent thought with Georgiana.

"I am sorry, Richard, I was actually referring to Fitzwilliam's aunt and mine. Lady Farringdon," Georgiana clarified, and Darcy looked up in some concern.

"How did you get to discuss Lady Farringdon?" he asked hastily.

"We came across some of her old sketches in the library, and one of the Devonshire ones seemed to capture Miss Bennet's attention..."

"Farringdon Lodge..." Darcy whispered and Georgiana looked up in wonder.

"Indeed. How did you know?"

Darcy made no reply but instead he stood to pace to the door of the sitting room and back again, rubbing his forehead.

"She did not seem too affected initially," Georgiana continued, thinking aloud, "but for some reason she was quite put out when she learned you owned it..."

Fitzwilliam gasped. Darcy spun on his heels, his countenance dark and forbidding.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "You did not tell her that!"

Georgiana looked up, petrified by their response.

"I said I thought you did," Georgiana owned, distraught. "but that I was not sure, and that you or Mr Stratton would know..."

"Good Lord!" Darcy repeated, this time in a whisper, and closed his eyes, but Georgiana's small voice, almost close to tears, brought him back.

"Fitzwilliam, I am sorry, I did not know... Brother, what is it? What did I do?"

"Darcy, come now! This is hardly fair!" Fitzwilliam cried, the first to recover from their shock, but his admonishment was not needed. Recollecting himself, Darcy had already rushed to his sister and, having noticed her tearful, almost frightened countenance, he had knelt by her side and took both her hands in his.

"Dearest, do not distress yourself. I should apologise, Georgiana, for frightening you," he added, with a light kiss on her brow. "You did not do anything, my dear, it is not your fault."

The fault is mine. Nobody's but mine.

Georgiana peered earnestly in his face.

"What is it, brother? Why is everyone so upset by the very mentioning of this place in Devonshire?"

Darcy drew a long breath and stood, passing his hand over his face. He walked away from his sister, his countenance darkening further with every second, and suddenly returned to the sofa beside her. Georgiana took his hand and pressed her lips against it.

None of them noticed Fitzwilliam quietly standing and leaving the room.

"Dearest brother," she whispered. "What is it that distresses you so?"

Over the last few months, Darcy had grown accustomed to the idea that he would speak to his cousin about the cause of his turmoil. He had thought of his best friend as well, but had reluctantly dismissed the notion, as Bingley was too close to the Bennets for Darcy to deem it appropriate to burden his friend with such a confidence. He had never envisaged opening his heart to his much younger sister, though. Regardless, that was exactly what he did - and in some measure it had been a better choice, as he received no judgement from Georgiana, just the absorbed attention and the unmistakable devotion in her deep blue eyes, fixed on him, larger than ever, for the entire duration of his narrative.

He could not look at her, but he told her all. Of Hertfordshire and Elizabeth's unshakable hold on him, of her unsuitable connections and his decision to forsake her, of Devonshire and Brandon and his despair ever since.

Georgiana cast none of the condemnations which had been liberally bestowed by Fitzwilliam and would undoubtedly have been echoed by Bingley, for similar and different reasons.

She simply held his hand and listened, wide-eyed and still, until there was no more to tell.

"So this is why she left Lambton in such a haste," Georgiana said quietly, her voice nevertheless too loud for both.

Darcy looked up, too exhausted to feel anything.

"When?" he merely asked.

"Yesterday morning," Georgiana replied, still stroking his hand.

Silence filled the room, until Georgiana broke it with a soft whisper:

"Shall we travel together to Netherfield, then, brother?"

"We?"

"Take me with you, Fitzwilliam!" she pleaded, and Darcy took her in his embrace.

He pressed his lips on her forehead and agreed.

He needed all the support he could get.

(*) Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. (Proverbs 16:18; King James Version)

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