Tis a truth universally acknowledged that a widower in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife!

Thus an idea is pretty much fixed in the minds of both parents and daughters to such an extent that upon the moment a wealthy man turns available by the early death of his wife, he immediately becomes the object of attention for every single family with an unmarried daughter, whether he found this fact desirable or not.

Mr. Darcy contemplated the stiff face of his dead wife. She looked better off now as she lay in her deathbed than he had ever seen her whilst still alive, a result of the good job the undertaker's wife summoned upon her death had made on making up her sickly face. He quietly exited the lugubrious bedchamber and made his way to the parlour.

Anne had always been sick, her sallow complexion acquiring an olive tinge under her sunken eyes over the years. Ever since she was born, she had been constantly secluded in her somber bedchamber or submitted to prolonged stays in the Lake District to recover her fragile health. Her face had, therefore, never shown the brightness and joyfulness of youth. In addition to a withered anatomy, Anne did not possess any jovial demeanor which could have counteracted the shortfall of a female sensual attractiveness. Notwithstanding the bride had ensured him sexual frustrations; consummation had always been an established priority in Darcy's list of marital duties. The day it was decided that he would undertake her mother's will of marrying Anne, he had felt sick to his stomach at the mere prospect of having to fulfill them with her.

To his amazement (and in truth his contentedness as well), the burden of so unpromising a wedding night was spared from him by his wife herself. Incredible as it might seem, Anne De Bourgh Darcy had neither wished, nor expected for him to consummate their marriage. Doctor's advice had long ago warned her, privately, of the dangers her life would be subjected to should she ever be with child. This had cast over her a terrible dread of pregnancy, which she readily connected with hymen breach. Hence, her determination to prevent Darcy from ever approaching her bedchamber, as well as her bed.

Anne's wedding night was thus spent in utter isolation, and her partner's visit forestalled by a zealous lock on her husband's adjoining bedchamber door.

Not surprisingly, the blunt deprivation of droit du seigneur made no difference to Darcy's feelings. He had always dreamt of discovering the pleasures of the flesh in the arms of a beautiful maiden of his choice, whilst his future wife had been nothing of the sort (not beautiful, nor his choice). He received the news of his bride's reluctance for his visits with no little relief. Consequently, the absence of an heir remained the only burden on his shoulders. In conclusion, theirs had been an utterly unsuccessful, loveless marriage of convenience, no more palatable to either of them than a boring long ride on a carriage going to an unknown distant place that seemed too far away, that would take them a lifetime. Fortunately for him, hers had not endured the next decade.

Unable to overlook the impiety of his joyous spirit over his wife's death, Darcy was stunned by the certainty of the feeling of profound relief the otherwise dolorous occasion had instilled in his heart. As she was not only his spouse but also his kissing cousin, Darcy was aware that Anne's passing merited both his respect and grief, thus making the whole affair of the mourning husband a daunting challenge.

However improper the implications, he simply did not feel grieved. For one, they had never had anything in common. Anne had always been an ill-tempered person, always interfering in his affairs (mainly those entailing pleasurable activities). Much as he had endeavoured to circumvent her presence, she had seized every opportunity of their brief encounters to inflict upon him her most stormy temper and dozens of complaints of solitude and loneliness. Actually, he distinctly recollected the choice of her dwelling at Rosings Park and his at Pemberley as her own idea, due to her abhorrence of connubial practices. This ambiguity of her character had been the major cause of Darcy's reluctance to increase his visits to her dwelling. Only after he had learned of the irreversibility of her illness had he felt more inclined to her companionship; his choice of making Rosings Park his permanent residence made out of pure compassion in the indisputable notion that she would soon pass away.

Five years he had been tied to this woman. Five years of utterly interminable loneliness and unbearable unforeseen celibacy. Though he was somewhat low in spirits, still an overwhelming sensation of relief flooded his heart and an exhilarating feeling of utter freedom ran through his veins. "Mr. Darcy!" a shrieking voice rang into Darcy's ears. He had been alerted of the woman's visit by his butler but had completely forgotten about it. "Oh Mr. Darcy! What a most unfortunate loss! You must be devastated"

Indeed. He had already attended to dozens of insincere prattling condolences with the same matter-of-fact look. He was positively not devastated. Quite the opposite, but he would not dare upset anyone's expectations. So, contrary to his most secrets emotions of relief and freedom, and in spite of his abhorrence to all sorts of disguise, this time Fitzwilliam Darcy accepted the masquerade and reluctantly resolved to deceit. If they wanted him devastated, thus he would be.

"Indeed, I am, madam." Darcy's voice remained in an immutably level tone.

"My daughter, you see, had once the opportunity to make Mrs. Darcy's acquaintance." Darcy could see the shy silhouette of a young woman behind the behemoth of the old lady's bulk. "She very much wishes to offer her services." With that said, she swiftly moved sideways to reveal a young lady of about seventeen, looking as if she has seen the devil. Darcy's heart sank. He knew this insupportable game by heart and could scarcely abide it even in normal circumstances. The impertinence of its occurrence so closely to his wife's funeral reached unprecedented levels. "Well then," her mother urged her. "What were you to say to Mr. Darcy?"

Reluctantly, the young girl dropped a quick courtesy and expressed her condolences in the lowest tone she could utter.

"Come girl, Mr. Darcy can barely hear you if you choose to speak like that!" her mother scolded her. "Speak up, Regina!"

The girl repeated her memorized speech in a louder, though still inaudible voice. Her mother was about to scold her once again when within a moment Mr. Darcy came to her aid.

"I most profoundly accept your kind offer of condolences, Madam. Yours could not have been better nor kinder words. Yet Mrs. Reynolds has assumed the care of Mrs. Darcy's shroud. I thank you." Both ashamed and embarrassed by the implication of the situation, he curtly bowed in the direction of the girl, and sent a dark, haughty glare towards the mother. With that he wheeled around and, without giving them a second look, exited the parlour and disappeared into the music room.

Meddlesome women! What nerve! One can only assume it is a mother's duty to induce her female offspring into matrimonial binds, but to attempt such a pursuit upon the death of the intended suitor's wife is simply preposterous. Could they not think of anything else for once?

If Darcy knew anything it was that an arranged marriage could be the most treacherous trap a man could fall into, especially if he had the mere taste of what true love was. And he had. Scarcely eight and twenty, he had mercilessly fallen madly in love with a pair of beautiful eyes.

So much in love, he had been tempted to offer her matrimony even in the light of his betrothal to Anne, regardless of their difference in status and economic situation, defying his family's wishes and ignoring all friends' admonitions, silencing his own better judgment. So utterly unconnected was her family that the possibility of an alliance with her had been compleatly reprehensible to Darcy himself. He had repressed his feelings and struggled to avoid the inevitable. But she did not love him. In lieu, on the occasion of his proposal, she had acknowledged her feelings towards him to have been nothing but a complete abhorrence of his mere presence, and hence rejected his hand.

What had puzzled him most was the immutability of her rejection. After all, he had offered her a fair explanation of his rather reprehensible choice of words on the occasion of his proposal in his letter (not to mention that he was one of the most desirable bachelors in England, both for his physical appearance and income, thus meriting a second opportunity).Yet in the last days of their brief acquaintance he had been allotted some incredibly beautiful days in her beloved company at his own estate of Pemberley, where she had chosen to visit with her aunt and uncle Gardiner. He had cherished those days deep within his heart when he had still held some hope that she would change her mind.

Oh! That she should have accepted him!...He would have defied anyone, fought fiercely for her love, only their love. But no, it would not do. In a last endeavor to obtain her favour, he had swallowed his great pride and called on her at Longbourn. He had waited upon her to seek a sign of her approval. Should she have at least bestowed him a shy smile, very much like her sister had to Bingley, he would have requested her hand that very same day. But she had restrained her gaze from his face, always keeping it on her needlework, looking intently at it in a desperate urge to avoid his eyes. That could have only meant one thing. Neither his earthly possessions, nor his new found amiability would tempt Miss Elizabeth Bennet to enter into the bonds of matrimony without the certainty she loved and respected her partner. And hard as it was for him to accept it, she did not love him nor did she respect him.

Only after the disclosure of his intervention in Mr. Wickham's affair with her sister Lydia had she attended to conversation and merely to render her family's gratitude for his interference. He could have taken that opportunity to renew his addresses to her. But he could not endure her thankfulness in the light of his love for her. He wanted her unreserved love, not her gratitude. Stubborn as he was, he had chosen to repress his feelings once more and accept her thanks in a most perfunctory manner. That day he had left Longbourn never to go back.

Still, there was that one occasion in which life had taken a significant turn. Uppermost in his memory would remain the night of his sister Georgiana's coming out party. That night, in which he had stolen the most daring kisses from her rich lips. Utterly besotted, magnetically drawn towards her. He the rising tide, she the pull of the moon, Darcy had loved her with all of his passionate will and against his conscious mind. And she had not rejected him this time. Up there, in her bedchamber, he had caressed her naked body and she had almost been his. Almost. His sense of propriety (not hers, mind you!) had compelled him to leave her bed before consummation, leaving a much puzzled Elizabeth in a rather delicate state. It was unfortunate that all his passion turned, in the end, against him. For the wrath of the rejected Elizabeth did reach him the morning after, in the form of a letter in which she forbade him to ever approach her again.

To his (and especially her) misfortune, the tale of their amorous meeting reached the ears of Lady Catherine, whose wrath was beyond comparison.

For a few months heretofore, had seen him taking Anne De Bourgh as his wedded wife, and with her, her whole immense inheritance at Rosings Park, just as both their mothers had decided over their cradles. Upon her death, she had left an amazing fortune. Little did he know of the upheaval such an occurrence had caused among the female files and particularly in certain lady's heart. After all, he was, by far, the wealthiest eligible man in the whole land of England...once again!

The impertinence of early mourners at the foot of the stairs was overwhelming. Being as they were one of the richest and most prominent couples in the North of England, Darcy had expected the commiseration of many of their neighbours. Propriety dictated that only men should be present at his wife's funeral services in the church in two days' time, yet only the most intimate acquaintances were supposed to pay their respects at her deathbed and offer to attend to the sad job of preparing the body for the coffin. Albeit those society prescriptions were worldwide known, half of Derbyshire had traveled all the way to Kent to condole with him and offer to attend the dead. This was hardly decorous and completely undesirable. He would have expected a large number of cards and letters as had been the case when his father had died. Yet the buzzing of the servants reminded Darcy of the occasion of a ball. Even so, he could not turn the mourners down, regardless their impertinence. Surprising as their number was, he had not anticipated that most of them would be young unmarried women accompanied by either their mercenary mothers or chaperones.

Even the Prince Regent had sent a card with his condolences (thank goodness no daughter of his was carrying it, merely a dejected looking servant), for though Anne had never been presented at court, her family name had run in the Royal surroundings for a century. There had been people coming and going the whole day. People who had known the Darcys for years and people who were nothing but mere acquaintances yet none of them familiar enough to assume the partaking of so intimate a service or afford the relatives any consolation.

Consolation indeed. Darcy could not avoid a chuckle at the idea. Pretense was something he abhorred yet it could not be helped. Enough did he apprehend the revolution his recent widowhood had created among the unmarried ladies, even though he was too newly freed from his wife to be expected to give way to any ideas connected with matrimony. The wave of ardor for his touch displayed by some dames had had a curious effect on Darcy (some ladies had been bold enough to kiss his un-gloved hand while performing an act of tender sympathy towards the deceased and the handsome widower). Notwithstanding his intention to avoid any insincere displays of affection, he could not help the influence the affected ladies' attentions had over his much badly catered body.

For incredible as it might seem, Darcy had never known intimacy with a lady; not even an innocent brushing kiss, save those bestowed on usually gloved hands or either his chaste sister's or wife's cheek.

But of course, there was one unique occasion on which he had dared to dream. That one time when he had passionately kissed and loved Miss Bennet in his own townhouse. Now, those kisses had been real, authentic love making, the most passionate, ardent kisses he would ever bestow.

On closing his eyes he could still feel her response and surrender. He could have made her his that night had he wished to. Severely austere as he was, he had chosen to remain faithful to his wedding vows and at the same time preserve Miss Bennet's good name and honour. For a compleat abhorrence to behaviour ruled his mind. To his chagrin, the unrestrained tongue of an indiscreet servant ruined his plans and the consequence of his thoughtless adulterous exertions came as a ricochet against him. Thus, he lost the only means of joy that had been spared him: both Miss Bennet's company and her good regard. Even worse, his one moment of impetuosity had put his beloved lady's name in a dubious position in London society, adding to the already tattered bad name the Bennets girls had acquired after the infamous elopement involving the youngest.

Why did he have to ruin all? Could he not have exercised his well known self discipline? After all, he was used to self-deprivation. Had he not stubbornly refused lying with a fairly young courtesan, whose attentions had been generously provided by his father on the occasion of his sixteenth birthday? Had he not refrained from unleashing his needs then, he would at least have known what proper release meant. But the sickness caused by his father's best intended gift so early in his lifetime, added to utter repulsion for the ill-reputed behaviour of the Prince Regent had triggered in him a rather uncommon attitude towards the fair sex. Hence, Darcy had adhered to the noble sentiments reflected in the scriptures and vowed solemnly to refrain from lust and fornication. Thus influenced by such romantic and chaste notions, inevitably untouched by his sickly bride, Mr Darcy had remained very much like a rich, moist creamed cake in a served feast whose participants had failed to show. But, oh! What temptation it bestowed!

After his thirty-third birthday and in the prime of widowhood he had accepted the fact of his celibacy, only to be confronted with unpredicted lust emanating from the unrestrained lips of a young woman on his hand. Preposterous as it was, the impertinent persistence from the female side at relieving his grief had awoken the natural instincts of his numbed manhood. Still, after so many years of severe self-deprivation, he conceded that this sensation was not unknown to him; perchance a bit unsettling and definitely embarrassing, yet not unwelcome. In a way it made him feel alive, young, unbelievably young.

His butler interrupted his deep thinking.

"Mr. Darcy. Mr. and Mrs. Bingley wish to see you sir."

Now Darcy encountered a friendly smile he recognized. Charles Bingley, his old friend, was being ushered to his presence. Bingley's lovely wife, Jane, was tagging along behind. It was a good time since they had last seen each other, Darcy having almost resigned their friendship due to the torture that such connection would have inflicted upon him. For Bingley's wife was none other than Miss Elizabeth Bennet's sister.

"I thank you for coming," Darcy gave a little curt bow with his head.

"I am awfully sorry, Darcy. I should have called on you ages ago." Bingley's eyes showed sincere concern as he spoke.

"I am sure we would have definitely called upon each other had our circumstances not prevented us from doing so. Do not let the past events unsettle you, my friend!" Darcy sighed and then as though as if talking to himself, "This certainly is an unpleasant moment for everyone, though I dare say it was hardly unexpected."

"Mr. Darcy," a familiar gentle voice said. "Pray, allow me to express my most sincere condolences. I would be honoured if you allowed me to pay any assistance regarding Mrs. Darcy's preparation for burial?"

Darcy turned his gaze onto the woman who had spoken the words. Upon reflecting on her beautiful complexion, Darcy immediately wondered if her sister had remained quite so fresh and young as Jane had transparently done. Unexpectedly, upon thinking of Elizabeth, his pulse quickened.

"I thank you, but you need not bother, Mrs. Bingley. Everything has already been seen to," he said to her. "I appreciate your kind words, and the trouble you have imposed upon yourselves in coming all this way to offer your services."

"Not at all, Mr. Darcy. It is up to us to show you our appreciation. You see, sir, nothing could be too grand for us when it comes to show you the depth of our gratitude for your previous kindness towards our family. 'Tis so sad that such an opportunity has befallen under these circumstances."

Darcy was speechless. He had assumed his intervention in Wickham's affair had not reached the Bingleys. He stared at Mrs. Bingley as though he was watching an ethereal apparition. After some awkward silence, she resumed the conversation.

"I was fortunate enough to meet Mrs. Darcy while she was still unmarried upon a visit I paid to my cousin Mr. Collins. She was a charming person."

Again Darcy did not answer. He nodded thankfully and looked down to his feet. He could not think what to say to her. Then it dawned on him he could inquire after her family. Looking into her eyes, he asked politely. She answered all his inquires with a peaceful smile, referring first to her parents, breaking the news of Mary and Catherine being married and living in London and then attempting to sound casual, she added the most unsettling news Darcy had received in a decade.

"My sister Elizabeth is in good health, too. Surely she will very soon arrive. She had offered to help me in case you accepted my assistance."

He had never expected that. His heart sank but his face remained impassive, so strong was his self-control. Though the overwhelming news of Elizabeth's theoretical proximity had completely undone him, he battled fiercely against the consuming feeling until his chest nearly burst inside.

Unprepared to unsettling sentiments such as these, his heart gave a sudden jerk and he almost lost his balance. Was it utter fear or joy? He found himself out of breath and shook his head in an unsuccessful attempt to regain composure. Restless, a sudden urge to go in her quest flooded his soul. He endeavoured to bridle his emotions lest her sister noticed his discomfiture but to no avail. Thus, in a conscious attempt to restrain the latter, in lieu of bringing their conversation about her family back, he chose to finish it. Hence, he welcomed his butler's intervention.

"Mr. Darcy", the voice of Ponsonby coughed his name. "A Mrs. Dashwood, a Miss Dashwood and a Miss Dashwood wish to see you, sir."

"Thank you Ponsonby."

"Mr. Darcy", Ponsonby interjected again, "Also a Mrs. Hughes, a Miss Hughes and.."

"Thank you Ponsonby. I shall be with them in a few minutes." The stiff butler gave a swift bow and, stepping backwards, exited the room.

Darcy turned to Bingley again.

"I shall go downstairs." he sighed. "I shall not allow people to think I am the kind of man who cannot abide his wife's death," he added with a timid smile.

"Indeed, I must confess that your staying in the music room might cause 'some' people to think ill of you Darcy!" said Bingley smiling back at him.

The Bingleys joined him to face the callers, but Darcy maintained a resolution to keep himself close to his friends. He imagined their proximity would help him face Elizabeth. After dismissing Miss Hughes, he assumed his usual taciturn disposition. Clasping his hands behind his back and straightening it, he surveyed the room without much inconvenience. His height was a definite advantage.

Much to his disappointment, Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. As his gaze danced over the several faces, Darcy wondered if he had failed to spot her. He had been sure he could discern Elizabeth Bennet anywhere. Was it possible that she should have changed so much that he had failed to recognize her? Little by little, a distressing thought slowly trickled into his mind. It began to dawn on him, his scarcity of any intelligence about her recent past life. He did not know for certain whether she was still single. He had a faint idea he had once overheard Anne talking about her spinsterhood with her mother. But that had been three years ago. Her marital state might have very well changed since then.

On second thought he realized her marital state meant nothing. She must not love him. No, not any more. Not after what had transpired that night in London. Quite the contrary, she must hate him. After all, it was his own fault Elizabeth had been compelled to retire from society to the solitude of her sister's house in Netherfield. Yes, she must despise him. Suddenly he wished her appearance had changed. Yes, those would be most reassuring thoughts. An ugly and obese Elizabeth stomping her way to greet him, fat and wrinkled. Though even worse, sweaty and gravid, surrounded by a handful of unruly and whimpering progeny. Darcy let out a snort as he dismissed the absurdity of such an idea.

Unconvinced as he was of her lost attractiveness, such fancy of her animosity did disturb him considerably. But then again, if she hated him, why bother to come all over from Longbourn to condole with him and attend to Anne's shroud? Certainly she had no reason to pay such a service for his wife. She was no relative of hers, nor a friend whatsoever. What motives could have impelled Elizabeth to come? Was it possible that she wished to see him? After all these years? Perchance over these past years she had changed her mind and regretted having rejected him with that bitter letter. This idea was much more appealing than the previous one; a repentant, beautiful Elizabeth, surrendering at his feet. Slender and graceful, virginal purity her greatest attribute; the Elizabeth of this reverie was exerting such raptures over him that he could hardly contain himself.

The complexity of his feelings was having a devastating effect on his loins. Thus an overpowering tension had hold of his body. Concupiscent emotions notwithstanding, he understood the deepest love had enforced them. Yet he recognized the impossibility of an immediate release for his suffering masculinity. He wheeled his mind to abandon further daydreaming over Elizabeth. He was compelled to go in her quest; he couldn't just remain idle and motionless. Besides, the exertion would help him cool his breeches. Surely he must do something about that! He excused himself from company and proceeded to survey the room only to face that the house, cluttered as it was with ladies, posed a real challenge to the eye. The visitors, clad in mourning attire, though now slackening in number, reminded the beholder of a flock of black sheep.

Whatever is this crowd doing still here? Have I not talked to all of them yet? It will be dark in a few minutes; surely they are not expecting to be treated to supper. Is Elizabeth over there? No, no, that is Miss Tilney.

Darcy began to lose hope. Though still uncertain about what he would do once in her company, he persisted in his chase. Here and there his heart would give a mad leap at the sight of a familiar figure, only to find Mrs. such and such and her unmarried daughter, instead of Elizabeth. He must summon the servants and instruct them to dismiss the callers. But then again, what if she had not arrived yet and was refused admittance? He was at terrible odds at what to do.

Elizabeth...Oh Elizabeth! What have you done to me! His mind raced as he paused to think of the uproarious absurdity of his immediate past actions. Not a moment before, in a complete abandonment of his innermost principles, he had been aroused at the simple touch of a woman's lips on his bare skin. Even worse, the mere reflection of Elizabeth's presence awoke every tissue in his manhood. Now he was in a most frantic search for her! He was not a hundred percent certain she was there or why she was there and still he could not refrain from looking for her. His wife's shroud was not yet laid, yet women were literally throwing themselves into his arms, whilst he was already looking for the only one who had restrained from doing so! His entire world had gone upside down. He must have gone mad. What was happening to him? What was happening to all these people? Had they lost all sense of decorum and civility?

Still it could not be helped. The unrestrained pull of his heart, which had once led him into dangerous waters, was definitely a winner over his soul-made convictions, carrying him helplessly to this mad hunt. Unfortunately, after he had thoroughly searched the two main rooms, a much defeated soul, Darcy made his way out to the gardens.

It was beginning to rain.

Good weather for a wake. It suited his innermost feelings. He walked randomly in the rain until he reached the gazebo. He had been there not ten minutes when he heard a familiar voice calling his name.

5 years before at Rosings Park
The good Colonel had endured enough long sleepless nights in London, listening to Darcy's amorous sorrows, to be certain of his cousin's infatuation for Miss Bennet. Tender endearments would drift from how well Miss Bennet played the piano forte, passing to her gracious movements, her gorgeous figure and her sparkling wit, ending in the possible implications of every step she would take whilst in his company. Did he think she had purposely bestowed that look upon him? Had he mentioned the manner in which she had pursed her lips when conversing with him? Was he of the opinion she might have been biting her lower lip to give him encouragement? She was so tempting...and so on and so forth.

In the end the Colonel met her upon the yearly visit both Darcy and Fitzwilliam paid to Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Upon their entrance to Rosings Park, Darcy heard of her presence in the nearby parsonage, and immediately rushed to the place to call on the unhappy parson and his visitors, tagging his cousin along with him. He had never seen the fellow behave in such an outrageous manner for the sake of a lady. In fact, he had never known him to seek any lady's favours in his life. Such an urge to pay a visit to so unpleasant a character as Mr. Collins, for the mere reason of his fair relative's presence, could have only one explanation. Undoubtedly, Darcy was utterly besotted. Fitzwilliam could hardly wait to see the beauty that held such a fierce grip on his cousin's passion. For that was the only plausible explanation for Darcy's uncommon demeanor.

Only she was not the kind of beauty he had expected.

They found both Mrs. Collins' visitors had just arrived from an excursion. As Darcy unsuccessfully struggled to make the appropriate introduction, the Colonel took the opportunity to bestow a thorough regard on the lady. He felt quite free to do so, as he did not find her all that attractive, nor was he seeking her favours.

On the one hand, and on quick inspection, Miss Bennet was a fairly handsome lady, though she was rather short and dark. Darcy was of such an imposing height, the Colonel could do nothing but laugh at the idea of their match. On the other hand, and on closer inspection now, he conceded her to be the owner of a remarkably good figure. Further perusals persuaded him of certain other features in her favour. Not only did she have a delicate, uncommonly brilliant complexion but also regular features and exceptionally playful eyes. In having the right height she could have made a very attractive vision to a gentleman's eye. She was definitely not outstandingly handsome, but he conceded her smile to be sweet and attractive, and her eyes, which were very dark, he found possessors of the most lively spirit he had ever beheld in any young lady of his acquaintance.

Only when he had finished his inspection did he realize Darcy that had, after uttering a much too short salutation and introduction, secluded himself on a seat in the farthest corner of the room. After bestowing a confused look of disbelief to his cousin, Fitzwilliam concluded that he was unable to stand his ground in front of this woman. Noticing Darcy's discomfiture, he peeked again at Miss Bennet's countenance trying to discover the reason for his cousin's whimsical reaction. In seeing nothing but a rather displeased look upon her face, he surmised that Miss Bennet was not at all pleased to see Darcy.

In the face of such an estimation, the Colonel's puzzlement was not superior to his curiosity. Hence, his determination to discover if such was the case. With that purpose in mind, he sat on an opposite chair and began a tete a tete with her. Whilst the following conversation might be well known to some of us, the implications related to it are not so.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance at last!" Fitzwilliam beamed at her.

"At last, sir?"

"I have heard much of you, and the praise has not been exaggerated at all, I assure you."

"I can well believe that," said Elizabeth Bennet in disbelief. "Mr. Darcy is my severest critic." Her eyes opened wide as she said these words, and she smiled broadly at her interlocutor. Fitzwilliam noticed her mouth was delicately drawn in her face, and the lower lip was every now and then caught by her upper teeth in a very sensual tic.

What is she doing with her lips?

"I hope we shall see you frequently at Rosings." He tried to sound inviting, knowing it was just what his cousin was dying to say, but for some extraordinary reason yet to be discovered was in no disposition to utter. "I am fond of lively conversation," he finished.

Miss Bennet cast a playful look at Darcy and smirked. "This you do not find at Rosings Park?" she added, almost laughing at her mischievous joke. As her gaze danced upon his face, he could not help noticing the glow in her dark brown eyes. Hence, his understanding of his cousin's bewilderment for the lady.

Is it possible that she is flirting with me? Good Lord! She is! Should I welcome her forwardness? Well, why not? What is wrong with some flirtation? After all she is not engaged and Darcy certainly is!

They continued conversing in the same manner quite oblivious to their company, obviously enjoying relative comradeship which did not pass ignored by a certain gentleman. Darcy had been eyeing the two of them in envious contemplation, his gaze being the source of a flick of restlessness in Elizabeth.

"Can you tell me why Mr. Darcy keeps staring at me? What do you think offends him?"

What does she mean offends him? Mmmm. I gather this young lady is completely unaware of Darcy's besottedness for her. I dare say she does not feel at all comfortable with him. Conversely, she seems to be enjoying my company very well. And she is very handsome. No, no, she is not handsome. She is... bewitching."

Fitzwilliam found himself inevitably smiling at his assessment but could not find a good answer to her question without betraying his cousin to her. Still, he was astonished at Darcy's awkwardness. Surely he could not be harbouring any serious attachment towards the lady. On the one hand he was aware of Darcy's betrothal to Anne De Bourgh and on the other Miss Bennet was clearly beneath his prospects regarding matrimonial alliances. Of course he could not blame his cousin for seeking some diversion in the face of such a withered prospect for a wife.

Just then, in an impetuous manner, Darcy rose from his seat, and strode towards them looking very much a man with a purpose. Elizabeth directed her eyes at him in clear expectation of his address whilst he, unable to utter a word, towered over her in an imperial pose.

"I hope your family is in good health," he said stupidly in the end.

Fitzwilliam looked at the dumb figure of his cousin in mystification. He seemed completely at loss for words. "Good Lord. It took him so long to finally master such a stupid statement".

"I thank you, yes," Elizabeth stammered out of sheer bemusement. She was obviously expecting more verbosity from him. Miraculously, perhaps because she could not tolerate her own embarrassment, she endeavored to aid him out of his silent struggle with a perfunctory question. Looking intently into his eyes she said : "My sister has been in town these three months. Have you not seen her?"

Sadly enough, her address seemed to worsen Darcy's abashment. Compleately taken aback, he lingered in perplexity for what seemed to Fitzwilliam an eternity. Finally, he regained his ability to speak and attempted an answer.

"No," he shook his head in emphatic denial. "No, I have not had that pleasure."

A new awkward silence arose, and his cousin lost composure once more. This was a most disappointing performance on his part, but it was a welcome diversion to Fitzwilliam. He had never had the opportunity to see his relative in such a dreadful state of perpetual discomfiture. Finding nothing more to say, Darcy turned round and walked towards a window. There he found refuge in the silent survey of the outside view. He abandoned his contemplation only to cast a short melancholic look upon Miss Bennet. He, thereafter, resumed his previous posture.

She continued her declaration in ironic tone, "So you see, it is a hopeless case, is it not, Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

He could say no more, yet Fitzwilliam was certain of one thing. If Darcy was not to take his chances with her, the Colonel himself would gladly seize the opportunity to get to know her wit in a more exhaustive manner, should the opportunity to do so befall him.

To Colonel Fitzwilliam's sheer pleasure, the opportunity to further his new acquaintance certainly did come, and not in scarcity, for the Collinses and their visitors would pay frequent calls on Lady Catherine. So much so, that before he could understand it, he was trapped in the web of Miss Bennet's fine eyes. Soon her visits to Rosings Park became frequent enough to turn Fitzwilliam's admiration into serious attachment. After spending two weeks in her constant company, he came to the conclusion that she was the perfect companion for his life. They were incredibly of the same mind on almost every subject, including music, dancing and books. Needless to say, it was clear that Miss Bennet preferred his company to his cousin's. She would talk to him, walk with him, play the piano forte with him. They would have danced together all night had they attended a ball. Colonel Fitzwilliam would walk to the parsonage almost every morning, with or without Darcy. The latter, on those rare occasions in which he had been bold enough to pay a visit, would remain taciturn and isolated in a corner, whilst the newly acquainted would keep each other company in a most entertaining manner. Still, in the intelligence of Darcy's emotions he would not dare take any serious steps.

But suddenly Elizabeth's preferences took an astounding turn. One evening, at Rosings Park, Fitzwilliam witnessed a remarkably suspicious conversation.

He and Miss Bennet had been sitting at the piano forte in their usual manner, while Darcy was in company of his betrothed, his aunt and the rest of the visitors in the adjoining room. When Miss Bennet had finished her piece, Darcy rose to his feet and strode very decidedly towards them.

Miss Bennet began fidgeting on her stool, and made some clumsy mistakes upon the piano forte. She was obviously not comfortable in his presence. Still, she shyly looked up at him and said rather dramatically: "Do you mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? I shall not be alarmed." She resumed playing and looked at the colonel in common mockery. "My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me." But then she directed her gaze at Darcy and smiled. Her whole countenance acquired a flushed brilliancy.

Thus, the unexpected happened.

Darcy, instead of assuming his accustomed coy attitude, flashed her a disarming smile and stared mischievously into her eyes. Then using a deep, soothing voice he answered, "I know you find great enjoyment in professing opinions which are not your own."

Whilst Fitzwilliam gaped helplessly at Darcy's frolicsome comedy, he was stunned to hear Elizabeth's coquettish giggle.

"Your cousin would teach you not to believe a word I say, Colonel Fitzwilliam. That is ungenerous of him, is it not?"

Notwithstanding that the Colonel was the object of her address, Elizabeth's attentions were not directed upon him, rather she was vehemently interested in Darcy's response. Without for a moment taking her dark eyes off Darcy's, she contended once more, "Impolitic too, for it provokes me to retaliate and say somewhat of his behaviour in Hertfordshire, which may shock his relations." Unmistakably, she was now flirting with Darcy. She had made that playful movement with her mouth, so very seductive, biting her lower lip with her upper teeth.

So very inviting.

Darcy sent her his most seductive look and maintained "I am not afraid of you."

At this, Colonel Fitzwilliam had become really worried. He was definitely losing ground. He tried hard not to remain out of their exchange but little was achieved. Elizabeth and Darcy might have well been alone in the music room, bluntly ignoring his presence, persisting in their charade, their eyes locked, playing a most delicious game of words, which in fact were saying how much they had been involved in each other's exertions in the past. More than a game, it seemed a confession. Darcy would not take his eyes off hers. A wolf in sheep's clothing, he was definitely enjoying himself. At last he had been able to rid himself of his mortifying shyness and reveal his most seductive self.

Darcy took his time giving a retort to every single statement Miss Bennet would utter and Elizabeth was definitely amused. She resumed playing the pianoforte. This man was amazing. So distantly aloof one moment, alluringly bewitching the other. She recalled Charlotte's admonition. You'd be a simpleton if you let your fancy for Wickham lead you to slight a man of ten times his consequence. She had to admit Mr. Darcy was ten times the consequence of any man. Even the dazzling Colonel.

At the end of their exchange Darcy took the opportunity to send a message to the Colonel. He sighed deeply, and, looking daggers at his cousin, he said "I... I have not that talent which some possess, of conversing easily with strangers."

Check. The Colonel decoded the message.

Elizabeth, unaware of what was going on between the gentlemen, and thinking herself still in battle with Mr. Darcy, answered with complete conviction.

"I do not play this instrument so well as I should wish to, but I have supposed that to be my own fault, because I would not take the trouble of practicing!"

"You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you could think anything wanting." Then, assuming a low voice as he leaned across the pianoforte to say almost in a whisper. "We neither of us perform to strangers."

Check mate.

Elizabeth did not retort. She had expected him to retaliate once more. But he, most generously, had shown composure and was now stating his admiration. She could see that in his eyes. Suddenly she could not hold his gaze any longer. Instead the most outrageous thing happened to her. The very thing that could do nothing but reveal her innermost emotions towards Darcy.

She blushed.

In the end they were interrupted by Aunt Catherine's piercing shrieks demanding her share in their conversation. Colonel Fitzwilliam could not be more relieved.

Now, what to do? Clearly, despite her previous displeasure towards him, Elizabeth entertained feelings for his cousin. At least she was not compleately immune to his unexpected charms. Her reactions to his teasing had been evident enough. She had unmistakably flushed. At the certainty of this realization, it would not be wise to depend solely on Elizabeth's taste in men nor her unsuitability. Judging by his cousin's easy performance, it would not be so difficult for him to turn her nascent emotions into something more serious, and she would end up being Darcy's mistress. He would not allow that.

He would have to change strategies.

But what to do?

A few days passed in which Richard learned that Miss Bennet had come across Darcy on various occasions while taking her morning strolls. There would not be one single morning in which Darcy would not go to the parsonage, and many times he had not taken the trouble of waiting for his cousin. Instead, he had ridden his horse to the parson's residence and even invited Miss Bennet to walk in his company. Regrettably, many times this had been done at such early hours, that he had taken the whole family unawares and still in bed. His infatuation took such dimensions that he could not restrain his feet from dragging him helplessly to her temporary dwelling. Far from him was to hide them, for his intentions were bluntly written on his face.

Richard saw the need to take desperate measures. After all, all was fair in love and war.

Upon their travel to Rosings, he had serendipitously learned Darcy's struggles to separate his friend, Mr. Bingley, from a certain lady from Hertfordshire. Later on, he had arrived at the conclusion that the lady whose integrity had been found faulty by Darcy was none other than Miss Jane Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet's elder sister.

Touché

The next step would be to have a serious conversation with Lady Catherine De Bourgh. He persuaded his aunt that Darcy needed to spend more time with Anne. Such pursuit needed more collaboration on Anne's part, for she would remain in bed most of the morning, thus relieving Darcy of his duties with her, and at the same time affording him enough time to woo Miss Bennet. Once the evil deed of persuading both his aunt and cousin to spend more time with Darcy was perpetrated, Colonel Fitzwilliam would just have to wait.

The next day, Colonel Fitzwilliam went downstairs to find an ill-humoured Darcy breakfasting in the company of his aunt and cousin. Without moment to lose, Richard flashed him a sneer and, offering a light excuse to his aunt, cut a short bow and left.

He ran more than walked to the clearing in the park where he was sure to find Miss Bennet on her morning stroll.

And there she was. He thought he could distinguish a tinge of disappointment in her eyes at the sight of him. Was she expecting to find Darcy?

"Miss Bennet!"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam."

The manner of her address told Richard she was.

"I have been making the yearly tour of the Park. Shall we take this way together?"

"With pleasure."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's scheme was ready for launching. Thereupon he said nonchalantly.

"Mr. Bingley is waiting for Darcy in London. They are going to spend the summer together at Pemberley."

"Do you know Mr. Bingley and his sisters?"

"A little. Bingley is a pleasant, gentleman-like man. He is a great friend of Darcy's."

"Yes. Mr. Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr. Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."

"Yes, I believe Darcy does take care of him." Now it was the moment to release the first poisonous dose. He was sure to hit right on target. "I understand that he congratulates himself on having saved Mr. Bingley the inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage." He took a close look at her countenance, and saw the sudden change.

"Did Mr. Darcy give his reasons for this interference?"

"I understand there were some very strong objections to the lady." There. Take it. He was not lying. He was merely being indiscreet.

Elizabeth's face shrunk in horrific discomposure. Struggling desperately not to break down, she in due time managed to gasp a question.

"And why was he to be the judge?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam answered in a most innocent way. "You are disposed to think his interference officious? He could see that Elizabeth's ire had been ignited. Nothing could save Darcy from the oncoming wrath.

"I do not see what right Mr. Darcy had to determine and direct in what way his friend was to be happy."

"But, as you say, we know none of the particulars."

"Perhaps there was not much affection."

"Perhaps not. But if that were the case, it lessens the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly, don't you think?"

Thus, the poison had been induced most imperceptibly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's plan worked incredibly well. That very afternoon, having got rid of his intended, Darcy had dashed towards the parsonage supposedly - in the Colonel's mind -- to make Miss Bennet his mistress, in reality to offer her his hand, only to find the most bitter rejection ever conceived. The next day, an abashed Darcy and a triumphant Fitzwilliam departed for London. The Colonel was planning to call on Miss Bennet at her aunt's house in London, without his cousin's awareness.

But that was not to happen. Elizabeth's visit in London was but a breeze, only long enough to join her sister Jane on her way back home in Longbourn.

So Richard Fitzwilliam stayed with his cousin Fitzwilliam Darcy for a few days in Darcy's townhouse. Yet on seeing that Darcy's bad humour was nothing but increasing, and the object of his affection absent from the immediate surroundings, he took his leave and headed for his paternal home in Matlock. The cards once laid, what remained was only to bide his time until Darcy's nuptials took place some time later.

For her part, Elizabeth went back home in a terrible spirit. Remorse had taken hold of her heart and the pain of having misjudged Mr. Darcy was nothing small. The idea that such grand man had set eyes on her was flattering enough to tempt Elizabeth's heart to feel a little for the gentleman.

They saw each other at Pemberley, where she could appreciate his true demeanor amongst his own people and friends. To Elizabeth it was evident that Mr. Darcy's unpleasant character had undergone a dramatic transformation. He was the possessor of an overwhelming amiability which added to his attractive profile and the excess of his wealth, made him the best of suitors. By the time she had met him again at Longbourn, she was irredeemably in love with him. Unfortunately her emotions played against her, for such was her embarrassment at the sight of him that she could not bear to look him in the eye, least of all talk to him. Unbeknown to Elizabeth, her befuddlement only served to discourage the gentleman, who, fearing a new rejection, dared not renew his addresses, much to her own distress.

But again, Elizabeth was to meet Mr. Darcy at Bingley's wedding. The whole affair proved a real challenge for both of them. For while he was the groom's best man, Elizabeth was the bridesmaid. So they both had to face each other, hearts bleeding, while the entire ceremony was performed for Bingley and Jane. Elizabeth wept silently all through it, her uninterrupted sobbing considered mere emotional constriction from the wedding. In any case, neither Elizabeth nor Darcy was able to bear the wedding breakfast. He departed for London straightaway after the ceremony; she found refuge in her bedroom, where she retreated until the last guest was gone.

After Jane's wedding and Darcy's departure, sorrow took hold of Elizabeth's heart, but the hardest pain to be endured was yet to come.

Five months later, Mr. Collins sent a letter to Longbourn, in which he rejoiced to announce the espousal of Anne De Bourgh to her cousin Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. Though the letter had been intended for Mr. Bennet, he read it aloud for all the family to be apprised of the good news. Elizabeth was about to swallow a bite of baked potato when she heard his father saying the name of the groom. She almost choked and had to wash the damned potato down with some water and then some wine to recover her colour. Her father did not take the hint of the source of Elizabeth's discomfiture, thus he commenced to tease her in an absolutely innocent manner.

"So Mr. Darcy has at last found someone handsome enough to tempt him, huh?"

"Handsome indeed!" chuckled Mrs. Bennet. "Sir Lucas told me the poor thing is a miserable mouse, all grey and small and sickly! She is sure to die within the next year. Rich she is! And this is the kind of bride such proud people as Mr. Darcy deserve! A sole for his shoe, I say"

"Lizzy? Are you not happy to see the very disagreeable Mr. Darcy so well matched in the end? He certainly deserves the Lady!"

"I must confess I expected he would marry a beauty of the ton, and not the dreadfully sick cousin of his, her fortune notwithstanding," parroted Mrs. Bennet. "But I dare say the inducement of such an alliance of fortunes must have been too grand, even for the very wealthy Mr. Darcy, to pass unnoticed. Can you imagine the wealth he will come into once she is dead?"

"Mama!" protested Elizabeth.

"What! Do you believe me inconsiderate? Is he not the most despicable man that has ever come to Meryton? Surely his intentions have been mercenary as well!"

"Mama. Mr. Darcy is a gentleman. Indeed he is! On marrying his cousin he is doing nothing but his duty. Mr. Darcy is merely carrying out his family's wishes. No mercenary reasons inspired him! His nature is of the most generous and unselfish kind! He does not deserve your idle talking nor your teasing."

"Pray, Elizabeth. Since when are you a defender of the gentleman's honour?"

Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears, and she covered them with both hands and broke into silent weeping which went into a crescendo until it became hysterical sobbing. The whole family observed the process in utter amazement. Not a knife was moved.

"Miss Bennet! Whatever happened to you, child?" said her father in the end.

She rose and scampered outside leaving all the members of the family dumbfounded and at odds with whatever had been the matter with her. Her wild escape took her to her favourite path, and she ended up crying her eyes out on the road leading to Netherfield in search of the only person who could understand her feelings: her sister Jane.

Yet the three-mile walk was long enough for her to come to her senses, and before reaching her sister's house, she took a diversion towards one of her favourite spots, a slope from which she had seen Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy, riding their horses towards Netherfield, for the first time. She lingered in the same spot from whence she had caught the first glimpse of the man who would hold her heart, she now knew, for good. Lost and lonely, Elizabeth roamed across the field with her gaze as if expecting the gentlemen to appear out of the blue. His ghost would haunt her for ever.

Upon her return to the house, it was almost dusk, and her father, having been concerned for her hasty departure, summoned her into the library.

"Pray Elizabeth. Tell me what it is that caused you such distress. You are not sad at the announcement of a wedding, are you, my child?"

"Oh papa! I am not sad for that."

"Then, what is it, my dear?"

"'Tis only that I no longer think Mr. Darcy is as proud and conceited as I had thought he was. There are certain events that are not my right to reveal, that verify my new opinion of him. It pains me exceedingly to hear you speaking so ill of so good a person."

"My, my!" said Mr. Bennet shaking his head disapprovingly. "I thought Jane had left the house. Apparently she has left some of her spirit with you, my child, when she left! Now you are all goodness, suddenly ready to condole on such a character as Mr. Darcy's. I thought you loathed the fellow! It will not do, my child. The man is the proudest, most arrogant man of our acquaintance."

"Papa, he is not proud."

"We all know him to be a proud, unpleasant sort of man,"

"We were mistaken papa."

"You sound as if you like him, Lizzy"

"I do. I do like him."

"You do?"

"I love him. Indeed, he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. If you only knew his generous nature."

"But Lizzy. How can you say such a thing? Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man we are talking of. Mr. Darcy of all men! Who never looks at a woman except to see a blemish! Mr. Darcy, who probably never looked at you in his life before! This is admirable! But, Lizzy. How can you say that you love him!

"I did not always love him, but I love him now so very dearly. He is truly the best man I have ever known."

"I do not understand Lizzy. Pray, make yourself clear. How is it that you came to feel in this manner for the gentleman?"

"I got to know him better while I was staying with my cousin Mr. Collins in Kent. And then we saw each other in Derbyshire again. We spent some time together while I happened to visit the grounds of Pemberley, his home."

"Indeed." There was some silence and then her father asked again "How long have you loved him?"

"It's been coming on so gradually, I hardly know."

"Lizzy, you must understand I would be loath to cause you pain. But I must ask you this. Did he... did Mr. Darcy...take any license with you?" After Lydia's wretched elopement he could never be too sure.

"No, papa. He has always been a perfect gentleman."

"Does he know of your feelings?"

"No papa. I have never told him I love him, although he has told me he loves me."

"Has he?"

"Upon his proposal in Kent"

"Mr. Darcy proposed! I can scarcely believe it! Not that anyone admiring you should be astonishing. But he always seemed so severe, so cold, apparently."

"And yet he was in love with me all the time!"

"But he is to marry his cousin now. I do not understand."

"I rejected him."

"You rejected him?"

"I was so blind papa. I thought he was... never mind. I rejected him. 'Tis a hopeless case."

"What are your plans now, my child?"

"My plans? I do not know papa. I am so unhappy! There is nothing I can do." She gave way to tears once more, and ran towards her father, clinging to his coat, burying her face in its lapels.

"Hush, my dear, do not cry. You shall conquer this, you will see." He patted her back soothingly, pondering what he could say to ease her mind. "Listen. Why do you not go to visit your Aunt Gardiner in London for a while? A little diversion will do you good, I am certain. Her wisdom will help soothe your feelings. What say you?"

"I would very much like to visit my aunt, papa."

"Well then. I shall write her immediately." He dismissed his daughter with a kiss upon her forehead, and after locking the door of the library, began to pen a letter to his relations in London.

Some time later Elizabeth discovered that Mr. Darcy's ghost had indeed followed her to town. She was as unhappy in London as she ever was at home. Not even the good company of her aunt or the laughter of the children helped to conquer her miserable mood.

Until the one day that changed her world.

She had been in London a little less than a month now. The London newspapers had announced Mr. Darcy's espousal to his cousin in November, making Elizabeth even more miserable. 'Twas close to Christmas and Elizabeth had slipped out unaccompanied to sightsee at the grand shops, whilst her family did some Christmas shopping uptown. She stopped at a beautiful store where several musical instruments were on display. Whilst caressing the key of a magnificent pianoforte, she sensed that someone was watching her from behind. She whirled on her toes to face the person, to find the dazzling smile of Colonel Fitzwilliam, beaming at her.

"Miss Bennet! How do you do?" the Colonel greeted her. His eyes danced vehemently over her happy face. "I see you are well."

"Very well, thank you, Colonel."

"Good, good, excellent! And your family?" he went on.

"Very well, sir."

"Pray, tell me. How does your eldest sister? I understand she has recently married."

Elizabeth nodded, knowing his source of information only too well. "She is very well also, sir. She has just settled into her new home with Mr. Bingley ."

"Ah. It seems too long since I had the pleasure of speaking to you, Miss Bennet."

"It must be a year."

"It is above eight months at least. We have not met since last year 30th of March, when we were together at Rosings Park"

"I think you must be right."

"I don't think I can remember a happier time than those short weeks I spent in Kent."

"Indeed, sir."

"And you may wonder why I had been so happy there?" his eyes twinkled as he spoke the words.

"I have no idea, Colonel."

"'Tis because I made the acquaintance of the most beautiful lady I have ever seen."

"I cannot think who this can be." She could not help a tentative smile drawing upon her lips.

"Can you not?"

The Colonel's blunt flirting did not bother Elizabeth at all. She did not flush either, for she had gotten to know him well enough at Rosings to know that it was in his nature to speak like that. She found the Colonel's easy chatter so natural and pleasing that she did not realize that time had been passing. The Colonel had gently guided their way to a park and was taking her on a nice stroll whilst conversing amiably about little frivolities, which in fact served to drift Elizabeth's mind from her ill state. When they had arrived at the border of a small pond, Colonel Fitzwilliam asked her to take a seat on one of the benches purposely located there. As they sat quite close to each other, they watched the swans and ducks gathering close to them from the water.

"They think we are going to feed them,"

"Oh, do they?" she set to search her reticule as if it would contain some miraculous piece of bread. She had a mournful look when she looked up again. "I am sorry to disappoint them. I have nothing to give them."

"Well, Miss Bennet. I can tell you, you would have surprised me exceedingly if you had produced bird food from your reticule"

"Oh! I do not carry bird food, Colonel. But many a time I do take some biscuits with me for my nieces and nephew. Children need these little treats sometimes. Especially when other manners of persuasion have failed."

"I see. Then I gather you do not happen to carry any sweet treat by any chance?"

"Indeed sir, I have some chocolate," she said producing the candy wrapped in colourful paper. "But I doubt it would be proper food for the birds."

"No, not for the birds. We cannot feed the swans of this pond if you had your reticule filled with crumbs."

"Can we not?"

"It is forbidden."

"Forbidden? And why is that may I ask?"

"I have no idea Miss Bennet. But since you are in the mood of feeding a pleading creature, let it be me. I long to taste that chocolate you are so zealously keeping for your nieces and nephew. Having you so close has suddenly unleashed in me a dire urge for something sweet."

He opened his mouth and closed his eyes. Elizabeth almost burst out laughing while she let a piece of her chocolate fall into his wide mouth. He closed it and proceeded to devour the sweet, all the time making faces of satisfaction, whilst Elizabeth watched him exceedingly diverted.

"Colonel, May I ask whether these pleasing attentions proceed from the impulse of the moment, or are they the result of previous study?" she giggled.

"Oh no, Miss Bennet. I must confess myself quite overwhelmed with the charms of only one lady. My inspiration flows the very instant I happen to be so close to her. And since I cannot satisfy my hunger with the sweetness of her lips, I shall be content if she agrees to feed me with chocolate."

"Indeed! Then, you should go and find the said lady, sir. Perchance she has some chocolate in her reticule, too."

"I need not go anywhere to find her Miss Bennet. She is just across from me, looking far more fetching than a hundred pounds of the sweetest candy."

He said that while staring intently at her lips, sending such fluttering through Elizabeth's body that she could not help a sudden shudder at the mere thought of the gentleman attempting to pose his lips on hers.

"Are you cold, Miss Bennet?" he teased her, happy to have caused such a reaction in her.

"A little."

"Shall we go back? Much as I dislike the idea of parting, I fear you might lose your family."

With that he offered her the crook of his arm, where she dipped her hand. Boldly, he covered it with his own and kept playing with her gloved fingers all the way back to the place where he had found her.

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