Elizabeth's stay in London became exceedingly interesting after her happy encounter with the Colonel. That very first meeting, after her relatives had been properly introduced, ended in an invitation from the Gardiners to dine at their house in Cheapside, where the gallant soldier had the opportunity to further his attentions. Very soon, Elizabeth's tortured heart commence a healing process during which she scarcely ever found her thoughts directed to Mr. Darcy. In lieu, more often than not, her mind was very agreeably engaged with the handsome figure of Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. They would spend countless hours immersed in deep conversation, during which it was not strange to overhear the peal of her laughter. He had achieved the impossible...to ease her mind and heal her heart, allowing her to hope for love and happiness once more.

Speculations about her tender emotions were overcome by a sweet expectancy due to a certain event that took place in the theatre box belonging to the Earl of Matlock.

They had arrived at the theatre together, Elizabeth's aunt and uncle trudging behind, whilst her hand rested in the place it had so soon found so comfortable: the crook of his arm. He proudly paraded in front of the ton, his chin up, smug grin upon his face, the bewitching beauty of the young woman attired in her best gown, tightly pressed to his side. There was plenty of room in the box, yet Richard sat right beside her, whilst her family sat across from them. Richard's heart was overjoyed. There she was, the woman who had conquered his heart, sitting by his side, in the sight of all the eyes of London. She was smiling at him, blushing at the light touch of the bare skin of his hand over hers.

When the lights faded away, Richard could lock his eyes on her without fear of causing alarm to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. He was thus engaged, when he noticed her fan slipped her grip and fell with a light thud upon the floor next to his right foot. He promptly reached for it at the same time she moved exactly the same, their heads almost colliding.

The moment seemed eternal.

They faced each other, their lips so close he could feel her tantalizing breath. She parted hers ever so slightly, and without a moment to lose, he brushed them with the lightest of kisses. The touch sent sensual shivers down his spine, and Lizzy's head began to spin. Hence commenced the sweet silent love making of hands in the gloomy surroundings of the box.

Richard Fitzwilliam could barely contain his joy and pride. The certainty of her tender feelings had sent him to Heaven and back. He spent hours awake back in his paternal home, this time listening to his own amorous sorrows, playing with Elizabeth's image which he had come to know so well in his mind, reassessing every word that had been uttered whilst in her company, replaying the sheer sensation of the feathered kiss they had shared in the dark. There was no need to persuade his heart that she would consent to be his wife and live happily ever after as Mrs. Fitzwilliam. There was no time to lose. He would offer his hand the next morning.

With that purpose in mind, he left the following day in the direction of Cheapside. He went in his regimentals, looking more dazzling than ever, and spent not a little time rehearsing his words in front of the Gardiners' house door, until, quite resolved, he made decidedly happy knocks upon it. The servant led him to the room where Elizabeth was waiting for him, looking exceedingly expectant and nervous.

"Miss Bennet, allow me to tell you, you look radiant in the morning. May I have the pleasure of a moment to talk to you privately?"

"Indeed sir, I shall tell my aunt."

Mrs. Gardiner appeared from the corridor, wearing the broadest smile her mouth could afford.

"I understand you wish to speak to my niece alone, Colonel. You must understand I can only afford you but a few minutes with the door ajar."

"A few minutes shall suffice, Madam. I thank you."

With that, Madeleine Gardiner left them on their own, leaving a tiny crack of light betwixt the door and the doorway.

"Will you not sit down?"

"No, this task wants my knees on the floor," and with that he kneeled in front of her and said "Miss Bennet. I have come to feel the most ardent love ever since I met you. I can no longer live without you by my side. Please, do me the honour of consenting to be my wife, and I shall cherish you until death do us apart."

Elizabeth afforded him a bright smile. Had she been able to do so, she would have kneeled thither and bestowed him an ardent response. In lieu, she contented herself with a more appropriate one:

"Colonel, the honour will be mine."

"Elizabeth, this will be the happiest hour of my life until the moment I hear 'I do' from your lips in front of God." He rose to his feet and held her hands to his chest, drawing her closer. He then slipped one of his hands round her waist and kissed her tenderly on the lips. Elizabeth closed her eyes and remained so, long after the kiss had finished. Richard looked at her, his eyes playing a tune with her lips. He could resist no longer and kissed her once more, this time less tenderly and more passionately, deepening the kiss until her lips parted, allowing him to taste the depth of her mouth with his tongue. Elizabeth's eyes opened wide and she let out a gasp, but Richard only held her tighter and deepened the kiss even more, unleashing the most unsettling feelings she had ever experienced.

This time she did not gasp. She lifted her arms, ever so slowly, lightly caressing the uncovered skin of his neck, letting her whole body crush against him, making Richard moan with satisfaction. Reluctantly he drew a little apart.

"My love, I have a gift for you," he said while cupping her chin. "Please do me the honour of wearing this as a token of my love and respect." He produced a ring from one of his pockets. 'Twas a simple ring, nothing too ostentatious in consideration of her simple character.

"Colonel. 'Tis beautiful. I thank you!"

"I am happy you like it. 'Tis nothing compared with what you deserve."

"Oh no, Colonel. You cannot imagine how happy you have made me."

"Elizabeth, I love you. I love you so dearly. I have loved you for so long! You must know you are the first woman to whom I have confessed to profess such feelings. You have come to me when I have given up all hopes of marrying for the right reasons. And now, to think you will be my wife! Oh my sweet, my dearest Elizabeth." They clasped once more in a passionate embrace, this time their hands roaming their bodies as their lips entwined in a thirsty kiss.

Mrs. Gardiner rapped her fingers on the door, allowing them a few seconds to separate. Elizabeth took a quick peek around whilst Richard looked up from her shoulder.

"I shall talk to your uncle now. Then I will go to your father. May I see you tomorrow, my love?" he whispered near her ear without letting her go.

"You may," she answered in kind. And then she boldly kissed him on his cheek. He looked at her wild eyes and sighed noisily.

"Elizabeth. You have no idea how much it pains me to release you. I wish I could hold you like this for the rest of our lives."

"It will not do, Richard. You will have to let me go some day or another."

"How did you know my first name?"

"Sir, I have my sources."

"Say it again."

"What?"

"My name. Say it again"

"Richard. My sweet Richard"

"Yes, your Richard. I cannot wait to be compleatly yours and make you mine."

She blushed profusely, and he was delighted to see the colour in her cheeks. He kissed her for the last time, and ever so slowly, relinquished his grip on her waist and allowed her to open the door to let her aunt come in..

To say Mr Bennet was surprised to hear Colonel Fitzwilliam's request for his favourite daughter's hand would be a lie. He was shocked. Notwithstanding he had imagined that his visit had something to do with her as soon as he witnessed the gentleman's arrival on his horse, he was not yet prepared to consent any man to woo her. Truth be told, he had sent Elizabeth to London in the secret hope that she should find consolation there. Well, he could not deny he had been successful. Sure enough, the man had come to ask for his consent to be one of her suitors. Nevertheless, he had not counted on the request of her hand in matrimony so straightforwardly.

He liked the man, though. He was tall and handsome. In spite of his military demeanour, his visage presented a cheerful character, one that would definitely match that of his daughter. Certainly, he was much better than the soldier his youngest had conquered, for not only was he a colonel, but he was also the second son of an Earl. This would make his wife delighted, for such an alliance would make her daughter a member of the most polished societies in town.

"Tell me young man. What will your family say of your choice of bride?" asked Mr Bennet in a serious tone. "You are aware my daughter's dowry is rather scarce, are you not?"

"I am, sir. But my family connections and my own income will suffice for us both. My mother and father will have no objections to this match. They had already given up on me. You see sir, I am not a lass. But it is my elder brother who is to inherit the family estate, so my choice of wife is not of their concern. Miss Elizabeth is a gentleman's daughter, so far we are equals."

He had said these last words with a distinct sense of pride. His choice of bride had never, not even for the briefest of moments, put in doubt the suitability of her birth.

"I would not dare say you are equals, young man. Your family belongs to the most select aristocracy. Hers is much closer to being mere country squires or in trade. Yet, my daughter is my most precious treasure. I could not bear part with her had I not the deepest conviction that she should marry for love. What have you to say?" said Mr Bennet in blunt defiance.

"I love your daughter, sir," was Fitzwilliam's sincere answer.

"You do, do you not? And what says she?"

"She has professed to love me in return, sir."

"I wager she has," chuckled Mr Bennet. Fitzwilliam felt a bit embarrassed. He was not used to this man's ironic tone. Mr Bennet began to pace impatiently, his left hand behind his back, his right one caressing his chin in a pensive manner.

"Have you any objections, sir?" Fitzwilliam's confidence had begun to falter. He had not dreamt of such resistance from the lady's father.

"Only this. You must know Elizabeth's heart has been tragically injured of late. I have no doubts though, that if she had professed her love to you it must be so, for she abhors deceit. You have done well, young man. I dare say it must have taken a lot of persuasion to have conquered Elizabeth's heart so soon. My concern lies in the depth of your affections. I will not tolerate her suffering once more."

"Fear not, sir. Nothing but the deepest feelings tie me to your daughter. You just fix the date for her wedding, and I will be happy to oblige you."

"Very well then. You have my consent."

"Do I have your blessing too?"

Mr Bennet looked at the Colonel in the eye. "You do, sir. As regards the wedding date, I leave that to your own choice as long as you wait a reasonable time before taking her away from me."

"How reasonable?"

Mr Bennet stopped and raising his brow, sent daggers at the colonel. "You do not mean to tell me that you must marry in haste?"

Now that made even the colonel blush. Had circumstances been different, Fitzwilliam would have been rather put out by the implications of the question. Nevertheless he had been apprised of the peculiar episode involving his youngest daughter, leading to a hasty wedding in London. Understandably, the man had to make sure this was not the case.

"Not, at all, sir. 'Tis my own impatience that urges me to be married to your daughter. I say it in earnest."

"Well then, I am sorry to inform you, being that the case you must be prepared to wait at least three months, sir."

"Three months?"

"You cannot wait for three months?"

"Indeed, I cannot, sir. You see I am a soldier. And the conditions abroad being what they are, I shall not be surprised if I am sent in a commission abroad within the next year. I wish I could spend at least a whole year in peace with Miss Bennet. That is all."

"You mean to tell me you are planning to leave Elizabeth alone soon after you are married to her?"

"With due respect sir; this is not something I am personally planning to do. Far be it from me to wish to part with her. Unfortunately, there is a war, and I will certainly be able to avoid my responsibilities no longer, much as I should wish to."

"Where is my daughter to reside whilst you are fighting?"

"I shall not be fighting, sir. I shall most surely be commissioned to train soldiers in enclosed quarters. Nevertheless, I would be unable to carry my wife with me. I shall not take any risks with her. Most probably she will stay with my family in Matlock during my absence, or she may choose to stay here with her family."

"Have you talked with her about this?"

"Not yet sir. These are only my own ruminations. I only got her consent to my marriage proposal this morning. I am certain Miss Bennet will agree with anything I arrange though, for she trusts I care only for her welfare."

"You sound very confident, sir. I am glad to see that. Pray, tell my daughter I wish her back by next Monday. I should like to know her the situation before fixing a date for the ceremony. Until I have spoken to my daughter, your engagement to her will be concealed from my family. A formal announcement could be made by Twelfth Night. You may go now."

"I thank you sir, good day."

"Good day to you."

When the conversation was over and the Colonel had taken his leave, Mr Bennet locked the door of the library. On passing close to the decanter, he fancied a drink. After a conference such as this, pouring a glass of brandy was only natural. And then, clutching the glass with both hands, his whole body dropped into the old armchair in front of the fire. He wished his Elizabeth was with him to celebrate this last Christmas at her family home. Well, he would have to content himself to spend Twelfth Night with her. He would talk to Bingley and ask him to extend the invitation to the colonel. Yet an excruciating question preyed on his much tormented mind: if Mr Darcy would be invited to attend the celebration at Netherfield, too. Were that the case, it would be most inconvenient, yet he could not prevail upon his son-in-law to avoid the company of his best friend and best man.

The possibility of such meeting was, hence, pondered for some minutes, the awkwardness of the situation carefully weighed. It was a misfortune that Bingley should not be aware of Mr Darcy's dealings with Elizabeth. It vexed him exceedingly that the gentleman might still be holding Elizabeth in his regard. Lesser men, not always unbeknownst to their wives, were in the common habit of keeping a mistress of their liking. If the gentleman was still infatuated with his daughter, being an exceedingly wealthy married man, he could feel tempted to enter into such an alliance with her. Despite Elizabeth's strong sense of righteousness and decorum, the pull of an enamoured heart, he knew, could be stronger.

The question if Mr Darcy's and Elizabeth's feelings for each other had already faded away still remained to be answered. His daughter entering into such an engagement with Colonel Fitzwilliam could not have been more timely nor more convenient. Had she compleatly overcome her emotions for the first gentleman, she most probably would find felicity on saying the marriage vows with the second. Contrariwise, all views of domestic happiness would be overthrown, for he was closely acquainted with the evils arising from an ill-matched partnership. All these questions roamed in Mr Bennet's mind as he sipped a second glass of brandy. By the third one he was peacefully dozing over his chin, a light string of saliva trickling down his lower lip.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had spent the most dreadful days of his life, back in his magnificent, yet lonely stately home in Pemberley. His sister Georgiana was only eighteen, and could hardly do for good company. Lately, he had felt inclined to solitude and silence, and the poor girl had been confined to the company of her rather dull governess. Much as he loved her, Darcy's black humour was too much for the girl to bear. To make matters worse, news from Rosings were not contributing to his peace of mind. His wife, confined as she was to her bedchamber in Rosings Park, since an acute repetition of her incurable illness had determined her staying in her maternal home, had written to him, claiming his presence in Kent for Christmas.

This must be Lady Catherine's doing.

Despite the cold weather, Mr Darcy had wished to spend the Christmas season at Pemberley. Until now, merely a few months since his wedding, he had managed to steer clear of his relatives from Rosings, his wife's presence the one he dreaded the most. He could hardly tolerate her, so hysterical and out of sorts she had ultimately become, they could scarcely share the same room at dinner.

So Mr Darcy had found in the managing of his properties the perfect excuse to keep him from spending more than the necessary time at Rosings. Business at Pemberley as well as in London, was efficiently handled by his very trustworthy stewards, yet Darcy had endeavoured to keep a closer eye on his estate affairs. Insofar as he could keep his mind busy, he was certain he would keep his sanity.

Yet in the vicinity of the Christmas season, a dark cloud had covered his already black mood.

Elizabeth Anne Bennet should have been Mrs Darcy by this time.

She would have been cosily sitting by his side on the couch in front of the fireplace. They would be kissing under the mistletoe branches that, had she been there with him, would be surely purposely hanging from every doorframe.

Yes. He would have made her his by now. Perchance, she might have been carrying his child.

The torture of such thoughts had only carried him to a most sad path. He had taken to drinking. The effect spirits had on him was the opposite of his purpose in consuming it. To add to his torture, brandy had but unleashed recollections of Miss Bennet's enticing presence at Pemberley a year before. She had been there in the music room, in the garden near the rose beds. Now, her phantom was haunting him, and betimes, he thought he could hear her enchanting voice, singing while she played at his pianoforte. Regrettably, he would find that his mind could play rather treacherous tricks.

When there was not much to be done in his estate, and he had not abused alcohol, he would find refuge in reading. His library became, much in Mr Bennet's fashion, his sanctuary. Upon one particularly chilly night, he had come across a sonnet that had pierced his soul.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,

Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,
Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed,
Whilst it hath thought itself so blessed never!
How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fitted,
In the distraction of this madding fever!
O benefit of ill! Now I find true
That better is by evil still made better;
And ruined love, when it is built anew,

Grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.
So I return rebuked to my content,
And gain by ill thrice more than I have spent.
The words came, ever so annoyingly, back to his mind.
Still losing when I saw myself to win!
What wretched errors hath my heart committed.

In looking back, Darcy perceived his serious infatuation for Miss Bennet like a disease. It was softly killing him, a maddening fever which forced him to pursue an unattainable goal, as an alchemist pursued an unattainable dream of converting all base matter to gold. Reading the sonnet presented him with a mixture of images, a chaos of feeling that overwhelmed him. He was pursuing a chimera that would lead him nowhere.

Still, the object of his love was, if anything, more beautiful and true than ever. She was his only source of pleasure. For in his dreams, she never left his side, his company, his bed. Now he knew giving her up had been his greatest mistake. He puzzled over the paradox that his present evil state had rewarded him with the necessary boldness to dare to dream.

The most preposterous idea had crept into his much abused mind.

Only a few days before Christmas, he had received an invitation from Mr Bingley, to spend the Christmas season at his estate in Netherfield Park, at the end of which his friend, much in his own style, would hold a magnificent ball to celebrate Twelfth Night. Unfortunately, he was not in the mood for celebrations.

Unless ...

Surely, Elizabeth would be there.

If only for the sake of contemplating her lovely face at a distance, to catch the shortest glimpse of her gorgeous figure.

He fixed his eyes on the letter that had just arrived from Kent. Christmas with Mrs Anne Darcy or with Miss Eliza Bennet? Or perchance Christmas with Mrs Darcy and Twelfth Night with Eliza Bennet? Ever so slowly his mind began to drift into the alluring envisage of an affair with Miss Bennet.

Dearest, loveliest Miss Bennet.

Would she agree to such a scheme, when she had refused to share his marriage bed in all its righteousness? Of course she would not. Neither would he wish such a thing. Yet the mere thought of it was doing things to him. Things he had always considered wicked, mere weakness of the flesh. Enhanced by the alcohol in his system, said weakness was rapidly gaining control of his loins. Locked in his bedchamber, Darcy found that numbing his senses with brandy, though not the solution for his predicament, was his only way out of the nightmare he had consented into entering on his own.

Elizabeth opened the express from Longbourn with trembling hands. She knew what its content might be, and dreaded reading it. Yet, she had to do it. Much as she wished her father would have overlooked her confession of her feelings towards Mr Darcy upon leaving Longbourn, she was sure his puzzlement at the reception of Colonel's Fitzwilliam as her suitor would be in proportion with his mirth. She knew not which she loathed more.

Indeed, her father mocked her change of emotions with gentle irony, yet he admonished her in his unique, direct manner, to think twice before entering into an engagement with a man she might only be infatuated with. Nonetheless, he made it perfectly clear that should she confirm to him her feelings for the Colonel, an engagement would be announced during the Christmas celebrations, more precisely the Twelfth Night celebration to be held at Netherfield Park the 5th of January.

Will Mr Darcy be there, too?

To her amazement she found herself wishing he would be. Oh that she could behold his bewitching eyes once more! Truth be told, all the bitterness his walking out on her had provoked, had soon turned into compassion, in the intelligence of the difficulties Mr Darcy was facing with his sickly wife.

Indeed, in view of her engagement to Richard, Mr Darcy should be but a painful memory, yet he was one that recurrently came over her in the most unexpected and unwanted moments of her life, just when she had begun to think that she was recovered from heartbreak.

Richard was there to rescue her from the phantoms of the past. Yes, he was there to love her and heal her.

But did she really wish to be rescued?

Would she rather remain entwined in the arms of the past?

Mr Darcy.

It was a good month since she had given him a single thought, so much had she been engrossed in Colonel Fitzwilliam's attentions.

But now, as she read her father's letter, she could not help memories from coming back to her.

To think she had hated him so. Oh! how much the recollection of one particular evening at Rosings Park tortured her! Suddenly, it had dawned on her the real motive of his long stares, which she had stubbornly taken as an indication of his disdain and pure haughtiness. Gradually, the manner of his rather baffling behaviour conveyed quite a different meaning to her. To merely think that he had been in love with her! She could have been the proud Mistress of Pemberley by now, and the happiest of wives. Oh! That she could go back in time and undo the many stupid things she had said and done that evening! For one she would have never refused him. In lieu she would have flung herself into his waiting arms and kissed him in the most passionate way. Oh well! ... Upon reflecting on the manner of his addresses, she would have merely accepted his hand and left the kissing for some other time.

Closing her eyes, Elizabeth's mind roamed to the few times she had felt his touch on her. The privileged part of her body had been always the same. The bare skin of her hand. The first time, he had merely helped her get into the carriage, yet the tingle that had brushed her body when his hand had held hers had been most unsettling. The second one had been during a ball at Netherfield Park, but this time he had held her hand for much longer during a dance. Then, there were those many times at Pemberley, during her tour of Derbyshire.

They had also shared many a stroll in the gardens, during their serendipitous encounters at Rosings Park, when she would dip her hand in the crook of his arm, and lose herself in conversation while walking in his company. Many a time she had been sure he would kiss her, and her whole body had suffered such tensions that when he would not, she had simply felt exhausted from the mere expectancy of the unfulfilled exertion.

No. Mr Darcy had never kissed her. He had never held her in his arms.

And now she was to marry someone else.

He was married to someone else.

Yet, she knew Mr Darcy was not happily married. She knew he was suffering. She just knew it.

Would she be happy? Would she find domestic felicity in someone else's arms?

As long as those arms were Richard's, she was sure she would.

On his arrival at his paternal house in London, Richard Fitzwilliam found it far too late an hour to talk to his parents about his recent engagement to Miss Bennet. He was of the conviction that no objections would be made as to his choice of wife. Albeit the absolute absence of a good dowry perchance could make his father a little upset, he was fairly confident of his own inheritance's sufficiency to make a relatively good living for himself and his country wife. After all, he knew his fiancée was not used to much luxury. As to himself, although he was the second son of a member of the nobility and had been always used to the commodities related to such surroundings, he had got used to living in rather humble abodes with minimal facilities whilst serving with the Regulars. So long as they could be together they would be happy.

He climbed up the stairs to his bedchamber and rang for his manservant to prepare a hot bath and help him undress. He had not been able to slow down for a minute, yet memories of the exquisite exertion of the early morning roamed his thoughts. She had trembled while he had held her, her whole body clutched to his, her swelling bosom urging against his chest, and her lips dancing wildly into his.

Such was the state of his mind when the sight of the four poster bed in his bedchamber assailed him with the most preposterous thought. The image of his wedding night had pounced upon him. It was not strange that his imagination played a wicked trick on his loins. To add to his mortification, he noticed the look of his valet whilst helping him get rid of his breeches.

"That will do, Wilkinson. You may leave me now," he hissed to his servant.

The man rose to his feet and without a word left his master half undressed. Fitzwilliam did away with the rest of his clothes and, decidedly aroused, stepped into the copper bathtub that had been prepared for him. He let his body droop and submerged into the soapy bath whilst, quite diverted, he discerned his torch of love peeping conspicuously through the hot steam.

"There will soon be a little diversion for you, my friend. Keep calm for now," he said, and closed his eyes grinning, satisfied with his own manhood's prompt reply to his reverie. Judging from its present state, he would certainly not have any daunting experience in his wedding bed. He sighed heavily and indulged his thoughts with more of his beloved. They had spent the most glorious morning of his life, when holding her tight to his body he had kissed her tantalising lips at will. He noticed the effect this was having on his now hypersensitive masculinity. He shifted his position, trying to think of something more distracting in order to subdue his arousal but to no avail. As if having a will of its own, his blade refused to submit to his orders.

"Remind me to take you to court martial first thing in the morning. If you do something like this in her presence, I shall not be responsible for my actions." he chuckled.

"You were saying sir ..." the voice of his manservant reached him from behind. The man was getting a bucket of hot water to wash the soap from his hair. Richard straightened a little and his manhood was lost in the whirl.

"Err...I was not talking to you Wilkinson. Let that water be cold, please."

"Cold, sir?"

"Cold. I fear I am in dire need of some refreshment."

"As you wish, sir"

After the cold bucket of water, Richard wrapped his waist in a towel and swiftly slid into his nightshift. He sat up in bed for a while, and having snatched a book from his personal library, began to scan the scribbled pages in search of prudent thoughts. But inevitably his mind would drift to the sweet caresses she had bestowed to the alert skin of his neck. That, in due course, led him to rest his thoughts on the exquisite feeling of his tongue exploring her mouth.

This will not do.

The hardness of his pride had lifted the pristine silk sheet covering his waist in a post-like manner that reminded him of the tents soldiers used when camping out. Undoubtedly, he was still young, his seed was still urgent. He pondered for a while on the visit he was planning to pay to his fiancée on the morrow. Notwithstanding his willpower, recent events benefited the implementation of long forgotten manual techniques.

It would be a long night.

Richard Fitzwilliam awoke very early the next morning after having spent a sleepless night fighting his erotic musings of his fiancée. He hardly recognised himself. Notwithstanding his amorous reveries, Richard longed to see the real Elizabeth to apprise her of the good news of her father's consent to their nuptials. But a disturbing thought kept coming to his mind. It was the look upon Elizabeth's father's face at the intelligence of his prospective commission. If such had been his reaction, what could he expect to be hers?

The apprehension of being the source of further suffering to his beloved was intolerable. More often than not he had been in charge of informing a widow of one of his officers' demise. He loathed the feeling. He pondered a few minutes of the probability of his own decease in battle. It was rare to be certain, though not non-existent. Nevertheless he would be away from home after a mere year of marriage. What if he left her with child? She would have to bear the responsibility on her own, let alone he would be unable to witness the magnificent event of his own firstborn's birth. He had not thought of that.

And then there was also this issue of Elizabeth's suffering. Her father had warned him against causing her any more grief. Apparently she had had some sort of sorrow of the heart. Was it possible that she had been in love with Darcy? She had had some tender feelings for him, he knew that. But had it been love? Had her suffering and grief been produced by Darcy's wedding vows? Perchance she had expected Darcy to ask for her hand. How distressed she must have felt when his cousin proposed her to be his mistress. The scoundrel! How dare he attempt such pursuit! But then again, he reckoned his cousin's reaction to Elizabeth's charms had been only natural.

He reflected on Darcy for a while. What would be wise to do in a case such as this? Should he apprise him of his engagement to Elizabeth before the rest of the ton? He would have to tell him sooner rather than later. And he must admit Darcy was his favourite relative, almost his brother. He also knew Darcy had always turned to him and only him whenever he had needed advice or comfort. He could not bear open a breach betwixt them. No, he would have to face him and break the news before it reached him from elsewhere. Surely he would understand. Of course he would not confess the techniques and strategies he had used to win the lady's heart. He would start with their meeting in London.

Now, where was Darcy at this time of the year? Where would he spend Christmas? He would ask his mother. Surely she knew of her favourite nephew's whereabouts.

He went downstairs and breakfasted alone before any member of his family would pop their nose into the breakfast parlour. Then, he cheerfully made his way to Cheapside and paid the so-desired visit to the Gardiners. Elizabeth was getting ready for a stroll in the park. As her fiancé, he was the rightful companion for her morning walks. But Madeleine Gardiner would not leave her niece unchaperoned. She had instructed her eldest daughter to follow her cousin should her fiancé feel in the mood to accompany her to the park. And so the three of them departed for a chilly stroll.

The fact that they were chaperoned by so young a person helped diminish Richard's passion notably. In lieu of more pleasurable pursuits, the lovers kept their conversation turning around their future family. On watching his would-be cousin playing with other children in the park, Richard began to speculate on his own future children's nature. Yet, after perceiving the crimsoned complexion of his betrothed, Richard reckoned the need for a change of subject and proceeded to present her with his most recent resolutions.

"I shall quit the Regulars." he said resolutely.

"And may I be enlightened on your reasons to do so?" she pouted.

"You do not wish me to quit?" he asked smirking playfully.

"I am loath to part with your regimentals." She giggled playing with his lapels. "You look ravishing in a red coat". No sooner had she said that than Elizabeth regretted it.

Wanton girl! What must he think of you! I am no better than Lydia!

"My love, I would loathe to deprive you of any pleasure. I shall keep my red coat and wear it for you alone any time you wish to satisfy your appetite," he said in reference to the ravishing thing.

Elizabeth blushed, a smirk drawn on her features. "Tell me why is it that you will quit your post?"

"France is at war, and my regiment is to go there any moment now. In that case I would be summoned again, if not to fight, then to train new officers, and would be compelled to leave the country."

"Oh!" 'Twas all that Elizabeth would utter.

"I do not wish to be the source of any sorrow for you, my love. Although there is little possibility that I should endanger my life, I would rather stay in England with you, and help you in this new experience of becoming my wife."

"That is very appealing, indeed sir," she said with a smile.

"I knew you would approve."

"And what would you do in lieu?"

"That is yet to be decided. Any ideas?"

"I hate to confess I am at lost as to what the second son of an Earl can do upon quitting his profession. Perchance you can enter into trade?"

"Trade? I would rather die in battle before that. No, that would be definitely beneath me," he said, grinning at her. "I need to be in the country, ride horses, attend to an estate. That sort of thing."

"Then we should move into the country, rent a small cottage and start our own farm," she said playfully.

"You would do that, would you not?"

"Indeed I would. I would help you in anything. I am used to working in an orchard and I am well trained in gardening," she said in earnest.

"I bet you are, my dear. But I am glad to assure you that it will not be necessary. My own income as a retired colonel as well as my small inheritance will suffice for us both. I presume I can ask my own good father to help me get a living, or even Darcy might have a good idea. He has always been a good friend as well as my favourite cousin."

Elizabeth did not answer. The mere mention of Mr Darcy's name was enough inducement to silence her. Notwithstanding she had expected Mr Darcy's name to emerge at any moment, the effects of such occurrence on her countenance had been unbeknownst to her until then. She knew her face had crimsoned profusely. Gracious Lord, he will be my cousin, too!

Richard had gone on talking about their future together, but she had stopped listening, too much concerned with the perspective of her fiancé's requesting counselling from Mr Darcy. It was unfortunate that her mind would drift away in so easy a manner now that Richard required her to answer a question she had not heard.

"What say you?"

She smiled warmly and risked. "Whatever you find suitable."

"Then that is settled. I shall resign my post next month. We will rent a house in Derbyshire next to Pemberley." Elizabeth's eyes had widened as wide could be.

Derbyshire? Of all places.

"Pray Richard. Why not a place closer to London?"

"I am Miss Darcy's guardian you know, and it will be exceedingly good to be near her. She did not wish to reside in Kent with her new sister and preferred to stay in London for the season and at Pemberley for the summer."

"And where is her brother? He has not relinquished his sister to you alone, I am sure?" she asked in earnest.

"Unfortunately for Darcy, his wife could not move to his estate. She has been rather sick ever since the wedding and has chosen to stay in Kent where the staff is well-versed with her ailments and remedies. Darcy of course cannot resign his estate at Pemberley, so he will spend much of his time in Derbyshire and the rest in Kent."

"I see, poor Mr Darcy. He must be exhausted with the exertion"

"Indeed. To make matters worse Miss Darcy will be even lonelier than before. I am sure your company will do her very well."

"Are you planning for us to see a good deal of the Darcys, then?"

"Pray, Elizabeth. Tell me. You would not like that?"

"Oh yes, I would, of course. I would love to help you with Miss Darcy's guardianship."

"I thank you. I am exceedingly pleased that you should feel so. I am thinking about offering my services to Darcy as his administrator. With us living so close to his estate, he will feel free to stay at Rosings and take care of his family while I can attend to Pemberley and Georgiana. Truth be told I am also a little concerned about her welfare."

"What do you mean, Richard?

"She is not out yet, but soon will be. Your help will be capital, since my cousin Anne cannot attend balls and assemblies. I know you would love her when you meet her. She is an adorable creature."

"I have already met her." The Colonel's countenance betrayed absolute astonishment.

"You have?"

"Yes."

"When, may I ask?"

"Last summer, at her own house in Derbyshire."

"You have been at Pemberley?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, Mr Darcy and I met by chance there whilst I was visiting his house."

His complexion was decidedly gaining a crimson colour and his eyes betrayed his rising fury. The typical Fitzwilliam's disposition, so openly displayed by Lady Catherine and Lord Matlock, was certainly the colonel's as well. Yet, he managed to conquer it and not a violent word did he let out in front of his fiancée. His demeanour showed his anger, though, as he failed to repress the tightened jaws and the tension in his lips. "You were visiting his house?"

Elizabeth cast a short glimpse at Richard's bewildered eyes. If his words were not saying anything, his eyes were saying volumes. Even so, the scrutiny to which she was being subjected was anything but welcome. Initially her face held apprehension, though on averting his obvious jealousy, it quickly gave way to amusement. "Yes, I was touring Derbyshire with my aunt and uncle Gardiner. They wanted to make the tour of the house. We thought the family was not at home, but we were wrong. Mr Darcy had arrived a day earlier than expected and we bumped into each other whilst we were in the gardens. He insisted on our staying for some refreshments."

"I see. And when did you meet Miss Darcy?" he asked nonchalantly.

"She and Mr Darcy called on us at the inn where we were staying in Lambton. He introduced us there and then Miss Darcy invited my party to dine at Pemberley."

Richard took some time to recollect his thinking. What is the meaning of all this? Darcy introducing the woman he had failed to make his mistress to Georgiana? He took her to Pemberley to dine with his family and friends? That is hardly possible. If he introduced them , then it means his purposes were ...

"Miss Darcy was very civil and kind."

"Did you like her?"

"Yes, very much indeed."

"I am glad you liked her. She is such a shy creature. I hope she will turn out well."

"I dare say she will. After all she has been gone through. She has got over the most trying age."

She had not meant to say these last words, due to the implications Darcy's disclosure of such intimate affair would have. It was a simple slip of the tongue. She reflected that sooner or later she would have to apprise her fiancé of Darcy's proposal and her rejection, hence her admission of the intelligence of the grievous event.

"Elizabeth." Richard asked started. "What do you know about Georgiana?"

"I must confess I know of her intended elopement with Mr Wickham."

"Who told you about it? 'Twas a most sealed secret!"

"'Tis a secret that I shall keep for as long as I am alive. As to who told me, it was your cousin, Mr Darcy."

"Darcy told you about his sister's intended elopement? This is unbelievable. How so? How is it that my cousin turned to you in such a confidential manner?"

Richard Fitzwilliam had lost control of himself. This would not be endured. He was on the verge to start his first misunderstanding with his future wife. It was fortunate, however, that their little chaperone interrupted them.

"Cousin Elizabeth, can we go home? I am cold."

"Of course, sweetheart. Shall we, Colonel?"

Richard's colour had gone from red to purple. Had he been wearing his regimentals one would have thought he had crimsoned to match his coat. Ever obliging, he thus accompanied both ladies to their dwelling. Yet before parting, he admonished his fiancé.

"We must talk about this some other time, Elizabeth. I must be apprised of the particulars of this disclosure."

"Very well."

When Richard reached his home there was an express awaiting him. It had been sealed with the Darcy's signet ring, though on opening it, he was surprised as to the sender. It was from Georgiana Darcy. Dear Fitz,

I expect you are in good health when you receive this letter. I imagine this letter will cause you some uneasiness; unfortunately there was not much choice left for me. This letter is of an urgent character. My dear brother has not been feeling well of late. It has been three days since he has been locked in his bedchamber and no servant has been able to get through to him to this very day. He does not answer to our pleading nor has he had any single meal that has been laid on a tray at his door. This is not the first time something like this has happened. Upon his return from Kent last year he remained in his bedchamber for almost the same time. He was in a terrible state when he opened the door. I am desolate, cousin. One can only conjecture that something awful has happened to him, yet I trust you shall be able to talk him out of this behaviour. I know not what to do. Please, come in haste. Yours

GD

Without a moment to lose, the Colonel called his manservant and told him to get his travelling clothes ready. Then asked his groom to saddle his horse and penned a brief note to be delivered to Cheapside as soon as possible.

Despite riding the whole day, only stopping for a few hours in the night, he arrived at Pemberley late the third night after his departure from London. The whole household was unusually still awake, as there had been several retainers waiting for him with fresh horses on the road. Georgiana flew to his arms at his arrival, eyes red and welled with tears.

"Oh Fitz, you came! I was so worried."

"Is he still in his bedchamber?"

Georgiana nodded. She looked much older when she was concerned.

"Why has Mrs Reynolds not opened the door of the dressing room with her key?"

"She has tried to, but he has locked from inside."

Richard kissed his cousin's brow and looked at her glistening eyes.

"I shall open the door. Worry no more." He rushed upstairs and asked everyone to leave him alone. Then, he stood in front of the massive door pondering what to say to persuade Darcy into letting him in.

Then he did the unthinkable.

"Darcy! I have come with a message from Miss Bennet."

The Colonel was surprised at his own words. He did not know why he did that. He instinctively assumed that somehow Elizabeth was implicated in his cousin's uncharacteristic behaviour. For reasons unbeknown to him, he discerned he would get a reaction from the mention of her name. Perchance the impulse was rooted in his own necessity to discard such a possibility.

To his own annoyance, he proved his theory correct. As he had impulsively foreseen, the answer was immediate. He perceived some movements in the chamber and someone stumbling to the door. He heard his cousin's difficult breathing from behind while he lingered hesitantly leaning against it, followed by the clinking of the lock being opened.

The sight was terrible. He was in a ghastly state. His beard had been left unattended for so long that he had to look twice before he recognised Darcy's features behind it. His dark eyes were sunken and gloomy, his clothes ragged and sweaty. And he smelled furiously of Brandy. Struggling to remain erect, swaying from side to side, Darcy babbled some incoherent words and then collapsed into his cousin's open arms. Richard had to fight an impulse to laugh at his state.

"Come man. You have had enough brandy to get you drunk for the rest of your life, and mine too." He rested Darcy's arm over his shoulders and dragged him to the bed. Then he rang for Darcy's manservant, who appeared magically from behind the door.

"Get someone to prepare his bath and come and help me undress him."

"Yes sir," the man rushed to the door, and he almost bumped into Georgiana, who was peeking at them from outside the bedchamber, uncertain of what to do.

"Is my brother truly ill?"

Fitzwilliam rose in an attempt to cover Darcy's figure on the bed. He stalked forward and reaching the door, grabbed Georgiana's hand and took her farther away from the bedchamber entrance.

"He is ill, but he shall recover. Please tell the household and especially Mrs Reynolds that everything is under control, but instruct them that under no circumstances should they approach this bedchamber. And that includes you as well, Sprout."

Darcy's manservant re-entered the chamber with two other male servants tagging behind. The threesome commenced to prepare the hot bath and light the fire in the fireplace. Reluctantly, Georgiana went back into her steps and, sending a pitiful look to Fitzwilliam, turned round and disappeared into the corridor.

Meanwhile Darcy had recovered from his semi-swooning state, and was babbling yet more incoherence.

"What did you say?" Richard pressed him into talking, knowing only too well that the exertion would help him out of his inebriation.

"Elizabeth?"

"Do I look like Elizabeth?" Fitzwilliam cuffed him lightly.

Darcy peeked in his direction, screwing up his face in blurred concentration. He closed one eye; there were only two of his cousins visible that way. "You two look like Fitzwilliam," he sighed, letting his head drop in resignation.

"Darcy, you certainly are a sight!"

"You are not Elizabeth. Leave me!"

"Come on man, I have to get you out of these rags and sink you into the tub."

Thereafter Fitzwilliam and Darcy's manservant commenced to undress the gentleman. The task proved rather difficult, though, for Darcy's body refused to co-operate. The lateness of the hour, combined with the length of time Fitzwilliam had spent awake, a three-day trip and all this getting the Master of Pemberley out of his clothes, ensured that both cousin and manservant ended up exhausted by the exertion. Fitzwilliam's body rested unceremoniously on the bed alongside Darcy, while the manservant had caught the wayward chair and managed to seat himself in it, reasonably upright. Darcy's head rose for the first time in half an hour and he looked around. "Hold still, Darce," Fitzwilliam ordered in his military voice. Darcy readily obeyed.

"He obviously cannot stand. Perhaps if we work together?" They took hold of Darcy's arms and pulled him to a sitting position. Fitzwilliam then suggested hoisting his cousin onto his shoulder so that he could carry him to the slipper tub and deposit him thither. The manservant looked doubtful but, amazingly, after one unsuccessful attempt where the cousins ended up in reversed positions with Fitzwilliam underneath Darcy, it was accomplished. Unfortunately, both Fitzwilliam and the manservant ended up in the slipper tub, while Darcy's body landed sprawled on the floor, his nose buried in the carpet.

"That will hurt later," Fitzwilliam observed.

Once they had sunk Darcy several times under the water in his tub, Fitzwilliam asked the servant to prepare strong coffee. Much as they tried to persuade him to sip some of the warm beverage, it all came to naught after they had to endure Darcy's disgusting process of cleansing his stomach.

Once the cycle was finished (sipping, throwing up, sinking, and all over again to the point of exhaustion for both parties) Fitzwilliam and the very stiff manservant helped the Master of Pemberley to his feet and although Darcy was stark naked, they made him pace the room up and down until they could bear his weight no more. Then they helped him slide into his night shift and sip more coffee, and finally the three of them rested for a while.

After all this, Richard bade the servant good night.

"You may go now. I shall take care of him."

"Good night, sir."

"Good night."

Once they were left alone, Darcy resurrected from his slumber. He sat up, his head drooped, looking very much abashed.

"There wash no message from Ms Bennet, wash there?"

Fitzwilliam shook his head.

"That wash a dirty trick" he said stumbling with the syllables.

"I am sorry. I knew not what to do."

"What alarmsh me most ish that, evidently, you know my shecret."

"And your secret would be ...?" Darcy let his whole weight drop against the mattress. He raised his hand and held his palm over his eyes. Thereupon, he let all his breath out and commenced his confession.

"I love her. I love thishh little country woman with all my heart, my shoul, my life. I love her more than I love myshelf, my home, everything that meant shomething to me hash come to nothing without her," he dragged the words as he spoke, not compleatly recovered to sobriety.

"Darcy, you are a married man. You have already made your choice," said Richard, visibly disturbed.

"I did no shuch thing! My choice was her. I wanted to marry her, make her mine for ever."

"You wanted to marry Miss Bennet?" he asked utterly disbelieved.

"Indeed I did. I even proposed to her whilst we were in Kent."

"Proposed? You proposed to her?"

"She would not have me, Fitz. She rejected me." Darcy's face had fallen again. "Why in the name of God do you think she rejected me? Shhurely you want to know why." The Colonel did not want to know why. The only thing the Colonel wanted to do was the leave that house and bury himself where no one else would find him for a good while.

Darcy resumed his admission.

"She would not have me because shhomeone had poisoned her mind against me."

Richard's heart almost stopped beating. This last confession was not unknown to him. It had been he who had carried out the deed.

Darcy had stood and begun pacing the room like a caged beast. "She told me all about it," he continued. Then he halted and standing decidedly erect he pointed his forefinger at him. Richard's heart almost stopped beating. "No, she did not tell me, she shhppitted it at me. She shouted it at my face. She ..." He sent Richard such a pitiful glance that the Colonel, filled as he was with sheer shame, almost stood and scrambled outside. "She hated me," he completed. "But the worst part is that she had every reason to despise me. You cannot imagine the stupid thing I did," he paused to breathe. He had started to act sober now, he uttered every word correctly without dragging the clusters of consonants. "I had the presumption of interfering between her sister and my friend Bingley. On what grounds? That she did not love him properly. I did everything in my power to separate my friend from her sister and I rejoiced in my success." Having heard the unthinkable, the Colonel did not attempt to appease his affront with added comment.

"Do you hear me?"

The colonel nodded.

"I know. You told me about it then."

"I did?" Richard nodded again.

"Well, someone told her, too," he said waving his hand in the air.

Richard lowered his gaze, unable to look him in the eye, ultimately unsuccessful in hiding his astonishment.

"But that would not be all. It was not merely that on which her dislike of me was founded. Long before, her dislike was decided when she heard Wickham's own story of my dealings with him. Apparently Wickham pictured me as the most despicable conceited man ready to deny the poor son of my steward his rightful inheritance. Undoubtedly Miss Bennet held Mr Wickham in her favour at that time, you know his ways very well." By the time Darcy had finished this side of his confession Fitzwilliam's countenance announced a confounded incredulity that was decidedly setting his mind in some sort of trance.

"I was ready to fight for her, Fitzwilliam, I would have done anything to have her accept me. I defended myself as best as I could, exposing Wickham's true character to her, and certainly risked all to inform her of Georgiana's elopement. I even talked to Bingley and confessed my transgression. Initially I had to endure his resentment, but later he forgave my sin and fortunately he was able to win Miss Bennet's affections. I was not so fortunate, though."

"What do you mean? You proposed again?" Darcy sighed heavily.

"No, I did not. I was about to, when once again the odds were against me," he ceased ambulating and stood in front of the decanter. He made a distracted attempt to refill his abandoned glass with brandy, completely oblivious to the container's emptiness. He raised the bottle heavenwards to see if there was any brandy left. Disappointed, he replaced the decanter and continued with his tale. He wheeled around and faced his cousin, who was still sitting on one side of the bed.

"Some time later in the summer I came upon Miss Bennet here in Derbyshire, in my own house. She had come to me! Can you imagine my feelings? I almost burst with joy. She was there, right in front of me."

He pointed with his finger to the space in front of him.

"I said to myself: Surely that meant something. So the following morning I called on her and her relatives at the inn where they were staying in Lambton. I even introduced her to Georgiana and extended an invitation to dine here. We spent the most beautiful evening of my life. She sang right here in my music room. Sang and played at the pianoforte. She could have played and sang for me forever, Fitz, if only she had said yes. We even exchanged some glances. I thought she ... I know she was beginning to feel for me. But then again, she had to flee home after her sister's elopement and was gone from me, this time for good."

Fitzwilliam's demeanour had decidedly faded into a sombre incredulity. This could not be happening. Not to him.

"Do you positively think she had returned your feelings whilst she was here in Pemberley?"

"She certainly did not love me. But I am sure she had begun to feel some regard towards me. Had I had time to woo her properly ... who knows."

"But it would not do, would it? What is the point in crying over spilled milk? What is done, is done."

"Unfortunately I cannot get rid of her phantom lingering here. Her presence still haunts me. In the gardens I bump into her every afternoon behind every turn. I see her sitting at the piano, looking at me intently with her eyes. Even her voice I hear. I am wrecked, my friend."

There was a knock at the door, and a servant appeared holding a tray with a light snack for both of them.

"Excuse me Master, but Mrs Reynolds insists that you should have something to eat."

"I thank you. Put the tray over the table and leave us." Darcy had recovered his accustomed demeanour.

They had not finished partaking of the contents of the tray when a yawn escaped from Richard, giving evidence of his weariness and the lateness of the hour. Hence they retired to their beds, not without previously arranging to breakfast together late in the morning.

When Fitzwilliam exited Darcy's bedchamber, he found his cousin Georgiana waiting for him at the end of the corridor. He was exhausted, but one look in the eyes of the pitiful countenance of the girl persuaded him of the necessity of enduring.

"Come Georgiana. Let us both have a talk in the library."

They went into the room, and she sat expectantly, her girlish moist eyes betraying concern and fear.

"Your brother is sleeping now. He has had something to eat, and feels much better. Though I would not be surprised if he stays a little longer in bed tomorrow. He might suffer some acute headaches, but they will relent towards the evening."

"Richard, there is something terribly wrong here."

"What is it, Sprout?"

"While Wills was locked in his bedchamber, something happened."

Fitzwilliam stared at her in mute attentiveness.

"It was three days ago. After I had tried to persuade him to open the door, he told me to go away. He had never talked to me like that."

"Sprout, you must understand William did not mean to frighten you. I am afraid he was in his cups. You should not worry."

"I understand. But then I heard something that has been disturbing me so ever since."

"What is it?"

"Pray, do not let anyone know this. William will never pardon me if he knew we know"

"Pray, Sprout, tell me."

Georgiana lowered her eyes in ashamed tic. She barely murmured "I heard him weep."

"Sprout, this is quite normal. Men under the influence of spirits ..."

A reaction such as the one she had was hardly expected from the shy girl. "You know perfectly well this is not normal at all! William has never cried before. Not even when Father died!" She shifted nervously on her seat. She had obviously not finished her disclosure. Clasping her hands on her lap she continued "But then, he did something else." She made a pause, cautiously searching her mind for the right words, such seemed to be the importance of the following confession. "He called a name, several times. At the beginning I did not recognise it. It was not my name or yours. It was a lady's name."

"Whose?" He need not ask that, for before she uttered the dreaded name, Richard's heart was shouting the very same appellation.

"Miss Elizabeth's."

Albeit he knew it in advance, the Colonel's face fell. These were heavy misfortunes indeed. How was he to marry the woman whose name his cousin had been calling while inebriated? The whole household might have heard him. Georgiana had. Without a moment's notice, the careful set of dominoes of his plans had come to naught.

"And that does not end here. He called her by her first name. Elizabeth he said. I know the lady, Fitz. My brother introduced me to her last summer. She came here with her aunt and uncle. William said he was to marry her. Fitz, it is her whom Wills loves, not Anne. And I know she loves him in return."

"What do you know of love, Sprout?" said Richard bitterly.

"I am not Sprout! I am Georgiana, and I know what I am saying. She loves my brother, and he loves her! I have seen them, Fitz. I have eyes!"

"What ! What did you see?" Richard had lost all his patience. It was his fiancée they were talking about.

"The manner in which they looked at each other. She could not get her eyes off of him whilst she was here! She smiled at him in this seductive way," she mimed the lady's smile, making Richard's astonished countenance soften a little.

"And William ... Oh Richard! You should have seen Wills! I have never known him happier. HE smiled and talked and even played the piano! I mean it, Richard. They love each other. I am absolutely certain," she sobbed, visibly mortified.

"I believe you, Sprout. It must be so." Much as he endeavoured to look calm, the whole affair was demanding far too much from him than he had expected. In her wretchedness, Georgiana demanded an answer. Abruptly, she clung to his cousin's coat with a renewed round of weeping and asked between sobs:

"Then why did he not marry her, Richard? Why did he marry Anne? He is so unhappy!"

"I do not know. His marriage had been arranged long ago by your mother and your aunt." He said this whilst patting her back with his trembling hand.

"I know William and Anne's is a marriage of convenience. What I do not understand is why William did not marry Elizabeth in first place if he was so much in love with her." Georgiana's weeping relented and when she drew apart from him, she bravely announced: "After seeing what has befallen my brother, I am convinced that nothing but the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony."

"I know Sprout. Unfortunately, 'tis not so easy."

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam stayed with his two cousins at Pemberley for a few days, but on Christmas Eve, propriety dictated a journey to Rosings. 'Twas a very little assembly, and the spirits were anything but joyful. Although Darcy had grown much better, Fitzwilliam was reluctant to part with him, so he decided to linger around his family until Twelfth Night. He sent a brief letter to Elizabeth at the Gardiner's, explaining that a previous family engagement had prevented him from keeping his promise to spend the Christmas celebration in London, avoiding the disclosure of his whereabouts.

Darcy had been more cheerful, while Georgiana had been grateful and calmer in the Colonel's company. The three of them journeyed towards Kent to spend the twelve days of Christmas celebration with Mrs Darcy and her pompous mother. Darcy's gratitude to Fitzwilliam was doubled for he had acknowledged he would not have found the strength to spend these days with his spouse, simply because he had long ago surmised he would have spent them with none other than Miss Bennet as his wife. This confidence was making it all the more difficult for Fitzwilliam to open up about his recent betrothal to the lady. The night after the conversation with Georgiana had been difficult enough, and his cousin's transparency at the moment, opening his heart, made the whole affair an insurmountable mountain.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's love for Elizabeth was great indeed. But family loyalties had always been uppermost in both Fitzwilliam's and Darcy's relationship. They had stood together during Wickham's infamous intended elopement with Georgiana. They had dived the muddiest of waters in order to sustain their family's bond, tightly closed together, and they had succeeded. His recent engagement was still kept in complete secrecy, but the Colonel was sure it would reach his cousin in no time the moment it became open to the world. And he knew Darcy only too well to ignore what his reaction would be. Darcy's mortification would be complete on realising that his own cousin was marrying the only woman he had ever loved, and he would certainly fall even further down than he had recently done.

Only this time Richard doubted he would be of any help.

Georgiana was another difficult issue. She had trusted him with her conviction that Elizabeth and Darcy felt strongly for each other, leaving the Colonel little to say to deny it. He also knew he had been struggling along with Darcy to recover Georgiana's faith in true love. She would certainly think him a traitor the moment she discovered who his betrothed was. She believed Darcy and Elizabeth loved each other. How he would ever persuade her otherwise?

How would I persuade myself otherwise?

His sense of guilt reached paramount proportions at the intelligence of Darcy's readiness to confess to his friend Bingley his own follies, acknowledging to Charles his attempt to separate him from Miss Jane Bennet. Fitzwilliam had done the very same thing, only his own motives had been very different indeed! He had retained that which he had deprived his cousin! Different indeed! Darcy had acted in defence of his friend, not contrariwise! Why, Fitzwilliam acknowledged he had taken the wrong side.

Notwithstanding Darcy's doubtful intentions towards the lady, Fitzwilliam now knew he had had no right to intervene, not when he was aware that it had been for his own sake, and not Darcy's, he had done so. Even worse, Georgiana's, Darcy's, Mr Bennet's even Elizabeth's accounts were alarmingly similar in determining that Miss Bennet had presumably been in love with Darcy whilst she was at Pemberley. Be that the case, then it was he, and only he who had doomed both his cousin and Miss Bennet to the suffering they had been subjected to of late. He was definitely not a coward, but the very idea of the confession of his own follies made his courage falter. In witnessing Darcy's misery he wondered whether he would ever find the strength to disclose what would certainly cause his cousin so much pain.

Torn by both loyalties, those he owed to his family and those he owed to the word he had given to Elizabeth, Colonel Fitzwilliam's heart was melting in sorrow and uneasiness. For he knew he would not be able to maintain loyal to both parties. He would have to choose.

Their arrival in Kent did not help to elevate the Colonel's spirit in any way. Colonel Fitzwilliam wished he could leave the moment he had arrived. The almost absent interaction between Mr and Mrs Darcy soon spoke volumes of their obvious dislike for each other. Darcy's demeanour shifted into the gloomiest he had ever observed while in his wife's company. Lady Catherine's absolute despotic temper did nothing to help ease Darcy's terrible state of mind either.

"Darcy! What took you so long at Pemberley! I am most concerned for your lack of consideration for your wife's welfare! Do you not know Anne has been ill of late?" spit the old Lady.

Realising he was being addressed, Darcy squared his shoulders and calmly responded to his aunt.

"Forgive me, Lady Catherine. I knew of Anne's indisposition. Unfortunately there is business at Pemberley that requires my direct attention, and I cannot postpone it."

"Your place is with your wife! No business can be of such importance when your wife needs you by her side."

Darcy glanced askance to his wife. She was the ugliest creature his eyes had ever beheld. But her lack of grace stemmed from her nature, so dry, so indifferent. Of course Mother Nature had obviously deprived her of those many virtues that were so abundant in Miss Bennet. No sooner had her husband arrived when she had coyly begun her customary pretence of indisposition. "I trust Anne has had all the company she has ever desired," he muttered almost to himself.

"Play no parlour games with me, young man! This house will be entailed to you upon my death, and you must direct your attentions to it, as well as to your father's inheritance. You will certainly not produce heirs at such long distance."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's eyes quickly darted from Darcy to Georgiana.

"Madam, I think this is hardly a topic that can be discussed in front of Georgiana. You should refrain from exposing our family differences in the presence of others."

"Then we shall not delay this any further. Fitzwilliam! Leave us! Take Georgiana with you!" she dismissed the two of them with a wave of her hand, to which both cousins readily obeyed. Darcy's eyes focused on his wife's. He sent daggers at her, obviously commanding her to restrain her mother.

"Mother, I would rather talk to my husband in private," finally said Anne meekly.

"Nonsense! If I leave this to you two, you will die childless!"

"Lady Catherine, I refuse to discuss my intimate life with you." His voice echoed a deadly calm tone which in fact was hiding a turmoil going on inside of him.

"Nephew, I must have a word ! You will listen to what I have to say! I am your closest blood relative. Now that you are married to Anne I am your mother! If you adhere to this routine you will never ..."

"Mother, please! NO!" Anne had risen and attempted to leave the room.

"Anne! Stay where you are! You must understand this is for your own good. You have been married long enough to bear a child, yet there is still no heir. I want to know what, or who, for that matter, has prevented your husband from keeping you company! Pray, nephew. Enlighten me. What is this business that keeps you from your own wife's bed for so long?"

It did not take one second for Darcy to catch his aunt's meaning. He was not a man to speak with secondary meanings nor would he ever do so, therefore he answered rather bluntly. "Madam. Do not make yourself concerned. There is no reason to fear my disloyalty. I have never kept mistresses and I intend to refrain from such a practice all my life. This is not the reason I have been absent from Kent."

"So what is it, Darcy? And remember whom you are talking to! I am not a person to trifle with, so think before you speak!"

Darcy adopted his most austere posture, one which would have sent everybody at Pemberley to their work in absolute silence. But the woman facing him was no servant at Pemberley, so he laboured his mind to avoid further offence than that which had already been inflicted upon his person. "Madam, I have already told you. You must understand I cannot help having been kept at Pemberley most of my time, especially when many tenants have been undergoing severe misfortunes. The terrible weather they have been ..." the thunder of his aunt's voice interrupted his speech.

"Yes, yes! Do not bother with an account of your tenants' dealings. Young man, you cannot stay at Pemberley because some tenants have been under stressful times. This will not be endured! You will stay at Rosings so long as it is necessary for Anne to be with child! Then you will be free to go and do whatever you choose! Until then, you are to remain here!"

"Mother, you cannot do this! I cannot bear a child in my present state."

"Stuff and nonsense! You will do as you are told!"

"Mother, I am not to be imposed upon in matters such as these. You have done enough by imposing on me, on us both, a marriage neither of us wished. Had we married for love, none of this would have bechanced !" she whirled around and fled upstairs leaving Lady Catherine open-mouthed.

"Anne! Come here! I am not finished! Do you think I am to be fooled in my own house! You must unlock your adjoining bedchambers' door! Anne!" Seeing that Anne would not hear her, she turned her fury on her nephew. "Look at what you have done! You must stop this, nephew. I shall not permit the walls of this house to be polluted with bastards!"

Darcy breathed deeply. He knew he had better persuade his aunt that there was nothing to worry about. "Lady Catherine. I am sorry you have been caused undue distress. I assure you there is no other woman in my life. I am childless, and I shall remain so until my own wife bears my child. You can trust me in that."

"You must promise, Darcy. There must be an heir by the end of the next year. If not, you must know you shall not see one stone of Rosings pass into your inheritance. Mark my words, young man!"

"Madam. I cannot promise what is not in my hands to provide. Yet I assure you, I will do everything in my power to please you. Does that satisfy you?" He used his commanding voice to say the last phrase, the one he used when he wanted things to be done. A direct, detached tone, confident and definite.

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Pray, I must request this of you. Talk to Anne no more about this. 'Tis only disturbing her further." The conversation was over and Lady Catherine retired to her room.

Elizabeth's humour did not match the season's festivities. It had been too long since she had been with her fiancé. Colonel Fitzwilliam had promised to spend Christmas with her at the Gardiner's home, and with that purpose in mind she had stayed in London. All of a sudden, an express had arrived from him, in which he regretted to inform her uncle that due to family commitments it would be impossible for him to comply with his wish to spend Christmas Eve in London.

What could he mean by that?

Perchance some one was ill? Goodness, her mind was racing! Could it be Anne Darcy? But if that were the case, why had he not been more direct? Perchance it was Miss Darcy? Was it possible that Richard was at Pemberley?

Such thoughts immediately brought about the ever-disturbing image of Mr Darcy, who thereupon became once again a recurrent presence in her dreams.

Christmas was spent with little spirits on Elizabeth's side, although the Gardiner children did persuade her to go carol singing in the neighbourhood. Still, her low spirits were noticed by Madeleine Gardiner. Yet, much as Elizabeth should wish to confide in her, the nature of her distress was too embarrassing for her to declare to her aunt. After all, what would she say to her? That she had been having quite disturbing dreams about the married cousin of her fiancé? That whenever Richard was not around, she would helplessly fell prey to such dreams?

She was not having second thoughts as regards her engagement. She was certain of her feelings for Colonel Fitzwilliam. Yet she was loath to become related to the Darcys while knowing her still tender emotions towards the Master of Pemberley.

A few days before she travelled back to Longbourn, her uncle received another letter from Fitzwilliam. This time, it contained a short note addressed to her, which her uncle immediately handed her.

Dearest Elizabeth,

I trust you have spent a merry time with your family. Unfortunately, I am to attend to the health of one of my relatives, and will not be at liberty to travel before the Christmas season is over.

I have received an invitation to attend a ball to be held in Netherfield Park by your kind brother Mr Bingley on the occasion of the Twelfth Night festivity, which I regret to inform you I was compelled to decline. I understand you will be attending it with your family. I sincerely hope you enjoy yourself.

You must know that although in heart and spirit I have not parted with you, my body is suffering the unspoken your absence. Especially my empty arms, hungry of your embrace. How much I long for the touch of your lips!

My duty with my family will keep me busy during the whole Christmas season. Unfortunately, it would be impossible for me to join you before the 7th of January. I shall be calling on you by that time at Longbourn.

Until then, I remain yours in body and soul,

R.F.

If her spirits had roused on receiving a letter from Richard, reading its contents left Elizabeth in a very much perturbed state of mind. When she had gone through the whole letter, she folded it and clutched it in her fist. But in half a minute the letter was unfolded again, and again she began the perusal of Richard's reasons for being away from her for so long. A relative, he said, but who? Which of all his relatives could be in need of him? She knew his immediate family was there in London for the Christmas season. That left but two groups of relatives: those in Kent and those in Derbyshire. Again she read on, but every line proved as unclear as the other. He was obviously withholding that information from her. She put down the letter, weighed every possibility, deliberated on the probability of each, but with little success. If he was deliberately avoiding the disclosure of his ill relative's identity, that could only mean one thing. It must be someone related to the Darcys.

Was it possible that Mrs Darcy might be ill? Her heart lurched at the very idea. What Mr Collins and Richard had said about her was still fresh in her memory, and as she recalled the very words, it was impossible for her not to feel exceedingly guilty at the feelings that ran through her soul. It was an injustice, and she deeply endeavoured to contrite, yet it could not be helped.

She wished Anne Darcy to be Richard's mysterious ill relative. She wished she was irremediably ill. In short, she wished that Mrs Darcy would die.

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself.

How despicable of me! How could this affect me so? How can I rejoice in someone's misfortune? What good could there be in her death?

Still, deep in her heart she was perfectly aware of the wish of her soul.

Mr Darcy.

She was not to see Richard not until January the 7th ¾which was indeed too long. Therefore she would not be apprised of the matter until then. The whole secrecy of Richard's dealings with his family was astonishingly disquieting.

This cannot be! Why would he not tell me?

She needed, desperately, to know.

It was the first week of January, in which the Gardiners and Elizabeth set out together from Gracechurch Street for Hertfordshire; and as they drew near Longbourn the tumult of Elizabeth's mind was reaching its peak. She would be now, being settled at home and helplessly away from her fiancé, at leisure to weigh her own feelings. Her recent outburst of humiliating and despicable wishes against Anne Darcy, which had undoubtedly been aroused in her through Richard's letter, had left her compleatly mortified. Of neither Darcy nor Fitzwilliam could she think without reckoning her heart's involvement in both gentlemen's interests. After searching it thoroughly, she was not happy to discover she still cherished a very tender affection for Mr Darcy. Her distress at her discovery was easily observed in her countenance, for she acknowledged she also felt deeply for the colonel. This duality of emotions caused Elizabeth to dread the mere meeting with her father. Upon her arrival at her home, however, she found her father quite eager to have a word with her. So not long after she had arrived, once she had rested from the journey, Mr Bennet summoned her to his library.

"Well, my dear child. How did you spend your holidays? I have every reason to believe you have enjoyed yourself, have you not? You do not seem to have lost much time, eh?" he contended teasingly.

"May I be so bold as to inquire of what you are speaking?" Elizabeth's countenance was pale beyond expression.

"You may. I am talking about a certain young man who recently came to ask for your hand. What do you have to say about that?"

"Not much. Colonel Fitzwilliam asked me to marry me, and I have accepted," she proudly avouched.

"In other words, you are determined to have him. And on what grounds have you done so?" her father spat, for a moment his words sounded concerned.

"Why! He loves me, and I him," she argued, full of conviction.

"So soon, eh? Simple as that."

"I fail to comprehend your meaning, papa."

"Indeed you do not. Not three months ago you were miserably and irremediably in love with a man who was about to get married. Which in fact he did. And now you have simply switched to another young man in the blink of an eye. I must confess I am more than surprised! I have never thought you so volatile, Lizzy. Not that I am not happy you have conquered your feelings for the first gentleman," he eyed her meaningfully, to see if he could discern any sign of assent in her demeanour. "I fear I am somewhat sceptical as to your true feelings for the colonel."

"Indeed, you should not be, for I am certain of them. Richard is an honourable man, he loves me dearly and I love him. Our acquaintance does not begin in London. It has been a year since I met him at Rosings Park ..."

"Rosings Park, eh?"

"Yes, papa."

"Next you will tell me he is Lady Catherine De Bourgh's nephew."

Uncomfortable as she was with her father's contentious disposition, she had not counted on his ironic tone. Hence, she sighed heavily as she declared: "He is."

Mr Bennet was staring at her, inwardly savouring her embarrassment, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes focused on her visage. "Indeed. You seem to have a propensity to fall in love with the Lady's relatives." His head lopsided, he asserted in a cruel manner: "For her son-in-law you have already refused. Who will be next? Her son?" He raised a sardonic brow.

"Papa!"

"Lizzy, do not act missish with me. I am concerned for you, my child. It would be unwise to enter into matrimony for the wrong reasons, as you very well know."

"Papa. I love Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"You seem to forget you have declared yourself in love with Mr Darcy only a few weeks ago. I am to understand you have changed your mind over such short time?"

"Indeed I have, papa. What prospects do I have in harbouring those feelings for Mr Darcy? What benefits are there in clinging to what is not to be? 'Tis true. I loved Mr Darcy with all my heart. But he is not ... he is ..." Words failed her, and she felt a heavy lump in her throat and tears forming in her eyes.

"You still love him, eh?"

She tilted her head while wiping her tears with her hand. To her utter amazement, her father's anger had banished, and he was beholding her with tender eyes. He sat down for a few moments and then, getting up, walked about the room, visibly affected.

"I am afraid Lizzy, I am obligated to forbid you enter into marriage with a man while you are still affected by another."

The agitation and tears which those words occasioned brought Mr Bennet to conjecture that Elizabeth was, indeed, very much in love with Mr Darcy. Seeing that she was growing exceedingly unwell, he did not press her to say anything, but silently waited until she regained enough composure to speak, which she did thusly:

"Papa, I promised Colonel Fitzwilliam I would be his wife. I love him, very much. If you, my dear father, will not give me permission to marry him, I shall be miserable, yet I shall insist upon keeping with my word given to him. I wish to be married to Colonel Fitzwilliam as soon as possible."

Mr Bennet heard her attentively, then said, quite heartbroken: "Are you aware of what you are saying, Lizzy?"

"Indeed I am. If you were aware of the depth of my affections, you would not expose me to public disdain by forcing me to act in an imprudent manner. Yet, dear father, had I no choice I am resolved to act in that manner which, in my own opinion, constitutes my happiness."

Mr Bennet made no answer. Much as his daughter's behaviour astonished and vexed him, Mr Bennet saw that her whole heart was in the subject. Yet, he was not convinced, his apprehension based on Elizabeth's previous demeanour. His unwillingness to see her tied to a loveless marriage was telling him that things should be taken slowly. He knew his favourite daughter was not the kind of woman whose heart could be so easily won. Much as he wished the colonel were indeed Elizabeth's perfect match, he feared her attraction for the gentleman stemmed in an endeavour to leave Mr Darcy's painful memory behind. Heartbreak was hardly a reason to get married.

"In that case, a mere three months will be of no consequence." He affectionately took her hand and continued. "Do not make yourself uneasy, my love. If anything, time can only make true love grow even stronger. I know that you could be neither happy nor respectable unless you truly esteemed your husband¾unless you looked up to him as a superior. Your lively talents would place you in the greatest danger in an unequal marriage. You could scarcely escape discredit and misery. My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about."

Elizabeth, still more affected, was earnest and solemn in her reply.

"Indeed, you are mistaken. Colonel Fitzwilliam is my choice. My affections are not the work of a day. His affections, especially, have being gradually growing since the very first day of our acquaintance, and have endured the test of many months of suspense. I know I shall run out of words to describe his many good qualities. Father, pray give me your consent to marry him at once."

But all her efforts went for naught, for she failed to conquer her father's incredulity.

"No, Lizzy. Trust me in this. I am loath to hand you over a man you do not truly love, and the only way to know if you do, for certain, is letting time go by. If your affections for the colonel are real, then there is no need to fear a bad outcome from a long engagement. After all, one can scarcely call a three-month engagement long."

"Very well, papa. I have nothing else to say."

"Good. There is a good girl. When is your fiancé to be expected here? Is he not coming for the Christmas season*? I had hoped to make an announcement on Twelfth Night."

"No, papa, I am afraid some unfortunate situation has arisen in his family, and he is to attend to it. Uncle Gardiner sends you this note from the Colonel."

"Very well. You can go now. I shall see what this young man has to say."

He dismissed his daughter and, sitting in his tall arm chair, read the note from Colonel Fitzwilliam. As he did so his eyes widened and a look of true concern clouded his visage.

"So, Mr Darcy is coming," he said to himself. "Good Lord, this makes things even worse."

Mr Darcy left Lady Catherine and went to the library, where he claimed a glass of brandy. To his chagrin, Fitzwilliam was there to spoil his appetite for it.

"I would not do it if I were you." Fitzwilliam warned him.

"What would you have me do?"

"What about your duty?" he commanded.

Darcy was on the verge of losing composure. "Fitzwilliam, I dare say I have already done my duty. I have married Anne as the likes of you had expected me to do."

"Do not include me in old women's deeds. Far be it from me to act in such a manner. But Darcy. Why do you not comply with this little detail? After all, it is only natural! You must produce an heir, and you know it."

"What am I? Some kind of thoroughbred stallion?" He immediately regretted his rude words. Fitzwilliam was trying to be kind. "I am sorry. I did not mean it. Unfortunately, as regards child bearing ..." he made a pause so long that Fitzwilliam believed he would not go on talking. Darcy was obviously struggling with his thoughts to find words to confess Fitzwilliam his predicament. Suddenly he blurted out: "'Tis not entirely up to me. Believe me; much as I wish to, it still takes two for the enterprise."

"What exactly does that mean?"

"I need that brandy. You must excuse me, Fitzwilliam."

After a long silence, Darcy opened his heart to his cousin once more. Clutching his glass of brandy with both hands he claimed his customary position in front of a window and stared into the distance. Then he spoke.

"I fear my life is a long gallery of rejections my friend. First Miss Bennet refused my hand in marriage. My whole life went to pieces with that." He went on with certain discomfort. "And then my wife."

"Do you mean she has refused you your marital rights?"

He nodded in frank acquiescence. "I must confess I have never felt attracted to Anne in any way. To be frank, I am almost relieved not to have been compelled to display affection that I do not feel."

The colonel chuckled at this disclosure. He pictured his cousin trying to perform his marital duties with Anne, and he felt really sorry for him.

"The only thing that pains me is that Pemberley will depend on Georgiana to bear an heir. I have always dreamt of my own children, especially after I met ..."

The Colonel stopped him half way. "Darcy, it will not do. You must stop this. It is pointless."

Darcy dropped his shoulders in a defeated gesture. "I know. I thank you for listening to me anyway. I have been denied even a shoulder to cry on until you came, my friend. I am most thankful for that."

The colonel's eyes drifted over to the window, deliberately averting his gaze from Darcy's. "You must stop drinking, too," he said, staring into the air, while he was holding a glass of brandy in his hand himself. He stood up, and walking to the fireplace, placed the glass on the mantel piece and turned to look at his cousin again. "It will be worse in the long run and you know it."

There was a light rap at the door, and Georgiana entered the room after she was summoned in.

"Where is Anne?" she inquired.

"She went upstairs, Georgie. She felt a little indisposed," answered her brother.

"Should I go to her?"

"Oh no! There is no need. She will be well enough to join us in a short while, I am sure," her brother maintained firmly.

Fitzwilliam quickly offered a distraction. "Why do you not play something for us at the pianoforte? I believe you have been practising some Christmas carols of late. Can we hear you now?"

"As long as you accompany me with your singing," said the girl to her cousin.

"That is settled then," Fitzwilliam said lovingly. He placed his hand on the small of her back and led her to the music room. Darcy followed behind.

After a tolerable evening listening to Georgiana playing the pianoforte, Fitzwilliam and Darcy retired to the library again, leaving Georgiana to herself for a while. Neither Anne nor Lady Catherine had showed up ever since their argument.

In reality, Darcy did not plan to make of this excursion to Kent a long visit. He barely tolerated his wife's company, let alone his aunt's. Besides, ever since he had been invited to the Twelfth Night ball, he had dreamt of seeing Elizabeth Bennet again.

"Darcy, I am afraid I shall be leaving Kent soon. I shall not be able to accompany you to Netherfield Park as planned," his cousin announced.

"I am sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to spending Twelfth Night with you and my good friend Bingley. Can you not possibly change your plans?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head. It was unfortunate that the very place his cousin would invite him was the very one the Colonel wished he could avoid most. Darcy was of a mind to escape his family's company to visit his friend Bingley at Netherfield Park, too close to Longbourn for the Colonel's state of mind. "What about Georgie? Why not take her with you."

"Bingley is holding a ball. Georgiana will have to stay here. 'Tis only for a few days. I intend to return with her to London by the end of next week."

The Colonel, unbeknownst to Darcy, had already declined the invitation. He longed for solitude to be able to clarify his thoughts and the place where his true loyalties rested. Least of all he wished to be confronted with Elizabeth. He was at odds on what to do. He knew she was to be at Longbourn by that time. Should he accompany Darcy, he would be compelled to face her and his cousin sooner than he would wish to.

"I am afraid you shall have to make do without me this time. I have some business to attend to in Matlock. I shall see you again in London in a week."

So, when the two cousins took their leave from Rosings on the 3rd of January, the Colonel hastily parted towards Matlock, where he was sure he would find some peace of mind to be able to sort out his dilemma. Little did he know the twists that awaited him with his return.

Darcy for his part was of quite a different disposition. He could not wait to arrive at Netherfield and see Elizabeth Bennet at least from some distance. With such a prospect, Darcy would be ready to endure yet another five days in his wife's company. Mind you, he had never meant to break his marriage vows, but to be able to catch a short glimpse of Miss Elizabeth Bennet's fine eyes was all he could wish for Christmas.

*Christmas season in Regency times lasted 12 days, beginning the 25th of December and finishing on the 5th of January with Twelfth Night celebration.

On his arrival at Netherfield Park, Darcy was received with the warmest of greetings. A ball had been prepared to celebrate Twelfth Night, and Bingley was his usual self ¾the happiest of men. He had received news of his good friend coming to his home only that morning by an express sent from Kent. His beautiful wife's countenance glowed with contentment, knowing only too well that Mr Darcy's presence would double her husband's happiness during the festivities.

Jane Bingley had never been exceedingly demanding a woman. She had been born to lay back and think of England. Still, she had always hoped to marry for love, and when her nuptials to Charles Bingley were celebrated, she had thought herself deeply in love. But now, after a few months her wedding night had passed, Jane Bennet Bingley felt that something was amiss in her married life.

For her wedding night had been the most anticipated moment in her life. Jane had never showed any bit of passion, yet, very much like her sister Elizabeth, she had no water running through her veins. Promises of unrelenting, ardent love had been laid at her door by the enamoured demeanour of her young betrothed. So much so, that the whole line of matrons, judging from Bingley's behaviour during courtship, had pronounced her exceedingly fortunate. For it was a truth universally acknowledged that a woman in possession of such an enamoured husband, would be soon with child, with all the pleasures that going in such pursuit entailed.

Unfortunately for Mrs Bingley, her husband was the clumsiest lover ever. Not only did he not have the least idea how to make his wife conceive, but neither did he take the trouble to inquire about the process. So divested of all the necessary information, and armed only with his rather small instrument of pleasure, a trembling Charles Bingley entered the Mistress's bedchamber unsure of what he should do once in it.

Jane was waiting for him abed, just as she had been instructed by Mrs Bennet. As the bedchamber was in utter darkness, she only discerned the shadowy figure of a man dressed in his nightshift approaching her bed as the faint moonlight filtering through the glass window reflected on it.

Not a sound.

Charles (she figured out the man was Charles, though she could not tell for sure to this day) was standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed and remained so for quite some time until Jane shyly asked him if he was coming to bed. He nodded emphatically and climbed in beside her. They remained thusly for rather a long, silent period, until again Jane, thirsting for a little more action, or conversation for that matter, asked Charles a rather inviting question.

"Charles," her voice in a quivering hush. "Will you not kiss me?"

Charles Bingley must have misunderstood his wife, for immediately after her request for a proper kiss, he did kiss her, yet not where she would have found it most pleasurable. Beginning with her hands, he then applied feathered kisses on her forehead, on her cheeks ... never on the lips. He endeavoured not to touch her more than it was necessary, lest she should feel embarrassed. Unfortunately, Jane wished to be embarrassed, ardently so.

Suddenly he seemed to remember the exertion that had taken him to her bedchamber, and in much the same clumsy manner in which he had climbed into her bed, he climbed onto her. Jane's body went extremely tense, and for a moment she felt wildly aroused. Unfortunately, his passion barely endured the few minutes that took him go through her maidenhood and plant his seed. In that accomplishment, however, he contented himself with raising the hem of her nightshift, and without much ceremony proceeding to fulfil the marital duty, much in his own hurried manner he was so proud of. This done, he rose from the bed, and expressing his thankfulness for her generous co operation, left her alone.

If on losing her maidenhood, Jane had expected to feel anything, she had thought it would be pain, fatigue, perchance longing, ardour and the like. Yet none of these were part of her present feelings.

Jane felt merely nauseous.

To her dismay, the whole process ¾ kissing her hands, forehead, cheeks and entering her womanhood in all his ineptness, was repeated upon the second night of their married life, and since then his nocturnal visits had not been much different. Many a time Jane wondered whether all connubial practices merely entailed such short, distasteful encounters, for she had often heard tales of raptures and flutters during the process of getting with child. Was she not to experience them?

Notwithstanding her severe sexual frustration, Charles was still very dear to her. But ever since the first time, she had found her husband's mating customs more and more unpleasant, though he visited her in her bedchamber regularly enough.

On seeing her husband's good humour over Mr Darcy's visit, Jane Bingley's courage rose. She wondered whether men talk about such intimate themes with their friends. Perchance Mr Darcy would talk to him, much in the manner she used to talk with her sister, and offer him some counsel. After all, they were both married. However, the man was very stiff and serious; she reckoned her wishes would come to naught. How much she long for her confidences with Lizzy! But her sister was still a maiden, hence unable to console her in married women's matters. If only Elizabeth would marry someone soon!

Darcy was assigned his usual room where bittersweet memories of his failed romantic dealings with Elizabeth filled his soul and washed his beaten-up heart. The next day, the 5th of January, after he woke up, his first thought had been Elizabeth. She continued haunting him everywhere he went. Yet, the possibility of an encounter with her, even now when he was absolutely certain that she was completely prohibited to him, sent little shivers through his body, and at moments he found it difficult to breathe. He was helplessly hooked on the exhilarating anxiety, the unfulfilled expectation held by those who love in vain. Butterflies in his belly or a bee in his bonnet, either case presented Mr Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire with a completely different demeanour. He was going to see her.

I am going to see her.

After penning a brief note to Rosings for his family to acknowledge his arrival in safety, he made his way downstairs into the library where, clutching a book in one hand and in spite of his cousin's severe admonition against it, he sank into one of his favourite, yet nastier of recently acquired habits: drinking spirits.

It was under the influence of these that Darcy had decided to follow the custom of wearing a mask at the Twelfth Night ball. There were several of these for the guests to choose from, and he picked one that covered mainly his visage, but left the rest of his handsome features for the guests to discern. The rest of the day continued uneventfully while Darcy persevered in emptying Bingley's brandy decanter until he could take no more. He was thus entertained when dusk announced that the guests would be arriving soon to partake in the festivities.

As he headed for his bedchamber with considerable difficulty, he noticed that climbing the stairs was taking him longer than usual. It occurred to him that somehow, the distance between his bedchamber and the foot of the stairs had been altered. He stopped for a while to count the steps when a much dejected Phillips passed him by on his way to his master's bedchamber.

"Phillips," he called out.

"Yes, sir?" the man asked a little surprised. He wondered whether Mr Darcy's personal manservant knew his master was in need of assistance.

"Phillips, how many shteps in the shtairs?"

"I beg your pardon?"

Mr Darcy recollected himself and endeavoured to speak correctly. "In the stairs. How many steps."

"Nine and twenty, sir."

"Are you poshitive?" Darcy surveyed the stair doubtfully.

"Indeed, sir."

"Come, let ush count them."

Phillips looked at his addresser's face in utter amazement. He could count, yet he was too much busy to endeavour such an enterprise with a whole house to oversee. Yet Mr Darcy, was of a mind to solve the mystery of the excess of steps, and holding tightly to the servant's clothes, he jumped down two steps counting: "One, two..." Seeing that the stiff servant hesitated to follow him, he commanded him. "Phillips, come now. Count with me."

"Should we not start from upstairs, sir?" the manservant observed innocently.

Darcy shook his head. "Nay, too many shteps."

Hence they commenced half way until they reached the bottom.

"Thirteen," they said in unison when they reached the last step.

"Oops, I think thish ish bad luck." Darcy said in alarm. "Let ush do it again." Climbing the stairs, this time with less difficulty, they reached almost to the top, and started their effort to make sure of the number of wooden pieces for the second time, endeavouring to jump downstairs together, at the same time that they counted the steps.

"Twenty-four!" they cried out at the same time.

Darcy immediately protested. "I thought you shaid they were nine and twenty."

"Indeed, sir. I am positive."

Holding himself fiercely from Phillips's shoulders, Darcy hiccuped loudly and blinked. "Let ush count again."

To the poor man's chagrin, the whole process was repeated all over, but this time the servant, on seeing that Mr Darcy was having problems after number twenty, and fearing he would be forced to climb up and go down the stairs for a fourth time, he simply cried out before his master's friend:

"Twenty-nine!!" said he triumphantly, endeavouring to look very much satisfied and cheerful at their success.

At first Darcy eyed him suspiciously, doubting either the servant's sincerity or ability to count to twenty-nine. But then again he was a bit tired himself and decided to agree with the man's assertion.

"Aye, twenty nine," he held.

That agreed, the servant bowed and left his company satisfied to have done his duty. Thereafter Mr Darcy, counting the steps for the fourth time, made his way towards his bedchamber, yet without the servant's help, he found it impossible to go beyond eleven in counting. Perchance he had been abusing his friend's generous supply of brandy. In noticing shapes and objects moving across his field of vision, he came to the conclusion that a cold bath would be mandatory. After trying several doors, he finally opened the one belonging to his bedchamber, and though unsuccessful at his first try, he pulled the ring to call for his manservant.

"Would you pleashe get my ... " he closed one eye in a pensive manner as if trying to remember what he was about to say. But the manservant kept moving from his eye span, making the whole endeavour to talk to him the more difficult. "My ..." he continued.

"Green jacket?" the valet guessed tentatively.

Darcy shook his head in denial while he lifted his hand to his brow, frowning slightly in an effort to recall the evasive request and at the same time trying hard not to stumble with his own feet which refused to keep him erect.

The valet, in a very perfunctory tone, suggested that he have his bath while he allowed his memory to return.

"Aye, a bath will be mosht welcome," he agreed while swaying in his spot.

He took a good hour at his toilet, his mind ever so slowly recovering from slumber, his memory recollecting the purpose of his presence in Hertfordshire as the effect of the brandy relented.

Miss Bennet. She will be here.

An indescribable emotion washed his heart and soul. Howbeit his ability to think clearly had seen better days, the mere recollection of Miss Bennet's potential presence at the ball was enough to invigorate him. With renewed joy, Darcy jumped out of his bath and asked his manservant to take special care with his apparel. He ended up contending with the poor man, vehemently declaring that his clothes must definitely match his mask, claiming his cravat was not nicely done, and ... God knows what. After lingering in front of the mirror more than it was necessary, finally the figure staring back satisfied him, and Mr Darcy, much more nervous than on his wedding day, rushed downstairs with the sole purpose of seeing Miss Bennet, leaving a much bewildered servant behind.

The ball room was crammed with people wearing their masquerades. Looking through one of the tall windows, Darcy waited impatiently for the carriage from Longbourn to arrive. At long last, he recognised the vehicle pulling up to the entrance. Much as he had done a little more than a year ago, he watched the family descend the carriage until he caught sight of Miss Bennet.

Unfortunately for Mr Darcy, by the time the Bennet family had joined the ball, he had already consumed sufficient brandy to relax him enough to lose not only his customary dejected demeanour but also his determination to keep himself distant and aloof.

The sight of his beloved Elizabeth alighting from the carriage was momentous and Darcy's knees buckled when, as she climbed the few steps towards the ballroom, he discerned her glorious eyes descending on him. She was already wearing her mask, but ever so often would uncover her face when talking to her sister Jane. It was at one of these moments when she spotted him in his corner.

The profuse blush over her countenance told Darcy she had not failed to recognise him under the masquerade. She looked nervous, perchance embarrassed, and Darcy would wager his estate she would find it very difficult to utter the minimal civil salutation. Nonetheless, he squared his shoulders and, taking a deep breath, made his way through the maze of guests towards her. The stroll could not have taken more than a few seconds, yet he felt as if he were moving in slow motion, losing some of his resolute demeanour with every step he took. Air escaped him and by the time he reached her, he was panting heavily.

Notwithstanding breathing difficulty, Darcy managed to retain some of his well known aloofness and bestowed the ever-so-crimsoned Elizabeth the darkest glance his covertness could afford. Judging from her visible discomfort, even under the concealment of his disguise, his steady gaze proved effective. Elizabeth found it impossible to remain still, whilst he briefly spoke his welcome.

"Miss Bennet."

"Mr Darcy." Elizabeth, however astonished to see him wearing a mask, was at least prepared for an interview, and resolved to appear and to speak with calmness.

Mrs Bennet, Miss Catherine and Miss Mary were standing behind, while Mr Bennet and the Gardiner's carriage was yet to arrive.

"Mr Darcy! I hardly recognised you!" said Kitty enthusiastically, shaking his hand affectionately. "You look exceedingly well, sir."

"Mr Darcy?" said Mrs Bennet in disbelief. "Why, sir. I did not know you were fond of masks!"

"Neither did I. I see you are all wearing masks. I take it you enjoy the amusement. I must confess this is the first time I attend a celebration such as this, ma'am "

"Indeed," said Mrs Bennet.

"But, pray, what is your verdict? Do you approve?" Kitty inquired exceedingly diverted.

"Indeed, I do," he answered sounding perfectly amiable, to the surprise of his addressers.

"Is Mrs Darcy here with you, sir?" asked Mrs Bennet with her natural curiosity.

Darcy stole a sly look at Elizabeth, to see how she bore the mentioning of his wife's name. But she, as usual, when facing him, found raising her eyes impossible.

"Mrs Darcy is at Rosings Park. She is not very fond of Twelfth Night and preferred staying in Kent with her mother and Miss Darcy. I could not deny myself the pleasure of seeing my old acquaintances," he made a pause there, his eyes darted to Elizabeth, and quickly returned to his interlocutor. "So I accepted Mr Bingley's kind invitation." Again, he sent a meaningful look at Elizabeth, who had managed to hold her gaze reasonably upwards and was gently smiling back at him.

His heart leapt with joy.

Good Lord. She is pleased to see me!

"You must excuse me." He managed to say, unable to contain himself in front of her any longer, "I trust you will enjoy yourselves," and retired to the safety of his corner with a grin broader than his face.

Mr Darcy watched the Longbourn party walked into the ball room and disappeared among the crowd. Elizabeth, however, he kept zealously observed at a distance. He surveyed her conversation with several of her neighbours, envied the edge of the glass she sipped punch from, cautiously shortening the distance between them, fighting the mad urge to keep other gentlemen away from her, in a terrible agony to seek her company, consciously stalking her, sure she was well aware of his staring, too. Even so, on he stared, ever so closely. Surprisingly, consumption of spirits had this time helped him cheer up a bit. Contrary to his previous experience, his constant watch was having an unexpected effect on himself. Soon he was rendered defenceless in Elizabeth's presence, unable to control his actions.

Elizabeth's predicament was not any different. The intensity of his eyes she had been used to endure in their past interactions, yet she particularly found this new encounter the hardest of all, since he was a married man and she was, though unbeknownst to him, promised to Fitzwilliam. Darcy, being far from inebriation yet equally far from sobriety, was also as ignorant of her engagement as he was apparently oblivious to his own marital state. Thus, he would hardly rest his eyes on any other than her, and in the course of the evening, felt it impossible to refrain from the impulse to talk to her.

As he had been watching her so closely he could take the first opportunity that befell him and, thus, approached her. He found her sipping her third glass of punch and feeling exceedingly merry.

"I trust you are in good health, Miss Bennet."

"I am sir, I thank you."

"Do you feel comfortable with your new appellation?" he endeavoured to sound casual yet the meaning of his statement might as well have been misinterpreted. She did not fail to do so.

"Ah, yes. I do. An ascent in status is always welcome. And what about Mrs Darcy? Does she find her new name appealing?" In truth, Elizabeth had meant to ask after the lady's health, but as she was under the effect of the drink, she felt in the mood to tease him. Perchance that would scare him away.

Far from it, Darcy answered in kind. "I am afraid my wife's health prevents her from enjoying even her new appellation." All of the sudden he felt uncomfortable at the possible secondary meaning of his statement. He blushed and cleared his throat. "I mean, Mrs Darcy has been not enjoying good health lately."

"I am sorry to hear that," she said perfunctorily.

"Are you planning to visit London during the winter?" he asked in an effort to change the subject.

"As a matter of fact I am just arrived from there. I have been visiting my aunt and uncle in Cheapside."

"Oh yes. Mr and Mrs Gardiner. Please give them my regards when you see them again."

"I will, thank you."

Their conversation was interrupted by the music announcing a reel for those who cared for one. Mr Darcy, undoubtedly under the cheerful effect of overexposure to alcoholic beverages and admittedly spurred on by the masquerades they were wearing, felt it impossible to resist the impulse to hold her in his arms. Boldly, he made up his mind to engage her in a dance. In truth, he greatly desired her touch.

"Would you allow me to stand up with you for this reel?" he requested tentatively.

She appeared a bit surprised, yet her courage always rose when confronted with challenges. This was a challenge indeed. If this man would become her cousin, she had better begin to feel comfortable in his presence. Taking a deep gulp of air, she nodded silently, consenting to his invitation. Then her lips breathed an almost unspoken "Thank you."

Holding her delicate hand in his, Darcy gloried in her touch, allowing every one of his senses to possess each one of her graces: the sweet scent emanating from her hair, the magnificent swell of her bosom, the playful glitter of her pupils, the inviting glisten of her lips. He could not believe he had been pining for her only a week ago, drowning his bitterness in alcohol, only to be afforded this magnificent moment. She was in his arms. Unbelievable! They barely talked during the reel, yet his eyes remained locked with hers through the whole piece, saying the unspoken. Oh, how much he longed to hold her tight, to kiss those tantalising lips and roam his hands over her curves! Much as he understood the iniquity of his musing, his desire had caught his fancy, and there was nothing he could do against it.

Elizabeth's heart was not any better. She had assumed her emotions towards the gentleman in front of her had been successfully overcome with her betrothal to Richard. Far be it for her to flirt with Fitzwillian's married cousin. Be as it may, the flipping of her heart was telling her that her feelings had remained the same as a year ago, that her strong attraction towards Mr Darcy had, if anything, grown even deeper. Over and over she would find herself staring back at his dark, sensual eyes, the first reel followed by a second and a third, the dance becoming some kind of ritual where he was shamelessly making love to her, devouring her figure with those captivating eyes of his.

Oh shameful behaviour! How I will ever get rid of these feelings!

Unfortunately, their developing intimacy did not pass unnoticed by Mr Bennet, who immediately approached Mr Bingley.

"May I inquire the identity of the gentleman who is partnering Elizabeth?"

"You may, sir. 'Tis my good friend, Mr Darcy."

"Mr Darcy, eh? I though the fellow loathed to dance."

"Aye, sir. Indeed! He dislikes the exertion quite a lot."

"Is that so? I wonder what could have persuaded him to change his mind."

"I dare say the last time I saw him dancing was coincidentally here, with Miss Elizabeth a year ago."

"I see. Is Mrs Darcy in attendance today, as well?"

"Nay, sir. Mrs Darcy is of sickly constitution. She never attends balls."

"I dare say they are well matched, then."

"Mr Darcy enjoys dancing when he knows his partner well. I understand he and your daughter are very well acquainted. After the Easter season they spent together in Kent last year, Elizabeth and the Gardiners were guests at his house in Derbyshire. They seem to have developed a strong friendship."

"So it seems. Still, I must confess I am loath to witness them abuse their intimacy in front of these people. I believe this is the third dance they have stood up together. Please, will you indulge me and ask your sister for a dance?"

Bingley stared at his father-in-law quite puzzled. Their third dance? Impossible! Darcy would never do such a compromising thing. Unless he was in liquor, which he had never seen him to be. On second thought, he might have abused brandy a little. In any case, Bingley would rather ask Elizabeth to dance a thousand times if that would please Mr Bennet.

If Elizabeth had expected Mr Darcy would relinquish her company after the reels were over, she was clearly mistaken. The dance had only spurred him on. Once he had smelled the scent of the cherry, he wished he could taste it, too.

Thus, knowing that the orchestra was playing a waltz, Darcy secured his partner once more. Ever so gently he claimed her hand again and took her to the ball floor. This new experience, to have her so close to him, yet so out of reach, was the source of an unsettling feeling which, instead of helping him to put distance between them, caused him to yield at her feet. As his trembling hand slid over the delicate gown, shyly searching for her waist, hers rested on his shoulder. The other pair of hands ever so tentatively, one over the other, clasped together, his gently squeezing hers. He could feel desire taking over his senses, making its way through his boiling blood to every inch of his body, his loins gently pulsing to the rhythm of his heart. To further his contact with her, he consciously pulled her tighter to his body, casually whispering some breathy endearments to her ear. He knew his flirtatious behaviour would lead him to rather treacherous lands, yet his feelings he was not in ability to repress. He loved this woman. He loved her and hungered for her more than he could resist.

Elizabeth's heart was galloping, and her head was spinning as they whirled around to the music of the waltzing violins. She saw his profile leaning towards her ear and heard his voice softly speaking to her some words she could not make out. Yet, she knew he was not talking about the number of couples on the dance floor, nor about the size of the room. But she could not help it. After all, this was Twelfth Night and everybody was in the mood for shameful behaviour.

"It has been a long time since I have enjoyed a dance so much," ventured he as they returned to the refreshment table.

"I agree."

"I believe in your case it is in your disposition to enjoy every dance regardless of the partner. Yet I would not be honest if I did not declare the real inducement of my taste for dancing."

"And that would be?"

"Why of course, the vision it would afford. Not to mention the pleasure of holding your body so close to mine."

"Mr Darcy!" She cast him a quizzical glance. Mr Dar