Preparations for Miss Darcy's coming out party had been overwhelming. The house looked its best, and the ballroom glowed in the light of the chandeliers. When the first guests arrived, Miss, Mrs and Mr Darcy stood close to one another to receive them. Almost one of the last, Miss Bennet's arrival was momentous for Mr Darcy. He was not aware of her having been invited since said invitation had been issued as a last minute resolution made by Miss Darcy.

Elizabeth ascended the stairs leading to the main door, Kitty tagging along behind her. Elizabeth heard her name announced from one landing-place to another in an audible voice and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full of company and insufferably hot, or so she perceived it to be. Elizabeth discerned Mr Darcy's gallant figure standing erect beside his wife. She walked eagerly on until she was soon within a yard of the gentleman.

On hearing her name being announced Darcy wheeled on his heels and looked at her. His heart sank within him, and he turned abruptly around to regain composure. She was the last person in the world he had expected to welcome.

On Elizabeth's side, more particularly, there was a deficiency of all civil behaviour that a rather long acquaintance ought to look and say on such occasion. She was confused of his company. Memories of both his last words at parting at Netherfield and their unequivocal fulfilment upon her dreams washed her heart. Pray, pray. Be composed, and do not betray what you feel. Mr Darcy has not noticed you and he no longer cares. This, however, was more than she could believe herself, and to be composed at such moment was beyond her reach.

She was welcomed by both Miss and Mrs Darcy with great cordiality, but especially by Georgiana, who shewed more warmth of regard in her reception of her than did her sister-in-law.

At last Mr Darcy turned around and regarded them both; Elizabeth stared up, and pronouncing his name in a tone of aversion, paid the smallest courtesy. He approached, and addressing himself with great formality, inquired after their family, and asked how long they had been in town. Kitty, then, in a most forward display she cheekily said:

"Good God, Mr Darcy, what is the meaning of this? Will you not shake hands with us? Or are you just shy because you are no longer wearing a mask? After all the time you spent calling on us at Longbourn are we not friends? You certainly seemed quite friendly at Netherfield, particularly ..." Elizabeth elbowed her just in time and Kitty giggled excitedly.

This was invitation enough. Nothing would give Mr Darcy more pleasure than to hold hands with Miss Bennet, and Kitty's forwardness was deeply appreciated. After gladly obliging his young guest, inevitably, he was forced to pay the same attention to her elder sister. Elizabeth could not then avoid it, but stretched her hand only for a moment. He, instead of shaking it, bestowed the lightest of kisses upon its back. Elizabeth was robbed of all presence of mind by such an address and was unable to say a word. Her face crimsoned over and her legs threatened to abandon their capacity of keeping her standing erect. I should not have come. This will turn into a disaster.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Catherine, please feel welcome in my house. I sincerely hope you spend a pleasant evening in good company," said he with an absolute lack of demur.

"I thank you, Mr Darcy," said Kitty between giggles. "Pray, Georgie, will you be long here?" she said to her friend.

"Not much longer, I believe."

"Then I shall wait for you inside."

Mr Darcy's surprise at their easy talking could not be hidden from his eyes. He obviously had not been apprised of Kitty's acquaintance with Miss Darcy. Looking rather bemused, he paid his tribute of politeness by bowing respectfully to the ladies before allowing them to mingle with the others in his house.

Darcy, then, had a terrible battle with his own eyes, which reluctantly abandoned Elizabeth's adored retiring figure, to rest again on the uninviting grey countenance of Mrs Darcy's.

After the last guest was welcomed in, Mr Darcy made his entrance with both his wife and his sister clinging from each arm. Immediately, Miss Darcy looked eagerly for Miss Bennet and her younger sister. In spotting their figures among the guests, Miss Darcy let go of her brother's arm and dashed towards the ladies. Her countenance, however, betrayed acute unhappiness.

"The ball will be open in a few minutes now. Are you not exceedingly happy?" asked Elizabeth to the sad-looking girl.

"I am." she said unconvincingly.

"Then, why are you not shewing it?" asked Elizabeth, rather puzzled.

Much as she had waited for the night of her coming out, Georgiana could not hide her sadness at the absence of her cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. She told of her disappointment to Kitty and Elizabeth.

"'Tis only I wish that my cousin were here. I had hoped that he should have stood up with me at my first ball."

"Your cousin? Colonel Fitzwilliam?" asked Kitty.

"Yes. The very one."

"To be sure you must miss him very much," said Elizabeth politely.

"Aye, Miss Bennet. I love him so dearly." Elizabeth listened to her confession in concealed astonishment. Yet, she dared not ask the girl if her feelings were in earnest, or she was just referring to family attachment.

Sobbing bitterly, Georgiana continued. "No one knows anything from him! It has been a whole year ... I fear he might ..." Elizabeth saw Georgiana's eyes well with tears, and her heart sank, too. She feared the same, only that she could not share her sorrow with anyone. Was it possible that Georgiana was suffering so much because she was in love with Richard?

Just then, the handsome figure of Mr Darcy turned to behold them. He whispered something into his wife's ear, and, abandoning her company, began to make his way in their direction.

Elizabeth's heart lurched in her chest. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, and closed her eyes.

Be composed, be composed...

When she opened them back, Mr Darcy was merely a few steps from them. He wore a devastating smile upon his face, as if he knew the exceptional power his presence held over her emotions.

Indeed, he did not know.

"There comes your brother. Pray, Georgiana, smile, be composed." Taking a handkerchief, she wiped the tears from Georgiana's cheeks. "Do not betray what you feel to everybody present, especially your brother. Perhaps he has not observed you yet."

Georgiana nodded and smiled. She saw her brother approach. He was the only man she could forgive for not being Colonel Fitzwilliam; the only one that could have gained a smile from her. She dispersed her tears to smile upon him.

"Miss Darcy." he said playfully. "The music is about to start. Shall we?" He sent an inviting look towards Elizabeth and Kitty that sent shivers down the former's back. "Will you two ladies do me the honour to dance the third and the fourth with me? One at a time of course." He flashed a smile at them, but his gaze lingered for a moment on his favourite lady's eyes, and Elizabeth thought she could drown in the darkness of his stare.

Kitty made a courtesy and giggled happily. It seemed giggling was the only sound she could ultimately make.

Elizabeth looked confused, and her face was flushed, so angry had she grown at her inability to contain her feelings. Her heart was racing, and the lump in her throat stayed on. Lord, Elizabeth! He is merely being polite! You must simply refuse. 'Tis what he is expecting she berated herself.

Looking straight into his eyes, albeit unwillingly, she managed to utter a civil refusal. "I thank you, Mr Darcy, but I do not feel inclined to dance for the moment."

Darcy frowned. He had not expected no for an answer. Not inclined? 'Tis perfectly normal that a guess should accept her host's request for a dance. Why cannot she be civil, at least? Is she unwell, or merely not inclined to dance with me?

He could not help feeling hurt by her refusal, neither could he accept it. No, he would dance with her. She had come to him, to his house, willingly. She could not hide herself now, could she? No. He would not have it. How dared she refuse him a stupid dance! She knew perfectly well he did not like the exertion at all. His face prickled with anger, still, most civilly he bowed and thus answered-

"Then, later perhaps." he insisted. "Do me the honour of sparing me the first waltz." Not waiting for her answer, he directed his eyes to Georgiana and led her to the dance floor.

Elizabeth could not believe her ears. A waltz! He must be jesting! I would not dance with him a reel, least of all a waltz! What was he thinking? Does he not remember our understanding?

He did not.

Hence, Elizabeth was forced to decline many young men's petitions for a dance due to her declining the fourth with Mr Darcy. She watched with a pang of envy while Mr Darcy claimed Kitty's hand for the third reel after he had danced the first and the second with his sister. Anyway, if he had decided to forget their understanding to avoid each other's company as much as possible, she would not disregard it. Still, Elizabeth could not help the galloping of her heart within, each time she discerned Mr Darcy's intent stare on her. If only he had grown out of it she would have found the necessary strength to remain nonchalant in his presence.

After the orchestra made a pause to rest she went up to Georgiana and the two girls conversed for awhile.

"I see you are enjoying yourself after all," said Elizabeth.

"Indeed. I am, Lizzy, I thank you. Dancing is so invigorating! I feel I could dance the whole night through!"

"I am glad to see you thus."

"You have not danced yourself, Lizzy. I understood you enjoyed the activity exceedingly well."

"I do, as a general thing," she conceded.

"I would very much like to see you enjoy yourself at my ball. Pray, Lizzy. Let me introduce you to a gentleman of my acquaintance."

"Oh, no, Georgie. That will not be necessary."

"Lizzy, I hate to see you standing in this manner. I must introduce you to someone. There is Mr Willoughby! I dare say he is very amiable, and very handsome, too. He is a favourite among the ladies of the ton." Thus expressed, in quite an extraordinary display of courage, absolutely inconceivable in such timid creature, she darted towards the gentleman, who happened to be only a few steps from them, and almost dragged him to Elizabeth's corner. "Mr Willoughby. Let me introduce you to my dear friend Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance Miss Bennet. John Willoughby at your service."

Willoughby's manly beauty was not under discussion. After several minutes of amiable conversation his gracefulness was instantly perceived, too. Elizabeth herself had seen less of his person, for confusion, which crimsoned her face on lifting her eyes, had robbed her of regarding him. But she had seen enough of him to join in the admiration of Miss Darcy. He had a unique frankness and vivacity, and, above all, when she had heard him declare that of music and dancing he was passionately fond, she gave him such a look of approbation as to secure an invitation to dance.

"Will you honour me with the next dance, Miss Bennet?"

"I shall be delighted." declared she.

When the musicians had rested well enough, music was restored and the couples prepared to dance the first waltz.

The first Waltz! Surely Mr Darcy would come to claim her hand! She tilted her head and saw this latter, grave as a churchyard, glaring at her and her companion. Elizabeth immediately lowered her eyes and avoided his.

Just then, Willoughby secured her by her waist and they whizzed gaily around the ball floor.

Little did he know of the turmoil this coupling was causing in his host's demeanour.

Upon perceiving Elizabeth in the arms of Mr Willoughby, Mr Darcy had to fight the urgent impulse to put himself between them. He watched them waltz by with absolute disbelief, as if Willoughby had been doing the most preposterous demonstration of indecency in his own ballroom. His jealousy was excessive and his manners turned particularly uncivil towards his wife, who had been trying to extract from him an answer as regards their scheduled return to Kent.

In the end, he could restrain himself no longer and, seeing that the dance had finished, he claimed Elizabeth's hand for the next waltz from Willoughby's arms.

"I believe you owe me the next, Miss Bennet," he said possessively.

Elizabeth's eyes betrayed confusion and her partner hesitated to oblige Mr Darcy's insistent demeanour. Mr Willoughby noticed his dark glare and knew, albeit he was his host, that Mr Darcy was not a man to contradict. Hence, Willoughby, looking a bit taken aback, handed Mr. Darcy her hand with gallant readiness and bowed to both of them before stepping back.

"You may think my question an odd one, I dare say," she said impertinently "but, pray tell me. Have we not reached an understanding yet?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You know very well, sir, what I am referring to."

"I cannot bear to have you think me irremediably stupid; yet I assure you I do not recall having achieved any kind of understanding with you, save this dance. Will you not tell me of what you are talking?"

"Indeed!" replied Elizabeth. "You intend to tell me, sir, you do not recollect what happened at Netherfield on Twelfth Night?" she bore a stern look of disapproval and sounded seriously concerned.

He made no reply; his complexion changed and his embarrassment was evident. The music had begun and they were compelled to hold each other and begin twirling around to the sound of the waltzing violins. However difficult to exchange conversation was, Mr Darcy managed to breathe a short confession into her ear.

"I dare say I must apologise for my stupidity, Miss Bennet. I found I have probably entirely forgotten our conversation in Netherfield Park, if that is what you are referring to."

"Indeed!" answered Elizabeth looking rather put out. "I have not forgotten it, sir."

"If I am not deceived, you seem to adhere to your accustomed propensity to misunderstand me. I am afraid I cannot recollect a good number of my activities on that particular Twelfth Night because I had made the terrible mistake of abusing Mr Bingley's allowance of spirits."

It was Elizabeth's turn to look puzzled. She was instantly reminded of his spicy breath of brandy.

"Mr Darcy, you really mean to tell me you do not remember anything from our conversation that night?"

"Unfortunately, much as I hate to confess this, I do not."

"You will next tell me you do not remember our little stroll in the garden?" she snapped.

"We strolled into the garden? In the cold?" The tone and the look upon his face told Elizabeth he was speaking in earnest. Suddenly it dawned on her the propensity for the inebriated to forget much of their activities whilst under the effect of the spirits.

"Oh Lord! You do not remember!"

She seemed to lose pace and almost stumbled. After inhaling deeply, she blinked twice, straining her brain to find what to say next, but words simply escaped her. It was he who broke the silence again.

"You mean there is something utterly important for me to remember?" he said gaily.

She nodded, biting her lower lip.

"Pray, Miss Bennet. Give me a hint. Is this that I cannot remember connected with our conversation, or our walk?"

"Both."

"'Tis too much if I beg you to be more precise, Miss Bennet? I am beginning to feel concerned. Did anything happen after we walked out in the garden that I may need to remember? Did we go somewhere in particular?"

"To the orangery."

His throat dried. "The orangery?"

"Yes."

"Surely, you understand this is nothing to jest about."

"I understand perfectly well, sir."

"Indeed."

He paused to think of the strange inclination he had recently acquired to eat oranges before retiring to his bed chamber. In the past, it had always been apples. Yet, ever since he had returned from that trip from Netherfield, oranges had turned into his favourite fruit, much as roses had been his favourite scent, ever since he had danced his first reel with Miss Eliza Bennet.

"Did we go in there?"

"We did, sir."

"And of course we were alone?"

She lowered her gaze and nodded silently.

Just then an intense scent of roses emanating from her hair arrested Mr Darcy's nostrils and the memory of his lips upon her skin assaulted his mind. The feeling was exquisite, the remorse, yet was unbearable.

"I think we must talk." he muttered.

Scarcely had he said that, when the violins struck the last note and most couples left the ball floor to go for refreshments. Mr Bingley approached them from behind.

"Darcy! I see you are entertaining my sister! Good. Good. I thank you. 'Twas too good of you to have thought of her and my sister Catherine." Then talking to Elizabeth, he added. "Now if you are not otherwise engaged, I would very much like to dance a waltz with you, Lizzy. You do it exceedingly well."

"I am not engaged, Charles. I thank you."

"Will you not dance with my Jane, Darce? I will be very much obliged."

"It will my pleasure, Bingley. I shall ask her directly."

Jane was delighted to accept Darcy's invitation to dance a waltz. It would be the first time she would dance said piece with a gentleman other than her husband. Not that she did not enjoy Bingley's standing up with her in a ballroom. But Darcy's superiority at waltzing was notorious and she was excited by the prospect of being his partner for once.

Once the couples were ready, the orchestra struck up a fresh dance. It was a traditional waltz, and the couples went wildly around the floor, Darcy and Jane excelling the others by far. Their dancing was so invigorated that not a chance did they have to breathe a word while engaged at it. Jane's blond beauty seemed to be enhanced by Mr Darcy's strong arms, so much so that very soon the entire assembly had fixed their attention on them. How well they looked! Many a gossip, hence, went around on how unfortunate it was for such a handsome gentleman to be married to the wrenched creature sitting by the fire!

No sooner had the orchestra struck the last note, then Jane expressed her wish to rest awhile. Her complexion looked dreadfully white and she found it difficult to breathe. Mr Darcy noticed she was leaning all her delicate weight upon his arm, and before they had reached a seat, Jane was unable to stand and fainted in front of all the guests. In no time, Mr Bingley was by her side, and he and Mr Darcy carried her urgently to the music room. There, Elizabeth tried to revive her with lavender water, while Mr Darcy sent a servant to fetch a Doctor.

By the time the Doctor arrived it was almost dawn, and Jane had been carried upstairs to the guest room she had occupied since her arrival. The ball had already come to a natural end, the guests had been dismissed, and everybody had retired to their rooms. Only Elizabeth and Darcy were still awake, the former at the door of Jane's bedchamber, the latter in his study, both of them impatiently waiting for the doctor's report. Fortunately, Jane had recovered her healthy colour and did not feel unwell, save for a tiny repugnance for food. The doctor asked her several questions and then checked her pulse. After he had recommended that Mrs Bingley stay in bed in absolute quietness for three days, he exited the house, leaving a very pleased couple of prospective parents. A baby was on its way. Mr Bingley's grin occupied most of his face, and, to his wife's dismay and mortification, he ran to his friend to share the good news with him. Darcy felt both a bit concerned and at the same time enthusiastic. Mrs Darcy's return to Rosings was scheduled for the following morning, and he did not wish to detain her a moment longer in London lest she could take offence and retaliate. So he favoured her travelling with her mother and a large retinue, and decided against accompanying them as it had been formerly planned, in view of the Bingleys' forced extended stay in his house.

That, and the urgent necessity to settle matters with Miss Bennet. This was where his enthusiasm stemmed from. The mere thought of seeking her company, be it only with the prospect of conversing, was exciting in itself.

For Miss Bennet's staying at Darcy House, very much as it had been a year before at Netherfield, was, of course, required, in order to secure Mrs Bingley's peace of mind. This might sound rather strange since it had been a good two years that the Bingleys had been married, and one would have expected Charles Bingley to be the source of Jane's comfort. But, unfortunately, Jane had not found much domestic felicity. Her bond with Bingley was not strong enough. Although he was a caring husband, Bingley lacked common sense. Added to this serious flaw in his character, Bingley usually acted in rather a rushed manner, never thinking twice before leaping. Much as Jane trusted the doctor's judgement, she feared her frenzied waltzing might have harmed the baby, and Bingley was too excited to be able to comfort her. Thus, since her dear sister was there, Jane begged her to stay by her side. Hence, a carriage was sent to Cheapside and Miss Bennet's trunk was transported to a guest bedchamber located in the west wing.

After the whole house had retired, Jane and Elizabeth talked for a good time, very much as in their old days at Longbourn. When at last Jane's slumber won over her, Elizabeth wound a shawl around her and tiptoed to her own room. Unwilling to ring for a servant at such a late hour, she had barely slipped into her bed when she heard a light rapping at her door. Thinking it was the maid who had come to see to her comfort, she bid the nocturnal servant in.

Seeming oblivious to the fact she was almost disrobed, attired only with a cotton nightshift, Mr Darcy signalled for her silence and closed the door behind him.

"Please, Miss Bennet. I must have a word with you."

She looked at him with greater astonishment than ever. She began to think that he must be in liquor again; the strangeness of such a visit, and of his pursuit, seemed not otherwise intelligible, and with this impression, she immediately asked him to leave her room.

"Mr Darcy! I advise you at present to return to your room. I am not at leisure to remain in your company any longer. Whatever your business may be with me, it will be better recollected and explained on the morrow."

"I understand you," he replied, with an expressive smile, and a voice perfectly calm, "Yet I must assure you I am not drunk. Indeed, I have not tasted a single drop of liquor since our last dance. And that was...umm about five hours ago."

The steadiness of his manner, and the intelligence of his eye as he spoke, convincing Elizabeth, that whatever unpardonable folly might bring him to her bedchamber, he was not brought there by intoxication, she said, after a moment's recollection:

"Mr Darcy, you ought to feel, and I certainly do, that after what has transpired between us, your coming here in this manner, and forcing yourself upon my bedchamber, requires a very particular excuse. What is it that you mean by it?"

"Indeed, I mean," said he with serious energy, "if I can, to offer some kind of explanation, some kind of apology, for my past actions; to open my whole heart to you, and by convincing you that though I have obviously behaved in the most ungentleman like manner, I am not a rascal; to obtain something like forgiveness from you."

"Is this the real reason of your coming?"

"Upon my soul it is," was his answer, with a warmth which brought all the former Mr Darcy of her remembrance, and in spite of herself her heart melted.

"I cannot think of proper conversation to a gentleman while abed, sir."

"I am sorry, I did not mean to see you thus. I was waiting for you to come to your bedchamber. I came as soon as I heard you come in. You certainly disrobed yourself quickly." Realising the impropriety of his words, Darcy tried to reword his statement, with the consequent embarrassment for both. "I mean, you certainly are good at ... I mean ... you ... are already in bed."

She blushed profoundly and lowered her gaze, while covering her body with the sheets. She afforded a magnificent vision, very much as he had imagined his wedding night to have been.

"If that is all, you may be satisfied already, for I have long forgiven you."

The sight of her, so demurely crimsoned abed, awoke drowsy emotions within his soul. He could not help lingering on.

"Yet I need to know more. You see, Miss Bennet, I came to you in the night in the hope you might enlighten me on our... nocturnal encounter in the orangery. In the intelligence this is not the first time we had been in each other's company at improper hours and places, I dare say we can afford a few minutes for the sake of my peace of mind." That is it. You have said it.

"Your peace of mind? What about mine, sir?"

"Pray, Miss Bennet. You must apprise me of our behaviour that night."

"For God's sake, Mr Darcy. How can you ask me that? Can you not imagine my embarrassment?"

"I must know. I remember but the bliss of our meeting."

"Sir, I cannot speak of that."

"Did I ... did I compromise you in any way?"

She rolled her eyes and muttered her discomfort. "Oh my God!"

"Did I?"

She nodded.

His eyes widened and an expression of horror was drawn upon his features.

"Did I force you?"

She shook her head. Needless to say, he looked relieved for awhile. Then, raising his head, he whispered some unconnected words. "This is unbelievable, it will not do." He raked his hair with his hand and began to pace the room visibly discomfited.

" I ... you .... and you ... I cannot believe this."

"Oh Mr Darcy! What must you think of me!" Elizabeth's embarrassment was reaching a critical point. She would have buried her face in a pillow had the notion not seemed even more ridiculous than her present circumstances.

"What else? What else did I do?" His voice did not sound rejecting now. On the contrary, it sounded curious. His memory had betrayed him. He would have killed to recollect such instances in the orangery.

"Please, Mr Darcy, leave me."

Unfortunately, a lady's voice must sound as convincing at such pleading as her words. Hers, now, seemed to be begging for exactly the opposite. Hence, his courage rose. Stepping decidedly forward he begged her,

"Not until you have told me the truth. Pray, Miss Bennet. You must take pity on me. I cannot bear it. I must know."

"You need not worry, sir. You only kissed me."

I merely kissed her. And yet I have no recollection of it.

Mr Darcy was not convinced. Something in the way she was looking at him, besides the recollection of the state of his neck the morning after Twelfth Night, her scent all over his clothes, all that told him they had shared a great deal of intimacy. If only he could remember! "Was it only that? I only kissed you?" his voice was calm. To his satisfaction he noticed Elizabeth's resistance was beginning to break down. He pushed further on.

"For God's sake tell me, Miss Bennet. Did I merely kiss you? Tell me, honestly, do you think me a monster?"

At last she lost composure and blurted out the truth between sobs. "No sir, you are nothing of the sort! And yet it was not merely a kiss."

Darcy looked at her with greater astonishment than ever.

She continued in an emotional wave of words. "We held each other and kissed passionately until we could breathe no more. You told me that you loved me. That you had meant to marry me but was prevented by my detached demeanour while we were at Longbourn. You also told me that you dreamt about me every night, much as I have dreamed about you since then, but you also assured me, that you would never, ever, ask me to become your mistress in virtue of the respect you felt for my person. Afterwards we reached to an agreement. Since our emotions are so easily miscarried, we decided to avoid each other as much as possible." Her face was red and her cheeks glistened with the moisture of the tears her eyes had shed.

His befuddlement was compleat and for a good couple of minutes he remained silent and detached, nailed to the floor, unable to make sense of the present situation. Finally he risked a further question.

"Did I .. did we ... reach closer intimacy?"

"Aye, sir. We did," she informed him.

"How close?"

"Very much."

"Did I ...?" he could not find the words to ask this. Yet, Elizabeth comprehended his fear.

"Nay, sir. You spared me the embarrassment, yet we were very close to it."

"Did anyone see us?"

She was vexed at such a question.

"Mr Darcy, everyone saw us," she replied, her voice betraying exasperation. "But we were at a masquerade, remember? We wore masks that night. 'Twas Twelfth Night. Everyone had lost a little decorum. If I do not recall wrong, we were no exception."

"Elizabeth!" He savoured her name on his lips for the first time, his chest wildly heaving in his passion. "How I wish I could recall you in my arms! Yet every memento was torn from me!"

"Say no more, sir. That night follies were due not only to our improper infatuation, but also to our abuse of spirits. This is not the case now. And we should endeavour to remain civil and ..."

"I shall never taste brandy again," he blurted out as he took one step forward. Ever so slowly he walked in her direction and seconds later he was kneeling beside her. She looked down at his lovely face, enchanted by his dark eyes. Insensible to the cries of her conscience, she moved her head a little down almost imperceptibly, a mere inch, then another until just as imperceptibly her lips rested softly on his lips. There she dropped a smile and sighed, eyes closed.

Darcy had closed his long before her. The moment he had seen her beloved face slowly descending over his, he knew they would kiss, yet he was afraid to frighten her. So he closed his eyes, so that she would feel bolder, as if by closing them, perchance she would believe he was not really there. When he felt the sweet taste of her mouth upon his, he smiled, his lips still prisoners of hers.

"I love you." he breathed. "I love you."

"May God forgive me, I love you, too," she confessed.

He reached out and kissed her again.

When he detached himself from her, she looked into his eyes and said in a whisper. "You are so handsome."

Oh, my God, did I say that aloud?

That confession was too much for him. His pulse was now galloping, and the temperature of his blood was rising.

"Elizabeth!" Temptation pushed wildly in his loins, and at a moment's notice he was atop her on the bed. Their kissing became frenetic, desperate. He pulled down the covers and dove into the bed with her, caressing her body and breathing heavily, captivating every single moment. Her hair, her skin, her scent he endeavoured to store in his memory, knowing perfectly well that moments such as this would hardly ever be afforded again.

He began to disrobe himself without a pause to his ministrations, and to his pleasure, Elizabeth herself helped him untangle his cravat (she soon became quite masterful at that). The smile on his face turned into a nervous laughter. She was soon laughing, too.

Kissing her mouth was not enough. He roamed his lips across her neck, her cleavage, the exuberance of her décolletage, until the nightshift became an obstacle. With a groan he ripped it open to reveal the whiteness of her breasts, and the next moment he was indulging himself with the sweetness that her bosom afforded, in his unique rough manner.

While doing this, her name came to his lips, over and over in divine worship. From Miss Bennet, to Elizabeth and in the ardour of their embrace a new name slipped his tongue. "Lizzy" he breathed into her ear, his voice coming extremely hoarse and harsh.

"Lizzy" had forgotten herself in his ministrations. She rippled adoringly under him, savouring every minute of his lovemaking. She felt so much love for this man, so much passion that nothing could deprive her of the bliss of this joyful moment. Ever burgeoning, her arousal was about to burst in such a commotion, that her moaning threatened to be heard in the halls.

Such was her concentration on her own pleasure, Elizabeth had barely noticed he had compleatly disrobed himself. When she did, eventually, notice his bulk pushing fervently against her nether regions, it was too late to feel any remorse. She had surrendered to the pleasures only his flesh could bestow upon her.

In unintentional emulation of his cousin's misjudgement, Darcy had not counted on her ardent response (Elizabeth could not help being a good student with such eager teachers). When getting rid of his clothes, he had not even been thinking. On mounting her, however, he had made a mental vow to respect her maidenhood. Stupid thought, of course, and hardly attainable in such a situation. Naive as it might seem, he had thought Elizabeth would stop him long before he had discarded his trousers. After all, women were supposed to stop men from becoming too ardent. Yet, she had not. Quite the contrary, she soon turned eager for more. On perceiving the inviting position her legs had afforded him (she had opened them so that he could accommodate his manhood between her thighs). Darcy found it impossible to deny himself the inducement.

Dizzy with the delightful exertion, he pushed harder, and harder against her, until he was enveloped by her wetness. One more push and he would go through her maidenhood and into her.

Sensing what was to come, Elizabeth closed her eyes tight, her body tensed. Just when he was about to accomplish the deed, an unexpected gasp from her made him pause and look into her eyes.

What he saw made him hesitate. Goodness, she is in pain! What am I doing? She looks frightened.

He stopped.

Elizabeth's heart sank.

"I cannot do this," he whispered and closed his eyes.

They were both breathing heavily, panting for air.

"I cannot do this to you. I love you."

He took a long look at her breasts and in a tender gesture he rested his cheek on her chest, gently caressing the soft orbs with his hands.

"But, I ..." she said out of sorts, still very much at the border of her pleasure. "I ... I need you." And she curved her back pushing against his groin to encourage him to go on. They were both naked, and the warmth of his flesh upon hers was intoxicating. "Darcy, I love you. I can no longer live like this. Pray, make me yours. Do you not wish to make me yours?"

Did he not wish to make her his? He would have given his whole inheritance to George Wickham in exchange for the pleasure of planting his seed within her body. Resigned, he raised his head and covered her breast with the ripped cloth. "Not now. Not like this. If I take you tonight, you will never be mine."

Elizabeth's heart, which had undergone many changes in the course of the night, sank in absolute disappointment.

"Don't go! I cannot bear it. I will do anything! Just stay with me."

"No, Elizabeth. You do not deserve such treatment. I love you too much to take advantage of your innocence."

"I am no innocent! Not after what you have done to me! I know perfectly well what I am doing!"

"You know not what you are saying."

"You cannot leave me like this," she said bitterly.

She was right. He could not just leave. He felt he had taken advantage of her, and at the same time he knew lingering a bit more in bed with her would only make things more difficult for him. But she was so distressed, so confused, so grieved. Hence, he stayed on, abed with her, gently caressing her body, her hair, kissing her softly on the cheeks, on the lips and he made love to her, in the sweetest, most tender manner ever imagined, till she found her pleasure and conquered her wits. Only then her heart was in peace again. When she recovered her sense much later, she realised how generous he had been in fact restraining his own passion, leaving his own pleasure aside to keep her honour, thus her heart was softened again; she knew he could not love her any better.

"What will be of us now?" she wondered aloud.

He cupped her chin and kissed her softly on the lips, but said nothing. In truth he did not have the answer to her question. It was so difficult to go, yet on seeing that she had recovered her normal demeanour, Darcy bid goodnight.

"I had better go while I still have the strength to part with you. You cannot imagine what your generosity has done for me. My happiness tonight can only be surmounted by the happiness it would give me to make you compleatly mine."

"Will I ever?" she whispered with a bitter tone in her voice.

He looked at her for the longest moment. Then he gently got closer, his lips rested upon her cheek, one of his hands clasping hers, the other employed to tenderly caress her hair. Pain, a terrible pain took power over his countenance.

"I know you will. I know not the day, or the way I shall conquer this. But I promise you Elizabeth. You shall be mine. Regrettably, I am not free to take you now the way I do in my dreams, though tonight Elizabeth, I must confess I ... lost myself. This behaviour I have always considered wicked. Yet your vision has captivated my senses. If only you knew of my misery, my penitence. My heart has never been inconstant to you, and seeing your love for me, your sweetness, your response to my passion, you must know that at this moment, you are dearer to me than ever. I wished I could make Anne disappear."

"You ought not to speak in this way. You have made your own choice. It was not forced upon you. Your wife has a claim to you that I have not," she rebuked bitterly.

"Do not talk to me of my wife." said he, with a heavy sigh. "She does not claim anything from me but my name. She does not deserve your compassion. She knew I had no regard for her when we married, neither had she any for me. Domestic happiness is out of the question in my case. But the memory of this night, Elizabeth, at least will be something to live for until ... Were I ever, by any blessed chance, at liberty again ..."

Elizabeth made no answer. Her thoughts were silently fixed on the irreparable injury his marriage to Anne De Bourgh had made to their minds, their values. The mere thought of her being deprived of his love, his warmth, was maddening in itself. And yet, she knew he was a talented, honest man, free of any extravagance and incapable of selfishness or cold-hearted behaviour. Regrettably, his attachment to herself had perilously led him to act against honour, against every better interest, outwardly torn as he was between the connections to his wife, for whom he had very little scruple, and what was no longer allowable. Even worse, it had tempted her to accept the most degrading situation a woman could ever fathom: to become the mistress of some rich man.

"There is no use in my staying here; I must go."

He searched for his clothes, which had been tossed somewhere between the silky sheets, and in its pursuit his hands brushed the sensitive skin of her legs. He perceived her tense response and sighed heavily. Reluctantly, he abandoned the bed, covered her trembling body with the quilt and turning around, proceeded to get dressed behind the screen.

Dragging his feet, Darcy exited Elizabeth's bedchamber, looking very much like a man condemned to the gallows.

Were I ever at liberty again ...

For a brief moment, he pondered their chances. He was not the kind of man to wish for someone's death. Yet, divorce was, though remote, still a possibility.

But in truth, he was still too excited by the close encounter with sexual release to be able to think clearly. More so, there was a certain air of pride in his demeanour that evidenced substantial felicity. Notwithstanding sexual frustration, the intimacy with Elizabeth had made a new man of him. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply and filled his lungs with her scent. He would never, ever forget the way she looked tonight. He would cherish its memory for the rest of his life. Betimes he wished he were not so proper, and a little more adventurous, more spontaneous, less dignified.

He would think of his divorce tomorrow. Yes. After all, tomorrow was another day.

Early in the morning, after Elizabeth had quitted her room to check on the sleeping form of her sister, she left the house for a walk in the empty streets of London.

It was then that disaster struck.

Hannah had been recently hired by Mrs Barnes in preparation for the expected increment of visitors that the night of the young mistress's coming out entailed (Georgiana was referred to like so by both the London and Pemberley staff, for it was her and not Anne who spent winter in the house). The inexperienced young maid, the moment Elizabeth abandoned the premises of the chamber, set herself to clean the room and lay the bed. What her surprise must have been, when she found the unmistakable manly item of clothing between the sheets of the maiden's bed.

What should she do with it? Evidently, a cravat did not belong to the young lady. Should she merely fold it and place it on the chiffonier? Should she hand it over to a manservant to establish the provenance of the abandoned tie? Would the young lady claim it later?

Hannah decided that she should inform the finding to a superior, a wise decision had the item been found in the library. However, not a very sensible one since said item was screaming to have witnessed carnal intercourse. A servant less innocent of sensual pleasures would have hidden the item and kept absolute silence.

So Hannah rushed downstairs brandishing the indiscreet cloth and told an older maid about the disconcerting experience.

"D'ye think Aye should tell Mrs Barnes?"

"Aye think nay."

"What must Aye do?

Another maid stopped to listen to them and she was soon updated with the discovery.

"Aye know this. This is one of the Master's cravats," declared she.

"The Master's? Nay! Can't be Mr Darcy. Aye never seen the man but proper. Never even a wrinkle on his shirt. Not in all my days here."

"D'you think e' would be wearing his shirt abed with a lady? Aye do the laundry. Aye swear this is the Master's."

"Should Aye take it to the Master's bedchamber?" asked Hannah innocently.

"Aye'll do it!" said the senior maid. "Aye'm in charge 'f the laundry."

Merry was the morning in which Fitzwilliam Darcy awoke with the glorious feeling that something distinctly good had happened in his life. Much to his distress, he had not been awake a few minutes when the feeling was replaced by the sad recollection of loss washing his mind. Yet the memory of Elizabeth was of a sweet surrender, her eyes, half closed as he had kissed her breasts. Elizabeth, blissfully moaning under his weight, arching her back for more. Such a recollection decidedly determined that happiness would be uppermost in his day. Had he been more courageous, less idealistic perchance, he would have made her compleatly his.

But his sexual felicity was not the only thing that counted. Miss Bennet's position had to be very carefully weighed, since her happiness was the source of his. Unsure of what the rest of the day would bring, Darcy rang for his manservant and jumped out of bed.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good Morning."

"I beg your pardon, Master. Lady Catherine wishes to speak to you about a rather urgent matter. Would you like me to prepare your bath yet?"

Darcy released a heavy sigh. How he had not anticipated it! None of his days were to be cheerful after the one in which he had taken Anne as his wife. Convinced this day would not end so auspiciously as it had begun, he resolved to repose and take a bath before facing his fate. "Yes, do. I shall attend her later."

"Very well, Master."

After his hot bath and morning shave, Darcy got dressed and hurried downstairs. It was too early in the morning to face Lady Catherine with one of her whimsicalities. Still, it could not be helped. He assumed a serene posture and endeavoured to remain as calm as possible.

To his delight, he found the breakfast table empty. Perchance he had been misinformed. Sitting placidly, he breakfasted with uncommon hunger, and finally made his way towards the library. There was no one there, either.

He asked one of the servants of his family's whereabouts. He was informed that Lady Catherine had rung for a tray to be served in her bedchamber, and had postponed her departure for Kent. Mrs Darcy was in her bedchamber, still asleep (rather odd that Mr Darcy had not been aware of that). Miss Georgiana and Miss Catherine were locked in Miss Georgiana's bedchamber, where both girls had spent the night, and Mr and Mrs Bingley and Miss Bennet had not been heard from yet, although she knew Miss Bennet had left very early without breakfast for a walk, or so she was told by Mr Partenson, who had seen her betake herself to the park. The servant wanted to know if he wished her to carry a message to Mrs Darcy; he said no-thank-you-very-much and left for his club. He very much needed some fencing.

At the fencing club his cheerfulness was evident to all, even to himself. It was amazing the extent of Elizabeth's influence over him. The mere touch of her had the power to make of him the happiest of men, and her absence the gloomiest. A troubling thought assaulted him, though. What to do now? How would he face life now that he had almost had her? How would he manage to go on living without her? He knew he could not keep her as a mistress. No. No, that should be compleatly discarded. Keeping her as such would mean that their children would be bastards. No, that was unthinkable. He would divorce Anne. It would be scandalous, to be sure, but it could not be helped. After all, she had refused him his marital rights and was making his life impossible to bear. Yes, that was it. He would speak to his attorney directly.

When Lady Catherine De Bourgh asked for her nephew, she was shocked to learn that he had already left, leaving no notice of his destination. On an impulse, she exited her room and headed towards the west wing and to Elizabeth Bennet's bedchamber, to find it empty. Therefore, she exhorted the servants to notify her as soon Miss Bennet stepped into the house again, and to inform the young lady that she should join her in the library directly.

Hence, a very much puzzled Miss Bennet was intercepted upon her entrance in the house, and readily ushered to the library, where her ladyship awaited her.

"You can be at no loss to understand the reason for this interview, Miss Bennet."

"You are mistaken, ma'am. I'm quite unable to account for the honour of talking to you."

"Miss Bennet, you ought to know I am not to be trifled with. But however insincere you chuse to be, you shall not find me so. A report of an alarming nature reached me this morning. I was told that my son-in-law, Mr Darcy, has spent the night in your bedchamber. Though I know it must be a scandalous falsehood, I instantly resolved on talking to you to make my sentiments known to you."

"If you believed it to be impossible, I wonder what your ladyship would propose by asking me?

"This is not to be borne. Miss Bennet, I insist on being satisfied! Has my nephew spent the night with you in your bedchamber or not?"

"If he had, I should be the last to confess it."

"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I have not been accustomed to such language as this. I am almost the nearest relation he has, and I am entitled to know all his nearest concerns."

"But not to know mine, nor will such behaviour as this induce me to be explicit."

"Let me be rightly understood. This relation, to which you have the presumption to aspire, can never take place. Mr Darcy is married to my daughter. He finds satisfaction in her bed, and in no other. Now what do you have to say?"

"Only this: That if he does so, you can have no reason to suppose he will be in my bedchamber."

"Meddlesome girl! The relation between them is still too fragile to endure an affair. Your arts and allurements may make him forget what he owes to himself and the family. You have drawn him in! An heir must be produced with no more determents. And now this is to be endangered by the upstart pretensions of a shameless young woman? Is this to be endured? It shall not be! You know perfectly well your alliance to him would be a disgrace for you and your family! Your name would never even be mentioned by any decent person!"

Elizabeth's fury had reached unbelievable proportions. She was in no state to ponder the truth in the lady's words. Therefore she answered thus, "These would be heavy misfortunes, indeed."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you. I have not been in the habit of brooking disappointment!"

"That will make your ladyship's situation at present more pitiable, but it will have no effect on me."

"I will not be interrupted! If you were sensible, you would not wish to ruin your reputation as well as his! Tell me once and for all, are you his mistress?"

Elizabeth hesitated for a moment. Was she?

"I am not," she said decidedly.

"And will you promise me never to enter into such relationship?"

"Lady Catherine, I have heard enough. Whether I chuse to enter into a shameful relationship with any gentleman or marry the son of an Earl is none of your business. I will make no promise of any kind to you, or to any person so wholly unconnected with me. I am only resolved to act in a manner which will constitute my own happiness. I beg you not to importune me any further on the subject."

"Not so hasty, if you please! I have another objection ..."

"You can have nothing further to say. You have insulted me by every possible method. I shall retire now".

"You have no regard then, for the honour and credit of my nephew? Unfeeling, selfish girl. You refuse to oblige me? You refuse the claims of duty, honour, gratitude? You are determined to ruin him, and make him the contempt of the world."

I have nothing further to say. Good day, madam. "And this is your final resolve? Very well. I shall know how to act! I am most seriously displeased."

When Elizabeth stormed out of the library, Lady Catherine's yelling could still be heard from the corridor. Elizabeth rushed upstairs and locked herself in her bedchamber. She was doomed. Surely, Mr Darcy had been seen exiting her bedchamber in the middle of the night by some servant, who had passed the gossip around, and now she had been compromised by a married man. That was definitely a step toward Lydia's dissolute behaviour. She wondered if her sister Jane had heard anything yet.

Little did Darcy know when he arrived back from his fencing club more than two hours later that he was to face a similar encounter with Lady Catherine. Only this time, Lady Catherine's accusations did not find an ear in Mr Darcy. He rejected her immediately and ordered her carriage to be readied for her and his wife to return to Kent instantly. To her threats to discharge him from his sister's guardianship, he merely shrugged and admonished her to do as her conscience dictated. Mr Darcy knew perfectly well that Lady Catherine would never dare make her suspicions public or act against him. More than Elizabeth's honour was at stake. The Fitzwilliam name, Darcy's name, even the De Bourghs would be seriously damaged should Lady Catherine talk. She knew better than that. With an authoritative voice he rarely bestowed on anyone other than servants, Mr Darcy bid her ladyship to her bedchamber and warned her to remain there until her carriage was ready.

Soon he would be rid of them for ever.

Not until he had put his family in their carriage and seen to their safe departure, did Mr Darcy return to his bedchamber. Before that, he had gone upstairs to the west wing and asked the maid in charge of attending Miss Bennet if she could apprise the lady that he wished to see her downstairs in his study. To his chagrin, he was informed that Miss Bennet had quit her room in the house but an hour ago. Her trunk and belongings were to be sent to Cheapside as soon as possible.

"She left?"

The poor girl could barely nod in affirmation.

"Why did anyone not tell me? Am I not to know who comes and goes from my own house?"

"Master, Mr Bingley. It was he who made the arrangements. But miss did leave a note. Aye gave it to Barnes, sir."

Darcy stalked into his study in frantic search for the note. He found not a note, but a letter addressed to him. The handwriting he did not recognise; however he had good reasons to surmise the author to be Miss Bennet as informed by the maid.

He sank into his armchair behind his desk and after inhaling deeply, trying to regain composure, he proceeded to break the seal with trembling hands.

It was from Miss Bennet.

Mr Darcy,

In writing this letter I understand I am taking a liberty for which you will have to excuse me; but I know that it will be necessary for you to know the reasons for my sudden departure from your home. I am much concerned to find there were a great many things in my behaviour last night that do not meet my own approbation; and though I am quite at loss to discover the root of such forward and shameful behaviour on my part, I entreat your understanding of what I can assure you to have been quite unintentional. What I am to expect, Mr Darcy, by your behaviour last night? I was prepared to meet you with the heart break which our separation naturally produced, but this, sir! I have passed a wretched night in endeavouring to excuse a conduct which can scarcely be called less than insulting, only to rise and be confronted with the most preposterous notion by your own mother-in-law, who did not hesitate to insult me in the most offensive manner. I am repulsed, sir! My esteem for you is very sincere, my affections undeniable. I believe, before your intrusion upon my bedchamber, I had vowed to avoid your presence as much as our social commitments would make feasible. I see now that I had endeavoured the unattainable. I must conclude my letter with a final request. Do not, by any circumstance, get close to me again. I expressly forbid you to come into my presence and expect that you will quit it the moment you perceive me among a party. I shall endeavour to do the same.

EB

He folded the letter and remained impassive for awhile, astonished and shocked at such unlover-like speech. This must have been Lady Catherine's doing. He had left Elizabeth in quite a different mood the night before. Her responsive demeanour had spoken volumes. Surely she could not be complaining of something she had consented to freely? Had she not kissed him? Had she not moaned and twisted beneath him in a clear demonstration of enjoyment? Why! She had almost consented to becoming his mistress! He would not believe she was now regretting what he would cherish so much. She had declared she loved him, had she not? Yet her penned words clearly conveyed the distinctive message: She did not want him to see her ever again.

He had the awful feeling that this was a recurrent situation.

Visibly pained, he closed his fist and smashed the letter. He felt the rage building up inside him. Lady Catherine could be thankful she had taken her leave more than an hour earlier, lest she have confronted Mr Darcy's fury.

Incensed, he fed the fire with the letter, and stomped out of his study without a clear mind of what he should do.

I must talk to her. I must explain.

Without a moment to lose, he rang for his coat and hat, and prepared his carriage to go to Cheapside. In less than a few minutes he was at the Gardiners' door. The couple already knew him and would certainly welcome him.

After the maid summoned him in, he was received by Mrs Madeleine Gardiner in the small, but cosy drawing room.

"Mr Darcy! What a pleasure to see you, sir. May I inquire after my niece? I was planning to abuse your generous hospitality and call on her in the afternoon."

"There is no abuse, Madam. You and your husband are always welcome in my home. I am afraid I was up and away from home too early this morning to be able to answer your question to your satisfaction. I believe Mrs Bingley was in good health when I saw her last. She merely needs some rest."

"Then I shall call on her this afternoon, if that is agreeable."

"I shall be honoured by your visit."

"May I ring for some tea?"

"No, I thank you."

He was silent for a moment, not knowing how to ask for Miss Bennet. Then, he gathered force and spoke thusly.

"I have a rather urgent matter to discuss with Miss Bennet, Mrs Gardiner. I will understand if you refuse to oblige me, but I must ask this favour of you. Would it be possible for me to have a word with her," and then he added, "privately?"

"Privately, sir?"

He merely nodded, looking at Madeleine straight in the eye.

Mrs Gardiner looked at him doubtfully. She understood the impropriety of his request, yet Mr Darcy was an honourable man, who enjoyed the best reputation. She had not forgotten the role he had played in rescuing her niece Lydia from the worst destiny. Accordingly, she sighed in resignation and rose to her feet.

"Well, then. I shall have a word with my niece. If she consents to see you, I could allow you a short moment to have a private conversation here."

A few minutes later, Miss Bennet came into the drawing room. She looked grave and pale. He rose and signalled her to take a seat in front of him. She hesitated for a moment then allowed him to direct her to the loveseat. Her aunt's curious eyes watched every movement from behind. Madeleine then said, "I shall be in the library."

"Why did you leave in such haste?" he asked with worried eyes.

"Your aunt. She found out."

"I know. She also told me."

"I am afraid there is nothing else we can do."

"Elizabeth, you must listen to me. I have made up my mind. I shall divorce Anne, and marry you instead."

"Marry me instead? Sir, are marriage vows to be taken so lightly? Can a wife be discarded in so easy a manner?"

"What do you propose that we should do?"

"Sir, I cannot propose anything. I believe you have received my letter. I have nothing further to say in this regard." She rose and walked a few steps. Then stopped and tilting her head looked away.

"I cannot accept that. Not after last night."

She turned to face him and in an exasperated voice answered him: "Nothing happened last night. I am not your lover, nor your mistress, and from now on, not even a friend."

He rose to his feet and walked the short distance that separated her from him. "How can you speak so? How can you say nothing happened last night? Everything happened last night. I have never been this intimate with any other woman. I almost took you, for God's sake! Lord, I should have done it!" He raked his hair as he usually did when he was out of sorts. Then he stared at her, his demeanour grave and serious. "You are to be my wife. We must marry, Elizabeth."

"Sir. You cannot be serious about your proposition. Have you not considered the consequences if you decide on divorce?"

"Consequences for us?"

"For everyone. Think of Lady Catherine. She could chuse to spread malicious things against us. "

"I do not think Lady Catherine's accusations amount to anything more than vague charges."

"It will make for some talk."

"It's certain to be unpleasant, but nothing that cannot be borne."

"Unpleasant! Divorce is more than unpleasant. Our families' reputations are at stake. Miss Darcy's and my sister Catherine's chances to marry well are too. Can you not just see?"

"Naturally. But it cannot be helped. It will soon be forgotten."

"Then I must appeal to your honour, sir, to forget all about this. Your respectability."

"Elizabeth, none of these things mean anything to me, if I am to awake alone in my bed for the rest of my life. You said so yourself last night. Remember? We can no longer put this off. Elizabeth, I almost made you mine! You would be ... bound to me had it not been for ... my respect for ... your honour." He stepped forward and embraced her tenderly, his arms encircled her possessively and resting his lips close to her ear he breathed: "Dearest Elizabeth, I need you by my side. I cannot breathe without you. Be my wife!"

Elizabeth could barely resist his pleading, her eyes brimmed with tears and her whole body trembled with the emotion of hearing him pronounce those words. But she could not accept such proposition. She placed her hands on his chest and ever so slowly detached herself from his arms.

"Mr Darcy, just think. Do you want to marry me with a scandalous divorce hanging over us? I shall never be happy this way."

"It is vile of you to speak thus."

She sat down again on the loveseat and stared into the air in a pensive manner, Lady Catherine's words hammering her mind. "But if Lady Catherine chuses to speak, she can say things that might be even more disagreeable." Say them publicly, so that they could be damaging even if ..."

"If what?"

"Even if they were unfounded, which we both know they are not."

"What harm could accusations like that do to us if we are together? I have already endured the impossible."

"Perhaps more harm than anything else. We will be censured, sentenced by society."

"English legislation favours divorce."

"But English society does not. Lady Catherine will destroy us." "Lady Catherine has already guessed the truth. There is another woman in my life, and I cannot deny it any more." He sat down beside her and took her hands, unclasping them. She got up and moved away from him.

"Pray, do not make love to me now."

"I cannot help it. You have nourished in me feelings I had not tasted until now."

"Pray, Mr Darcy. Let us part on good terms. You know perfectly well there is no other way but to part."

"Elizabeth. No. Nothing has been done that cannot be undone. I shall be free to marry you." He walked up to her and held her again. In a moment he was kissing her, and she kissed him back passionately. But then again, she broke away, and they stared at each other for the longest time. Then she shook her head. "You must go," she said in a very low voice.

Suddenly he kneeled in front of her and seized her legs. "I beg you, Elizabeth, do not tear us apart."

She bent over him, her eyes welling with unshed tears. "Mr Darcy, we cannot be happy if it means being cruel to others. We are not alone in the world. We must think of our families, our sisters. Lady Catherine was right. If we act any other manner, I will be encouraging you to act against what I love in you most. Can you not see? I cannot love you unless I give you up."

Darcy sprang to his feet. He got furious. "I am not resigned to give you up. Not this time. I shall give up my marriage. My wife refused to share my bed. That gives me the right..."

"The right? Do you think we have any right?"

"No, of course not! But if we do this now... afterwards, it will only be worse for everyone if we..."

"No, Mr Darcy. It will not do. You must go back to your wife and forget about me. You shall be well. I shall be well." They looked at each other for a moment more, and then he lowered his gaze and said accusatorily.

"I do not think I have ever heard you be cruel before, not even in Hunsford."

"Cruel?"

"Even the devil does not think people are well in hell. You are the woman I would have married if it had been possible for me."

"Possible? How can you say that when you are the one who has made it impossible!"

"I have not done such thing."

"Is it not you who gave us up? Did you not leave me at Longbourn and married your cousin? You were just afraid of my refusal. It was your pride that separated us."

"My pride? 'Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner.' Those were your words! You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how those words have tortured me! It is your rejection, your pride that doomed us to this wretched situation!"

"I was certainly very far from expecting my words to make so strong an impression! I had not the smallest idea of their being ever felt in such a way!"

"Could you expect me to have taken your words in any other way? After the humiliation your refusal subjected me to? You made it very clear, as you have stubbornly done again in your letter, that you wished not to see me again."

"I did not mean to... I ... I... "

"Then you should be more careful with your words. Some people might take them seriously."

Madeleine Gardiner, then, entered the room, and both of them stopped arguing at once, their flushed faces adding to the heat of the rather loud argument Mrs Gardiner had overheard from the library.

Mr Darcy, rather nervously, thanked Mrs Gardiner her deference in having permitted him to converse with her niece privately, and without much ceremony bid both ladies goodbye.

No sooner had Mr Darcy said goodbye than Elizabeth sank in wretched depression. Once he had exited the room, she ran to her bedroom and after locking herself in, cried bitterly on her own.

Mr Darcy arrived back to his townhouse and stormed into his study. He poured himself a glassful of brandy, sipped a bit and then stared at the glass. In an impulse of rage, he threw the glass furiously against the opposite wall and then cursed bitterly.

His whole life had gone to pieces again.

Three Years Later...

In the townhouse in London, Anne and Darcy arrived home, and the servants took their coats. They climbed the staircase to the second floor of their house, and Darcy went into his study. Anne remained standing at the doorway, looking intently into Darcy's face, as if waiting for him to let her in. The lamp that Darcy was holding threw deep, long shadows on the wall.

Darcy placed the burning lamp on his desk, and sat at it, absentmindedly scanning some papers that had been piling up on the desk during his absence. He moved the lamp to his right, and the light projected a shadow on the wall. It was then that he realised Anne was still there. Raising an inquiring brow, he looked up at her.

Anne said in disgust, "That lamp is smoking. Are you trying to suffocate me? Why do you not ask the servants to see to it?"

"I am sorry," said he apologetically. "I compleatly forgot you were there. Yes, the lamp is not working properly, but it never bothered me." She remained in her position staring at him. In seeing that she meant to stay there, he asked rather impatiently, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, you could keep me company, could you not?"

"Not now, Anne. We have just arrived and there is this..."

"I have assumed you would take care of these details during my residence in London. You know I am all alone half the time and the rest I spend with Mama. Now she is too ill to be my companion. I cannot depend all my life on paid companionship."

"Anne, I am not saying I will leave you all alone. I am sorry. Georgiana will be here in two days, she is..."

"I do not want Georgiana! I am married to you!"

He clenched his jaws to refrain from answering back in his fury. He did not want to be rude to her.

"If you are not more obliging," she continued, "I shall be obligated to return to Rosings."

"As far as I am concerned you can come and go as it pleases you," he snapped.

"I could not possibly remain at Rosings with Mama suffering from a severe cough. Pemberley in winter would have been equally unhealthy, you know."

"I may have to go to Pemberley for a few days."

"When?"

"Tomorrow. I am sorry, I should have said something before."

"On business?" She stepped into the study without invitation, walked up to his desk and sat in front of him. She dreaded being left alone again. Darcy looked at her in discomfort. Is she meaning to keep him company the whole night long?

"On business, of course. There is a tenant coming up before the Crown Court. A serious matter. I just got the papers from my lawyer. It seems. . ."

"Never mind. I am sure it is too complicated. I have enough trouble listening to the problems at Rosings." Suddenly, she changed her expression. Almost in a tender tone she added, "But the change will do you good. And you must be sure to go and see your friends. I could go with you after all." Darcy looked at his wife a bit mystified. Despite her tempestuous character he reckoned she had endeavoured to remain civil to him of late, even kind. But he would not fall for that. He knew perfectly well that behind Anne's kind demeanour there was always a selfish motive.

Darcy could not bare her company a minute longer. Just when he was about to dismiss her, the maid brought a note from Rosings.

Mr Darcy, indicating the lamp, talked to the maid. "Do something about this, Peggy."

The maid took the still smoking lamp, and gave him hers. Anne looked up from the note, her face in wild alarm.

"Mama has had an attack of apoplexy!" she cried out while rising. "I must go to Rosings directly."

"Are you sure? Let me see." He read the note quickly and then looked at her apprehensively. "It is true. She is delicate."

"I must dash. Mama needs me."

"There is no way we can leave tonight. Tomorrow morning we shall leave for Rosings at the earliest hour."

Early the next morning, Mr and Mrs Darcy were departing in their carriage. The journey on the road was peacefully done as regards travel inconveniences. In spite of being winter it had not rained or snowed and the roads were in impeccable condition, which was providential.

Most of the journey Mr and Mrs Darcy were silent. Anne had been crying the whole night through and Darcy, not insensible to her sorrow, and although sleeping in separate chambers, had found it very difficult to sleep. Still in his mind was the sad time when he had lost both his own parents. Anne was such a weak woman. Ever since his aunt's health had decayed, hers had become even more fragile, and she had grown more and more dependent on her husband. A year before, out of compassion, Darcy had made up his mind and taken residence at Rosings Park to see to both his aunt's and wife's recovery. But after Lady Catherine had fallen ill with such sever cold, Darcy removed his wife from Rosings Park to protect her from catching her mother's malady.

Noticing tears trickling down Anne's cheeks, Darcy held her gloved hands, and caressed them. She looked up at him and smiled gratefully. Unfamiliar as she was with a man's touch, her feminine sensibilities blossomed and she, inexplicably, burst out in racked sobbing. Darcy was compelled to sit by her side and hold her in his arms, which proved to have just the opposite effect he had expected. Her sobbing became hysterical crying, thus leaving his coat soaked and wet from the tears she shed. Moved by her distress, Darcy patted her hair and kissed her tenderly on her forehead, a gesture he would soon regret. Little by little, in the warmth of his arms, she began to feel more secure and her sorrow eventually subdued.

But, unexpectedly, she did not remove herself from his arms.

Nay, it felt nice there.

Anne knew her husband was a very handsome man, and in this position she could feel the strength of his muscles and smell the manly scent emanating from his neck. God! How good it felt! Darcy noticed that she sighed contentedly, gently trembling while she rested her head on his shoulder. It was the first time he had held her so.

An enticing thought began to form in her head. What if she asked him to ... would he ... Nay, she could not possibly ask him to consummate their marriage under the present circumstances, not after all those years in which she had locked him out of her bedroom. She had always been so fearful of pregnancy. And surely a breach in her maidenhood would certainly lead to a child up her belly. But then, again, it felt so comfortable in his arms. What would it be like to lie with him in his ... bed? Or hers, who cared? To feel the force of his angry flesh in her. All this thinking was leaving her dizzy and breathless.

Eventually she gathered courage and thus spoke. "Fitzwilliam, we cannot stay like this any longer," she said without moving from the comfort of his embrace.

"Beg your pardon?" he asked compleatly unaware of her musings and rather unsure of the turn the conversation had abruptly taken.

"Our being together and not being together. It is impossible." In spite of being much warmed in his arms, she shivered.

Darcy thought she was still cold, so he took out a blanket and, without uttering a word, covered her trembling body with it. Then he sat up erect beside her again. Was she talking of connubial practices?

"You shouldn't have come with me," he merely said, hoping she would abandon the conversation if he did it first.

Suddenly, she turned and flung her arms around him, pressing him close, kissing him passionately. He did not react but merely permitted her to kiss him.

Anne immediately caught his meaning. If he were desirous of her attentions, Darcy would not have been so passive. She soon realised her kiss was not being returned, and vexation took control of her mind. Abruptly she drew away, and retreated silent and motionless to the corner of the carriage.

Darcy's face turned pale and his countenance betrayed his obvious disgust at her display of affection. But he said nothing, nor did he move one single bit from his place.

"Do not be afraid," she said ironically. "Look, I am not even trying to touch your sleeve."

He chuckled. "I am not afraid of you, Anne."

"Are you not?"

"What is it, Anne? What do you want?" Truth be told, what she wanted was obvious even for a blind man to see. Yet, Darcy could not consent to it, at least not without a fight.

"I know not what I want. Yet I can tell you what I do not want. Being like this is not what I want. Mama is going to die. I need you with me."

"Is that it? You kissed me because you are feeling lonely?"

"I just want us to be together."

"Anne, I am not going anywhere. There is no need to display feelings that you do not harbour. I have always been with you when you needed me, and this time is no different."

"I know."

"But...?"

"I have been thinking. I am much better now. Perchance I should... we should ..."

"Have children?" he said hopefully.

"No, of course not. You know that is not possible ... I merely want to be ... your wife."

Anne was mad if she thought Darcy would be willing to such sacrifice for nothing. The only thing that might have compelled him to agree to share his bed with her was the prospect of an heir. "I think we should look at reality, not dreams."

"I understand. I am not... like her."

"Her?"

"Miss Bennet. I know she and you ..."

"Miss Bennet is not my mistress, Anne. I have not known of her for three years."

"Who is your mistress, then?"

"Is it your idea I should have a mistress?"

"I know facts of life, Fitzwilliam. You are a man."

"I am not sure of that anymore," he said bitterly.

"Well, then? What say you? About us, I mean."

He looked at her in apprehension. Did she really mean this? "Is it not a bit late for that? Our being together might carry its consequences, Anne. Do you really want to risk your health bearing my child? Anne, you are already five and thirty," he reminded her. It was a low blow, but she was not giving him any other chance.

"True. But perchance you and I could ... I want ... somehow I want to be with you. Surely you must know... there are ways..."

Goodness, this could not be happening. No, no, no, this conversation was not actually taking place. Anne was not fumbling with connubial union. It was a nightmare. Soon he would wake up.

And yet, it was no nightmare, no awful dream from which he would wake up rather sweaty. No. Anne was definitely there, and she was definitely deciding to take their wedding vows to their fulfilment.

"You have become very dear to me, Darcy," she continued, "Once I thought you were leaving me. I thought you were going to her. Mama said ..."

"Anne ... Miss Bennet is not..."

She interrupted him. There was no way Darcy could persuade her that Elizabeth Bennet was not his mistress. She and her mother were already sure he was her lover, and there was no arguing with them. "I wish I could give you what she gives you ... what you want from a wife. Find a world where reality will not exist, where you and I could be happy."

Darcy felt his heart lurch. Poor Anne, poor old Anne. "My dear cousin ... where is that place? Is there anywhere any of us can be happy? "

"Have you not been happy behind the backs of the people who trust you?" She looked out of the window, contempt drawn on her face.

"Anne. It has been a long time since I have been happy, and it lasted a few minutes."

"Then you are at an advantage. I have never been happy. I know what it is like, for I have witnessed other people's happiness." She took a deep breath, tilted her head and said in a very low voice, "I think I ... love you."

He looked at her, dazed, as if looking at her for the first time in his life, and he felt sorry for her. There she was, a mouse of a woman, his wife, unsure of her own wishes, and now, to his chagrin, thinking herself in love with him. Darcy could sense she was merely jealous of Elizabeth's phantom.

Not for the shortest minute had Darcy ever thought Anne could care for him in that way. Was it possible that she had ... No. Anne had always hated him. She had made it very clear through her whimsicalities and anxieties, making his whole domestic life miserable. No, she was only a capricious woman, afraid of the future, too afraid to dare to live. Perhaps, what she confused with love was in fact women's pride.

"Anne, you do not really love me."

"I do not?"

"Please, Anne. What is this game?"

She did not answer, but shrugged while wrapping herself in the blanket and finding refuge in the farthest corner of the carriage. She closed her eyes and feigned to be asleep the rest of the journey.

He went back to his own corner facing her and stared blankly out of the window. ~ * ~

Elizabeth Bennet woke up in her usual bright mood in the guest room at her sister's house. Life at Netherfield Park would never be dull, and each morning presented a varied enough set of possibilities. Teaching her niece and nephew to play the pianoforte was one of them, and one that Elizabeth particularly enjoyed. When young Charles was busy with some manly instruction (he was only three years old), cushion embroidering and sewing was the very thing she would select to do while looking after her niece. Jane was too much entertained now with the twins, only seven months old, to pay much attention to her, and the little girl had become very attached to her aunt.

Reflecting on the past three years, Elizabeth could not deny she had to be thankful to Jane. After the scandalous conversation she had had with Lady Catherine, and the hearbreaking parting from Mr Darcy at the Gardiner's, her choices of dwelling had been reduced to Longbourn and Netherfield in a self-imposed exile. Although, as she removed herself from London, not a word regarding her stupendously daring night with Mr Darcy was ever heard of, she had aborted the idea of corresponding with Miss Darcy and decided never again to visit either London, Kent or Derbyshire. She could not risk seeing him again. The opprobrium would be unendurable. To her relief and personal well being, as Mr Darcy himself had told her, Lady Catherine would not divulge a word of her intelligence of the affair, had she the very proofs of their adulterous behaviour in her own hands. There was too much at stake to risk such a scandal, a considerable relief.

Free of such censure, Elizabeth led a passive life, helping her sister in her motherhood, as she had once foretold Jane, she would get married and have ten children while Elizabeth herself "...shall end an old maid and teach your children to embroider cushions and play their instruments very ill."

Spinterhood notwithstanding, (she would become six and twenty in a few months) Elizabeth's heart was firmly secured to Mr Darcy's. Though she had fled from him, she would not compleatly rupture the mystical union that tied her so fiercely to his memory, for every now and then, he would visit her in the latest hours in her bedchamber, in her dreams.

Such was the union of their souls, that many a time she had heard his voice in her slumber, softly purring her name in adoration while caressing her bosom, only to wake up all sweaty and alone in her bedchamber.

At church, once, the reading of a certain passage from Solomon's Songs, brought about memories of Mr Darcy's very words when assuring her of the constancy of his regard for her ... "Love is an eternal flame, the flame of God. No one can extinguish it once it has been lit..."

The flame of God ... May God spare me those flames...

Her misery was nearly making her ill.

The only moments when she forgot about her predicament, was the time she spent busy with Bingley's children. Hence, much of her time was thus employed.

She was once playing with little Caroline in her bedchamber at Longbourn, when she noticed the little girl's mouth was filled with something that was not food. Surely she had put a stray object into her mouth. Sensing the danger, she immediately kneeled in front of the girl and persuaded her to spit the object onto her hand. What her surprise must have been when she saw Colonel Fitzwilliam's engagement ring coming out of Caroline's mouth.

Prophetic?

Colonel Fitzwilliam had not counted on Napoleon's strength. At first his commission had merely entailed training soldiers. After the initial triumph of Napoleon's expulsion, the rest of the war had been of a tiresome political nature, and Fitzwilliam was ready to come back to the arms of his beloved Elizabeth within his first year of commission. Yet, news that Napoleon had escaped and was marching upon Paris with an army caused devastating consequences for Richard's return home. The Emperor's ability to gather forces was outstanding. From scarcely hundreds to hundreds of thousands, men eager to fight for Napoleon came from everywhere. Consequently, Richard was reassigned to the Cavalry, to the ardour of the battle, together with a handful of ten thousand British soldiers against two hundred thousand of the French Emperor.

The thunder of the cannon, the blood of the dying became commonplace to him, so much so that he soon stopped even noticing them. He was no longer cognisant of the wounded and, because he had not been injured, his return home became more and more dubious.

By the end of his third year on the Continent, Fitzwilliam had lost all hopes of happiness and matrimony. So much blood, so much suffering had turned him insensitive to such feelings. Was there a life, real life away from the battlefield? Could anyone ever be really happy after witnessing so much pain, so much young blood wasted in the gutters? The aftermath of the war with Napoleon had been terrible. Had he a right to claim felicity after all the sorrow he had seen?

The persistent hazards abroad took him to stay on the Continent until Wellington finally put an end to Napoleon at Waterloo. Hence, Fitzwilliam's commission there finished only when four years had past since he had seen England's white coasts last. During that interminable time, he had not been able to contact either his family or his secret fiancée, due to the terrible consequences of a long fight between the two nations.

Albeit unconditional to his duty, Fitzwilliam had never thought to remain on the Continent for so long. Hence, after the first year had past, he wheeled his mind to stop thinking of Elizabeth. Not that he had stopped loving her, but the iniquities that he had been compelled to witness during the war had hardened his heart to the point of making him cast aside even the purest notion, even love. With no news from him, within the second year he had concluded that it would be impossible for a young woman to hold to such an engagement. Before the last year of his commission, he had lost all hope and assumed (or rather persuaded himself for the sake of sanity) Elizabeth had married some country squire and would be surrounded by his progeny. Conversely, he had grown old, was unmarried and childless.

Upon his return to London, Fitzwilliam had schooled his mind to avoid all musing over Elizabeth Bennet, and although not one thought had he given her during the trip back, the minute he set foot in English land, only one name, and one face came to his mind.

Hers.

He had to to contact her immediately. With that purpose in mind, he purchased a horse and went to Longbourn directly.

It was early in the morning and Elizabeth had just returned from her morning stroll when she saw a man on horseback at Longbourn house. That must be the post. Surely there was a letter from Jane.

Jane and Charles had left to spend the winter season in London and they had taken Catherine with them, as they always do. So, Elizabeth hastily ran the rest of the way to the house, and with a breathless voice, asked Hill for the post. The servant soon handed her the missive. And she had the satisfaction of noticing her sister's neat handwriting on the envelope, her name clearly in black and white. She was no sooner in possession of it than, hurrying into the little copse, where she was least likely to be interrupted, she sat down on one of the benches, and prepared to be happy; for the length of the letter convinced her that it did not contain bad news.

Great was her surprise when she read the headings.

Dearest Sister,

I have something to tell you, some good news. In fact, due to your own reluctance to associate with certain people in London it might be bad to you. Indeed, I do not which ought to be called. At least I hope you consider good, and I almost can imagine your smile when reading it. I know there is only one subject on which we do not think alike. The Darcys. I also know you have many times advised Catherine against continuing with Georgiana Darcy's friendship, and I know it has to do with your own story with a certain gentleman, but something happened that will change Catherine's life for ever.

Oh Lord, this is Georgiana's doing!

The letter went on.

It is a very simple story. When we arrived to town five days ago, Charles wanted to call on Mr Darcy. Unfortunately, he found Mr Darcy and his wife had left London in haste. Apparently Lady Catherine is unwell. It is such a pity we missed him! It is at least three years since Charles has seen his good friend last. For some unknown reasons, they only keep contact through letters. The thing is that Georgiana Darcy had arrived in Town in haste after her brother's unexpected trip to Kent. So Charles invited her to join our party the same evening. We were going to the theatre and then to have dinner at home. The party consisted of our sister, Georgiana, and ourselves. But Georgiana asked Charles if she could bring her cousin with her. Charles thought it was a lady and readily agreed to it. Well, she came to the theatre with her two cousins, Miss Rebecca Ellison and her younger brother Edward. They are Lady Sarah's children, you know, a Fitzwilliam. Young Edward is a very intelligent man, full of life. After the theatre we all dined together and he talked to Catherine all night through.

It seems Mr Ellison had already been introduced to Catherine last winter by Miss Darcy, and they were secretly engaged. Well, in the course of that visit, he found an opportunity of speaking to Catherine; and certainly did not speak in vain. They agreed to marry within a week, for Mr Ellison had already purchased a special license (Papa will be surprised at such boldness, yet not unaccustomed, and I assume he will understand ). He came down yesterday and was with Charles this morning, immediately after breakfast to seek his favour. This is all I can relate of the how, where and when. Your little sister will give you the minute particulars, which only she can make, once you see her for the nuptials. However, I must add, that Mr Ellison's heart was very overflowing, and he did mention he would endeavour to call on Papa directly to ask for his permission. He has already written to him. Of course, Papa does not need to know Mr Ellison has already procured the special license, at least not from you.

Lizzy, my dearest, I know this situation might bring you uneasiness. It might be an evil to you, but you must consider it as what satisfies our sister. Our new brother is the best of men. He is rather young, I agree, but his good sense and good principles will delight you. As far as the man is concerned you could not wish Catherine to be in better hands. His rank in society is the best and his fortune, though not great, will suffice for them both.

The letter left Elizabeth very much disturbed. She had never been able to entrust to any of her sisters her reason for avoiding the Darcys or the Fitzwilliams. Because Charles was so fond of Mr Darcy, it had been a miracle their paths had not crossed before. She reckoned she had never expected Mr Darcy to take her pledge of avoiding each other so much to heart. All in all she was glad he had.

She wanted to look up and smile but she could not. Surely, Mr Darcy will be again a part of her life. He would be family! It was certain that it was his destiny to become her cousin in one way or other.

Scarcely had she dropped the letter when she heard the sound of a carriage at her door. On spying through the window, she saw the tall figure of a young man, whom she immediately surmised to be young Mr Ellison, alighting from it, followed by a footman and his personal valet. When he was introduced to her, before entering into the library to confer with Mr Bennet, Elizabeth immediately recognised he had Richard's airs and smart posture. He looked very much like him, though his hair was not blond, but auburn, and his eyes not blue, but hazel.

After Mr Ellison came out of the library, in the gayest and happiest of spirits, he was congratulated by Mrs Bennet. The young man then insisted that Mr and Mrs Bennet and Miss Bennet should accompany him to London, for he wanted to introduce his new relations to his family, before the nuptials. It was a great opportunity to make the journey in his carriage, for the road, he said, was in excellent condition, and he was sure, if they parted in haste, to be there at most late that same evening. He had purposely brought the barouche so that all of them would fit in comfortably.

Much as he should wish to, Mr Bennet found it impossible to fight such an enticing invitation, for his wife was already preparing a small trunk for the trip.

In the course of the week, scarcely a few days after she had arrived in London, Mrs Bennet got rid of the last, to her own estimation, of her marriageable daughters. With what delighted pride she afterwards talked of Mrs Ellison, might be guessed. Such a grand family! The grandson of an earl! Her Kitty had done what that headstrong Lizzy had failed to do twice, and even married from London! And such a beautiful gown she wore! What laces! What veils and carriages!

Elizabeth was relieved not to have seen Mr Darcy at the wedding, although she had been readying her spirit for the encounter. She was explained yet again, that Lady Catherine was unwell, and that the Darcys would stay at Rosings Park for the season.

Miss Darcy was Kitty's maid of honour, for Elizabeth had already been Jane's and Mary's (always the maiden of honour, never the bride). Albeit nervous, Miss Darcy was proud she had matched her cousin and her best friend so beautifully! And she had done it all alone!

"I wish Wills would have been able to come! Or Richard!" said Georgiana to Elizabeth after the ceremony.

"Still no news from the colonel?" asked Elizabeth.

"His regiment has already returned, but not him."

"Are you confident he is well?"

"I pray he is."

"That his name has never appeared among the casualties is very reassuring..."

"Indeed it is."

"So you do not expect your brother for the wedding breakfast either?"

"No. It is imperative that he should remain at Rosings Park. Lady Catherine's malady is extremely catching."

"I see."

"Elizabeth."

"Yes, Georgiana."

"I may sound impertinent, but...Would you not be angry with me if I asked you a question?" Elizabeth sensed the question had something to do with Darcy's not coming to the wedding. She suspected her young friend was aware of her feelings for her brother. Much as she would have wished to confide in someone, Elizabeth found it very difficult to trust such intimate part of her life with anyone. But... How much did the girl know about their affair?

"If your question involves your brother, I dare say I will."

"Very well, then. I shall remain silent."

"I thank you."

"Still, you must know that I love you both."

"I know, dearest. Pray, let us change the subject. What do you expect the wedding breakfast to begin?" And so the subject was quickly dropped.

Scarcely had the wedding breakfast begun when an express reached Georgiana from her brother at Rosings. It did not bare auspicious news.

On arriving at her maternal home, Anne rushed upstairs to her mother's bedchamber. Her husband lingered behind.

In the bedroom at Rosings Park, the servants were attending Lady Catherine. When the Lady saw her daughter in the corridor she cried out-

"Apoplexy ! I told them all it was just an excess of lamb meat. Dr. Drake acted most concerned and insisted on notifying everyone as if it were the reading of my will. But I shall not be treated like a corpse when I am hardly an invalid."

The servants proceeded to finish attending her, Anne following their movements closely behind, knowing too well what to expect from her mother's mental impairment. On noticing Darcy standing at the door, the old lady yelled for everyone to hear.

"You are very dear to come, nephew," her voice sarcastic. "But perhaps you only wanted to see what I had left you. Have you brought any of your bastards with you?"

"Mama, that is shocking!" reproached Anne.

The servants, in compleat silence, set Lady Catherine's medicines down on the bed table and quit the room.

"It was shock that did this to me," she continued in the same tone. "It is all due to your mistress, nephew. She came here last night, and she asked me. . ."

There she went again. Darcy rolled his eyes in preparation for a round of a madding speech about Miss Bennet coming to Rosings and abusing her. She had been having this frenzied confusion with Elizabeth ever since she and Elizabeth had had that heated argument in London. At first, Darcy found it preposterous. But then again, he got used to it. After all, it was all in the old woman's frantic mind.

As she talked, Darcy created the image in his mind. . . His mistress... Elizabeth ... How he wished it were truth!

Lady Catherine's delirium went on. "... she had the effrontery to tell me she loved you, 'I am not quitting him', she said. I said to her, 'Honour has always been honour, and honesty has always been honesty, in Rosings house, and will be till I am carried out feet first. I shall never permit your progeny to pollute the shades of Rosings ...'And then... if you can believe it... she said to me...'But I am a gentleman's daughter. We are equals!' And I said 'When my nephew covered you with jewels, he also covered you with shame!' "

Soon her mind abandoned the delirium and came back to normal. She forgot all about Miss Bennet and turned to explain what they should do at her funeral. Darcy sat down on the couch as Lady Catherine finished the story of her apoplexy.

"Now family will be arriving from all over, expecting a funeral unless you stop them in haste. I have heard dear Richard must have come back from France. I wish to see him before I go, so do not detain him. Send an express to Matlock, though. I do not wish my brother here. I do not know how many notes Ponsonby sent out."

"If there is any other way I can help. . ." Darcy started.

"Well, I need Mr Collins. I expressly asked for him. He is in Hertfordshire and his carriage broke down. If you could fetch him tomorrow ..."

Darcy froze. Hertfordshire. "Of course," he managed to say.

"There, you see, Mama. Fitzwilliam will see to it. Everything will be settled."

The following day, late in the afternoon, Darcy and Anne were alone in the library. Ultimately, Darcy found it very hard to find a moment on his own away from her, a moment of solitude. This short journey to Hertfordshire would do him good, although he knew perfectly well there was no real need for him to fetch the parson personally. Any servant would have sufficed ...

"Mama is not well. I can see it in her countenance."

"I shall talk to the Doctor before I leave. He would be able to be more specific as to what to expect."

"She is not recovered from her cold, yet. Do you think she will die? I do not want her to."

"Of course you do not," he said soothingly. Yet recollections of her unexpected responsiveness to his attentions made him tense, and he abandoned the tender tone of his treatment.

"I did not want to worry Mama. But how can you go to Hertfordshire and bring Mr Collins back if you have to go to Pemberley yourself tomorrow?"

"It is only fifty miles. And then again, I am not going to Pemberley. The case is off. Postponed. I received an express from my lawyer this morning."

"Postponed? How odd. Mama had a note from him this morning as well. He was concerned about her but he had to be away to Derbyshire. He was arguing a case for a tenant from the north before the Crown Court later this week. You said it was a tenant case, did you not?"

"Well, that is it. My lawyer will see to it. He decided to go to Pemberley himself and then back to London with him without me."

"Then 'tis not postponed?"

The blood rose in Darcy's face, "No. But my going is."

She went silent again. In the library Darcy selected a book and began reading while Anne played with her laces.

"Is it not Hertfordshire Miss Bennet's home?"

"I do not know. It was some years ago. But she might be married now," he said without raising his eyes from his book.

"No, she never got married."

He did not answer back.

"What are you reading?"

"Oh, a history."

"Why?"

"I do not know. Because I was bored," he said beginning to lose patience. Why would she not leave him alone?

"You used to read poetry," she said dreamily. "I should very much like if you read some to me."

Unable to contain himself any more, he got to his feet and dropped the stupid book. It was impossible to concentrate on reading with Anne insinuating to him. What did she mean with this tone of conversation? Since when had she noticed his taste in books? Poetry, indeed! He no longer had place for poetry in his life.

"I need some air." He went to the window and opened it and leaned out into the cold.

"Darcy! Close the window. It is freezing! You shall catch your death."

Now she is behaving like my mother. Catch my death. Indeed.

It was not possible for him to die. He was dead. He had been dead for years. Then it occurred to him that she might die. People did. Young, healthy people, did. Anne was not healthy. Yes, she might die, and set him free. Perchance if she got with child ... Goodness! He could not believe he had had such an awful thought.

Anne saw him looking at her.

"Darcy?"

Darcy felt terrible remorse. He walked to her and touched her head in a tender gesture. "Poor Anne," he said. "I shall never be able to open a window without worrying you."

When Fitzwilliam Darcy got into the Master's bedchamber at Rosings that night, he made a discovery of the most unsettling nature. The lock that had always forbidden him from entering the Mistress's bedchamber through the adjoining door had been removed. On noticing it, Darcy could scarcely find the courage to draw near the door.

What was the meaning of all this? Certainly he knew the meaning, yet he refused to comply. Suddenly his wife was trying to seduce him. He could not help feeling remorse at the moment of stupid weakness which had led him to hug her while riding to Rosings.

It had been compassion, pure compassion. Could she not tell the difference? Apparently she could not. Or she was reluctant to do so. All that talking about poetry. And her sudden interest in his health (it had been the first time Anne had not complained of some pain or other). Lord! How could he have been so careless?

Uppermost in his mind was now how he would manage to untangle himself from the web he himself had laid. For the only moment in which Darcy had considered the possibility of bedding his wife had been with the purpose of getting an heir for Pemberley. But then again, if she had died in a miscarriage, the burden of her death would be hanging over him, and he had not been willing to carry one weight more on his shoulders.

No, he would not bed Anne for a Kingdom. Anyway, he doubted his own ability to .. hmm ... pay the necessary compliments to her. Besides she was too old to bear a child, almost six and thirty, not to mention her abhorrence to gravity. No, their time has passed. Perchance if she had done this on their wedding night ...

He went into the dressing room, and he heard his valet preparing his hot bath. Oh, how much he needed one! On letting his body slip into the tub, he sighed heavily and allowed the pleasure of the warm water to envelop him, while his valet carried the heavy buckets to rinse his hair. He remained there, lingering in the bath until he felt a bit cold. In being handed over his robe he noticed a strange look upon the face of his valet.

"Is anything the matter, Ponsonby?"

"Nay, sir. Does the Master or the MISTRESS need anything?"

All the blood drained from Darcy's face, and his whole body, save one part which went intriguingly flat, went rigid. There was no need for the manservant to add a word. He had been in Darcy's service long enough to know that Mr and Mrs Darcy had never slept together. So the man's question meant only one thing. Mrs Darcy was in the Master's bed chamber. Or worse. She might be in his bed.

What to do? He could not simply get into bed and perform his duty, not with grey, mousy, flat Anne.

Neither could he ask her what she wanted. It would be ungentlemanly of him, let alone rude.

A crazy idea suddenly flashed his mind. Would it be feasible to make love to one woman, thinking of another? He thought he could extinguish the candles, and ask her to wear some rose perfume. Then he could close his eyes and see what happened.

His valet was still waiting for his answer.

"Yes. Could you, please, bring some roses from the green house? And put them in a vase on the bed table. Ah, and some orange squash."

"Of course, sir."

When Darcy stepped into the bedchamber he found his wife (thanks goodness still dressed), standing in the doorway, staring at him.

Hewas a vision for her eyes. His tall, slim figure looked so very alluring in the scarce concealment of his robe (she knew he was not wearing anything underneath). His bare feet she had seldom seen a long time ago, when they were still children. His neck was for her to admire, and under the robe she could guess at the hair on his chest.

"Come in, Anne. You are most... welcome," he said rather gravely and uninvitingly. As he sat on his bed, he continued to dry his damp hair with a towel.

"I was not informed you were in your toilet," she began apologetically, her eyes firmly stuck to the floor. "I did not mean to intrude."

"Not at all. I understand a wife has a right to her husband's sleeping quarters." He said in resignation.

She tilted her head and smiled. Indeed.

She did not say a word, but kept staring at her husband, a certain part of his body below the waist becoming the object of her attention. Soft waves of excitement began to envelop her as she witnessed how his movements displayed the firmness of the muscles of his thighs, and she felt an urgent need to run to him and disrobe him to see what he concealed under the silky gown. Still, she kept her distance, and waited for him to continue with the conversation.

Darcy took for granted that she was not there for his arts as a conversationalist. She was obviously looking for more active exertions. "Are you going to have your bath now? Or do you wish to ... talk first?" Lord, let her go and spare me this...

She took a deep breath and looked around. "I think I shall have my bath. Can I come later to... talk with you? I ..."

Good Lord, this will be difficult. Pray, make her change her mind, make her..."Of course," he cut her short. "I shall be waiting."

Anne's heart began to race, her eyes sparkled with excitement. "I shall not be long." Suddenly she felt young and beautiful, and healthy. She wheeled around and almost ran into her chamber.

"Anne?"

"Yes?"

"Can you wear some rose water for me?"

"Rose water?"

"Yes, in your hair. I find rose water ..."

"I will." And she disappeared behind the door.

There was a knock at his door, and the manservant entered with the orange squash and the roses. To a signal from Darcy, he handed his master the first and placed the latter on the bed table before exiting the room.

Darcy blew out all the candles, took off his robe and climbed into his bed. He was terribly nervous. Would his little trick work? He prayed it would, otherwise he would find himself in a terrible predicament.

Alone in his bed, and in the silence of the house he could hear Anne in her preparation for her bath. The crisping sound of the wood burning in the fireplace, and the penetrating scent emanating from the roses, began to elicit sweet memories of Elizabeth abed in his house in London. He could picture her, gently purring his name as he caressed her body, kissing her lips once, twice, until he lost count. Ever so slowly, he felt the blood abandoning his brain and concentrating in his loins. Yes, he could almost see her. Round, white breasts corolled with perfect, pert nipples, soft, hot skin, such very inviting lips and her gentle rippling under his weight. Goodness that was working! His pride was almost the size of a mast. He felt it with his hand and grabbed it to feel the result.

On closing his eyes, Elizabeth was back with him. Yes, she was atop him, and he was nuzzling his face against her bosom as she went up and down on his shaft. It was deliriously delicious.

"Lizzy, my love," he muttered to no one. Such was his blissful fancy, that he quickly forgot he was waiting for his wife. The scent of the roses was the greatest aphrodisiac he could have ever thought of, and his vivid imagination, together with his persistent grip on his manhood would soon take him to the point of no return.

Just then Anne opened the adjoining door. She was holding an oil lamp, making her look like a ghostly apparition, gently glowing as she walked into the room. Startled, Darcy squinted at her.

"Anne!"

Anne looked at him with round, amazed eyes. What she was beholding disabled all her courageous enthusiasm. "What is that?" she asked in alarm, the conspicuous bulk between his legs that had not been there on occasion of her inspection of his groins, but that now could be easily perceived under the pristine sheets, evidently disturbing her sensibilities.

Darcy followed her eyes to the part of his body that had caused such frightful reaction in his wife. Was he abnormal? " 'Tis ... me," he tried to explain. It was a difficult thing to describe to a lady.

"You?"

Was she not expecting this? Lord, perhaps she did mean she wished to talk!"Yes, 'tis only me."

Anne could not tear her eyes from the surprising size of his ardour. "I ... I ... I came to tell you that ... something unexpected happened. I cannot ... talk with you tonight. I am sorry."

Darcy could see she was not feeling well, and judging from the direction of her gaze it soon dawned on him the real cause for her affliction. In fact her complexion was paler than usual, which was saying a lot. He could not believe his luck. "Are you unwell?"

He wrapped the sheet around him and, throwing the excess of the cloth over his shoulder, he rose from bed and walked up to her, looking very much like a Roman in his toga.

Anne's eyes were still focused on his prominent swell she was sure was still pointing at her from under the sheet.

"Indeed I am ...will you pardon me? May be we can talk in the morning?" she said hesitantly stepping slowly back.

"Yes, of course."

"I thank you," she said in haste, not sure what she was thankful for. "Good night."

"Good night."

She was gone.

Darcy, if a bit puzzled, was incredibly relieved. His wife's unexpected reticence for more intimacy could not have been more timely.

He went up to his bed and sank into it. As he dropped his head onto the pillow, he sighed "Oh , that was close! Dear God. Thank you," he prayed in earnest. "Thank you."

The next morning, Darcy was readying things to travel to Hertfordshire when he received an express apprising him of the nuptials of his cousin, Mr Edward Ellison. On reading the name of the bride, his heart sank. He knew there was no point in his going to Hertfordshire any longer. The parson would have to travel by post. The real inducement had lain in the possibility, the remote possibility of seeing Miss Bennet. The mere thought of stepping on the same soil she was constantly walking on, had been incredibly exciting. He had never, not one day, stopped thinking of her. But now, Miss Bennet must be in London, at her sister's wedding. He had been invited to go too, but under the present circumstances it would be impossible to attend it.

He was talking to the groom to cancel his trip, when Anne interrupted him. "There is no need for you to go to Hertfordshire, now." Then, sniffing profoundly she announced, "Mama is dead."

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