In Loving Memory

"… as we know none of the particulars, it is not fair to condemn him. It is not to be supposed that there was much affection in the case.

"That is not an unnatural surmise," said Fitzwilliam, "but it is lessening the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly."

This was spoken jestingly, but it appeared to her so just a picture of Mr. Darcy, that she would not trust herself with an answer, and, therefore, abruptly changing the conversation, talked on indifferent matters till they reached the parsonage.

[Pride & Prejudice, volume II chapter 10]

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Chapter One

Once Colonel Fitzwilliam had bid her farewell and turned away, Elizabeth ran inside the parsonage and hurried up the stairs to her room. Closing her door quietly, she threw herself back onto the bed and stared silently at the cracks in the ceiling as she reviewed their conversation, but found after only ten minutes that her growing agitation had brought on a headache.

Elizabeth felt confined inside her bedroom, and she longed to take a deep breath of the cool spring air. Discontented, she stood and looked out of her chamber window. Perhaps what she most needed was another walk—alone this time—while the weather still held fair. Absentmindedly, she picked up the letters Jane had written to her since she arrived at Hunsford, and deposited them in her reticule so she could study them again later. Elizabeth needed some quiet time alone to reflect on everything she had heard of Mr. Darcy's unjust actions against his friend and her most dear sister. Although the Colonel had not actually mentioned any names during their earlier conversation, would any other two people fit the description so readily?

As she was leaving the Parsonage, she met Charlotte coming in from the garden with a basket of fresh-cut flowers over her arm. "Did I see you walking with Colonel Fitzwilliam earlier?"

"Yes. We met as he was making a tour of the park and he accompanied me home."

Charlotte smiled. "I do find him a most pleasant gentleman, Eliza. Do not you?" She paused to study Elizabeth. "You look a little pale, dear. Are you feeling well?"

"'Tis simply a headache, Charlotte. I need only peace and fresh air to clear my head. I thought I might walk out again."

Charlotte turned to her with surprise. "Again? I do not know how you have the energy for so many walks! Please do not forget we are engaged to drink tea with Lady Catherine later this afternoon; Mr. Collins frets so if we are late!" She smiled to soften her words. "You should limit yourself to the lane, or the grove; I fear the grey clouds on the horizon may curtail your enjoyment of the park soon enough."

Elizabeth looked in the indicated direction. The darkening sky was still quite a distance on the far side of the Parsonage and she assured her friend that she intended to return well before the rain arrived, and certainly in plenty of time to dress for their visit to Rosings.

"Perhaps you may meet Mr. Darcy in the grove?" Charlotte added, with a knowing look.

"I hope not," Elizabeth muttered under her breath as she passed the gatepost.

Elizabeth walked confidently into Rosings Park, her spirits lifting and the tightness in her head fading as she strolled under the boughs, where the bright green hues of new growth dappled the trees. A patch of bluebells in the grove drew her attention—their delicate heads nodding in the breeze—and she plucked one of the stems, rolling it lazily between her fingers as she walked, making the fragile blue bell dance. Since hearing the Colonel's tale of his cousin’s interference, she was determined that she particularly did not want to meet Mr. Darcy today and, consequently, Elizabeth left the grove quickly and set out in a different direction across to the far side of Rosings Park.

She reflected on the mischance that brought Mr. Darcy into this part of Kent at this particular time; he who was the cause of all that Jane had suffered, and continued to suffer. The man who could not look at her without seeing some fault. Elizabeth removed Jane's letters from her reticule and read them all, one by one, searching for any sign of her sufferings. Although they bore no actual complaints, there was a general air of uneasiness, and a want of cheerfulness that used to characterize her style. As she walked through the park, her mind was wandering through a different landscape, filled with concern for her beloved sister.

Her thoughts returned frequently to her conversation with Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the information that gentleman had inadvertantly revealed. "Strong objections against the lady..." Elizabeth was indignant. How could there be any objections to Jane? All loveliness and goodness she was; her understanding excellent, her mind improved, and her manners captivating. The idea that anyone might have objections against Jane was intolerable!

Elizabeth paused a moment to attend to her location. Her way forwards was blocked by a clipped hedge. She had to make a decision whether to walk towards Rosings house or away from it. She chose to follow the path away from the house and, once her decision was made, she sank back into her musings, unusually ignorant of the bursting buds and blossom surrounding her.

The main objections can only be to Jane's family—her family—most likely because one Uncle was a country attorney, while the other was in trade in London. When her thoughts trailed to her mother and younger sisters, and even her beloved father, Elizabeth's mind could not help but return to the night of the Netherfield Ball, where their behaviour could not be said to be 'beyond reproach'. In fact, she reflected ironically, her family could not have conspired to be more embarrassing had they planned it between themselves for a whole se'night beforehand.

She reasoned that Mr. Darcy was probably thinking of Mr. Bingley as a potential brother-in-law, a suitable match for his own sister. That consideration would have coloured any decisions he made to 'help' his friend avoid an unfortunate association. She did wonder briefly how much Mr. Darcy's particular dislike of her had added to his action. Could he have discouraged an attachment between Bingley and Jane because of something she had said—or done—while they were in Hertfordshire?

Had she contributed to Jane's unhappiness by her unguarded comments to Mr. Bingley's friend?

Her thoughts continued in this agitated manner for some time, and her mind was so preoccupied that the first drops of rain falling onto Jane's letters were quite unexpected. Elizabeth glanced at the sky and was dismayed to see that the dark clouds which earlier had seemed so far away had caught her completely unawares. She looked about in alarm, trying to get her bearings, searching for any familiar landmark, but could see nothing in the scenery that showed where she might be in relation to the house or the Parsonage. Rebuking herself for her inattention, she ran through a break in the hedge as the heavens opened and, searching quickly, noted what looked like a shelter of some kind surrounded by a circle of apple trees a short distance away. She ran directly towards it.

Under the circumstances, Elizabeth would have been happy with a woodshed, but her salvation revealed itself as a folly, built in the style of an ancient temple, and sheathed in smooth white marble. The finely carved columns around the outside gave their support to a domed roof, whose shelter Elizabeth was more than grateful to reach, and she soon stood under its protection while watching the April shower fall around her. "I hope this rain does not last too long. Poor Charlotte will suffer all the agonies of her dear husband if I am late!" She was temporarily amused at the vision before her of an angry and flustered Mr Collins fussing over her delinquent behaviour like an old mother hen.

Looking around the structure, she counted ten evenly spaced columns supporting a covered walkway, which surrounded a central room. She entered it through an ornately carved opening, and glanced around the interior. Daylight filtered through holes high up in the walls, and a small statue of a female figure on a plinth stood proudly opposite the doorway. It was no warmer inside, but it was quite dry.

As she turned to step back through the entrance Elizabeth's eyes followed a tree-lined avenue leading down from the temple, which looked across the park towards Rosings She could just make out the grand house through the rain. Sighing deeply, Elizabeth looked down at her clothes. Luckily, she had reached cover before getting soaked; her dress and spencer were only a little damp, and her gloves were hardly wet at all. Jane's letters had fared slightly worse—although they were not ruined beyond hope—and she returned them to the bag to avoid further damage.

Elizabeth walked around the temple and considered that it was a true folly, being rarely used, if ever. It must be a delightful spot for a picnic, she thought, sheltered as it was within the ring of white blossomed apple trees, and she spent a happy time picturing the grove filled with her friends and family, and imagining them to be having a wonderful time. Kitty and Lydia would enjoy running between the trees, Jane would sit with her on the grass, basking in the sunshine, while Mary would no doubt read her book in the shade of the temple chamber.

She could not imagine Lady Catherine and her family doing the same.

How typical, thought Elizabeth, to spend all this money on the fashionable trappings of wealth without gaining any benefit from it. She even spared a brief thought for Miss de Bourgh, and considered how much improved her health might be by the fresh air and exercise, until it occurred to Elizabeth how she was unlikely to reach it unless Lady Catherine was prepared to allow her equipage to drive over the carefully tended grounds.

These agreeable thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a horse coming from somewhere behind her, and she moved to the edge of the shelter wondering who might be foolish enough to be out on horseback in this terrible weather.

The rider slowed their horse and turned it towards her before she recognised him. The sleek black gelding snorted as he swung his leg over the rump of the horse and dismounted, allowing the reins to drop carelessly before walking towards her. Once under shelter he removed his hat and sketched a quick bow, which she acknowledged.

"Miss Bennet! I did not expect to encounter anyone else in this weather."

"Mr. Darcy! I am afraid the rain caught me somewhat by surprise. I was immersed in reading my correspondence and was not aware of the approaching storm." Elizabeth would rather die than admit she had been warned of the storm by Mrs. Collins and had chosen to disregard those warnings. She smiled insincerely, her brow arched, "I might ask why you would choose to ride in the rain this afternoon Mr. Darcy?"

"The journey was not of my choosing, Miss Bennet. I have been visiting one of Lady Catherine's tenants on the other side of the park, at her request …"—he indicated the direction he had come from—"... and did not meet the worsening weather until I was already on my way back." He removed his sodden riding gloves, tugging one finger at a time until they came free. With one hand he squeezed the leather to remove the worst of the water before dropping them in his hat, which had fared no better. She noted the rainwater dripping from the hem of his great coat onto the floor, and thought that it could not have happened to a more deserving person.

Elizabeth turned away from him to hide the smile growing on her face and stared instead towards Rosings and the rain. There did not seem to be any signs of it stopping, and now what had been her sanctuary from the weather had become purgatory in the company of Mr. Darcy. The wind had increased and the trees were swaying with its force, while the rain was, if anything, getting heavier. Her companion interrupted her thoughts.

"I understood that you normally walked in the grove by the lane, Miss Bennet. Do you intend to extend your walks further into the park in future?"

Her response to his question was polite and non-committal. She sighed as she realised that there was no getting away from him any time soon. She just had to hope that being in her company for any length of time would be too much for him to bear, and he would choose to continue his journey.

Swiftly, and for no reason other than his presence, the anger she had banked against him during the earlier perusal of her sister’s letters raged into life with full force. Her mind no longer saw the rain or the distant view of Rosings, but instead replayed images of Mr. Darcy's disdain and indifference, followed swiftly by the memory of their first acquaintance at the Meryton assembly, and his comment to Mr. Bingley that she was “not handsome enough to tempt me”.

Although she had later joked about the comment with Charlotte, her pride had been deeply hurt by his words, and she had never been able to completely dismiss them.

She added fuel to the fire of her anger with memories of the suffering Mr. Wickham had often spoken about and of the pain in her sister’s eyes at the departure of Mr. Bingley. She stole a glance at the cause of these miseries and realised he was staring at her, his contempt and disdain evident in his gaze.

She could not stay here regardless of the rain. Somehow she had to leave the shelter of the temple and return to the Parsonage.

The thought of remaining in Mr. Darcy's company was intolerable.

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During this time, Mr. Darcy's thoughts had been more agreeably engaged. He had been surprised to find Miss Bennet in this part of the garden, as he knew her favourite walks were to be found in the grove out on the other side of the park. He endeavoured to meet her there whenever he was able. In truth, he could hardly stay away.

As he straightened from his bow he noted absently how her eyes were once more brightened by the fresh air and exercise—just as he remembered from her visit to Netherfield—and how the cold weather had brought a most becoming pink tinge to her cheeks. In her hand she held a single bluebell, now bedraggled by the rain, which she twirled nervously between her fingertips.

Elizabeth turned away from him, and he heard a sigh escape from her lips. Was she as pleased to see him as he was to see her? He did not know what he had done to deserve this fortuitous event, but he thanked God for it, and was prepared to make the most of the opportunity.

After all the sleepless nights he had endured since leaving Netherfield with Bingley, and the uncountable arguments with himself over the inferiority of her family and position—not to mention what his family would say of his choice of wife—he decided at that moment that he could not imagine his life without her. Her wit and charm he found engaging; her concern for her sister at Netherfield had been admirable; her love and appreciation of the countryside was heart-warming.

Elizabeth Bennet was in every way perfect to be the new Mistress of Pemberley.

By some miracle she was here with him, and they were alone. He fully expected that by the time the rain stopped, they would have reached an understanding and he would be the happiest man in the world.

She had to know how much he admired and loved her. He could not waste another moment in telling her of his feelings.

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Chapter Two.

Darcy barely remembered his short ride through the driving rain to the stables. After he had taken leave of Miss Bennet—in the bitterest of spirits—he could not trust himself to look back at her. His anger at her scornful rejection had flared before he even reached his horse, and his building resentment had warmed him like a hot coal as the weather deteriorated. The Master of Pemberley was little used to refusal, and the manner of her refusal in particular sat very ill with him.

Leaving his horse in the care of a stable boy he strode purposefully into the house. To all outward appearances, Fitzwilliam Darcy's stern countenance and composure was the same as always; inwardly, he was twisted with humiliation.

In one of the hallways he interrupted the flight to his chamber as he came across Mrs Maltby, the imposing housekeeper at Rosings. Mrs Maltby was a large and friendly woman with a cheerful disposition, who had known Mr. Darcy for most of his life, and she always fussed over him during visits to his Aunt. Darcy had often wondered how someone so different in temperament from Aunt Catherine could fit so well into the household, but she did.

"Mr. Darcy, you are soaked to the skin, sir! Where have you been to get so wet?"

Darcy inhaled deeply to compose his mind and his features before he acknowledged Mrs Maltby's question. "I have been visiting Banks' farm, on business for Lady Catherine." She nodded briskly in acknowledgement and he quickly changed the subject to forestall any further questions, "Mrs Maltby, could you arrange for a bath to be sent up?"

"Certainly, sir," she replied with an indulgent smile. "I saw Mr. Marriott down near the kitchens only a few minutes ago. I'll send him straight to you and get the boys to bring up the water as soon as it's ready." He gave his grateful thanks and continued, almost unconsciously, through the house and up the stairs to his chamber.

Once inside his own suite he relaxed the grip he held on himself as he dropped his wet coat and hat onto a chair in the corner. He sat down in another and pulled off his boots; not wanting to wait for his man to arrive. Tugging at his neck-cloth to remove the constriction around his neck he dropped it unceremoniously on the table before he stood and walked across the room to the window. His reflection stared solemnly back at him.

The turmoil and discord created in his mind by her refusal of his hand caused a litany of her rejections to flow through him. "I have never desired your good opinion." … his image in the glass winced at her remembered words …" I have every reason in the world to think ill of you"… How could he have read the signs all wrong?

Ever since her stay at Bingley's house he had assumed Miss Elizabeth Bennet to be hoping for his attentions Did not every woman he met want his approbation? What of their lively debates at Netherfield? Why would she try so hard to gain his notice in that manner if she truly thought him so dreadful? He was certainly attracted to her witty repartee, which had shown off her intelligence to good advantage and left him totally beguiled. Why would she bait him so if she did not want to land her catch? "Enough man!" he chided himself, violently. "Do not torment yourself further!"

The rain outside had finally stopped, and for a moment Darcy imagined her huddled form as she made her way back across the park to the Parsonage, now that she could do so without getting wet. He wondered if he would see her tonight when the parson and his party came to visit his Aunt. Would he be able to face her, or should he make some excuse and stay away? Whatever happened tonight, he would definitely travel back to town with his cousin in the morning, and try to forget. He laughed derisively at his own inanity. Forget Miss Bennet? Well … perhaps not.

Noises in the dressing room roused him from his anguished study, and his valet quietly padded through the door, collecting the discarded clothes and confirming that his bath was ready. Darcy realised he was still soaked from the ride, and there would be no benefit in catching a chill. His busy life and heavy responsibilities made no allowances for illness.

While warming himself in the water, the inner criticisms from Miss Bennet continued unabated … "do you think that any consideration would tempt me?" He tried to stop himself reliving it, but it was like an itching scab─something he was unconsciously drawn to. "Ruining the happiness of a most beloved sister"... "no motive can excuse" … Darcy remembered how he had tried to make excuses for his behaviour He had believed himself to be helping Bingley, and had considered that Charles might thank him for it one day. At the time he was confident he had read the situation correctly, but something she had said this afternoon made him doubt his convictions. "Involving them both in misery of the acutest kind" …

"Oh, dear God!" whispered Darcy with some anguish, finally realising the import of her words. "What have I done?"

Sometime later Marriott returned to the room with towels and robe, and assisted his master to dress. Once Darcy was alone again, with no occupation to distract him, his features, carefully composed in the company of his valet, crumbled under the onslaught as he struggled to drag his thoughts away from his disastrous proposal. "Long before it had taken place my opinion of you was decided." Darcy wondered how he could have been so blind How could he not see the way she truly felt about him? And he had thought that she was expecting his offer! … "Your character was unfolded in the recital which I received many months ago from Mr. Wickham. …you have withheld the advantages, which you must know to have been designed for him."

"Damn you, Wickham," Darcy snarled through gritted teeth. That man had been a thorn in his side for far too long. How could he have been so naïve to think that Wickham would not relish the opportunity to tell all and sundry his pathetic story—however fanciful the rendition may be. If Wickham only realised just what his lies had achieved, he would be heartily pleased with himself.

Darcy found himself by the window again; a favourite spot for contemplation and a habit unconsciously inherited from his father. "I have to explain," he thought aloud to the empty room. "But how …?" A letter … of course! Darcy knew that he would never be in a position to send a personal letter to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, as much as he would like to exercise that prerogative, but certainly a written explanation of the reasons behind his decision to protect Bingley was required. He needed to make it clear that only the thought of indifference on the part of her sister was the driving force behind his behaviour. It would also give him the opportunity to refute her allegations regarding Wickham … but why would she believe him? He quickly came to a decision; he must divulge everything. Regardless of her feelings for him, he knew he could still trust her implicitly, even with the terrible truth of the events at Ramsgate.

Would she read any letter I gave her? Although he could think of many reasons why she would not, he believed in his soul that her goodness and strong sense of justice would allow him to plead his case. Whether she believed him or not would be something he had no control over. He could not make her believe him—as he arranged everything else in his life—and he certainly could not arrange for her to love him; that was painfully obvious.

He moved to his desk and laid out paper, pen, and ink. Although he did not believe that anything could change the lady's mind regarding his proposal … "you could not have made me the offer of your hand in any possible way "… he could acquit himself of her criticisms regarding that scoundrel Wickham, and perhaps someday she may come to think less ill of him.

He paused with his pen hovering over the blank sheet, rehearsing some lines in his head. He wrote a few sentences and stared at them; reading them over before crumpling the sheet in frustration and throwing it to one side. He would have to start by making it clear that he would not repeat the offer she had found so offensive, or she might not continue reading. He hesitated once more before setting his pen to paper.

Be not alarmed, Madam, on receiving this letter, by the apprehension of it containing any repetition of those sentiments, or renewal of those offers which were this afternoon so disgusting to you.

He read his first sentence and was satisfied with the start. He now had to draft a convincing defence of her allegations. He sighed deeply and settled himself into his chair, happy to spend the whole evening if necessary getting it right.

Darcy was still at his desk an hour later when there was a knock on his door and in walked his cousin.

"Come on, man, get your coat!"

Darcy stole a glance through the window at the fast approaching dusk. "Where are we going?"

"To join the search!" replied his cousin with surprise. "Aunt Catherine seems not to care where Miss Bennet might be, but Mrs Collins is beside herself with worry."

"Miss Bennet is missing?" Darcy was not sure he had understood. "Is she not at the Parsonage?"

"No. Do not you know? No one has seen her since she left earlier today to go out for a walk. Mrs Collins mentioned that she complained of a head-ache and went to walk it off."

Darcy placed the still unfinished letter in his desk drawer and locked it, before he rang the bell. By the time he turned to face his cousin, his face was once more an inscrutable mask. "I saw Miss Bennet earlier, in the park. She was sheltering from the rain in the temple." He tried to speak evenly to disguise his turmoil over the results of that unfortunate meeting.

"Ha!" the Colonel responded with amusement. "At least somebody found a use for that monstrosity. I cannot understand why Sir Lewis went to the trouble of ordering it."

"If you were married to Aunt Catherine, would not you give her anything she desired … to live a quiet life?"

Fitzwilliam nodded his head. "Point made."

Marriott was obviously well aware of his master's needs, as he carried a dry coat for his master, and was already dressed warmly for the search himself. "Mr. Darcy, sir, the men are gathered in the stable-yard. Mrs Maltby is readying the torches."

"Let's get on with it then."

As they reached the ground floor, Darcy could hear his Aunt loudly voicing her opinions through the partially open doors of the drawing room, and Mr. Collins' obsequious apologies for the tardy behaviour of Miss Bennet, and the trouble she had caused to Lady Catherine's household. However much he would have liked to take issue with Collins over his fawning comments, now was not the time.

The yard was already swarming with men and boys: footmen, coachmen, stable boys and the whole garden staff. Even Mr. Goodwin, Lady Catherine's butler, was quietly making arrangements in the centre of the assembly. He looked up when Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy arrived, and conferred with them both about the search. The Colonel made a few suggestions, explaining where Miss Bennet had last been seen, and the most likely route she could have taken back to the Collins' house, before the groups were ordered out into the park.

Darcy and Fitzwilliam mounted their horses and rode directly towards the small temple to take up the search from there.

After establishing that she was not in or around the area of their earlier conversation, Darcy directed his horse in the general direction of the Parsonage, hoping to find Miss Bennet quickly. However, they arrived at Mr. & Mrs Collins' residence having seen no one, and, upon receiving confirmation from the maid that she was still not yet returned, they turned back into the park to continue searching.

The two men on horseback moved steadily over the grounds, coming across the pairs of men and boys as they continued their search. Darcy felt a growing discomfort in the pit of his stomach. It was the same feeling of dread he had suffered as a child while he sat in the cold grey hallway, waiting for his father to utter those final words, telling him his mother had passed.

Rosings boasted a large, landscaped park, with many trees and large evergreen bushes, whose dense foliage frequently obscured their view. He began to wonder whether Miss Bennet had run away so she could avoid seeing him that night. Meanwhile, the search continued.

About an hour after they had begun, a series of long whistles pierced the night; a pre-arranged sign that they had found their objective. Both Darcy and his cousin made straight for the sound without discussion, and came across Mr. Goodwin with one of the young boys from the house. Darcy jumped from his horse as soon as he reached them, dropping the reins and letting his animal wander. Mr. Goodwin bent to walk under the dense low lying branches of an elderly hawthorn tree and motioned Darcy to follow.

"Elizabeth!" He hardly realised he had spoken aloud; such was his shock at seeing her lying under the tree. Darcy fell on his knees by her side and gently lifted her head into his arms. Her clothes were soaked through and her chestnut curls were plastered to her face. Using his free hand he pulled at the ribbons to remove her bonnet and moved her wet hair back from her forehead to uncover a large abrasion over her left eye. He bent his head over her mouth to check whether she was breathing, but he could not tell. With some trepidation he removed his gloves and gently touched his fingers to the soft skin of her neck, just below her ear, and was rewarded with a fluttering pulse; barely perceptible, but there all the same.

Fitzwilliam crouched beside him. "Darcy, is she ….?" he faltered and looked to his cousin.

"She lives." Darcy sighed with evident relief. He looked up at the butler, standing nearby. "Mr. Goodwin, please send a message to Mrs Maltby to have a room prepared."

"I've already sent young Tom off with instructions, sir. Would you like me to call the cart?"

"No. I will carry Miss Bennet back to the house." He looked up at his cousin, who was studying him carefully. "Can you grab Caesar and return him to the stables for me?"

"Yes, of course. But I'll walk with you until you reach the house, in case you get tired and need a hand."

Darcy gently manoeuvred his other arm under Elizabeth's legs, and stood carefully. Once out from under the overhanging branches he straightened his back and settled his charge more comfortably in his arms, with her head resting on his shoulder. All the remnants of his anger at her rejection had melted at the sight of her. His relief that she was found safe warmed his heart, and he had to concentrate hard on watching his steps rather than gazing down into her beautiful face, serene in its sleep.

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Chapter Three.

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam could not suppress his astonishment at everything that had happened in only one day. Thursday had started fair, with a walk around the park; something he tried to do every year when he visited his Aunt. He had been pleasantly surprised to meet Miss Bennet during his walk, and had been more than happy to escort her back to the Parsonage. He considered Mrs Collins' friend to be a pleasant young lady, with lively conversation, who had made his visit to Rosings this year much more bearable.

The Colonel reflected on the moment, earlier in the evening, when he and his cousin had reached Mr. Goodwin; and particularly the expression he had seen stamped on Darcy's face when he saw Miss Bennet lying on the ground. Darcy had rushed towards her, calling her name in such an agitated manner that Richard had been stunned by his uncommon behaviour.

He had watched Darcy closely as he carried Miss Bennet to safety, concerned by the range of emotions that had clearly played across his face. Richard was not known for being observant of other peoples feelings─at least so his mother often told him─but seeing any emotion on his cousin’s face was unusual. The look that particularly had him worried was guilt.

What reason would Darcy have for feeling guilty over Miss Bennet's condition?

When the patient had been carried into the house she had briefly come to, but appeared confused and listless. Mrs Maltby had examined the pale girl herself, and her worried expression had concerned him more than he had wanted to admit. A warm bath had been ordered, and Mr Ruskin was sent for with some haste.

Richard then recalled the conversation in Darcy's room earlier that afternoon. His cousin had readily admitted seeing her in the park. Had Darcy done more than just notice her as he passed by on this way home? Had he stopped and spoke to her? Richard had caught sight of the bump on her head and had seen similar wounds before. Could Darcy have done that? Richard pushed away that thought quickly. He knew his cousin better than he knew his own brother, and he was almost positive that Darcy did not have it in him to hurt a woman. But if that was the case, why would he feel guilty?

After leaving Miss Bennet in the care of the Housekeeper, Darcy mentioned having some letters to write; including one to Dr. Hall, his good friend and personal Physician, who he wanted to invite to Rosings. Richard had not pressed him on his reasons for writing to the doctor, as he had his own errand to run. He needed to retrieve the Rector's wife from his Aunt in the drawing room so she could visit her friend.

Mrs Collins was relieved and pleased to receive the Colonel’s summons, and he took her through the house and down a wide corridor mainly used by the servants. Richard explained that Mrs Maltby had decided to put Elizabeth in Mrs Jenkinson's set of rooms─being easily accessible to visitors without intruding on Lady Catherine's privacy. Anne's companion had been moved to a guest room upstairs. As they walked towards the door the housekeeper was just leaving the room, and she smiled at the pair in welcome.

"Mrs Maltby. How is Miss Bennet?"

"She's warmer and dryer than she was, sir, but that's about as much as I can do until the Apothecary arrives." She turned to Mrs Collins with concern. "She looks a strong girl and is a good walker – or so I've been told. She was so cold and wet when she arrived, but she seems a little better now. I think she'll survive the weather well enough; it's the knock on the head that has me worried. I expect once Mr Ruskin arrives we'll know more."

"Mr. Darcy is writing to his own physician in London. I assume he will ask him to come down and examine Miss Bennet," added the Colonel. Both Mrs Collins and Mrs Maltby looked surprised at this pronouncement, but all he could do was shrug his shoulders in answer to their unspoken questions.

"I would like to sit with her, if I can?"

"Yes, of course, Mrs Collins, come through." Mrs Maltby showed her into the suite, dismissing Richard with a perfunctory curtsey.

Richard wandered through the house looking for Darcy. The direction his thoughts were taking had made him very uncomfortable, and he needed to question his cousin more closely about his meeting with Miss Bennet. He looked in the library, where his cousin often composed his letters of business, but it was empty. He ran up the stairs and along the corridor until he found himself outside Darcy's chambers, and knocked smartly on the door before letting himself in.

"Darcy?"

The occupant turned from his desk at the end of the room and stood quickly, facing his cousin.

"Richard! Is there anything wrong? Is Miss Bennet …?"

He interrupted the question curtly. "No. She is sleeping. We need to talk." Richard noticed that Darcy was still standing awkwardly in front of his desk, and he moved towards him.

"Are you still writing to that Doctor friend of yours? I assume you will ask him to look at Miss Bennet while he is here?"

"An express to Dr. Hall has already been dispatched. I'm hoping he will arrive sometime tomorrow morning if he is able."

Darcy was avoiding his gaze; his eyes roamed to the floor; the wall; over his shoulder; anywhere but directly at him. It was rare to see him so disturbed, and that only concerned Richard further after his earlier speculations. He felt angry with his cousin for acting so suspiciously, and even angrier with himself for suspecting him. He lost his temper.

"Good God, Darcy! What on earth is the matter with you!" the Colonel's parade-ground anger came out with a bark, startling Darcy into looking straight at him with surprise, and even a little fear. Moving closer to the desk, Richard soon saw what was making his cousin uncomfortable. Darcy's body was hiding a lady’s purse, lying on the desk, with a number of letters spread over the green leather. Richard was livid. He was shocked to think that Darcy could be so unprincipled, and that his mistrust of his cousin appeared proved. He took a deep breath to calm himself before speaking in a cold voice.

"Is that Miss Bennet's purse?"

His cousin sighed, dropping heavily into the chair and pushing the fingers of both hands through his dark hair. "This is not how it looks, Richard"

"I know exactly how it looks. A gentleman would never read a lady’s private correspondence. I would not have expected this from you, of all people."

Darcy remained silent. His head was bowed, his fingers now laced at the back of his head, but he did not respond.

"What reason would you have for stealing Miss Bennet's purse and reading her letters?"

"I did not steal the purse." Darcy responded forcefully. "It was handed to me by Mr. Goodwin when he brought it in from the park. He found it on the ground."

"Then should you not have given it to Mrs Collins?"

"Well …I…"

"I really need to know what's bedevilled you, cousin; your actions are so out of character! Why are you reading Miss Bennet's letters? Is there something between you two that I should know about?"

Darcy's wry snort was heavy with bitterness. He unlaced his fingers with a deep sigh before picking up the closest letter and studying it in silence for a few moments. "An address, Richard. I am looking for an address. I need to know where in London her sister is staying."

"And do you not think it is Collins' responsibility to write to her family if necessary?" Richard looked down at Darcy. The pain in his eyes was clear now and wished he would let down his defences. He desperately needed to know what was going through his cousin's mind, but Richard knew him better than anyone else living; this young Master of Pemberley rarely allowed anyone in.

Darcy exhaled slowly, dropping the letter back to the desk and rubbing at his face with his hands, before he grabbed the arms of the chair and pushed himself out of his seat. He walked over to a side-table set with drinks and reached for a decanter. Darcy threw Richard a questioning look and he nodded his head in acceptance. Only once the two drinks had been poured and one glass passed to his guest, did Darcy respond to the question.

"I was not intending to write to Miss Bennet's family." He drank from his glass, and paused as he allowed the spirit to warm his throat. "I intended to write to Bingley."

"And why would you do that?"

Darcy appeared to be debating with himself before he replied cautiously. "Can you remember our journey to Kent when I mentioned a friend and his attraction to a certain lady?" Richard nodded but remained silent.

"Well, the friend I spoke of was Bingley—"

Richard interrupted him. "I thought it probably was."

"… and the lady." Darcy paused and took a deep breath. "Well … the lady was Miss Elizabeth Bennet's elder sister; Miss Jane Bennet."

"But you said the family was objectionable!" Although he did not consider himself a quick-thinker, he was worried where his immediate thoughts were taking him, especially remembering his conversation with Miss Bennet earlier in the day. What had he said to her? Oh yes. I understood that there were some very strong objections against the lady. He groaned inwardly─hoping Darcy was not aware of his faux pas─before focussing once more on his cousin. "How could you consider anything objectionable in Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

"No, Richard, you misunderstand me. There is nothing for the two eldest sisters to reproach themselves with. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth have always behaved in an exemplary fashion. But the parents! … and the younger sisters!" Darcy closed his eyes briefly and shuddered. "Truly, the family is a nightmare." He paused again to fortify himself with another drink. "But I would not have involved myself in Bingley's affairs if I had thought for a moment that the object of his desire genuinely returned his feelings. While she was all that is pleasant, I watched her very closely and honestly believed she was indifferent to him. But her mother! She constantly pushes her daughters towards any man passing within five miles! I reasoned that if Bingley made an offer to Miss Bennet she would accept his suit regardless of how she felt towards him; just to appease her mother! Believe me, Richard; I thought I was doing him a great favour."

"Then why do you write to him now?" There was a long pause. Richard was about to repeat his question before his cousin found his voice.

"Because I was wrong."

"Wrong? You mean the family is not so very bad?"

"Oh no; the family is disagreeable. I was wrong because Miss Bennet did love him, and still does. Bingley has not forgotten her, as I thought he would, and he has been miserable in town since leaving Hertfordshire. Two people have been left wretched and it is my fault." Darcy stood and walked to the window─a sure sign that he was either very uncomfortable, or deep in thought. Richard considered that tonight he was probably both.

"But why do you believe now that she really loved him?"

"Why? Because I was informed of that fact earlier this afternoon when I spoke with Miss Bennet in the park."

"Did you …?" Richard bit back his immediate response, but Darcy had guessed what he was going to say and turned sharply on his cousin.

"Did I injure Miss Bennet? Is that what you think of me, Richard? Do you honestly believe I would do that to any woman?" His eyes flashed with outrage, and Richard shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. The silence that passed between them felt like an eternity. Eventually, Darcy sighed again and continued coldly, "I will admit I was angry enough. The words she spoke to me, I will never forget. She accused me of ruining her sister's happiness; of being unjust and ungenerous and of involving both Bingley and Jane in misery of the acutest kind."

Richard smiled at the image of the feisty Miss Bennet tearing strips from his cousin.

"I am pleased that you can see the humour in it, cousin, because I fear that I cannot."

"Sorry, Darcy. I was just picturing Miss Bennet giving you a dressing down. It must have been a sight to behold!" He tried to hold in his smirk, which threatened to burst onto his face with a vengeance, but his cousin was not fooled.

"Well, perhaps I could have appreciated the amusing side if I had not been standing there soaked to the skin and feeling utterly miserable." Darcy appeared not yet ready to laugh at himself or his situation, but Richard relaxed as he realised that his cousin could at least be cleared of the worst offences he had imagined during the evening.

"I have noticed since our arrival that Miss Bennet does seem to enjoy arguing with you, Darcy. So, after she finished telling you what an ignoble thing you had done to her sister, what happened next?"

"I let my anger get the better of me. I said some things I now regret and I left her sheltering from the rain, while I rode back to the house. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of me, and I was pleased to go."

Richard doubted the sincerity of the last statement. His cousin may have said he was pleased to go, he might have even believed it, but his eyes suggested otherwise. Darcy's actions this afternoon─particularly when they found Miss Bennet in the park─implied feelings quite the opposite from his stated opinions.

He felt sincere sympathy for his favourite cousin. "Did the purloined letters contain the information you were searching for?"

"Unfortunately no; or at least not enough. I know Miss Bennet is staying with her Aunt and Uncle in Town, and the address on her letters is Gracechurch Street, but I have no name. They are referred to as Aunt and Uncle only. As you know, Gracechurch Street extends for some distance."

"Gracechurch Street. Yes, does it not run between Eastcheap and Cornhill, near the Exchange?"

"That is correct," Darcy said, surprised. "One more reason why the daughters are unlikely to marry anyone of consequence. One uncle who resides in Cheapside and another who practices as an attorney in Hertfordshire would not normally be considered immediate assets to induce matrimony," he added bitterly.

"You can always ask Mrs Collins if she knows the name of their relatives, or I can ask her for you. I know how much you normally dislike deception and pretence," Richard glanced pointedly at the desktop.

Darcy frowned. "A good idea. Why did I not think of it?"

"Sometimes it takes a military mind to be truly devious, cousin. I have the benefit of special training!" They both laughed then, and Richard realised that the tension that had built up during the evening had been forgotten, at least temporarily. "I am off to my bed, Darcy. It has been a long day. Try to get some sleep and we will see how Miss Bennet fares in the morning. As soon as we have some information for your friend Bingley, you can send it on to him. Then you will have done your best to bring them back together, and they will have to work out the rest for themselves. I am sure Miss Elizabeth will not hold a grudge against you forever."

"I hope you are right about that."

Later that night, while Richard Fitzwilliam was trying hard to get to sleep, he could not help but replay the conversation with his cousin in his head. He sat up sharply as he remembered something which he had been too busy to notice at the time. Darcy had been speaking of the Bennet family's poor connections when he mentioned they were "… not normally considered immediate assets to induce matrimony".

"Ahh … poor old Darcy! Now, that could explain a lot of things …" he whispered sympathetically.

Richard lay back on his pillow, and fell quickly into a deep sleep; content in the knowledge that he could easily explain his cousin's odd behaviour since arriving in Kent.

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Chapter Four.

Lying in bed with her eyes closed, the first sound Elizabeth heard was a low murmur of voices. Listening hard, she identified Charlotte's voice, no doubt speaking with Mr. Collins regarding some household business beyond her chamber door.

Elizabeth stretched her arms wide across the bed and slowly forced her eyes to open. The bright glare from the windows made her wince painfully, and in response, she squeezed her eyes shut and threw her arm across her face to block out the light. Hearing the door open, she slowly brought her arm back down onto the soft counterpane. Opening her eyes again—more cautiously this time—she saw Charlotte moving to sit in the chair next to her.

"How do you feel?"

"Charlotte, 'tis too bright in here," she replied in a petulant tone, reminding herself of Lydia in earlier years.

"It is not bright at all. The drapes are still closed. Your eyes must be sensitive to the light just now."

Elizabeth realised that not only were her eyes unusually sensitive, but her vision was also a little blurred, as though the room was enveloped in a glutinous fog. She carefully adjusted her focus past Charlotte, and was concerned to see that she was not in her own room. The creamy yellow wall-coverings and fine white plasterwork were unfamiliar to her. The drapes covering the windows were superior to any she had seen in the parsonage, and the bedposts surrounding her were finely carved. "Where am I?"

"You are at Rosings." Charlotte reached over and held her hand reassuringly. "The apothecary is in the next room. He has been waiting for you to wake, as he needs to speak with you. I will fetch him."

Elizabeth watched her friend walk through the door, and continued her curious gaze slowly around the chamber. On the second viewing, what she could see of the room appeared quite plain and cheerless, but a simple bunch of bluebells in a plain glass vase made her smile. A knock on the door turned her attention quickly away from the flowers towards the door; she closed her eyes against the nausea, as her body protested at the unexpected movement.

An old gentleman with a heavily wrinkled face and grey beard came to her bedside and was introduced to his patient. "Good morning, Miss Bennet! So pleased to see you awake at last." He smiled warmly at her as he stood by the bed. "Now, how do you feel this morning?"

She looked up at Charlotte, who had returned with Mr. Ruskin, then back to the gentleman. "I feel …" She paused, taking in a deep breath while trying to identify exactly how she did feel. "My head is very painful … and my shoulder hurts … just here." She laid her hand cautiously on her left shoulder. "My sight is a little blurred and I still find the light too bright. I also feel rather nauseous." She smiled at the apothecary as she quipped, "Other than those few minor ailments, I believe I am feeling quite well."

She started to sit up in bed, pushing her elbows back to raise her head and shoulders, but it immediately made her feel much worse as her head began to spin and the feeling of sickness increased. "Ah! … perhaps I am not as well as I thought." She smiled ruefully at her two visitors as she slowly sank back onto the pillows, and closed her eyes to subdue the dizziness which engulfed her.

Mr. Ruskin chuckled and Charlotte said, "It is good to hear your sense of humour has survived intact at least."

"I have made up some draughts for the pain and left them with Mrs Maltby. I have also provided an oil of privet flowers, which should improve the injury to your head and help with the headache. I will prepare a decoction of Lady's Mantle to deal with the nausea, and send it along later. I am sure to receive further instructions from the physician when he arrives, so I will take my leave for now." He made a short bow to his patient and left the room.

"I do not need a physician, Charlotte!" hissed Elizabeth once the man had left. "I am amazed that Lady Catherine would put herself to the trouble of sending for him."

"She did not, but I am pleased he comes all the same." Mrs Collins sank into the chair with a sigh, and stared at Elizabeth, her expression serious. "I do not think you appreciate quite how ill you look, Eliza." She smiled at her friends grimace and asked her gravely, "What happened to you yesterday? Where did you go on your walk? How were you hurt?"

"I walked in the park and met Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"Yes, yes. But where did you go later?"

"Later?" Elizabeth gave her a blank look and tried to remember what had happened after meeting the Colonel, but she could bring nothing to mind. It was like waking in the morning and trying to remember your dreams; there was nothing there to recall. She could picture herself walking in the grove with the Colonel; she even remembered his comments about Mr. Darcy's efforts to separate Mr. Bingley and Jane, which had upset her greatly. However, when she tried to move past those events, she found nothing. If she tried hard, she thought that she could sense a feeling of cold and then of warmth, but she could recall no words or images before waking up this morning.

Looking at Charlotte, she could sense an eagerness in her as she waited patiently for her reply. Her friend desperately wanted her to answer the question. "I am sorry, Charlotte, I … I cannot remember."

"Think, Eliza!" she encouraged gently. It seemed very important. Even from their earliest acquaintance Elizabeth had always been able to tell when Charlotte was not being completely forthright, and this was one of those occasions.

"Well you obviously think I should be remembering something," she snapped. Immediately, she regretted her tone, as the surprise in her friend's face showed clearly. Elizabeth sighed as she paused to calm herself. Her temples had begun to throb, and she felt drained of energy, but she sorely needed to understand what Charlotte was trying to do. "What am I supposed to be remembering? The Colonel …?" Her voice trailed off as she began to wonder exactly why she could not remember anything else after meeting him during her walk.

"I was in the garden when you returned to the parsonage with the Colonel. He left you at the gate," Charlotte confirmed. Elizabeth—who could not remember returning to the house—felt great relief hearing those the words, although she could not have said why. "I then met you going out again soon after. You had a headache ... remember?"

Elizabeth absentmindedly touched her forehead, unconsciously connecting the throbbing she felt now with the headache she apparently had yesterday.

"It started raining and you did not return home; I was very worried. When it came time to visit Lady Catherine, you still were not returned to the house, and the shower was heavy by that time. Lady Catherine even condescended to send a carriage for us." She looked down at her hands in her lap, not meeting Elizabeth's eyes. "I imagine you can guess Mr. Collins' reaction when you didn't come home; and Lady Catherine's response."

"Was she very angry with me?"

"Angry? No, I do not think so, but she was displeased with the disruption to her household. I believe almost all the men in the house were sent out to help the Colonel and Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth blushed, embarrassed that she had caused so much trouble. "The Colonel … and Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes. I believe Lady Catherine was most put out that they insisted on leaving the house to help look for you. When she was not complaining about your lack of propriety and unladylike behaviour, she was bemoaning the fact that her nephews were not sat keeping her company! She disregarded poor Miss de Bourgh all evening, although that in itself is not unusual. It was almost full dark before you were found."

"I am so sorry you had to suffer her dissatisfaction, Charlotte!"

"To be truthful, I hardly heard a word she spoke. I believe I was only thinking of you, dear, and what I might say to Mr. and Mrs Bennet if anything had happened to you." At this, Charlotte stifled a sob and withdrew a handkerchief to dab at her eyes.

"Oh no, Charlotte! Please do not upset yourself! I am well now, as you see. I am sure I will suffer no lasting harm from my misadventure."

Both turned to the door as Mrs Maltby knocked before entering the room, followed by a young girl with a breakfast tray for the patient. Charlotte quickly introduced Mrs Maltby properly to her friend and explained the care taken by the housekeeper over her welfare the previous evening.

"I am very grateful for all your assistance last night, Mrs Maltby. Please pass on my thanks to the rest of the staff. I understand I put them to some trouble." Elizabeth felt herself colour as she wondered what the housekeeper had thought of her when she was brought into the house yesterday.

"Twas no trouble, Miss. Oh! But you were so cold; I was very worried for you." She fussed over the tray, setting out a steaming bowl and a selection of preserves. "The last time I saw someone affected by the wet and cold like that was more than five years ago, when little Harry Parker fell in the stream, but once we had you warmed up I knew you would be well. You might have developed a fever, being all cold and wet like that, but it don't always follow," she added cryptically. "Here dear; let's see if you can take some porridge." Elizabeth tried again to sit up, but the spinning returned as soon as she lifted her head, which made her feel queasy again.

"Allow me, Miss." Mrs Maltby signalled to the girl in the corner, who removed a bolster from the closet and brought it to the bed. With crisp efficiency the housekeeper reached behind Elizabeth's head and gently lifted both patient and pillow; supporting her head and neck as she swiftly slipped the bolster underneath, before gently lowering them back down. Although the movement had again caused the dizziness, it passed soon enough and left her sufficiently elevated to take some food without risk of choking.

"Thank you, Mrs Maltby. And thank you for these bluebells. They are lovely." The housekeeper's expression was unreadable as she nodded a brief acknowledgement of her thanks and placed the tray on the bed.

Once she had eaten enough to satisfy Mrs Maltby's motherly instincts, Elizabeth returned to her conversation with Charlotte. "How was I discovered? How did I get to Rosings? Why was I not returned to the parsonage?"

"Eliza! So many questions! Do you not wish to rest? You still look rather ill."

"I do not believe I can rest until I know all!"

"Well, let me see. You were discovered somewhere in the park by Mr. Goodwin and young Tom, who works in the garden."

"Was I in the grove?"

"Oh no dear, quite a distance from the grove, so I understand from the Colonel. You were found lying on the ground under a tree. Mr. Goodwin mentioned that Mr. Darcy noticed you had injured your head and he carried you across the park to Rosings, which was the nearer of the two. As much as I would have liked you to be home with us, I have to admit Mrs Maltby has many more staff to care for you. I did suggest you should be transported to the parsonage, as we are your closest family, but Mr. Darcy was adamant on the subject; he would not hear of you being moved from this room."

"Did you say Mr. Darcy carried me? Charlotte, say it was not so!" cried Elizabeth, mortified by the thought of being unconscious in the arms of any man, but especially Mr. Darcy, who already thought so poorly of her.

"I am sorry to pain you, but it was so. The Colonel was with him. Apparently, he would hear no argument on the subject, and tended you most carefully. I understand he ordered the room prepared, and later he sent for his own physician from Town."

"Mr. Darcy sent for the physician?"

"He did. Colonel Fitzwilliam told me. Both gentlemen seemed most concerned for your welfare."

Although Elizabeth could see Charlotte watching her carefully as she passed on this piece of information, she could not hide her confusion at her friend's statement. Such care and concern from a man she thought considered her beneath his notice. She could not imagine why he had chosen to be so solicitous on this occasion.

Recalling his visits to the Parsonage during her time in Kent, she remembered how quietly he sat, often staring silently out of the window, not troubling himself to talk with anyone. During her walks in the grove, when they met by chance, he had rarely attempted to make much conversation, and seemed almost uncomfortable in her presence.

Perhaps his actions were a sacrifice to propriety? After all, her injury happened within the grounds of his Aunt's property, and it was understandable that he would feel a responsibility for her care for that reason alone. He may have treated her the same had she been a servant or tenant injured within the park. Or perhaps Lady Catherine had ordered it so. Elizabeth already knew there was little that happened in the area that Lady Catherine did not have a hand in. Perhaps his care of her was not so out of character after all; he was most likely following his Aunt's instructions.

"Do you feel ill again? Is there aught I can get for your relief?" The questions from Charlotte brought her out of her reverie.

"No, I am well. My thoughts wandered for a moment. Has Mr. Collins written to my family about the accident?"

Charlotte explained that Mr. Collins had intended to write the previous evening, as soon as she was found, "but I counselled him to wait until we knew how things stood. Mr. Ruskin visited while you slept, and was happy with your condition, but he wanted to speak to you once you woke. Until we knew you were not in danger, I thought it would be unfair of us to write to your father before we knew that you would be well."

"You are right, Charlotte. I would not wish to worry my family unduly. I would happily write to Jane in Town, but I do not currently feel able to pen a letter. Papa will laugh when he hears I have lost some memories of yesterday. When I used to climb trees in the gardens at Longbourn he would tease me that if I fell, and banged my head, it would knock the sense out of me. It seems he may have been telling the truth!"

"Tis no laughing matter, Eliza. Your inability to recall the events of yesterday afternoon is most distressing. We must mention it to the physician when he arrives."

"There is no need to worry," Elizabeth stated cheerfully, brushing away all of her friend's concerns with an airy wave of her hand. "I am sure there is nothing of import to recall. Just a walk in the park and an accident in the rain! My memories of the afternoon will no doubt return eventually, and will probably end up being rather dull and boring."

Charlotte looked at Elizabeth with concern etched on her face. "I hope so, dear," she murmured quietly. "For your sake, I do hope so."

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