Chapter fifty-three.

In the days following Jane and Charles’ arrival, Elizabeth had plenty of time to enjoy her sister’s company, as Mr. Darcy often invited his friend to join him, either to view the rebuilding works or meeting his steward.

Georgiana appeared to find nothing unusual in her brother being out from first light—some days before even breaking his fast—until just after luncheon. However, the number of times he joined them in the garden or sat as his sister attempted to catch his likeness in pencil or watercolours, forced Elizabeth to wonder whether Mr. Darcy had changed his habits on her account.

Elizabeth encouraged her friend’s artistic interests, which also provided an excellent excuse to study Mr. Darcy’s noble features without arousing the suspicions of the others. She could not remember why she had ever thought him proud, as during these times together he appeared anything but; joking with Bingley when his friend teased him about the lengths he would go to entertain his sister.

Emboldened by the ease and friendliness of her guests, Georgiana had the grand idea of having a picnic in Pemberley Woods. Mrs Annesley heartily approved the scheme, while Mrs Reynolds agreed to help with the arrangements. The head gardener, known to Miss Darcy from her earliest years, set about devising and cutting a safe path through the trees leading to a clearing by a stream, where the staff would serve an alfresco lunch.

Mr. Darcy, hearing his sister’s enthusiastic plans, promised to put aside his responsibilities and accompany them.

The morning of the picnic dawned bright and clear, and Elizabeth knew it would be a pleasant day in more than one respect. Georgiana had devised a day of entertainment entirely suited to Elizabeth's tastes. A walk in the woods, followed by an afternoon surrounded by the wonders of nature. Nothing would make her happier, unless she could spend more time with Mr. Darcy.

The two of them had often been together since arriving at Pemberley, but never alone; not since their interlude in the hallway on the first night. Jane had sought her opinion of him at least twice, while hints dropped by Georgiana suggested she expected an announcement by her brother at any time, but nothing had occurred to excite Elizabeth’s expectation. She refused to be drawn on their speculations, particularly when she was still not sure whether he would go so far as to propose.

Mr. Darcy had been the perfect host; inviting her to treat his house as her own. She had free access to the library, walked without restraint throughout the grounds, and helped Georgiana to plan the menus. Elizabeth now recognised many of the servants, and even knew a few of their names. While the size of the establishment might exceed any residence she had yet inhabited, it had not taken long to become acquainted with Pemberley’s many rooms and hallways.

It was a different life from the one she enjoyed at Longbourn, but not unpleasantly so. To be mistress of Pemberley would be something indeed.

Pemberley was a grand estate, and Mr. Darcy clearly the master of all he surveyed. Surely, his responsibility must weigh heavily on his shoulders, but his manner was, if anything, more relaxed here, not less. Elizabeth discovered one explanation for it earlier that morning, when she joined Georgiana, visiting the housekeeper’s room to discuss some last minute alterations to the menu.

Georgiana, studying the list of food for the picnic, pointed to one of the items. "Tarte de Cerises? But Fitzwilliam does not like cherries."

Mrs Reynolds grinned. "If he does not then your brother only has himself to blame..."—leaning closer to Elizabeth, she lowered her voice—"for I can promise you if a seven year old lad sneaks into the pantry to gorge himself on our entire store of cherries, whatever stomach cramps he suffers as a result are all his own fault. Never mind he was very ill afterwards ... all over Mr. Wickham’s boots!"

Elizabeth looked up. "Mr. Wickham?"

"Yes, miss. He was steward here during the old master’s time. His son had a mischievous streak running through him. He was the one who suggested they sneak in to the pantry, but no one forced those cherries down the master’s throat." She paused, smiling, as though she were remembering happier times, then shrugged her shoulders and returned to the business in hand. "Monsieur Antoine took it in his head to bake the cherry tart. There’s no use arguing when he starts to create one of his new recipes. Do not fear your brother will starve though, for there will be more than enough food, so don’t you go worrying your head about it."

Elizabeth took Georgiana’s hand, comforting her. She knew how important this day was to the young Miss Darcy; it being the first time she had ever planned and executed such elaborate entertainments. "I am sure Mr. Darcy will not complain."

"Complain? Not a chance of it," Mrs Reynolds agreed. "I have never known a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him since he was four years old."

Wishing she could hear more of Mr. Darcy’s life as a child, Elizabeth smiled her encouragement. "There are very few people of whom so much can be said. You are lucky in having such a master."

"Yes, miss, I know I am. If I were to go through the world, I could not meet with better. But I have always observed that they who are good natured when children, are good natured when they grow up; and he was always the sweetest tempered, most generous hearted boy in the world."

"And he likes being at Pemberley very much, does he not?"

Mrs Reynolds, who seemed at her happiest when talking with someone who held like-minded views, smiled. "Yes, of course he does. You have seen him. He would spend much more time here if he had a good reason to stay."

"How much time does he usually spend here in the course of a year?"

"Not so much as I could wish, but I dare say he might spend half his time here. His obligations and the expectations of society pull him back to London. Perhaps, when he marries, we might see more of him." As though realising who she spoke to, the housekeeper looked a little sheepish. "There I go, chattering on when we have things to do. You mustn’t let me run on so! And don’t you worry, Miss Georgiana. All will be ready on time. You just enjoy your afternoon and let me deal with everything else."

The party congregated in the foyer, just after noon. Mr. and Mrs Bingley and Mrs Annesley were already in the marbled hall when Elizabeth descended the stairs, pulling on her gloves. Georgiana arrived soon after, conferring with Mrs Reynolds on some last minute details, which left them only waiting on Mr. Darcy.

No sooner did he appear than Elizabeth wisely resolved to be perfectly easy and unembarrassed. However, her resolution was not so easily kept when she saw that the suspicions of the whole party were awakened against them. Everyone, except Elizabeth, seemed to watch his behaviour when he came into the room.

Unperturbed by their scrutiny, Mr. Darcy apologised for his tardiness before inviting his sister to lead the way. Georgiana took Elizabeth’s arm and strode out the main doors to follow in the wake of the head gardener. Glancing behind her she observed Mr. Darcy accompanying Mrs Annesley, while Jane and Charles walked arm in arm a few steps behind.

The group set out, strolling gently across the lawns and over the stone bridge. Once on the other side of the valley they wandered across the park until they reached the tree line that marked the boundary of the woods. Someone had marked the cleared path to their destination with a profusion of coquelicot ribbons, tied at regular intervals to branches along their walk, giving the outing a most festive feeling. Mrs Annesley moved to Georgiana's side, using the occasion to quiz her charge about various natural forms they passed. For a while, Elizabeth remained with them, happy to listen as they discussed the flora and fauna, but then the path contracted, allowing room only for a lively stream and a narrow walk amidst the rough coppice wood bordering it. Elizabeth longed to explore its windings, but she stood to one side to allow the others through first.

Feeling a presence just behind her, she was not surprised when Mr. Darcy offered his arm over the uneven ground, which Elizabeth accepted with a grateful smile. Regardless of what she might say to Jane, she could not deny to herself that her happiness was greatest when he was near.

Georgiana and Mrs Annesley stopped to admire a clump of purple tufted vetch, hidden amongst the long grass, allowing them to pass on the narrow path. As Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy crossed the rustic bridge, their conversation touched on many topics, but nothing held Elizabeth's interest as much as the words they did not speak; words hanging in the air between them, unspoken but tantalisingly close. If she listened hard she wondered whether it were possible to hear them whispering in the wind.

Elizabeth’s heart did not doubt Mr. Darcy’s growing affections. Although his silence on the subject worried her a little, she had often sensed his gaze from across a room, and knew the seemingly innocent brush of his fingers against her back as he held her chair at dinner was anything but.

Mr. Darcy matched his pace to hers, and when Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder there was a distance between them and the rest of their party. When she returned her attention to her companion, he was smiling at her; a sight that made her pulse flutter alarmingly.

"I promised I would show you around the grounds during your stay, did I not?" Elizabeth agreed that he had suggested something of the sort while they were in town. "And yet this is the first opportunity we have had to walk together. My time has not been my own of late. It is always the way when I first return after an absence."

"But, even with all the demands on your time, you prefer being in the country to being in town," Elizabeth said. "You seem happier here ... more relaxed. Mrs Reynolds told me you would probably spend more time here if you could."

His eyebrows rose. "You have been talking to Mrs Reynolds about me? Should I be concerned? If anyone can expose my real character and reveal my deepest, darkest secrets, it is she."

Elizabeth's smile widened. "She said nothing you would be unhappy with, except perhaps ..."

"What? You must tell me the worst." Moving closer, his arm brushed her shoulder, sending a tingle down her back. "Come, Miss Bennet, I can see from your smile that you wish to divulge all, even if for no other reason than to discomfit me." His voice was soft, tempting her to reveal all.

"Well ... Georgiana might have mentioned your dislike of a certain fruit, and Mrs Reynolds suggested one possible reason for your abstention."

He groaned theatrically. "She told you about the cherries."

Elizabeth tried not to laugh at his abject expression. "Yes, she did."

"And Mr. Wickham’s boots?"

"Even the fate of the boots was not spared me."

"I was only seven."

"I imagine you were delightful as a young boy."

"As I would you ... a delightful young girl, I mean."

"I should think so. I was never a boy."

He turned his steady gaze upon her. "That, if I may say so, Miss Bennet, is patently obvious."

Elizabeth's reply died on her lips as the deep shade suddenly gave way to brilliant sunshine. They had arrived in the clearing. It was sheltered on three sides by a coppice of ash and sweet chestnut, while on the fourth, the stream they had already crossed continued its meandering path; the water tinkling merrily as it rushed and bubbled between partially submerged stones.

Around the irregular space, swathes of ribbon draped across the branches, while a table, covered in snowy white linen, sagged under the weight of food. Almost at the centre of the clearing stood a tented pavilion, open-sided and roofed in apple green and red. It cast its shade on a round table, with chairs enough for six, while colourful blankets adorned the newly scythed grass for any of the party who preferred a more informal form of seating.

Georgiana, arriving behind them, clapped her hands in delight, clearly pleased that that her plans had worked out so well. "Is it not a beautiful sight?" Her gaze moved around the group, hopeful of their approval.

Elizabeth, Jane and Bingley agreed unequivocally, while Mrs Annesley applauded her charge; satisfied with the results of her labours. As Elizabeth glanced around, she heard Mr. Darcy say, "Yes, Georgie, I agree. A very beautiful sight." When she looked up and found he was staring at her, rather than his sister, she did not know whether to feel embarrassed or ecstatic.

Somewhat flustered by his rapt attention, Elizabeth excused herself to wander to the food table. Five of Pemberley’s tallest footmen stood behind the feast, ready for whatever task was required of them. A joint of cold roast beef sat in the centre of the display, surrounded by a roast duck, a pressed tongue and some kind of raised meat pie. Alongside this, she saw two different kinds of chutney, a large bowl of prepared salad and vegetables, three loaves of fresh bread and two whole cheeses. At either end of the table, those with a taste for sweeter things could choose from a cold plum pudding, an iced sponge cake, fruit cake, a wide variety of biscuits, and three tarts, one of which Elizabeth suspected would be the notorious Tarte de Cerises.

A movement near her shoulder made her tense, but she did not need to look to know who stood behind her. It was as though he exuded a palpable aura she could sense, or perhaps it was as simple as recognising the scent of his soap. When she turned, Mr. Darcy stood closer than she expected; close enough to have wrapped his arms around her, had he been so inclined. "It seems Georgiana has brought enough food to feed us all several times over," she said, more to cover the nervous fluttering that had begun as soon as she had looked into his eyes than for any other reason.

"Too much is preferable to too little, I suppose." His gaze drifted across the table, before returning to her lips, which instantly felt parched. "Would you like a drink?"

Elizabeth asked for lemonade, and Mr. Darcy—ignoring the footmen—poured her a drink before escorting her to the pavilion. Here, Jane and Mrs Annesley had already made themselves comfortable while Georgiana conferred with Mrs Reynolds. Bingley, having investigated the stream, soon returned with the intelligence that a few small trout were feeding between the stones and suggested they should take advantage of the opportunity at some point in the afternoon.

Mr. Darcy's eyebrows rose. "You want to fish?"

"I would not mind. The ladies will be reading, sewing and collecting flowers. Why should we not enjoy a spot of fishing?"

Mr. Darcy thought for a moment before smiling. "Why not indeed." Ordering rods and tackle from the house, he joined Bingley by the bank of the stream as they chose the perfect location for their entertainment.

Later that afternoon, Elizabeth sat back in her chair, politely refusing a second piece of the delicious cherry tart. Closing her eyes, she listened to the drowsy hum of the bumblebees as they collected nectar from the flowers growing amongst the bracken. The leaves rustled in the warm summer breezes, and the woodpigeons called to each other behind the dense green foliage. Mrs Annesley and Georgiana crossed the clearing to collect delicate wild blooms from the undergrowth for pressing, while she and Jane rested in the shade of the pavilion. A basket of books selected from the library sat in the middle of one of the blankets, and Charles absently browsed through the volumes, although with little obvious intention of reading. They had been discussing the merits of the various authors before Mr. Darcy had wandered back to the table for more food, and he had yet to return.

Her serenity was broken when Charles laughed aloud. Opening her eyes, she saw that he held one of the books open in his hands as he grinned at Jane. "Here is a poem describing you to perfection, my love! It must have been written with you in mind."

Jane smiled indulgently. "Me? Surely not."

"You doubt that your beauty is sufficient to feed the poet’s muse? Listen, and tell me if I err." Holding the book aloft, he cleared his throat and began to declaim:

"She was a phantom of delight, when first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition sent, to be a moment's ornament."

Pausing a moment from his recital, he said, "I did not know you had ever met Mr. Wordsworth?"

Her sister giggled. "You are well aware I have not. What comes next?"

"Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, like twilight's too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn, from May-time and the cheerful dawn."

"My hair is not dusky, so it could not be me. It sounds more like Lizzy."

Hearing her name, Elizabeth grinned. "Oh no! I could never inspire such pretty words."

"Wait! There is more." Charles continued his recitation, until he reached the final lines:

"A perfect woman, nobly planned, to warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit, still and bright, with something of angelic light."

Closing the book with a flourish, he held it up triumphantly towards Jane. "Can you still deny that he wrote about you? Have I not always said you are the most angelic female of my acquaintance?"

Blushing to the roots of her hair, Jane was unable to dispute her husband’s assertions.

From behind the pavilion, a voice said, "Impressive, Charles. You surprise me. Considering how often you look at a book, I thought you had forgotten how to read."

Charles jumped, and Elizabeth was certain he had not been aware of his friend’s presence during the recital. "Nonsense! I can be tempted with a little poetry when the mood takes me. And what of you, Darcy? You dare to talk! Do you not limit yourself to account books and weather reports?"

"You would be surprised." Mr. Darcy sank onto the blanket, making himself comfortable. He picked a thin volume from the basket, flicking idly through the pages. She could not tell if he browsed aimlessly, or whether he searched for a specific piece that inspired him. After a moment he stopped and took a deep breath; fixing his full attention on the page in front of him.

"When Delia on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fears,
I would approach, but dare not move:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

Whene'er she speaks, my ravish'd ear,
No other voice than hers can hear,
No other wit but hers approve:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

If she some other youth commend,
Though I was once his fondest friend,
His instant enemy I prove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

When she is absent, I no more,
Delight in all that pleased before,
The clearest spring, or shadiest grove:
Tell me, my heart, if this be love?"

Elizabeth dared not move as Mr. Darcy read the poem, concerned that the slightest breath would distract him. Her heart whispered that it was all for her, but her head counselled caution. During the first three verses, his eyes remained fixed on the page, until he reached the last few lines, when his gaze lifted to seek her out. He infused the final verse with the full impact of his admiration, and she felt unequal to maintaining eye contact. Her cheeks grew hot and she averted her eyes, both disconcerted and gratified by the declaration she hoped and wished was contained within.

Jane gave her a look expressive of wonder, while Bingley—ignorant of the heightened awareness between at least two of their party—stood up and stretched his legs. "A pretty verse, I admit, although I thought my own choice the superior of the two." Picking up the fishing tackle, he nodded in the direction of the stream. "Now I have satisfied my own stomach, I am off to see if the fish are hungry. Coming, Darcy?"

Mr. Darcy suggested his friend should start without him, and Jane—sending a questioning glance at her sister—followed her husband across the clearing, allowing them a semblance of privacy. Their host appeared as relaxed as Elizabeth could ever remember seeing him, as he lay on his side on the blanket, one elbow supporting his body as he turned the pages with his other hand. She might have thought him unmoved, had the space between them not been so heavy with unspoken emotion.

Attempting to lighten the atmosphere, she smiled. "I am not familiar with that poem."

"It was written many years ago by George, Lord Lyttelton." Mr. Darcy ran his hand lovingly over the gilded leather spine. "This book was a favourite of my father’s. I often found it lying open on his desk. The last verse, in particular, resonated strongly with him after my mother’s death."

She watched as a shadow passed over his eyes as he recalled memories from his past. "He must have loved your mother very much and missed her terribly."

Pulling a blade of grass from the ground, he twisted it between his fingers, avoiding her eyes as he did so. "Yes ... yes, he did. He never quite recovered from his loss, and for many years I—in my youthful ignorance and with only my father as an example—believed the poem was ultimately a warning to the reader against falling in love; that jealousy and misery would follow any man unwise enough to be caught in its coils."

"A harsh opinion of something that is often thought to bring more happiness than pain."

He raised his eyes to find hers. "Yes, it was, but I am coming to understand that a different interpretation of that verse is indeed possible."

She would have loved to ask his meaning, but seeing Georgiana and Mrs Annesley heading back towards the pavilion, she chose to remain silent. After a few moments watching his friend, Mr. Darcy commented that someone should really show Bingley how to cast correctly, and wandered over to the stream, where Jane was admiring her husband’s skill with a rod, leaving Elizabeth with much to consider.

"Tell me, my heart, if this be love?" She recalled not only the words, but also Mr. Darcy’s searching look as he spoke the final lines of the poem. Was he trying to determine whether she loved him? Perhaps she should make an effort to show her feelings more readily, as her aunt had advised. Or perhaps he questioned whether he was in love. Could doubts about his own feelings be keeping him silent?

Or did she read too much into the words of a favourite poem, so beautifully expressed?

At length, the remarks of her companions on her absence of mind aroused her, and she felt the necessity of appearing more like herself. Georgiana picked up one of the books from the basket, while Mrs Annesley rested her eyes. In the ensuing silence, Elizabeth was content to watch her host from a distance.

His fishing rod flicked back then forth—the line streaking out towards the glistening water beyond—and Mr. Darcy appeared relaxed as he shared a joke with his friend. The sun grew progressively warmer, and the area by the stream where they fished lacked the benefit of shade. Receiving the blessing of his wife, Charles removed his coat, leaving him in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat. Mr. Darcy expressed a reluctance to follow his friend’s example, but after Georgiana encouraged him, did likewise.

From her position by the pavilion, Elizabeth saw how content Mr. Darcy appeared as he reeled his line in, casting repeatedly, and she studied the movement of the muscles beneath his lawn shirt as he raised his rod, giving her a fascinating new insight into the wardrobe of a fashionable gentleman. The white linen of his shirtsleeves contrasted against the moss green of his waistcoat, while accentuating his broad shoulders and showing his figure to good advantage.

Relaxing back in her chair, she felt contentment unlike anything she had previously experienced. Pemberley was more than just a fine house, richly furnished. It was a warm and loving home; a place she would be happy to spend her entire life … if Mr. Darcy would be there to share it. The subject of her thoughts, still fishing, showed off his latest trophy before unhooking the fish and throwing it back into the stream, his delight in catching it undimmed by the many fish he must have caught before.

As Elizabeth sat quietly observing, she knew she had never loved him more than she did now. Perhaps, if he was still doubtful of her affection, it was time she made her feelings more apparent.

However, all her thoughts of Mr. Darcy fled as a new and wholly unexpected voice called out across the clearing, from the entrance to the path they had walked.

"So this is where you are all hiding! Have you left any food for one more, or do I have to catch my own?"

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~

Chapter fifty-four.

Darcy, hearing the familiar voice behind him, paused mid-cast as he turned to view the visitor.

Nathan Bennet, prodding his cane towards a suspicious looking hump in the ground, stopped on the edge of the clearing. Despite the confidence in his tone, he clearly waited for an invitation to join them. Beckoning him with one hand, Darcy gave a tacit welcome as he lowered his fishing rod to the grass and moved towards the group.

Bingley and his wife were already crossing the distance, while Elizabeth had jumped to her feet, shading her eyes from the sun to better view the new arrival. As he came closer to the pavilion, she put her hands on her hips. "Nathan? What are you doing here?"

The young man grinned. "You needn’t sound so pleased to see me, Lizzy."

"Naturally we are pleased," Jane said, "but your arrival was unexpected."

"Not to me." Darcy shook Nathan’s hand in greeting. "How was your journey from Longbourn?"

"Longer than I expected. I had not realised quite how far you were from Hertfordshire."

Darcy imagined, to a young man who had lived most of his life within twenty miles of Kingston, posting across the British countryside would no doubt still be seen as an adventure. "I thought you might be here yesterday."

"I left later than intended. My Aunt Bennet insisted on writing to Jane and Lizzy, and my uncle sent a package for you, then Kitty and Mary decided they wanted to include a note to their sisters as well. Anyone would think I was travelling by mail coach."

"What? Nothing from Lydia?" Elizabeth did not appear to be surprised.

Nathan shook his head. "She went out early with Maria Lucas, to visit Pen Harrington. She would hardly want to spend time writing a stuffy letter when there is fun to be had," he said, accurately mimicking Lydia's tone, "but I am sure my aunt has provided you with all the news you might need. Hers took the longest to write."

Bingley grinned as he clapped the young man on the shoulder. "You are staying here with us? This is excellent news, Darcy! Nathan here is a bruising rider. He will show you what a good seat he has tomorrow morning."

"That all depends on whether Mr. Johnson has need of him."

Nathan smiled ruefully at Bingley. "Mr. Darcy is quite correct. He invited me here to learn whatever his steward can impart, and not to enjoy myself in frivolous activity ... although I hope a little frivolity might be permitted."

Darcy acknowledged it was indeed a possibility, before introducing Nathan to Georgiana and Mrs Annesley. The companion said everything that was expected, but his sister’s welcome was less than hospitable. Inclining her head in a manner reminiscent of their Aunt Catherine at her worst, she acknowledged the introduction silently before turning her back on him and returning to the pavilion. While not quite a cut direct, her actions were just as unexpected. Darcy had never before witnessed such behaviour in his sixteen-year-old sister. She might have been shy for many years, but this was the first time he had ever seen her being intentionally rude to a guest.

Seeing her snub, Nathan Bennet’s eyes widened and his face paled. However, he dealt with it well for his age, exhibiting no more than a frown in response before Mrs Bingley drew his attention as she solicited further news from Longbourn.

Having little interest in such parochial details, Darcy’s eyes drifted—as they so often had in recent days—to Elizabeth, wondering whether she had observed the curious exchange between the youngest members of their party. Catching his eye, she comforted him with a knowing smile, which he found reassuring.

Whatever had just happened, it not did appear to worry Elizabeth.

Meanwhile Nathan Bennet, who had been invited to partake of the picnic table, swooped on the food like a labourer at the end of the harvest, devouring the leftovers as though he had not eaten for a week. It reminded Darcy of when he was nineteen, and ate with a similar wilful abandon.

Standing apart from the group, he watched Georgiana retreat to the pavilion, where she engaged in what appeared to his untrained eye to be a mighty sulk, the likes of which he had not witnessed since the events at Ramsgate. Unpleasant memories of that unfortunate time returned unbidden, until he was startled from his contemplation by the gentle touch of a hand on his arm.

"Do I interrupt?"

Finding Elizabeth in front of him, when least expected, he had to suppress an urge to pull her into his arms to absorb her comfort. Since their first evening at Pemberley, when she had literally run into his embrace in the upstairs corridor, Darcy had longed to hold her again, but had ruthlessly quashed his deepest desires, focussing only on being a good host for his guests. Were he to allow his feelings free rein and gather her to his breast, he knew he might never allow her to leave his side ... neither to eat nor sleep. Folding his hands behind his back—thereby removing temptation—he said, "I was thinking."

"So I assumed. About your sister?"

Gauging their distance from the pavilion as insufficient, Darcy began to walk towards the stream, ostensibly offering to show Elizabeth the fish. Smiling, she accepted his suggestion and together they sauntered across the clearing until they reached the reed-choked bank. The gurgling sound of water rushing over boulders relaxed him, but not as much as having Elizabeth by his side. "I assume you know of a good reason why Georgie should not be chastised for being so rude to our guest."

"I remember you once said if someone lost your good opinion, it was lost forever. I believe your sister has inherited the same trait." Although Elizabeth did not smile, her eyes twinkled with a mischievous glint, making it all the more difficult to hold himself back from kissing those teasing lips. "Do you remember when Georgiana and Nathan were first introduced at my aunt and uncle’s house?"

His memories of that day were unclear, revolving, as they did, around his first sight of Elizabeth and Cresswell together. "Ah, yes. I had forgotten meeting him there."

"Unfortunately, Nathan’s actions on that occasion left much to be desired. Having been previously taught by Captain Ardern that younger ladies—those not yet out in society—were not to be approached, my cousin interpreted the instruction literally and Georgiana felt his snub deeply."

"She was offended by his lack of attention."

"Yes, I believe she was, but not without good cause. He acted as though she was not there; a thoughtless gesture on his part. I can only excuse Nathan’s behaviour on account of his age and inexperience."

Darcy relaxed, relieved that it was nothing more serious than a tiff between two children. "Neither will suffer any lasting harm. When Georgiana enjoys her come out she will realise not everyone in the ton has perfect manners. I doubt Nathan’s rebuff will be the worst she ever meets with. Likewise, this experience will be good for him as well. My sister will not hold her grudge for long, but it will be long enough."

This time her lips did reflect the laughter in her eyes. "And in the meantime he must accept it and endure?"

"Yes. My father always allowed me to make my own mistakes and then taught me I must live with the consequences."

Elizabeth affected shock. "Mistakes … you? A man without defect?"

"I think we long ago ascertained I am no such thing. No man can travel through life without making some error … or harbouring regret over events in his past." He took a step closer, lowering his head. "For example, were I to live my life again, I might be more inclined to dance at a certain assembly at Meryton."

Her voice, when she spoke, had a breathless quality that pleased him immensely. "With the ladies of your own party?"

"No … with you." His satisfaction grew as he saw the blush leap into her cheeks and reached out to take her hand, only recalling at the last minute how visible they were from the pavilion. Withdrawing it—and himself—with the greatest reluctance, he said, "As it is, I regret having only danced with you once, at Bingley's ball."

The shadow of a frown passed across her forehead, and he held his breath, wondering what she was thinking at that moment. He only released it when she said, "If you are so keen, perhaps you should hold a dance here at Pemberley?"

"Would you dance with me if I did?"

Her eyes glistened as her hand seemed to rise unconsciously to his arm. "Of course. Why would I refuse?"

He had wondered the same thing once. "You would not join me in the reel at Lucas Lodge."

"You had no intention of dancing then."

"Not in the general way, but for you I would have made an exception." Back then, she had piqued his interest, nothing more. It had taken her stay at Netherfield for him to realise the danger of paying her too much attention. Little had he realised then how much damage had already been done.

Her expression faltered, and she dropped her eyes to the ground, leaving Darcy cursing himself for a fool and wondering what memories his words had prompted.

As they drifted back to the pavilion he recognised how Nathan’s arrival had changed the tone of the afternoon, but he could not regret the interruption. Seeing the pleasure on Elizabeth’s face when he had read the last lines of the poem had made him realise just how careless he had been; how unguarded his emotions had become.

Every time he saw evidence of her growing affection, a war raged within him. His heart wanted him to fall to his knees and beg for her hand there and then, heedless of the consequences, but his doubts fought for control; whispering to him in the night, playing on his fears, bombarding him with visions of a future without Elizabeth in his life.

A future that might yet be his if her memories returned before he had succeeded in winning her love.

It was still too soon. He knew that Elizabeth was not indifferent to him. He might even go as far as to say she was fond of his company.

But did she love him enough to forgive him when he told her the truth about that day at Rosings?

Darcy recalled his last week in town, when his cousin had sought him out at White’s to congratulate him after hearing the news of Cresswell’s engagement. Richard, finding him sitting alone, had called for champagne.

"What are you doing here, Darcy? I thought you would be celebrating Cresswell's betrothal. Miss Bennet has not found another suitor already, has she?"

"No ... no, everything is well. She will be joining Georgiana in the carriage on Saturday morning. It is all arranged."

"Then why do I get the feeling you are not happy about it?"

"I am happy … very happy, in fact. I only wish we were going tomorrow."

Richard had grinned as he held up his glass in toast. "Cannot wait, eh? Well, that is understandable. I still cannot comprehend why you do not offer for her now, and be done with it. Yes ... yes, I know all that rot about waiting until you get to Pemberley. I have heard enough on that subject from mother. I just do not understand what difference waiting will make."

Darcy sighed and shook his head. He had been unable to answer Richard's question then, for he had not known either. Once he had made it, the decision to postpone his proposal had seemed the right one. Waiting another week until they were safely within the bounds of Pemberley had felt like the final penance he needed to perform before he could offer himself, his hand and his heart to Elizabeth.

But they had now been in Derbyshire for almost a week, and he was no closer to making her his wife now than he had been before.

Elizabeth's presence in his home was both a comfort and a curse. Being able to see and speak with her every day filled him with such contentment, while watching her returning to her room every evening felt like he was tearing a limb from his own body.

No matter how much time they spent together, it was never enough.

He had thought that their sojourn in the country would give him the confidence he needed to take the final step and offer himself to Elizabeth, but it had not worked out quite as he had expected. Being able to spend as much time as he could spare with her had only made him more determined not to lose her, while the threat of her memory returning hung over him like a headman’s axe. One word ... one look from him might be the stimulus needed to remind her that he had offered for her hand once before.

And he dreaded what that moment might bring.

~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

When the party returned to the house later that afternoon, Elizabeth and Jane soon found a quiet corner in the south parlour where they could peruse the letters Nathan had brought them from Longbourn.

Kitty's spoke of summer parties, dances, and evenings spent with old friends. The list of the gentlemen she and Lydia had flirted with was long and undistinguished, although Nathan's absence—he had stayed a few days longer in town, and travelled to Longbourn separately—was mentioned more than once. Elizabeth, recalling Kitty's feelings for their cousin only a few weeks earlier, had wondered whether her opinion had changed since spending time in London, but it appeared she was as smitten as ever.

Mrs Bennet was an indifferent correspondent at best; always happier to receive news than to impart it. They were therefore surprised to find she had exerted herself to write two sheets, quite through, and they both bent their heads over the page, reading it together.

Longbourn, 3rd August,

Dear Lizzy

I received your letter yesterday, and also a longer one from your sister in Scarborough. I hope she and Mr. Bingley have now arrived safely in Derbyshire and please tell her I will expect to hear from her soon about the party Mrs Harrison arranged for their leaving.

I do think you could have written considerably less of the splendid hills and gardens thereabouts and a little more of Mr. Darcy. While Mr. Bennet assures me the Derbyshire countryside is as pretty as anyone could wish to see, I doubt not that one hill or valley looks very similar to another, and all gardens are surely alike.

Gentlemen, however—especially those who enjoy a reputed income of ten thousand pounds a year—are less common, and you should remember that fact when you have to make the choice between a pretty view and spending time in the company of your host. Mr. Darcy seems a very amiable sort once you get to know him, and not as lofty in style as he is in stature. It can be no hardship for you to attend to him whenever possible.

Jane laughed as she read her mother's words. "Well, Lizzy? Is it a hardship to attend Mr. Darcy?"

Blushing, Elizabeth ignored her sister's teasing tone, turning her attention instead to the rest of the letter.

You say Pemberley is a fine house, and after viewing Mr. Darcy's townhouse I cannot doubt it, but you do not say how fine. I am not one to brag about my daughters' good fortune, but you must satisfy my curiosity as to the number of servants at P. as Lady Lucas is convinced there can be no more than five and twenty, and I have assured her Mr. D. must employ forty at least. How many French cooks does he have?

Jane grinned. "I did not realise Mr. Darcy had a kitchen full of French cooks. Little surprise the food is so delightful."

"Only Monsieur Antoine." Elizabeth had no idea how many servants he employed, but Mrs Reynolds would know. She decided to ask the next time they spoke.

Her sister looked thoughtful. "Do you think we should employ a French cook at Netherfield? No, perhaps not. Mama might wish to visit more often."

"And you would not want to encourage her," Elizabeth agreed, relieved to hear the subject turning to someone other than their host.

I told you in my last that Mrs Howard brought her second eldest son when she called on our return. Since then we have had a number of callers, particularly young gentlemen. Mr. Robinson even brought his plain-faced nephew. I am sure you remember him, Lizzy, for you danced with him at the Christmas assembly and was less than complimentary about his unfortunate speech impediment. Not only that, but when Lady Lucas invited us for tea yesterday, John Lucas joined us in the drawing room and was very prettily behaved. No doubt my girls' seven thousand pounds is a mighty inducement, although I swear I will never forgive him for the trick he played with the snails in the salad during my al fresco three years ago.

Elizabeth sighed. "Will she ever forget those snails?"

"No and neither would you if you found one looking at you from the end of your fork. Charlotte's brother could not sit down for a week when his father heard what he had done."

They both laughed at the memory as Elizabeth brought forward the second page.

Of course, I am well aware that the girls' larger dowry is the reason for the increase in the number of gentleman callers we are seeing, and I can only give daily thanks to your uncle for his generosity. Kitty and Lydia will be distraught once Nathan leaves us for Derbyshire. He has only been home a few days but they have all been getting on so well, although I believe Kitty has the preference in his eyes. She has asked her father for riding lessons, and I know she only does it so she can ride with Nathan, for she—like you, Lizzy—has shown no interest in the pastime since you were all children.

Unfortunately, Mr. Bennet says he can spare neither a single horse nor man to teach her while they are getting the harvest in. However, your Aunt Phillips has had an idea that someone else might be willing to take on the task, and she intends to ask our neighbours. If it could be arranged so, I will be content; for nothing would please me more than for one of my daughters to be mistress here when I am gone.

"Mama still seems determined to force one or other of her daughters onto Nathan. I feel sorry for him, for at his age marriage should be the last thing on his mind."

"Nathan might yet grow to appreciate either Lydia or Kitty. He has many years before he must consider marriage and stranger things have happened," Jane pointed out.

I hope one of you will drop a kind word to Mary, for she pines the loss of Mr. Newman. We have no more sermonising at the dinner table—only sighs. I know not which is worse. Mr. Bennet is quite out of patience with her, and spends more than his usual number of hours in his book room. The only benefit I can see is that she has given up practicing the piano, which as you know, I found very trying on my nerves. It is a shame I did not think to invite him to call on us when they last met; to be sure we are regretting it now.

However, perhaps this is not a bad thing after all. Mr. Newman told me himself that he currently has no income but the allowance his father gives him and most of that is spent on books. He only becomes truly eligible once he comes into his own inheritance in two years time, which might as well be ten as far as Mary is concerned.

"Poor Mary! Her three hundred pounds a year would barely be sufficient for two maid-servants."

"How many servants does a newly married couple need, Jane? Not everyone can be so fortunate as to live in a house the size of Netherfield, with a full staff and everything taken care of."

Jane looked pointedly around the parlour they sat in before giving her sister a knowing look. "But living on Mary's dowry they could only rent a modest cottage."

"What does the size of their fortune matter if they are in love?"

"Mr. Newman currently lives under his father's aegis. I would think less of him if he were happy to live on Mary's money alone. Perhaps, for once, mama is being sensible when she says they cannot yet afford to marry."

Your Aunt Phillips tried to cheer her up by introducing Mary to one of your uncle's clerks—a fine looking young man with the fairest hair I have ever seen upon a gentleman—but the result was disappointing. She showed not the slightest particle of interest. A word from you or Jane might cheer her up.

"I do feel for Mary. It is unfortunate that, when a gentleman should finally make himself agreeable, the circumstances fall against him. You were introduced to Mr. Newman. What is he like?"

Elizabeth described Mary's first evening in his company, at Rempstone House, and his subsequent visit to Gracechurch Street, just at the time when she had most needed a diversion. "I think charitably of him. He is bookish, of course, but that is what attracted Mary the most. His manners are just as they should be, and yet he has no fear of Mama. He would make Mary an excellent husband if not for them having to wait the two years."

"Two years is nothing. A cousin of Mrs Harrison was betrothed to her husband for five years before they could afford to marry. In an ideal world a long engagement is to be discouraged, but sometimes it becomes necessary. Surely it is best for Mary to secure this young man now while his worth remains small."

"Secure him? Jane, you are beginning to sound like Charlotte. You had no thought in your head about securing Mr. Bingley when you fell in love with him."

Jane had the decency to blush. "No, but now, as a married woman, I realise how important it is to be married well. I wonder what Mary has written?" She tore the wafer and opened the single page from their sister. One glance was enough for them both to recognise how unhappy she was. Although Mr. Newman was not mentioned by name, Mary went so far as to concede that she could find nothing to interest her at home and had been far happier in Town.

"Poor Mary. She seems to hold little hope of seeing him any time soon. I wish we could do something for her. Perhaps when you and Charles next go to town, you could take Mary with you?"

"What makes you think I will be the next of us to visit town?" Jane's smile widened as she continued in a teasing tone, "When you marry Mr. Darcy—"

"Jane!" Elizabeth's spirits sank with the knowledge that she could not confirm the news her sister wished to hear, despite it being her fervent desire.

"Please do not keep me in suspense!" Her sister squeezed her hand. "He must have asked you by now."

Not knowing what else to say, Elizabeth could only shake her head mutely.

"No? Oh, Lizzy, I am so sorry. I did not mean to torment you so dreadfully, only after this afternoon, and that beautiful poem, I assumed …" Jane sighed as she wrapped a sisterly arm around her shoulder. "I would not hurt you for the world."

"I know. I only wish I did have something to tell."

They sat together for a moment in an awkward silence, before Jane said, "He intends to propose, I am sure of it. I have never seen any man more in love than Mr. Darcy."

Her sister 's sympathy made it difficult for Elizabeth to maintain her silence on the subject that occupied much of her thoughts each day. "Do you really think so?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes, of course. His admiration is clear for anyone to see."

Surprised and gratified by her sister's conviction, Elizabeth found herself admitting her deepest doubts. "If that is true, why does he remain silent? What is he waiting for, Jane? Could he believe I do not care for him? This afternoon, when Mr. Darcy read the words of that poem, I thought he might be saying he did not know my feelings. What should I do?"

Jane shook her head. "Be patient, Lizzy. I am sure he will come to the point eventually, and when he does, I promise you will know what it is to be truly happy."

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~

Chapter fifty-five.

When Nathan Bennet woke the next morning, it took him a few moments to recall where he was. The proportion and elegance of the room he had slept in reflected the property of which it formed a small part. He had seen many engravings of fine country residences in the copies of The Gentleman's Magazine or Ackermann's Repository that had found their way to Kingston, but had never expected to sleep in one.

His stomach rumbled, prompting thoughts of the breakfast that would eventually be laid out downstairs. Fresh bread, toasted and spread with creamy butter, honey, cake, egg and perhaps some of the beef served cold from the night before. If it were half as good as dinner the previous evening, Nathan knew he would not go hungry.

A noise came from the dressing room beyond. Although he had been engaged only two weeks earlier, his new valet had adapted well to Nathan's habits. Despite the many late evenings out with his uncle Henry, he had never quite lost the habit of rising early, and Harleigh would soon be on hand to shave and dress him; a novelty Nathan had not yet accustomed himself to.

Nathan's arrival at Pemberley the previous day had been greeted with surprise and pleasure by his cousins, and Bingley seemed overjoyed to see him again. Mr. Darcy had extended the invitation while they were in town, so he had no doubts of his welcome from that quarter, but from the moment of their introduction, Miss Darcy made him feel decidedly uncomfortable.

At dinner the previous evening, things had been no better. While Jane and Lizzy were seated on his left and right—eager to hear what he had been doing since their last meeting—the small size of the party meant him being placed opposite Miss Darcy, where he had been forced to suffer her quiet disapproval of his presence. While she had been careful not to draw the censure of her brother or the others around the table, her chilly silence towards him spoke volumes. It had taken no great intellect on his part to deduce that his arrival was as unwelcome as finding moths in her hatboxes. Miss Darcy might not yet be formally out—even though she was the same age as Lydia—but he had never met anyone more proud or disdainful.

Lizzy, of course, had been less than sympathetic to his plight, pointing out as they retired that he only had himself to blame. Unfortunately, it was true. He had interpreted his Uncle Henry's advice about schoolroom chits literally and had made a point to avoid them whenever possible. In this, he had been successful; at least until Miss Darcy arrived at Gracechurch Street. Now, of course, she was in the comfort of her own home, and enjoyed the weight of her brother's authority behind her. Nathan knew he would have to be careful, for she looked like the sort who might enjoy getting him into trouble on the flimsiest of excuses.

As he climbed out of bed to succumb to Harleigh's ministrations, he wondered idly whether Miss Darcy's habit was to take breakfast early or late.

He would have to find out so he could avoid her.

Shaved, dressed and ready to face the world, Nathan descended the grand staircase, upon which he met his host.

"Good morning, Bennet. Did you sleep well?"

Nathan admitted he had slept too well, almost forgetting where he was.

"And your accommodation is acceptable?"

"Of course. My room is perfect. Mrs Reynolds has been very kind."

"You remind her of me, I think. She remembers when my father instructed Mr. Wickham—our steward at that time—to oversee my education in estate matters. I was a little younger than you, of course, and found the whole experience profoundly dull, but I was grateful for my father's foresight when his early death put Pemberley into my hands. While Longbourn is undoubtedly smaller, what you learn here can be equally applied to properties of any size."

Nathan nodded. "To be honest, I find myself grateful for an occupation. I was used to helping my father on the plantation. Being idle sits ill with me."

"I do not fear you growing bored. Mr. Johnson will have plenty to keep you occupied, I am sure. Come, I will introduce you to him." Mr. Darcy appeared to be in a good mood, despite the shower of rain that kept everyone else indoors. They walked together through the halls and corridors until, taking a side door, they crossed towards the stables.

The steward lived in a small detached house, near the dairy and brew house, where he resided with only his wife for company. Mr. Johnson was heavily built, with a square jaw and the florid complexion of one who spends his days outside in all weathers. Ledgers and maps surrounded the oak desk, while tomes of property law and enclosure rolls vied for space with well-read volumes of Shakespeare and Donne. However, despite an atmosphere of quiet efficiency, Nathan noted the twinkle in the man's eye when he promised Mr. Darcy he would allow his young assistant no rest or quarter once he returned from breaking his fast.

Thus the day continued, with Nathan listening carefully as Mr. Johnson imparted his views on the rights and obligations of tenants and their masters, explaining how the bond of trust fell upon all parties if the land was to be farmed successfully. His eyes were opened to a number of truths about land management before Nathan received permission to return to the other guests at the end of the day.

Before dinner that evening, Nathan found Mr. Darcy in his study, looking through papers of his own. He offered a packet wrapped in brown paper and string to his host, who turned it over in his hands. "What is this?"

"Something I had packed at the bottom of my luggage. My uncle sent it. He said you were expecting it."

Removing the string Mr. Darcy opened out the paper to reveal a small leather-bound book, worn at the edges. His eyes lit with recognition. "John Bennet's journal."

"Yes. Uncle thinks it is of sufficient interest to be published. We would appreciate your opinion." Nathan watched as Mr. Darcy turned the pages, filled with his father's regular, close-written hand, before placing the book to one side.

"Thank you. Ever since your uncle told me of it, I have been looking forward to reading it." He folded his hands on the desk. "Did you find your work today terribly tedious?"

Nathan smiled. "No, actually. It was all rather interesting. Mr. Johnson is a clever man."

"That he is. So you will not object to doing it again tomorrow?"

"Oh no. Tomorrow we will ride out to the site where they are demolishing the damaged cottages. Mr. Johnson told me about the fire, and showed me the plans for the new buildings. We are to monitor the progress of the labourers."

"Very good." Mr. Darcy carefully aligned the silver letter opener parallel with his pens, before clearing his throat. "What other news do you have for me?"

Nathan knew what he asked. When the Bennets returned to Longbourn, he had stayed a few days longer at Rempstone House and had been in a perfect position to gauge the results of Mr. Darcy's efforts on Elizabeth's behalf. "The gossip had died down considerably before I left, assisted, no doubt, by the announcement of Cresswell's betrothal and the fact that you were seen driving Lizzy in Hyde Park. Is that why you took her there? So you would be seen together?"

Mr. Darcy shrugged, depreciating his own involvement. "It crossed my mind that it would not hurt our cause. Miss Bennet seemed unaware of the significance of our destination and did not appreciate how it might be perceived by the ton. Hopefully she need never know about those lies."

"She will not hear of it from me. Uncle Henry offered to spread it about that you were all but betrothed to Lizzy, but I told him he had caused more than enough trouble already without bandying around another false story. I was so angry; it was all I could do not to hit him."

"Henry might be a sad rattle, but you should take care. He has age, experience and, more importantly, weight on his side."

Nathan was interested to note that Mr. Darcy had offered no denials to his uncle's suggestion of a betrothal rumour, only that Henry Ardern might prove a formidable opponent if he chose to challenge him. "Yes, Cresswell said the same, so he took me to Bond Street so I could learn from Jackson how to throw a punch properly."

Mr. Darcy's lips curled into a smile. "He did? Good for him."

"Yes, but I was having so much fun in the ring that when I got home I forgot all about hitting Henry."

"I would not have let him off quite so easily."

Nathan felt obliged to offer a word in support of his uncle, regardless of how much he might agree with Mr. Darcy. "He was full of remorse for what he did … swears he will never touch a drop again, or say a word out of turn."

"And you believed him?"

"Well … no. Certainly not the bit about never drinking, but I do believe he was sincere when he said he had learned his lesson about spreading gossip."

"As much as I hate to admit it, I know there was nothing malicious in Henry's actions. Your uncle did not intend to harm Miss Bennet's reputation, although that does not excuse his thoughtless behaviour. He never did learn to watch his words in his ebriety and chose a week when gossip was thin on the ground. This event might encourage him to guard his tongue in the future, but I doubt it will cure him of the habit altogether, regardless of his contrition."

Nathan shook his head. "Would you believe he has even been considering marriage himself? He admitted it was about time he should settle down and set me a good example."

Mr. Darcy laughed out loud. "God help us! I pity the woman who takes him on, for I doubt he knows the first thing about being a husband. Does Cresswell now accept his impending nuptials?"

Nathan recalled the last time he had seen the Viscount. "No, not really; more resigned to his fate, I would say. When not making the obligatory visits to Miss Jasper, he spends most of his time at White's, drowning his sorrows. I am sorry now I misjudged him."

"No more than I, although we based our assumptions on the evidence available to us. I had come to believe him capable of anything, despite our previous friendship."

"I suppose not everyone is fortunate enough to have equal felicity in marriage—"

At that moment, the door burst open, and Bingley walked in. "Unlike my friend here," Mr. Darcy added, waving a hand towards him, "Who is the happiest married man in the world. Is that not correct?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course." Bingley stood behind an empty chair, gripping the back for support. His countenance was grave. "What news from town?"

Seeing Nathan's confusion, Mr. Darcy explained, "I had to tell Bingley about the rumours surrounding your cousin. His sister tried to use the situation to further her own ends, and to Miss Bennet's detriment. As a result, she is no longer welcome in my house."

"Nor mine, now I know what she is capable of," Bingley said. "If I had been there I would have done more than just cut her. I would have strangled her."

Mr. Darcy smiled at his friend. "That would have been your prerogative, of course, but not necessary, I assure you. I am quite content to simply avoid Miss Bingley's company in future."

"I cannot say I blame you. If you want her punished, I could take away her allowance and send her to live with my Aunt Dorothy."

"Have you no compassion for your aunt?"

Bingley laughed. "You are right. She does not deserve such torture. Besides, with only the Hursts for company, Caroline is already relegated to the fringes of good society, for Hurst is only interested in socialising where a good meal is involved, and his favourite meals are served at his club. You were her entrée into the ton, and she has queered any chance she might have had now."

"Come now, Bingley. I do not expect you to cut all connection with your sister."

"I know, but Jane is the most important family I have now, and Lizzy is just as much my sister as Caroline was. She went too far and I will do what I must."

Nodding his acceptance of his friend's decision, Mr. Darcy encouraged Nathan to repeat the news for Bingley's benefit. When he heard how Darcy had taken Elizabeth through the park during the fashionable hour, his eyebrows rose in surprise, but he made no comment.

The conversation then moved onto other matters, and Nathan excused himself to dress for dinner, determined to do justice to Monsieur Antoine's skills. He only hoped the Ice Queen of Pemberley had thawed a little, otherwise she was bound to give him indigestion.

~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

In the days following Nathan's arrival, life for Elizabeth settled into a comfortable pattern.

As she and Mr. Darcy both tended to rise early, they had fallen into the habit of taking a walk in the gardens—always within view of the house—or contemplating the events of the previous day on the rustic seat surrounded by roses. To her disappointment, nothing of great import was ever discussed, but she felt their understanding of each other grow with each different topic of conversation. They would then join the others for breakfast before Mr. Darcy left to complete his daily business.

Elizabeth and Jane called on their aunt's acquaintance at Lambton and, on Sunday, enjoyed a tour of the little church, guided by the curate. The following day, Bingley took them in the chaise to view the cottages that were being rebuilt, while Georgiana carried a basket of provisions from Mrs Reynolds for the two displaced families who were lodging nearby. In the evenings, after dinner, they played charades, cards and rhyming games, or moved to the music room where the ladies could exhibit their skills for the entertainment of the gentlemen.

One afternoon, when rain again kept them all indoors, Elizabeth joined Georgiana in the library, examining some of the older books in the Darcys large collection. Her attention straying from the Shakespeare folio in her hands, she gazed out through the French doors leading onto a side terrace overlooking a large expanse of lawn rising up to the woods beyond. "I think the gardens here are every bit as elegant as the house," she observed with a satisfied sigh. "There is a calm, restful quality to them. At home I had to walk many miles to enjoy a similar sight. The pond set in the front prospect is delightful."

Georgiana agreed. "If you stand on the opposite side of the valley there is a little spot which is just the right position to see the house reflected in the water. I remember Fitzwilliam took me there many times when I was young, and I was sure the house had fallen into the pond. He told me the reflection of the house was where the water fairies lived, and at the time I believed him. He can be very convincing when he wishes to be."

The tone in Georgiana's voice suggested that she did not think her brother was making enough effort to convince Elizabeth of his affections. Although she never commented on it, it was clear that the young girl waited with growing impatience to hear she would soon have a sister.

Unfortunately, despite her growing friendship with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth could not give her the reassurance she so desired, so instead changed the subject. "Do you have any other surprises hidden in the grounds? Any hidden caves or follies I should know of?"

"Follies? You mean like a tower or a grotto?"

"Yes, something like that, or even a … a temple." Rarely did a day go by when Elizabeth did not think about the one in her dreams; the marble edifice where she always met Mr. Darcy.

"Oh no, we have nothing like that now. Grandmother Darcy had a hermitage built, but the hermit only lived there for a few years, and it fell down before I was born. There are one or two cottages sitting on the edge of the park, but people live in those … old servants and the like."

Having convinced herself that her dreams could be a portent of things to come, Elizabeth's hopes of a romantic proposal within the shelter of a secluded marble temple faded.

"But I believe Aunt Catherine has one somewhere in the grounds at Rosings. Did you never see it during your stay?"

"No, I am sorry I did not."

"I would have thought Fitzwilliam might have shown it to you while you were staying so close; perhaps during one of your walks?"

"Oh, we did not walk together then. I stayed with my friend Mrs Collins at the parsonage, and only occasionally did we go to Rosings for tea." As Elizabeth spoke these words, she realised she was not being entirely truthful. Although they had never consciously walked out together, more than once, during her rambles in the park, she had come across Mr. Darcy, quite by accident. She recalled his odd, unconnected questions interspersed with long silences. How very different that Mr. Darcy had been from the man she now looked forward to seeing every morning.

How different, also, were her feelings for that man.

She loved him, with all her heart. Why, otherwise, would her dreams be so full of him? Was that what love was? To want to be with him always; to ache with loss when he left the room; to crave the feeling of his hand on hers?

If that was love, she felt she might run mad with it, for it had begun to consume her.

Mr. Darcy had been kind and attentive, seeming to receive as much delight from her company as she did from his, but he had still not brought himself to the point. Elizabeth wondered why that should be the case. What was he unsure of? She could smile and take pleasure in his company, but she feared a more overt demonstration of her feelings would be frowned upon. It was up to him to take the next step. She could only hope it mirrored the declaration she had dreamed of so often.

"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." She now knew Mr. Darcy's words in her dream as well as she knew her own name, and it was only a pity her nocturnal expeditions never went past that point. Whenever he declared his love, she either woke, or her dream subtly shifted to something else. She would have loved to know what he might say next. Some nights she had lain awake in the darkness, acting out the scene between them, imagining the form his proposal might take and practicing her own response. She always drifted back to sleep with a happy smile on her face.

Belatedly recalling where she was, she smiled at Georgiana. "I sometimes dream of a temple," she said wistfully. "In a beautiful garden, similar to the gardens here at Pemberley. Its base is round and the domed roof is supported by tall columns. In the centre is a little room with a statue of a goddess on a pedestal. It is surrounded by apple trees laden with white blossom."

"Oh, it sounds lovely! I wish I could have dreams like that. Mine are always dull."

Elizabeth could never describe her dreams as dull. They had grown to represent her hearts greatest desire.

The library door opened, startling them both from their conversation. Nathan poked his head into the room to ask if they knew the whereabouts of Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth was forced to admit she had no idea where he might be.

"You might try asking one of the other servants." Georgiana spoke over her shoulder, without giving Nathan a second look.

Nathan's face darkened into a scowl as he curtly apologised and left the room. Elizabeth shook her head in dismay. "Do you not think he has suffered enough?"

Georgiana looked up, surprised by her comment. "Who?"

"Nathan."

The young woman was silent as she turned the pages of her book, her attention fixed on the words. Finally, she said, "Mrs Annesley told me I should not give undue consequence to young gentlemen, lest I be considered a flirt."

Elizabeth pursed her lips together to stop from laughing. Georgiana Darcy was about as far away from being a flirt as any young girl could be, and she should know, for her youngest sisters were practiced flirts. "You know Nathan is not a servant."

"He is helping Mr. Johnson, is he not?" Elizabeth heard a defensive tone in the young girl's voice. "I thought your cousin came here to experience the life of a steward."

"He is here to learn from your brother's steward. There is a difference." She had no doubt Georgiana was still smarting from Nathan's behaviour in town, but it was past the time when they should bring their antipathy to an end.

The following morning Elizabeth was grateful to see the sun rise on what promised to be a glorious summer's day. Dressing quickly, she arrived in the foyer hoping to find Mr. Darcy waiting for her, as he had been the previous two days. Just as she reached the last step, the gentleman in question entered the hall, his attention fixed on a piece of paper in his hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy. I see the weather is once again dry. Where shall we go today?"

Mr. Darcy folded the page and slipped it into the pocket of his coat. "I am afraid our walk will have to be postponed. I have a small matter which, reluctantly, I must take care of first."

Although she knew he was a busy man, with many calls on his time, Elizabeth could not hide her disappointment that estate business should spoil a time of the day she had come to treasure. "I understand. Perhaps I will take my book to the library and read for a while."

Pulling his gloves through his hand, Mr. Darcy seemed to be in two minds about leaving the house without her. "You are, of course, welcome to accompany me if you wish, but in this particular circumstance, I … I was not sure if our destination might cause you discomfort."

"Are you saying it is not safe to join you?"

"Oh no, you will be in no danger. I am only concerned you might hear something that you would rather remain ignorant of. I would wish to shield you from the less than pleasant side of life."

"I can assure you, sir, I am not such a milksop." Elizabeth smiled to take the sting from her words. "If you would rather go about your business on your own, then say so, but do not use my sensibilities as justification for going alone."

He returned her smile with one of his own. "Very well, Miss Bennet. I would be happy for you to join me. It is too far even for you to walk, so I will order the curricle. Can you be ready to leave in ten minutes?"

Having assured him that she would meet him in the hall at the agreed upon time, the Master of Pemberley issued his orders, and within fifteen minutes Elizabeth was sitting by his side as he guided the horse down a narrow track through the estate.

Her eyes drank in each new scene they passed; so much so that she was startled when Mr. Darcy asked if she liked what she had seen of the estate.

"Naturally. How could anyone not like such a wonderful home?" Elizabeth only wished she could stay forever. She looked into his eyes. "You are very fortunate, Mr. Darcy, to have such a comfortable residence."

He glanced away, as though embarrassed by her praise. "It never felt quite as much a home as it has in the last two weeks."

Not knowing quite what reply to make, she waited, hoping he would say more, but the remaining journey was traversed in silence.

They pulled up outside a small thatched cottage, located in an isolated area of the park and surrounded by a neatly kept kitchen garden, well stocked with ripening vegetables. Mr. Darcy helped her to alight before offering her his arm and they walked together down the path.

The young woman who opened the door stepped back into the room beyond and curtsied, inviting Mr. Darcy to enter. Recalling his earlier concern, Elizabeth felt a reluctance to join him, but he covered her hand with his own; reassuring her that nothing was amiss. He bent his head slightly, to avoid the low door, until he was safely inside the parlour beyond, drawing her in with him.

"Margaret, I received your message. Is everything well?"

"Oh! Mr. Darcy. I'm fair glad you came. We 'ad a letter come yesterday, only I couldn't read more'n half, an I understood even less."

"Where is the letter?"

The woman reached into her apron pocket, and pulled out the previously folded piece of paper, which now looked a little worse for wear. He glanced at the senders address at the top of the page and raised his eyebrows, but before he had the chance to read it, they heard quick footsteps, and a small boy with thick dark hair came running through the door from the kitchen.

"Mama! Look ... cat-a-pill!" He held out his hand proudly to display the many-legged insect clearly to everyone in the room.

Elizabeth looked at both boy and man, comparing their similar build and colouring. She wondered exactly what Mr. Darcy considered the less than pleasant side of life. Would he ever admit such an indiscretion?

"Good afternoon, Thomas. Have you been behaving for your Mama and your Grandmama?"

The boy nodded his head seriously. "Yes, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy took a small coin from his pocket, handing it over solemnly. "If you are a good boy all week, I will ask Mrs. Reynolds to send you some of her special lemon cake."

Thomas's smile grew wide, and he whispered his awed gratitude before looking up at the woman called Margaret. When she indicated he could return to the garden, he ran off again, taking his 'pet' with him.

Mr. Darcy, dismissing the boy's presence, returned his attention to the letter. His brow furrowed—she could not tell whether with anger or frustration—and his hands tightened absently on the paper, crinkling it between his fingers.

After a moment he folded the page, placing it carefully into his pocket. His gaze rose to lock with Elizabeth's and she heard him sigh.

"The letter is from a doctor in Bath. George Wickham is dead."

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~

Chapter fifty-six.

Elizabeth let out an involuntary gasp, shocked by the words Mr. Darcy had spoken so calmly. The young woman called Margaret, however, remained unmoved by the startling news. Wiping her hands on her apron, she said, "I'd hoped that was what it meant."

Mr. Darcy indicated Elizabeth should sit down. She accepted his suggestion gratefully and Margaret offered them tea.

"Or would you prefer somethin' stronger, sir? I think we still have a little of the brandy left from Christmas." After he assured her that tea would be fine, the woman left them alone in the parlour as she went to boil the water.

Taking the chair nearest to Elizabeth's, he took her hand in his, his face etched deep with concern at her response to the contents of the letter. "You are upset by this news?"

She shook her head. "I am more shocked than anything. I have not thought about Mr. Wickham in such a long time. Certainly not since Jane's wedding day, when Georgiana ..." She paused, embarrassed at bringing up a subject she suspected still caused him pain. "Well, it was the last thing I expected to hear today."

"I am sorry to say that, for me, the news was not so wholly unexpected. The Militia was his last real chance for a decent occupation. Had he chosen to distinguish himself through sterling service, he would have had the opportunity to transfer to the regulars and progress within the ranks, thereby earning a reasonable standard of living. Instead he behaved in the same way he invariably did when faced with an awkward situation. He gave up and ran away."

Elizabeth retrieved her hand from his grasp just before Margaret returned to the room, carrying a tray laden with tea. She noticed how the young woman served the two of them, but took nothing for herself. She assumed that Margaret lived in the house with her son, but her behaviour reminded her more of a servant. As she and Mr. Darcy drank their tea, a loud banging from above accompanied the sound of a woman's voice.

"Maggie?"

For the first time since their arrival, Margaret looked at Mr. Darcy with something akin to fright. "Oh, Lord! She'll be wantin' her breakfast. What shall I tell her, sir?"

Yet more thumps punctuated the silence, sounding to Elizabeth like a wooden stick striking the floor. She then heard a deep sigh from Mr. Darcy, and she looked to see him shaking his head.

"I do not think there is any benefit in telling Mrs Wickham her son is dead, Margaret. It will only serve to upset her, and it is very likely she will have forgotten the news by the end of the day." He returned his cup to the tray as he stood and patted the letter in his pocket. "I will make sure Mr. Johnson is aware of the situation. Other than that, just continue as you are. Send word to the house if you need anything."

"I will, sir. Thank you, sir," the woman replied as she accompanied them to the door.

Elizabeth remained silent as Mr. Darcy helped her onto the seat of the curricle, before taking his own place and flicking the reins to start the horses moving. The wind whipped around them, causing her to hold on to her bonnet, lest the ribbons work loose. A number of questions came to mind, but she did not know how to begin asking them.

"I believe I can guess your thoughts."

She raised her eyebrows. "You can?"

He did not respond for a long time. Eventually he spoke, although barely loud enough for her to hear over the wind. "Thomas is not my son."

"I did not—"

He held up his hand to forestall her reply. "I can understand why you might have thought so. Even Mrs Reynolds has commented on more than one occasion that he reminds her of me when I was younger."

Although Elizabeth had noticed a slight similarity in the boy's features and colouring, any suspicion had been dismissed almost as soon as it had formed. "Then who...?"

"I would have thought you might venture a guess, Miss Bennet. You were provided with enough information during our visit to deduce the most likely scenario."

Elizabeth thought back to their time in the cottage. She recalled Margaret, who acted like a servant in her own home; the young boy, Thomas, with dark, curly hair. She remembered Mr. Darcy's question to him: "Have you been a good boy for your Mama and your Grandmama?" The unseen lady in the chamber above them. "He is Mr. Wickham's son," she replied, looking to him for confirmation.

He turned to face her, nodding slowly. "Yes, he is." Easing the reins back, he slowed the horse to a stop before he wrapped the leather straps around the bar. "Perhaps it might be better if I explain the circumstances to you."

"Please do not feel you have to explain anything to me, Mr. Darcy. What you choose to do on your own estate is no one else's concern."

"I would like to tell you, if you are willing to hear it." She nodded her acquiescence. "When I settled the sum of money on Mr. Wickham—in lieu of the preferment which my father wished him to have—he travelled to Pemberley in person to collect the payment, rather than allow me to send it through my bankers in London.

"As his own father had died a few months earlier, I expected him to visit his mother and make arrangements for her wellbeing. The death of her husband caused her great distress; not so much because she held any sincere affection for him, but because she could not envisage living without the income Mr. Wickham senior brought into the household. Mrs Wickham suffered from an extravagant nature and very little remained for her to live on. The money I gave to her son would not have been sufficient for them both to live in the style she was accustomed to, but it would have paid for board and lodgings for both while Wickham bent his mind to the task of providing for the two of them."

As he paused in his story, Elizabeth said, "I assume he did not arrange to help his mother."

"Not only did he make no such arrangements, but he left Derbyshire without seeing Mrs Wickham, or alerting her to his presence in any way." He sighed as he shook his head. "She never fully recovered from the loss of her husband, or rather the loss of her status, and her mind became feeble. Some days she is little more than a child again, although occasionally she can seem a rational and sensible person."

After finishing his explanation, he sat for some moments in silence, staring out into the trees as though he was reliving a dim and distant memory. Elizabeth reached out her hand to touch his sleeve, bringing him back to the moment. "And young Thomas?"

"Yes … well, although Wickham did not visit his mother during his brief sojourn in Derbyshire, he did not spend his time idly. Four months after he left Mrs Reynolds brought another matter to my attention."

"Margaret?"

"Yes." He frowned as he recalled the details. "Wickham had bragged to her about the money he was to receive, and enticed her with his pledge they would marry, once he had secured lodgings and employment in London. He promised her everything and she believed him."

Feeling herself blush, Elizabeth admitted, "I cannot fault her for that. I, too, found him very believable, if you remember."

Mr. Darcy huffed. "This was not quite the same thing. He used her, like he used everybody, and left her behind without a thought for her well-being." Covering her hand with his, he appeared to take comfort from her touch. "It was the first time something like this had happened since I had taken over the responsibility of the estate, and, as a young man, I had no notion of how to deal with a member of the staff in that ... condition. Margaret has been connected with Pemberley since birth—her father was our head coachman when I was a boy—and it seemed almost barbaric to banish her from the only place she had ever known, especially when the fault lay squarely with Wickham."

Elizabeth met his gaze. "I understand most gentlemen would consider the fault to lie with the girl under these circumstances."

"Please, Miss Bennet," he replied with feeling. "I hope you would credit me with more sensibility than most gentlemen. Besides, I knew Wickham too well to doubt the situation. Mrs Reynolds suggested the arrangement you have seen today. Margaret cares for Thomas and Mrs Wickham, and I pay her a small sum to assist with her costs. Mrs Wickham, in her fragile mental state, believes Margaret to be her daughter-in-law in truth and knows Thomas is her grandson. His presence in her life keeps her content. The only modification I made to Mrs Reynolds' suggestion was to promise that Margaret and Thomas have a home there for as long as they require it. When older, Thomas will also be educated at my expense. Let us hope he is more appreciative of that honour than his father was."

Elizabeth paused for a minute, unsure whether to ask the question that hovered on her lips, but she saw nothing but open sincerity in his eyes. "And Mr. Wickham? How did he...?"

He reached into his coat pocket, and pulled out the crumpled letter. Wordlessly, he passed it to her, and she could not be insensible to the trust he showed in allowing her to read the words for herself. Opening the page, she looked at the sheet in front of her.

Written by a Dr. William Harris, the bold strokes spoke in bland terms about the death of one George Wickham, while in the Workhouse of the Parish of St. James, in Bath. It reported the circumstances of him being found in the street, collapsed and bleeding, after a vicious attack. The doctor surmised that the motive must have been robbery, for he carried no money or jewellery on his person, but Elizabeth could well imagine that gambling debts, or some similar problem, had incited the assault. He had regained consciousness only briefly, at which time he asked them to write to his mother, instructing them where to send the letter, before passing from his poor existence from severe internal injuries.

Mr. Wickham had died in the manner he had lived his life: carelessly, and with precious little thought for the distress he may cause to others.

"For Georgiana's sake I cannot consider having the body returned to Pemberley for burial, but I will ask Mr. Johnson to send a donation to the workhouse, and Mr. Reeve will oblige me by adding Mr. Wickham's name to his father's headstone in the churchyard. Mrs Wickham will join her husband there in due course."

"He never once mentioned his mother to me." Elizabeth passed the letter back to Mr. Darcy. As she placed the paper in his hand, his fingers brushed against the exposed skin at her wrist, and she drew back, embarrassed by the pleasure she received from the brief caress.

"I am not at all surprised," he said, returning the letter to his pocket. He unhooked the reins and clicked his tongue to start his horse moving again. "When Colonel Fitzwilliam investigated the matter of Wickham's disappearance, he found the Militia were not even aware he had family still living. It seems, until his last hours, he had conveniently erased it from his memory."

Elizabeth laughed. "I know how easily that feat can be accomplished."

Mr. Darcy frowned, turning on the seat to face her, the reins grasped tightly in his fist as their movement was checked once more. "There are no similarities between your situation and that of Mr. Wickham."

The vehemence in his tone surprised Elizabeth. She had spoken the words in a light-hearted manner; for, in truth, the missing hours from earlier in the year preyed very little on her mind. "Those memories are lost to me now, but it causes me no pain. I am quite reconciled to the fact that I might never remember what happened on that day."

Either her words or their calming tone seemed to relax him. Raising his hand he brushed away a strand of hair blown loose by the wind, tucking it behind her ear. "Dr. Hall did say they might return at some time. Would you be sorry if they did?"

His question surprised her more than his touch. She had never before imagined that anything could have happened during the missing time to cause her any regret if she were to recall it. "I suppose it all depends on what I remember. However, I am not actively seeking their recall." She looked into his eyes and smiled. "I … I find myself quite content with my life as it is now."

The remnants of his frown disappeared, as he lifted her hand and clasped it between his own, the warmth of his touch flowing up her arm and straight into her heart. "Miss Bennet, there is something I have to tell you."

The familiar butterflies took wing inside her stomach, and she laid her free hand atop his as she felt the first drop of rain on her cheek.

Startled, Mr. Darcy looked up into the trees, and when Elizabeth lifted her head she saw that the sky above had darkened; a portent for a summer storm. Another raindrop fell on their conjoined hands and she heard him sigh as a third hit his forehead. "Hold on to the rail. I will take us home as quickly as I can, but we may still get wet." He said no more as he directed his horse back towards Pemberley. They were within sight of the house when the heavens opened, sending rain lashing down on them in the open curricle, soaking them in moments.

As soon as they pulled to a stop, a footman stepped forward to assist Elizabeth from the curricle and Mrs Reynolds bundled her off to change into dry clothes, before she caught her death of cold.

Elizabeth did not have another opportunity to speak to Mr. Darcy alone that day. By the time she changed and returned downstairs to the parlour, Jane and Georgiana persuaded her to play a game of charades. Charles and Mr. Darcy soon joined them but although she caught her host staring at her more than once, they were never alone and there were no further opportunities for her to discover what he was so eager to tell her.

When she climbed the grand staircase that evening to retire for the night, Elizabeth hoped the rain would clear for the following day, so she and Mr. Darcy could continue the conversation that had been so inconveniently interrupted.

She could only hope it was the declaration she had been waiting for.

~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~

Later that evening, once everyone else had retired for the night, Darcy sat in the library, contemplating the reflection of the fire in his brandy glass.

The occasional time spent in Elizabeth's company was no longer enough. He wanted all of her; her hand, her heart and her soul. Had the rain not caused their sudden flight back to the house, he might even have plucked up the courage that had so desperately deserted him in the last few weeks, despite having no idea what he should say.

To propose without telling Elizabeth the whole truth about his proposal at Rosings was unthinkable, but his doubts about how she would react to the details of their conversation still plagued him. He wished there was someone he could speak to; someone who could advise him on the best course of action.

Someone like his father, whose words of advice had never been as sorely missed as they were now.

Darcy reached for the book lying on a nearby table. The untitled battered black volume had kept him amused since Nathan's arrival at Pemberley. John Bennet’s dry wit had clearly been a match for his brother’s, and Darcy had fallen into the habit of imagining the words spoken in Mr. Bennet’s voice as he read about the life of a lonely young man living many miles from his ancestral home. The unacknowledged head of the Bennet family had lived through many difficulties and misfortunes of life in Jamaica, and Darcy had been enthralled and occasionally surprised by some of the events in his life.

His fingers failed to find purchase on the worn leather and the book fell from his grasp onto the floor. He bent to retrieve it, noticing as he did so that one of the corners had crumpled; no doubt a consequence of it coming into contact with the oak parquetry. Looking closer he realised the damage to the corner had also caused the endpaper to come unglued from the backboard and, studying it further, that the back cover of the book was thicker than the front. Easing back the corner of the endpaper, Darcy discovered why. Someone had glued down the edges of the final page after its manufacture, trapping another sheet within it, like a hidden pocket. Working at the loose edge, his curiosity piqued, he managed to separate enough to extract the contents.

Unfolding the paper Darcy found it was actually three sheets, cut from the binding of John Bennet’s journal. He recognised the regular sloping handwriting as that of Nathan’s father, and the date written at the top was early in 1794, only a month after his wife’s death. Turning to that year, he was able to confirm his suspicion. At least three pages were missing; neatly excised from the book.

After a brief hesitation, Darcy’s eyes scanned the first page, before moving swiftly to the second. When he looked at the third page he knew what he had discovered. A letter from John Bennet written to his infant son; words of fatherly advice from beyond the grave. He refolded the pages and laid them to one side, intending to give them to Nathan first thing in the morning, but after a moment's consideration he reached out for them as eagerly as though they had been written in his own father's hand.

My dear Nathan,

As you sit beside me on the floor, playing with a wooden ball, I am forced to wonder what sort of a man you will grow into, losing, as you have, the presence of so excellent a mother. Not only was she a wonderful mother to you, but a wife without peer to me.

We have both lost a great deal. I fear she is irreplaceable.

I first saw your mother at an assembly held by the Governor General at Kingston, in honour of his daughter’s birthday. Lord Rempstone had only been on the island for a week, but I had already had cause to deal with him in some matters of business, so it was a natural thing for me to speak to him that night, and equally natural for him to introduce his wife and daughter to me.

That one moment was all it took. As soon as I heard her voice and saw her smile, I knew I was lost beyond redemption.

John Bennet described his wife upon their first meeting; lingering eloquently on the first impression she had made upon him. Darcy recalled his first impressions of Elizabeth, but they did him no credit. He had gone to the assembly at Meryton, determined to be above being pleased. He had barely noticed any woman in the room, and failed to appreciate the prize that had been pointed out to him, even going so far as to refuse to ask Elizabeth to dance.

What a blind fool he had been.

Picking up the pages once more, Darcy skimmed over a few lines, until his eyes alit on another passage.

I heard through an acquaintance that the Rempstone's were planning their return to England in two months. The idea that Phillipa would leave these shores was a painful one for me to accept. I could not bear to think she might go back to London without knowing how I felt. It became imperative to me that I should acquaint her of my feelings without further delay.

With this aim in mind, I called at the Rempstone's lodgings, hoping to be allowed some moment of private speech with her. Hearing that Miss Ardern was out walking with her maid, I searched the area before coming across her strolling along the seashore, where we soon fell into conversation. Taking the opportunity to walk apart from her companion, I opened my heart and told her of my deepest desires. The joy I felt when she told me they were reciprocated was almost beyond description. I can only say I hope you will one day feel such ecstasy. Knowing the family were to leave, I wasted no time in seeking an audience with her father. The outcome of the resulting interview was less than I had hoped for. Lord Rempstone flatly refused to consent to our marriage. He had more lofty ambitions for his eldest daughter; intending her to be a Viscountess at the very least.

Darcy tried to imagine how he would feel if he thought for a moment Mr. Bennet might refuse his consent. Having won Elizabeth’s affections, after a long, hard battle, the last thing he would stand for would be the opinion of a parent, however well meaning. He could only imagine some of the things that might have gone through John Bennet’s mind under those circumstances.

Knowing I had little time to change his opinion, I managed to meet once again with Phillipa as she walked out with her maid. Hessie took pity on us, allowing us some time alone. Phillipa had tried to speak to her father about me, but to no avail. The only hope left to us was to throw ourselves on the mercy of her mother.

The following day I sought out Lady Rempstone, bringing with me a bouquet of her favourite native flowers. She was my last chance at happiness. My own parents had not been the sort of people who wore their affection openly, but I could not afford to be misunderstood and, as strange as it seemed to me, I revealed my heart to the Viscountess; telling her explicitly how empty, how devoid of hope my existence would be without her daughter’s presence. I promised her the earth; said I would devote every moment of my life to making Phillipa happy; that she would want for nothing. In short, I told her the absolute truth of my situation. Finally seeing a thawing of her frosty demeanour, Lady Rempstone agreed to discuss the matter with her husband.

Your grandmother is a formidable lady, but beneath her harsh exterior lies a romantic heart. The banns were called for the first time that Sunday, and we were married three weeks later.

Lowering the page, he stared into the flickering firelight. Although the writer had intended the hidden letter for Nathan Bennet's eyes alone, Darcy found the information and advice contained within to be apposite to his own predicament. He and Nathan were, in some ways, very similar; both orphaned, leaving them without the valuable guidance of a father.

The moral of John Bennet’s story was clear: regardless of any perceived impediments, true love should not be denied and the best way of winning it was by being completely open and honest.

He knew now, beyond doubt, that Elizabeth loved him. Hopefully where there was love, there would also be forgiveness. There was no longer any benefit to be gained by waiting to see whether Elizabeth’s memory returned. He had to tell her the truth of that day at Rosings, declare himself and throw himself on her mercy. Like John Bennet, he could not bear to think of Elizabeth leaving Pemberley without knowing just how he felt.

Folding the pages once more, he slipped them back into their 'pocket'. He would give them to Nathan tomorrow.

But not before he spoke to Elizabeth and told her everything. Even if it took him all day.

~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~

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