Chapter Thirteen.

"Mr. Bennet! Mr. Bennet! They are here!" Elizabeth could hear her mother's shrill voice plainly as the coach pulled down the sweep towards Longbourn House. She caught Mr. Bingley's eye and they exchanged a wry smile as Jane waved to her mother from the window. When the coach came to a stop, her father handed Jane down as her mother cried with delight.

"Jane! Oh my dear! It seems like such a long time since you were last home. Let me look at you." Mrs Bennet took a step back as she purred over her eldest daughter, who coloured slightly at her mother's officious attention. "She grows more beautiful every day, do you not think, sir?" she asked Mr. Bingley, who was fortunately saved from answering by a well-timed question from Mr. Bennet regarding the state of the roads.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was walking slowly to the house, relieved to be home, as she heard her mother turn her attentions once again to her visitor.

"My dear Mr. Bingley," she cooed, turning to him with a wide smile. "What a beautiful coach you have."

"Thank you, Ma'am, but it …"

Mrs Bennet did not wait to hear his response. "How am I able to properly thank you for returning my Jane so safe? You must stay to dinner. Are you able to join us this evening?"  

The young man proffered his apologies that he was engaged elsewhere, but he enthusiastically accepted her invitation to dine the following evening.

"You are quite a visit in my debt," Mrs Bennet reminded him cheerfully. "Before you left for town last winter you promised to take a family dinner with us. You see, I have not forgotten." Elizabeth did not want to hear any more, and she hastened into the house and up the stairs to her room. She was not surprised that Jane's arrival—escorted by Mr. Bingley no less—had overshadowed her own homecoming. Her mother's reaction was hardly unexpected, although her father's behaviour at her arrival had been puzzling; he had smiled sadly as she left the carriage, as if he were almost unhappy to see her back home.

Removing her bonnet and gloves, she dropped them on the bed and wandered across to her small window, which looked out over the rose garden. Barely five minutes passed before she heard a knock at the door and Jane entered.

"Oh Lizzy, I am sorry. Mama was wrong to ignore you in that fashion. Of course, you did only leave home at the beginning of March, so I suppose she has not missed you for quite so long."

"I wish I could be as forgiving as you, Jane. I do understand; there is no need to make excuses for her. You have been away for almost four months, and to arrive home in such a grand coach, accompanied by Mr. Bingley, of all people; of course Mama would be pleased to see you. I was grateful to escape her notice."

Jane looked sceptical at her sister's pronouncement, but Elizabeth was relieved to see that she chose to keep silent on the subject as she suggested they go downstairs.

When Jane and Elizabeth returned to the drawing room, their younger sisters were full of questions. They entreated Jane to describe her reunion with Mr. Bingley, after which Elizabeth kept Kitty and Lydia entertained with details of her stay with Mr and Mrs Collins, and her description of their cousin's obsequious behaviour to Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Elizabeth noticed that Lydia could barely sit still while listening to her elder sisters' stories. Once their accounts were complete, she could contain herself no longer. "Well, Lizzy, I have some news for you; excellent news, about a certain person we all like—dear Mr. Wickham."

"Mr Wickham? What is it, Lydia?"

"Wickham has been saved from Mary King. She has been sent to Liverpool to stay with her uncle. Such a plain sort of girl, and those freckles! I confess, I never knew what he saw in her!"

"I do hope there was no strong attachment on either side," said Jane, sympathetically.

"Lord! I am sure there was none on his side," Lydia answered with a wide smile. "I will answer for it he never cared three straws for her. Is that not good news?"

Elizabeth agreed; it was good news. Although she had been sorry to realise that his attentions to Miss King had given her less pain than she had expected, she was at least happy to be able to enjoy his good company again.

That evening, when the family were at dinner, her mother was too busy collecting an account of the present fashions in town from Jane to pay much attention to her second daughter. Upon taking his seat at the head of the table, Mr. Bennet asked her about her journey and her time in London. He had questioned her closely regarding Dr. Hall's comments, and how she was to take care of herself. Her father expressed his relief that she was returned safely, and hoped that she would speak more with him after dinner. Elizabeth, however, found herself too tired by the end of the meal, and decided to return directly to her room.

The following morning dawned bright and clear, and she could hardly wait to get outside. As Elizabeth stepped out of the house, she hoped that a walk along her favourite lanes and paths would lighten her heart. Because she had felt almost the centre of attention at Rosings, and being always in company at her aunt's busy household, she realised that her mother's blatant disregard on her arrival at Longbourn had been painful for her.

She continued to walk along a shaded, overgrown path, which had long been a favourite of hers from when she was young. The early morning sunlight filtered through the new leaves on the trees overhead, to create dappled pools of light and dark on the bare earth and grass. Elizabeth took in a deep breath and savoured the scents of spring which surrounded her. Here, at least, she was at peace.

After walking in solitude for over half an hour, she joined the Meryton road leading back towards Longbourn. Soon after, she noticed a pair of Militia officers on horseback, moving slowly towards her. She was delighted to see Wickham and Denny, who were on their way back to camp after carrying a message for Colonel Forster. Denny made his apologies and immediately rode on, but Lieutenant Wickham dismounted, and enquired whether she would like company on her walk.

"Would I be interrupting your solitary ramble?" he asked anxiously. His bright, welcoming smile made Elizabeth feel as if, for the first time since she returned home, someone was actually desirous of her company.

"You would," she teased, with a smile of her own, "but it does not follow that it would be unwelcome."

"That is good. I would be sorry indeed if it were unwelcome. I like to think we have always been good friends." She felt herself blush, and looked away; hiding her face behind her bonnet.

Her aunt's words of caution momentarily surfaced in Elizabeth's mind, but she pushed them down forcefully. "Should you not be returning to the camp? I would not wish for you to get in any trouble on my account."

"I would be more than happy to escort you home, Miss Elizabeth. I have no immediate reason to return." He paused, looking away for a moment before adding, "Your company has been greatly missed while you were away."

"I thank you, sir."

"And I am sure you have much to tell me of your stay with the Collins's."

As she looked at him, his engaging smile set her at ease, and she spoke feelingly about her visit to the parsonage.

"Lady Catherine was just as dictatorial and insolent as you described her. She asked numerous questions regarding me and my family, and found both to be severely lacking, I fear." They both laughed, as Elizabeth continued. "The worst of it was that my stay coincided with a visit from Mr. Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam." Hearing a sharp indrawn breath from her companion, she asked, "Are you acquainted with the Colonel?"

Mr. Wickham looked slightly anxious for a moment, before his expression cleared and his smile returned. "I met him on a couple of occasions. I always thought him a gentlemanlike man. Rather unlike his cousin, do you not think?"

"Yes, his manners are very different from his cousin," Elizabeth agreed fervently.

"And you saw them frequently?"

"Almost everyday."

"Oh." Wickham was silent for a minute before asking, "I had heard that you were ill in Kent? Are you recovered now?"

"Oh yes, I am much improved, thank you. Just leaving Rosings made me feel a great deal better."

"You stayed at Rosings?"

"I am afraid I did. I was nearer to Rosings House than the parsonage when they found me, or so I have been told. Mr. Darcy instructed that I should be taken to his aunt's house." For some reason, Elizabeth did not feel comfortable telling Mr. Wickham that his nemesis had carried her in his arms, even though she did not remember it, and had hardly been given a choice in the matter.

"Yes, well, as I believe have mentioned to you before, that gentleman can be liberal and generous when it pleases him. His family pride would not allow you to be treated any differently, I suppose. It would reflect badly on the family, you see. Did you, by any chance, meet with Miss de Bourgh during your stay?"

"Yes, I met her on a couple of occasions."

"And what did you think of Darcy's intended? I must admit, was only fortunate to be taken to Kent with the Darcy's once, but I found her a rather frail, weak little thing, with no conversation to speak of."

"She is rather shy, I think," Elizabeth replied warily. If Mr. Wickham had spent any time with Mr. Darcy at Rosings, surely he knew Anne's personality better than that?

Noticing that they were now almost to the gates of Longbourn, she asked Mr. Wickham if he would like to step into the house for some refreshment. He seemed about to accept her invitation, but then he suddenly remembered that he was expected back at the camp. He told her of his sincere regret that he had to leave her company, and begged leave to call on her again, before he hurriedly mounted his horse and, with a tip of his hat, turned back towards Meryton.

Continuing home, Elizabeth was surprised to see Samuel, her father's valet, walking towards her. Only then did she notice her father, standing by the gates to Longbourn's small park, watching her thoughtfully.

"Are you well, Miss?"

She wondered at the man's worried expression. "Yes, Samuel. Why? Whatever is the matter?"

"I believe Mr. Bennet wants you to return to the house, Miss."

She looked for her father, but he had already turned back. Samuel escorted her to the gate, and then down the sweep; following Mr. Bennet, who she saw entering the house without a backwards glance.

Stepping into the hall, Elizabeth knocked on the library door, intent on asking him why he had required her to return home. There was no answer and she was just wondering where he might be when Mrs Hill walked past. "Miss Elizabeth. Are you looking for the Master? He was called to the barn; one of the sows has taken sick."

Elizabeth thanked the woman, and wandered into the parlour, where Mrs Bennet was entertaining her sister, Mrs Phillips. As Elizabeth picked up her needlework from the table and sat in the corner, unremarked by her mother, she could not help but overhear her aunt's conversation.

"And has young Master Leeson settled in, Mary?"

"Yes, sister, and such a good worker he is, too. If Nan had not tried to give me her notice, we would not have got involved, but, of course, I had to send for Mr. Bennet straight away. It was not Joseph Leeson's fault that old Mr. Jones died. Being without a job, and him moving from Norfolk to work here, he would have been removed back to his own parish quicker than three shakes of a lamb's tail. Poor Nan; it seems she has grown very fond of him, and they have an understanding of sorts. If he was sent home, she was determined to follow him, whether he had work or no. Well, I could hardly be without a housemaid at such short notice now, could I?"

"No, of course not."

"So naturally, I wrote to Mr. Bennet, when he was staying at our brother's house in town, and he came straight back. Of course, I would have liked him to bring my Jane back with him then, but she wanted to stay and look after Lizzy," she added with a resigned sniff.

"And Mr. Bennet gave Joseph Leeson work to stop you losing a housemaid?"

"Yes, he's to help in the stables, and do something or other with the pigs." Mrs Bennet said, waving her hand airily. "I hope they do not marry very soon. I dislike having to get new household staff; it puts me all in a fluster, and is very trying on my nerves."

"I hear that Mr. Bingley has instructed the staff at Netherfield to expect a long stay. That appears favourable for Jane, does it not?"

"It certainly does. When Jane came home yesterday, in that beautiful carriage, with Mr. Bingley, I came over all of a dither. I half expected him to ask for a private word with Mr. Bennet straight away. He has not asked her yet, of course, but it can not be long now, I think. Mrs Bingley! How grand that sounds!"

In the corner of the room, Elizabeth rolled her eyes and her mother's stupidity, but she listened more carefully as her aunt began a new topic of conversation.

"I understand that Mr. Wickham was seen in town yesterday, having a rather angry discussion with Mr. Robinson."

"Mr. Robinson? But sister, you must be mistaken. Mr. Robinson is such a placid gentleman. What would he be doing shouting at poor Wickham?"

"Well, I have heard a few things, Mary. Rumours for the most part, but they do seem to paint Mr. Wickham in a different light."

"But he has such pleasant manners. He came to see us only last week, after escorting Lydia and Kitty all the way back from Meryton, even though it was terribly out of his way. I am sorry, but I do not wish to hear any gossip about Mr. Wickham, for it is bound to be false." She paused for a moment, as she poured tea for them both. After passing a cup to her sister, she asked, "so, what is the news concerning our dear Mr. Wickham?"

"Apparently, there is some question regarding the amount of money he owes to one or two of the merchants in town." Mrs Phillips began, choosing a fancy cake from the selection on a plate in front of her.

"That signifies nothing, sister. All men owe money; it is the way they do business."

"Yes, I agree, but that is not all. I also heard Caleb King sent his daughter away to stay with his brother in Liverpool."

"Aye, so did I," Mrs Bennet replied, with an enthusiasm which Elizabeth found repellent. "What of it?"

"Mrs Pike told me that her maid Ellen had heard that Miss King was sent away to keep her out of the hands of Mr. Wickham. There must be some truth in it, because the King's housemaid is Ellen's particular friend. It seems that Mr. King has heard something about the man that he does not care for. Perhaps it has something to do with the ten thousand pounds she recently inherited."

"Ten thousand pounds," Mrs Bennet repeated with a deep sigh. "What husbands I could get for my daughters if they had half such a sum." Thinking more on what her sister was saying she quickly went to Mr. Wickham's defence. "You would think that any man would be pleased to have so fine a gentleman for a son-in-law. I know that I find Mr. Wickham's company vastly pleasing. I would have invited him to stay for dinner last week, but Mr. Bennet would not allow it."

"And what of Hannah Midgley?"

"Hannah Midgley? I understood that she left Meryton to visit her aunt in London. Her mother told Mrs Long that she was promised a position in a very fashionable Modiste's in a good part of town."

"Really? Because I heard tell that she was sent away to her mother's sister because she was with child."

"Oh! So she is not going to work at a Modiste? That is a shame; she promised to send Lydia some scraps of lace to put on her bonnet."

"Do you not wish to know who the father is reputed to be?"

"Not…?" Mrs Bennet paused and checked to make sure Mr. Bennet was not listening before she whispered, "Mr. Wickham?"

Elizabeth looked up at this suggestion, to see her aunt nodding slowly, her lips pursed. Elizabeth was seething at this point; listening to the two women spreading such scandalous gossip made her blood boil. Throwing her needlework down on the table, she walked across the room to confront her mother.

"Mama! Aunt Phillips! How could you say such a thing? How could you spread these malicious lies?"

Elizabeth's mother opened her mouth to reprimand her daughter, but hardly knew what to say. She had obviously forgotten that Elizabeth was in the room. Aunt Phillips, on the other hand, had no problems in answering her niece.

"Lizzy, I know you think highly of Mr. Wickham, and I will admit that I thought him a friendly and elegant gentleman when I first made his acquaintance, but these rumours must have come from somewhere."

Elizabeth rallied in support of her friend. "His very countenance shows him to be all that is good. Look how graciously he has dealt with Mr. Darcy's behaviour to him. The respect he had for the elder Mr. Darcy was kindness itself! How has he offended that these evil words are now being spread about the parish?"

"There is much talk around Meryton that his appearance is deceptive—" her aunt began, before Mrs Bennet and Mrs Phillips looked past her to the open door behind her.

Elizabeth turned to see her father staring at her; his usually indifferent expression replaced by one of disturbed concern.

"Elizabeth? I need to speak to you ... in my library, please."

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

Chapter Fourteen.

Mr. Bennet sat behind his large desk, watching sadly as his daughter took her place on the opposite chair with a stony silence. Her back was straight and her chin was held high while her lips were pressed into a thin line of disapproval. As she looked up at him her eyes flashed with righteous indignation. He sighed as he realised that this conversation was going to be more difficult than he expected.

"Elizabeth …" he began, but faltered. Returning to his feet, he walked over to the window and stared out over the park, trying to put his thoughts in order. He had never seriously disciplined any of his children, or even forbidden them anything within reason, and he was most uncomfortable starting now. Taking a deep breath, he decided to speak plainly and came straight to the point.

"Lizzy. I do not wish you to speak with Mr. Wickham again."

"Papa?"

He turned away from the window, so she could see his eyes. "You must not spend any more time in that man's company."

Her displeasure was clear as she raised her voice to her father, "We met by chance! I was on my way home."

"You may have met Mr. Wickham by chance, but I am not wholly convinced your meeting was coincidental on both sides. I know you were in his company before you went to Kent, but now I know him better I do not think he is of suitable character to associate with you."

"You thought him pleasant enough before, Father."

"Yes, but that was before I knew him. That brings me on to a second matter. I want you to promise that you will not leave the boundaries of Longbourn without a companion; one of your sisters, or a servant if necessary." His reply was cold and hard. He hated having to do this to her—hated having to cage her free spirit, that which he loved most about her—but it was for her own good.

"Father, what have I done that I am to be kept at home, unless I have a chaperone?" Tears of frustration and anger began to well in her eyes, but she brushed them away angrily, reluctant to show weakness in front of him. He could see she did not understand; she thought he was unfairly punishing her. How could he make her understand that he only wanted to protect her?

Softening his voice, he said, "I am not reproaching you for your behaviour, Lizzy; I have already spoken to Kitty and Lydia, and I will discuss this with Jane as well. I do not want any of my daughters to associate with that scoundrel Wickham."

"You believe the gossip as well? I had thought you better than that. You know what Mama and Aunt Phillips are like!"

He accepted her acidic reproofs without comment, but he had to enlighten her, no matter if she did find the news painful. "There is no idle talk, Lizzy. Everything you have heard about Lieutenant Wickham is true, and there is more about him than you are aware of."

"No!" she cried, as she jumped out of her chair and leaned over the desk. "This must be false! It cannot be! The source of these tales is surely malicious."

"I am sorry to say it is not. In fact, you could say that I was the instigator of this gossip. It was I who spoke with the tradesmen in Meryton regarding the depth of Wickham's debts to them. Although each amount owed was relatively small, when taken together it is certainly more than he could ever hope to earn in a year. He was very clever to have owed so much without causing any alarm. I had been warned that he regularly leaves debts behind him, and it appears he planned to do the same in Meryton."

He watched carefully as his daughter's brow was creased in thought. After a few moments, her face cleared as she looked at him with distaste.

"Who warned you, Father? Who told you that Mr. Wickham would do such a thing?"

Mr. Bennet sighed as he returned to his chair and sat down. This was going to be difficult; he knew exactly how Elizabeth felt about the man, even though some of her prejudice most likely came from Wickham's own allegations. "Mr. Darcy."

"Well!" she replied, her voice laced with scorn, "I would expect nothing less! You know what he did to Wickham. How can you believe a man like that?"

"Very easily, child, when he speaks the truth. I met Mr. Darcy at Rosings, and spoke with him about many things. I had no intention of mentioning Mr. Wickham's accusations—especially when I found them as believable as anyone else—but Mr. Darcy brought up the subject himself. He told me the truth of Mr. Wickham's alleged deprivation. He offered the information freely, even though a gentleman in his position has no reason to explain his actions to me. His story was the same as Mr. Wickham's in many ways. The legacy of one thousand pounds, left by his father, and the valuable family living; they were all true. However, Mr. Darcy's explanation differed in some important respects."

"Well, of course it would, Father. Why would he tell you the truth?" She was still angry, and was hardly responsive to the information, but Mr. Bennet ignored her comments and continued.

He explained to her how Wickham had decided against ordination, and asked to be recompensed for the living  he would not be able to benefit from. He then explained how Mr. Darcy had  given a further three thousand pounds, which Wickham told him would be used to study the Law. Elizabeth listened intently as her father explained how Mr. Darcy had heard no more from him for three years, and thought the matter closed, until the incumbent of the parish died. Then Wickham returned and requested once more that the living be given to him, because he sorely needed the money. At the end of his account he watched his daughter as she sunk back into the chair; her face showing her shock at his revelation.

"But, if he was given three thousand pounds …?" Elizabeth began, but her father held a hand up for silence.

"Lizzy," he continued in a soft voice. "Mr. Darcy told me that he thought his friend ill suited to the life of a clergyman. Although he gave no details it is obvious that, while he aspires to the life of a gentleman, Mr. Wickham's behaviour has not been that of a gentleman. Mr. Darcy also advised me at that time about his friend having a habit of leaving debts, and certain other problems, behind him."

Mr. Bennet did not add that, having listened to what Mr. Darcy had so carefully  left unsaid, the thought of any of his daughters near the man made his blood run cold. "I will admit that I was as fooled by Wickham's honourable appearance as much as anyone else and, I am ashamed to say, I found it hard to immediately credit Mr. Darcy's words. However, once I had returned to Longbourn, and made some discreet enquiries of my neighbours and the tradesmen of Meryton, I realised that Mr. Wickham's debts were extensive, and his behaviour has not been above reproach."

He watched his beloved daughter as the colour slowly drained from her face. Her eyes betrayed the hurt and anxiety she felt over hearing this news, and her pain was almost tangible. The two remained in silence for five minutes or more. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the grandfather clock as its measured beat marked the passage of time.

Mr. Bennet returned to the window, and watched a Peacock butterfly feeding on the flowers which were planted in the bed just outside. It dipped in and out of the colourful blooms, plundering their treasure before moving on to the next. It surprised him to realise that the colourful insect reminded him a lot of Mr. Wickham. Its bright colours and innocent appearance gave the butterfly an impression of safety; it was a creature to be looked upon without fear as it danced over the petals. But, like any other living thing created by God, it had to feed, and it took its sustenance from many flowers. After speaking to the distraught Widow Midgley, who had seen her only daughter sent away to distant relatives, he was saddened to remember that Mr. Wickham also took his comfort in many different places.

Tearing his eyes away from the butterfly and returning them to Elizabeth, he saw that she was drying stray tears with a handkerchief. He moved around the desk and patted her on the shoulder. "There, there, Lizzy; do not cry. Wickham is not worth your tears."

"I do not cry for Mr. Wickham. If what you say is true, then I am only angry with myself for believing him so easily. But … are you sure, Papa? Could not Mr. Darcy be in the wrong?"

"Believe me, my child; I spoke with that gentleman at some length. I still consider myself a fair judge of character, even though I will admit to being greatly deceived by the Lieutenant. Mr. Darcy is, I believe, an honourable gentleman, and I found him to be far more courteous than his behaviour here last year might have suggested. Did you know that when his father died five years ago he not only had to take on the mantle of Master of his estate, but also the care of his young sister? Mrs Maltby told me he was only three and twenty at the time."

"But you were only my age when Grandfather Bennet died."

"Yes, but Longbourn is nothing compared to Pemberley. He is responsible for more staff and tenants than I could dream of. Consider how many people's lives are in his hands. Mrs Maltby has known him almost all of his life, and she had nothing but good to say of him. Trust me, Elizabeth; the servants get to know everything; the good and the bad. If he had been found wanting, she would not have praised him so highly."

Mr. Bennet then looked around his desk, moving a couple of books onto large shelf behind his chair, before picking up a letter which had been hidden underneath. "Even had I not been convinced of Mr. Darcy's good character, I have an alternative source of information. Mr. Darcy told me that he was at Cambridge with Mr. Wickham."

Mr. Bennet held the letter out to her. As she took it, he explained further. "One of my oldest friends is still in Cambridge. We studied there together, and he returned later to teach. After speaking to Mr. Darcy I sent him an enquiry and this morning I received his reply. He remembers Mr. Wickham very well, but unfortunately, for all the wrong reasons. Apparently, gambling and drinking were his favourite subjects, but he partook of many other unsavoury practices. Mr. Wickham certainly made an impression during his time at university, but it was not a good one; unlike his friend, who is more favourably remembered."

Mr. Bennet watched his daughter closely as she took in this new information, which she had less reason to depreciate. The thoughts and feelings moved across her face like storm clouds across a winter sky, and it broke his heart to see the distress he had caused her. But the truth had to be told; Elizabeth had to be kept safe from the likes of Wickham. She dropped the letter back onto the desk with a resigned sigh.

He held out his hands to her and she slowly moved into his gentle embrace. "Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Papa?" she replied in a muffled voice.

"Are you well?"

"Yes, Papa. I am well."

"I am sorry to have caused you any pain, but it was necessary to keep you safe. Do you forgive me, Lizzy?"

"Of course I do. I am only angry with myself for believing him so completely. I must return to my room and compose myself; I know Mr. Bingley will be calling today, and I would not want my appearance to frighten him away, for dear Jane's sake."

"Ah yes! Mr. Bingley. I told you he would return, did I not? I have high hopes for that young man. His presence in the locality serves to keep your mother's mind happily occupied, which, in turn, keeps her out of any other kind of mischief."

Mr. Bennet saw his daughter smile at his comment, and he was pleased to see her leave the room in better spirits than when she arrived.

As the door closed gently, Thomas Bennet returned to the window once more. He had kept deferring this discussion with her, ever since she had returned home the previous day. However, when Elizabeth could not be found this morning, and he realised that she had gone out on one of her walks, a cold fear had gripped his stomach. What might have happened if he had not sent Samuel to look for his daughter?

He was so angry with himself when he saw Elizabeth walking up the lane with Wickham. The blackguard had noticed Mr. Bennet first and made a swift departure, before Elizabeth was even aware of his presence. Would Wickham really have hurt Elizabeth or was he just worrying unnecessarily, like the old man he now was? No, he was sure now that the Lieutenant knew him to be the source of the rumours, and he would not give him any opportunity to extract his revenge on the Bennet family.

Mr. Bennet walked across the room to gaze at a small drawing on the wall, almost hidden between the rows of precious books. A faded pencil sketch of his Mother and Father stared back at him, skilfully drawn from memory after their deaths. His discussion about Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth's comments on her grandfather's death had taken his mind back to the fateful day when he had become the master of his estate. Was it truly almost thirty years since he had inherited Longbourn? His life might have been so different. What sort of master was he? Would his servants praise him as highly? Probably not. He knew he could have done better; extend the land to improve the income, or augment the breeding stock, but he had been ill prepared for the life he now lead.

Improving the estate needed money; something which was in short supply since he had married. Economy had been perfectly useless, for they were to have a son, who would have joined with his father in cutting off the entail when he came of age. That same son was to take over the management of the lands and allow him to spend all day with his books and provide for his widow and daughters. As time went by, and their hopes for an heir vanished, it was too late to start making economies, even if Mrs Bennet had been of a mind to do so.

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. He had never had a great interest in the estate or the farm, and now it was to go to his distant cousin, Mr. Collins, on his death. Where was his inducement to improve it now?

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

Elizabeth returned to her chamber with her thoughts reeling over the information her father had given her. Crumpling onto her bed, she found her mind churning repeatedly with the details of Mr. Bennet's admissions. She would never have believed that Wickham's behaviour could be so unprincipled. But, as much as she wanted to doubt her father, his evidence had been too compelling.

The memories of her conversations with Mr. Wickham continued to run though her head; she barely paused to take in one before another replaced it. Everything which had passed between Wickham and herself over the past months was weighed and contemplated, while many of his expressions were still fresh in her memory. How easily he had told her his story, and how willingly she had believed it! How could I have been blinded to the impropriety of his communications?

His attentions to Miss King looked so different in this new light! The motive for gaining her attention so soon after her inheritance became common knowledge in the parish now appeared clearly mercenary. Elizabeth recollected her Aunt Phillips's comments to her mother. Had Mr. Bennet spoken to Mr. King as well, or was it just good fortune that the girl had been sent away at such an auspicious time? After hearing her father describe his recent actions, Elizabeth was inclined to believe that he had also most likely saved Mary King from an unfavourable alliance.

A knock on the door preceded Jane, who explained that she had been sent upstairs by their father to see how she fared.

"Oh, Jane! I have been such a fool to be taken in by Mr. Wickham!"

Jane, who had already spoken to her father on the subject, sat on the bed next to Elizabeth and consoled her as best as she could. "I know how embarrassed and angry you must feel, Lizzy. I can not recall when I have been more shocked. Wickham always had such an expression of goodness."

"Yes, we were all heartily deceived by it!" Elizabeth replied bitterly.

"Who would have thought that Wickham would be so bad, and to lie about his treatment at the hands of Mr. Darcy?"

"Oh no! Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth remembered with a gasp. "What must he think of me? No wonder he talked so little when I was at Rosings. He must have been remembering the way I spoke of Wickham during the Netherfield Ball!"

"It was unfortunate that you brought up Wickham's name during your dance together, for your support for that gentleman does now appear wholly undeserved."

Elizabeth did not hide the blush on her face, as she nodded sadly. "Yes, and your Mr. Bingley did say that he vouched for his friend's honour."

"He is not my Mr. Bingley, Lizzy—"

"… not yet, but I am sure he will be," her sister interrupted with a grin.

"Do you truly think so?"

Elizabeth looked at Jane, seeing the light of hope in her eyes which had been missing during the long, dark months since the Netherfield Ball, and Mr. Bingley's flight from Hertfordshire. "Yes, Jane, I truly do."

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Chapter Fifteen.

Charles Bingley's thoughts drifted back over the days he had spent in the area since returning to Netherfield. The community had warmly welcomed him, after his abrupt departure the previous November, and he had received a number of invitations. Two enjoyable evenings had been spent with Sir William and Lady Lucas and Colonel and Mrs Forster respectively. He had taken tea with Mr. and Mrs Howard at Canwell, and called on Mr. Pickard and his son at Hillfield, where he had discussed the purchase of a pair of fine carriage horses. However, his most gratifying visits had been to Longbourn to see the Bennet family.

The time spent in Miss Bennet's company had convinced him—although it had hardly needed any effort on his part—that he could not imagine finding anyone else more perfect, and he had decided that today, after church, would be the day that he asked Miss Bennet to be his wife.

In this happy frame of mind, he found himself sitting comfortably next to his angel, casting a nervous glance around the small drawing room at Longbourn. Mrs Bennet had chosen to sit on the other side of the room, near the door; he idly wondered whether she had positioned herself there to block his means of escape. Miss Elizabeth picked up a book from a nearby table before settling herself near to her mother. Bingley smiled to himself; both ladies gave the appearance of being so engrossed in what they were doing that they seemed inattentive to all else in the room.

Since meeting Miss Bennet again in Town, he had been pleased to notice that she had gradually become more at ease with him, and they had discussed a wide variety of subjects; including music, art, and even a little politics. However, as he had spent a number of hours with the family only the day before, Bingley was concerned that even he might have exhausted his supply of polite conversation.

He was about to reply to her comment on the unusually dry spring weather they had been enjoying when Miss Bennet chose that moment to raise her eyes to look directly at him. Bingley's heart melted and he was almost lost for words; how had he never noticed before what a wonderful shade of warm hazel her eyes were? Or how they shimmered with specks of gold, like an autumn sunset? How had he missed their warm glow? And how would it feel to bask in that warmth over the breakfast table each morning?

Miss Bennet interrupted his musings. "Mr. Bingley?"

"I do beg your pardon! Did you say something?"

She smiled sweetly at him, tearing her eyes away and looking down at her hands. "I asked how you found Netherfield on your return."

"The staff are wonderful, Mrs Nicholls in particular. You … er, I could not ask for better. I found it rather comforting to be returning to my own estate. Well, of course it is only leased at present, but it does feel like home to me already. Does that sound odd?"

She lowered her voice until he could barely hear it. "Certainly not, sir. When I spent time at Netherfield last autumn I felt very much at home there."

"You did?" He could not dampen the pride and pleasure which he felt at her remark.

"Yes," she confirmed, as the blush spread right to the top of her delicate ears.

How could he have believed that Miss Bennet had no feelings for him, when they were so obvious now? Yes, he was prepared to admit that—even after receiving Darcy's note—he had not been convinced of a positive reception at Gracechurch Street, but he had been so miserable since leaving Netherfield that he had felt compelled to see her again. Although she had been quiet during their first meeting, Mrs Gardiner had been a marvel at including both of them in the general conversation. By the end of the following visit he was yet again convinced of his feelings—which were so different from anything he had suffered before—and he was happy that Miss Bennet was certainly not indifferent to him, as Darcy had originally claimed.

Having met the Gardiners, and finding them to be sensible and friendly, his doubts as to the family's desirability had faded away. After all, her two uncles in trade could hardly be considered a poor match with his own family. The Bingleys had been more fortunate, to be sure, but money alone did not necessarily make them better. Her father was a Gentleman, with an ancient estate, albeit a small one. He was sorry that he had bowed to the suggestions from his sisters and dear friend. He could have been happily married by now. Yes, married! And seeing those eyes every morning!

He looked across the room to Miss Elizabeth and saw that her attention was not on her book, but on him, or rather the two of them. Catching his eye she smiled warmly and nodded her head before returning to the page in front of her.

Seeing that Mr. Bingley's attention was no longer exclusively on her eldest daughter, Mrs Bennet asked a question about the entertainments he had seen during his stay in town, which he answered briefly. Miss Bennet then recaptured his notice by enquiring whether his sisters were planning to return to the country in the near future.

"Yes, I do hope they will return. Yes, I hope … very soon they will come back to Netherfield. I look forward to being able to receive guests again."

Satisfied with his reply Mrs Bennet asked after the health of Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley, before she was sufficiently pleased to lapse back into silence on the other side of the room.

Bingley's eyes unconsciously returned to the beauty at his side, and not for the first time he thought how wonderful it would be to spend more time in her company. After each visit he had found it more difficult to leave her side; no matter how often he called, it never seemed to be enough. He contemplated suggesting a turn in the garden, where he might have more privacy to make his offer. Miss Bennet chose that moment to lift her chin. She held his stare with her own, and he was lost. Those eyes? Sweet and golden, just like honey …

"… Mr. Bingley?"

"Sorry?" He blinked, momentarily confused.

She smiled shyly. "It was a silly question, I know."

"No, Miss Bennet!" he answered in a low voice. "Please do not think that. My sincere apologies that my attention was … otherwise engaged." He studied his hands, which were twisted together in his lap, before he admitted in a whisper, "Your eyes … they are so beautiful; I lose the ability for rational thought when I look at you."

He heard her catch her breath, and looked back at her in time to see the happiness that suffused her face. A silent moment passed between the two before they were disturbed by a sharp knock on the door. Only then did Mr. Bingley realise that Mrs Bennet had already left the room, and that the young maid was explaining that Miss Elizabeth's presence was required by her mother upstairs.

Miss Elizabeth reluctantly left her seat and threw an apologetic smile towards her sister before leaving the room, closing the door firmly behind her. At last! They were alone; Bingley was not so ignorant that he did not perceive Mrs Bennet's intent, but it did not offend him. On the contrary, he rejoiced in her interference and was determined to take full advantage of it.

Turning to face his angel, he determined to end his misery once and for all. "Miss Bennet!" he began, but nerves made the words come out almost like a yelp. He took a deep breath to calm his racing heart and soften his tone before trying again. "I wonder if you would consider … I would like to … I cannot imagine …" He stopped again and sighed deeply before reaching out to take one of her small hands in his own. The warmth of her hand ran through him like fire, and gave him the courage to continue. "I wish nothing more than to be by your side ... always. Please, Miss Bennet, would you do me the honour of consenting to be my wife?"

The smile on her face almost said more than words could, which was fortunate, as at that moment the door burst open and a laughing Lydia walked into the room, followed by an angry Kitty. Bingley dropped Miss Bennet's hand as if it was on fire, and turned away, but the two young girls were far too busy talking to notice the constrained atmosphere in the room.

"But it is my bonnet!"

"Yes," Lydia stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "but it would go perfectly with my new dress. You can get another hat; a yellow one would suit your complexion admirably."

"I do not want another hat. I want that one."

"Lydia! Kitty! We have a guest." Jane had to raise her usually placid voice in order to be heard.

"Oh, Jane! Mr. Bingley?" Lydia giggled. "Wherever is Mama?"

There was no need for Jane to answer the question, as Mrs Bennet's agitated voice came through the door ahead of her corporeal form. "Lydia, Kitty! What are you doing?" She calmed a little as she cast her eye over to Mr. Bingley and added in a slightly quieter but sharp edged voice, "I have need of you girls in my rooms."

"But I want to show Mr. Bingley my new bonnet. You want to see it, do you not, Mr. Bingley?"

Although Bingley had never felt more frustrated in his life, he could hardly refuse Miss Lydia's offer outright. Fortunately, Mrs Bennet had other ideas.

"Mr. Bingley does not want to see your bonnet, girl. Now, upstairs if you please."

Although Lydia protested, both girls submitted to their mother as she ushered them from the room. Mrs Bennet looked carefully back to Jane, as if to gauge how much more time they needed alone, before closing the door firmly behind her.

Bingley then turned to Miss Bennet, as he waited for an answer to his question. Although a hint of blush infused her face, she did not seem immediately inclined to respond to him, so he caught up her hand again in his own, and gave it a comforting squeeze.

With a confidence he did not yet feel, he asked, "Now, Miss Bennet, where were we before we were interrupted?"

Although she did not lift her eyes to his, he did see the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "I do not rightly know, Mr. Bingley. I believe I was dreaming."

"And was it a good dream?" he asked with a wide grin. He was pleased to hear that her initial response sounded hopeful.

"Yes, I think it was."

"And, may I be so bold to ask what your dream was about?"

Jane looked upon him with serious eyes as she whispered, "I only ever dream of you," before casting her eyes downwards again in embarrassment.

Bingley reached across with his free hand and lifted her chin up until he could look into her eyes once more. "Please, make my dreams come true; will you marry me?"

"Yes," she whispered, as tears of happiness welled in her eyes.

Bingley gallantly retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and passed the lawn square for her to wipe her eyes. When she returned it to him with a smile he said, "I will probably keep this safe somewhere, and never allow it to be washed again. I would like to hope they will be the last tears you ever shed."

Jane regarded him with a smile for a moment, but shook her head. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I cry far too easily when I am happy."

"Well, if that is the case, I will have to order a dozen new ones, because I aim to make sure you are completely happy … for the rest of your life." He lifted his finger and slowly brushed down the side of her face, watching her eyes close contentedly. "I should go and speak with your father; where will I find him?"

"He will most likely be in the library. I suppose I should go and find Mama to let her know the good news. She will be so pleased."

Although leaving Miss Bennet at that moment was the last thing he wanted to do, with a final squeeze of her hand Bingley moved across to the door and opened it, only to find Miss Elizabeth leaning against the opposite wall, reading her book. She looked up with a guilty expression, having been discovered protecting the door against further interruption.

"Miss Elizabeth!" he said with a knowing smile, "can you tell me which door is the library? I need to speak to Mr. Bennet." Her smile was warm as she showed him to the correct door, before returning to her sister in the drawing room.

When Mr. Bennet answered his knock, Bingley opened the door to find his future father-in-law sitting behind a large desk, covered with books. With a welcoming wave to the seat opposite, and a suspicious twitch of his lips, Mr. Bennet sat back and listened politely.

The application for his consent was concise and to the point. Bingley spoke of his love and respect for Miss Bennet, and how he had been blessed by her acceptance of his offer of marriage. All that was now needed was for Mr. Bennet to give his consent to the match. The older man seemed not at all surprised to receive Bingley's petition, and happily gave his blessing, with just one small condition.

"I hope that while you reside at Netherfield you will take pity on an old man and allow me to visit you both occasionally, to save me from running mad. You are taking away one of my two most sensible daughters, and I am sure Elizabeth is too agreeable to remain at home forever. I fear for my sanity if I have to spend all my time with Mary, Lydia and Kitty."

"Certainly, sir, you will be most welcome," Bingley agreed. In truth, he would have accepted any condition Mr. Bennet felt the need to request. His mind was full to bursting with thoughts, the greatest of them being, I am to be married! Such an easy matter to achieve; why did I not do this sooner?

The conversation then moved to the settlement agreement, at which point Bingley was more than happy to give his angel anything she wanted. His prospective father-in-law suggested dryly that he might want to talk the matter over with a trusted friend or advisor before giving all his possessions to his wife, as he might come to regret it later when he found himself bankrupt!

"Your daughter has not asked me for anything, but I will be placing an order for a new carriage as soon as we decide on the style and colour." Mr. Bingley then went on to describe the other arrangements he planned on making for his new wife, and the generous jointure and pin-money he intended to settle on Miss Bennet.
 
Leaning back in his chair, Mr. Bennet asked, "Has my daughter suggested a date for the wedding yet?"

"No, not yet. We have not really spoken together about any arrangements—"

The two men stopped talking abruptly as Mrs Bennet's loud and effusive cries of delight elsewhere in the house made it clear that Jane had indeed made her mother happy with the news. With a grunt, Mr. Bennet steepled his fingers. "I suppose you will want the wedding sooner rather than later?"

"I have not even thought about it; I should ask your daughter. Would a month be sufficient time?" Bingley considered that a week would be too long, but did not think it wise to mention it now.

"Alas, my dear boy, I doubt one month would be long enough for the elegant plans which my wife is sure to hatch for her favourite daughter. She is going to want two months at the very least."

The older man winced as he heard his wife's loud voice, just outside the closed door, exclaim, "I always said it should be so, Jane; I knew you could not be so beautiful for nothing."

With a wry smile for his future son-in-law, Mr. Bennet continued. "Well, perhaps my wife will have to manage all the necessary arrangements in six weeks. I do not think I could stomach the upset to the household for any longer than that. But, of course, you must not tell Jane that she will marry then. Start as you mean to go on, my boy, and make her think it was all her idea. That is the way to a happy marriage."

Although Bingley had no experience at being a husband, he did not think that dealing with the matter in such an underhanded way would sit well with him. He would start as he meant to go on, and be totally honest with his intended.

On his return, Miss Bennet—he did not yet feel comfortable calling her Jane even in the confines of his own head—was looking even more handsome than ever. Her obvious happiness made her whole being glow, and he silently promised himself that he would make her happy every day just to be able to bask in the warmth of it. She was sitting next to her sister, sharing confidences, as he reappeared in the drawing room.

Miss Elizabeth jumped, offering her honest congratulations and good wishes to her brother to be. The delightful girl then excused herself, allowing them to spend a few precious minutes alone before another family member intruded on their happiness.

"Did you miss me?" he asked hopefully as he took her sisters place next to her on the settee, and swiftly reclaimed her hand.

"A little," she admitted with a shy smile. "You will be pleased to know that Mama was very happy to hear my news."

"I know. We could hear her from the library." He smiled to himself as he watched his beloved put her free hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. He was about to say more, when the lady in question swept into the room. 
 
Mrs Bennet could not speak of her approbation in warm enough terms to satisfy her feelings, although Bingley was forced to listen to her try for over half an hour, and when Mr. Bennet joined them for dinner, his voice and manner clearly showed how happy he was with the arrangement. The family party continued until late into the evening, when he bid his betrothed a reluctant farewell.

The two of them stood, hand in hand by the door as Bingley's horse was brought from the stables. Before he would relinquish his grip, he could not resist bringing her hand up and bestowing the lightest of kisses on her dainty fingers. As his eyes strayed to her face, the blush on her cheek and her gentle smile said more than words could.           

As Bingley rode back to Netherfield that evening, he considered himself to be the luckiest man in the world.

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Chapter Sixteen.

The sound of his door roused Darcy from his sleep. Opening his eyes slowly, he looked around his bedroom; the sunlight shining through the gap in the drapes suggesting that the hour was late …again. Although he now had few problems falling to sleep at night, he also slept later in the morning and found that he actually missed watching the square come to life.

Yawning, Darcy stretched his arms slowly above his head in an effort to reanimate his stiff, aching shoulders, and upbraided himself for sitting so long at his desk the previous evening. Marriott was somewhere in the corner of the room; he could hear the delicate tinkle of cup against saucer, and as he inhaled he caught a hint of something; coffee.

"Marriott? I do not recall giving you any instructions for this morning."

"No, sir," his valet replied, as he turned away from the tray, "but Miss Georgiana suggested it to Mr. Jessop, sir. Lady Matlock is waiting for you downstairs."

Darcy raised himself quickly up onto his elbows; any lethargy quickly dispelled. "At this hour?"

"It is almost midday, sir," his valet replied; the barest hint of reproach in his tone. As if to prove a point, the Grandfather clock on the upstairs landing began to toll the first of its twelve strokes.

Darcy groaned as he fell back onto his pillow. "Good God, Marriott! Why did you not wake me before?"

"My apologies, Mr. Darcy. As you did not leave any instructions—"

"Never mind that now, man," he interrupted, with a shake of his head. "Get me something suitable to wear, and pass me that coffee."

He tried to move his legs, but he was frustrated by the weight of the heavy bedcovers that were wrapped tightly around them. He must have been dreaming again, although he could not recollect it. Since taking the draught prescribed by Dr. Hall, Darcy had not remembered any of his dreams, although some of those he had before—especially those involving Elizabeth—were still vivid in his memory.

Dragging himself out of bed, he lifted his cup from the table. The strong aroma enveloped him as he wandered into his dressing room, where his valet had his clothes laid out ready. In a relatively short period he was washed, shaved, dressed and on his way downstairs to see his sister and Aunt. Darcy tried to push down the growing sense of apprehension he felt at his aunt's call. He assumed that Lady Matlock wished to discuss his last conversation with the Earl, although he hoped she had another reason for calling.

Lady Matlock was in the drawing room; he could hear her voice clearly as he descended the stairs. As expected, she was perfectly attired, with her now greying hair swept up into an elegant style atop her head. This was to be no brief courtesy call; the tea they had been drinking was still on the table and a few dainty pastries remained on a small plate. Georgiana was showing her aunt some pencil sketches that she had been working on in their small garden the previous afternoon. One particularly good one was recognisable as Mrs Annesley, seated in front of a small tree.

Darcy walked into the room and bowed to his aunt. She glanced up at him, her eyebrow raised in silent question, but her attention did not waver from her niece's drawings.

"Those lessons are obviously doing you good, Georgiana," she said, with a kind smile for the young girl. "I can definitely see an improvement in your shading and strokes. The detail around the bottom edge of the pelisse here is very fine." She turned to glare at her nephew. "And what did your brother think of this particular composition?"

"He ... he has not seen it yet. I have not had the opportunity—" Georgiana began, her eyes cast nervously downwards.

"Not had the opportunity? And what do you do all day that you cannot spare your young sister half an hour of your attention each evening?"

Darcy sat down in an armchair facing them, shuffling uncomfortably. "I have been busy, inspecting the accounts relating to the payment of charitable contributions."

Brushing aside his excuses with a disdainful glance, Lady Matlock pointedly turned away from Darcy and smiled at Georgiana again. "I think you should leave us for a short time, my dear, while I speak to your brother."

With an apologetic glance towards him, the young girl left the room with a brief curtsey, followed quickly by Mrs Annesley, who had been sitting so quietly in the corner of the room Darcy had not realised she was there.

Once they were alone, Lady Matlock turned slowly to study her nephew. "I understand from Georgiana that you gave your secretary permission to visit his elderly parents in Yorkshire this week?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but her upraised hand stopped him dead.

"And yet you have chosen this time to review the various charitable concerns which your family contributes to? With no assistance? What is a secretary for, if not to shoulder some of your burden? Georgiana was sufficiently concerned for your welfare to allude to it during her last visit to me, which, in itself, suggests how disquieted she is by your behaviour. She feels that whatever business you are dealing with is exhausting you, and she has hardly seen you in the last week, or even longer. The least you could do would be to take your meals with her."

Darcy was about to protest that he did see his sister at mealtimes, but as he thought back over the last week he could not think of one example which could be produced in evidence.

Lady Matlock nodded her head thoughtfully as she regarded her nephew. "It is not only Georgiana who has noticed a difference in your behaviour. You have avoided visiting us as well. I assumed it was because of your Uncle's ridiculous suggestion of you marrying Anne—as if I would have ever agreed to that arrangement, you should have known better—but I can see now that you are not as discriminating as all that."

"I have not consciously abstained from anyone's company," Darcy replied stiffly.

"I should think not. I will say no more on the matter at present, but when I see Georgiana next week I expect to hear of some improvement on your part." Changing the subject abruptly—a habit Darcy was well familiar with—Lady Matlock said, "You will be pleased to hear that your Uncle plans to visit Rosings later this month to see Catherine. I am hoping that he will talk some sense into his stubborn sister and bring Anne back to town; she can stay with us for the remainder of the season. We will then see how she fares, before deciding whether to allow her back to her mother's care, or take her into the country. Perhaps she can spend a few weeks with Georgiana at Pemberley?"

Lady Matlock paused, with her eyebrows raised in a silent challenge, while Darcy attempted to calm the anger, which had erupted at her suggestion. Once she was satisfied that he was not going to interrupt her, she continued:

"However, if I decide to invite you to dinner during Anne's visit I do hope you will make an effort and grace us with your presence. I would not want poor little Anne to feel slighted by your odd behaviour of late. I certainly will not take the two of you sitting at the same table as a declaration of undying love. You are quite safe from me."

Darcy smiled at her comment. Aunt Eleanor would disapprove of any thing that his Aunt Catherine most desired on principle. In the matter of any future alliance with the de Bourgh family, Lady Matlock would have been his staunchest ally against the match. His two Aunts had not been on friendly terms for as long as he could remember. Aunt Eleanor found her sister-in-law to be rude and ignorant, while his Aunt Catherine had never even mentioned Lady Matlock in his company. She acted as though her brother's wife did not even exist.

His aunt searched his face for a moment, and her features softened. "I am sure—had your dear Mother still been alive—that her opinions on the subject of your marriage would be very different now. She was not the sort of person to hold onto an idea just for the sake of it, unlike Catherine. Your happiness was the most important thing to her, Darcy, always remember that."

"Thank you, Aunt, I will."

"I know I am not your mother and I can never replace her, but I am here for you, as is your Uncle. He does not always think before he speaks, but he is only concerned with your welfare. If you do not want to marry Anne, that is your choice. You were right to remind your Uncle that he has no say over your decisions, although I cannot say I was happy with the way you chose to express your opinions." She smiled as she noted his penitent expression. "I am sure I can find you a most suitable wife; someone you can be happy with; someone who understands the needs of a great estate like Pemberley."

Darcy nodded his acknowledgement. There was little point in him explaining to his aunt that he had already found someone he considered perfect for the role. Lady Matlock would never believe that any woman might reject his suit.

When she finally left him—after extracting a promise that he would spend more time with Georgiana—Darcy turned to the drawing room window, where he stared out at the people and carriages moving in front of his house.

He watched one couple in particular—a well dressed, elderly gentleman and his elegant wife—as they promenaded around the square. They seemed so content in each other's company, and the wife smiled happily at her husband, even though they were both well past the first flush of youth. Fitzwilliam Darcy wondered sadly whether he would ever have someone like that to share his life with. Not just an alliance between two families, where the greatest interest was how much money a wife could bring to the Darcy family, but a lifetime companion. A marriage built on a foundation of sincere affection, which continued throughout the years, and even beyond the grave.

~~*~~

A few days later, Darcy was reading his newspaper at the breakfast table when a footman brought in the post. He proceeded to open each item absentmindedly while listening as his sister described her walk in the park the previous afternoon. Two of the letters were put to one side to be dealt with later, but as he picked up the third from the tray, the sight of it made him pause. He identified the illegible hand that had written the direction as Bingley's; he could recognise his handwriting anywhere. Breaking the seal, and unfolding the page, he frowned as he read the words.

"What is the matter, Fitzwilliam? Is it bad news?" Georgiana asked.

"Not at all, dear. It is a letter from Bingley. He writes to demand my congratulations, telling me he is engaged to be married. His wedding takes place on the 5th June in Hertfordshire."

"Oh! That is wonderful news," Georgiana cried. "Who is the lady? Is it anyone we know?"

Darcy brought his cup to his lips; more as a way to avoid the question than from a need for refreshment. However, Georgiana's patient aspect suggested that she would not be distracted from her enquiry; which was not unreasonable, given the circumstances. "I was introduced to the family when I visited Netherfield last autumn. Her name is Miss Bennet. Her father has a small estate near Netherfield."

"Miss Bennet?" Georgiana's brow creased in thought, before her expression cleared. "Does she have any connection with the Miss Elizabeth Bennet who stayed at Rosings? The one who you found in the park?"

"You remember that?" Darcy was astounded that his sister could recall a detail he had only mentioned once, three weeks earlier.

His sister smiled. "No, I did not remember, but Anne mentioned her conversations with Miss Bennet in great detail in her last letter to me. I have it upstairs in my room if you would like to read it?"

"No, Georgie, I do not need to read it." Darcy stopped to sip his coffee again, blotting his lips carefully with his napkin, before he was prepared to answer her question. "There is a connection. The Miss Bennet who is engaged to marry Bingley is Miss Elizabeth Bennet's elder sister."

"I do enjoy weddings." Georgiana sighed wistfully, as she pushed the remaining food around her plate. "I wish I could go."

"You can. See, here." Darcy passed the letter to his sister and pointed out the line in question. "Bingley says in his letter, 'I hope you and Miss Darcy will be able to join us on our happy day'."

"Does it really say that?" Georgiana held the paper closer to her face and squinted at the words. "How can you tell?"

Darcy laughed loudly. "Only with practice. It has taken me years to learn how to decipher Bingley's handwriting."
 
"May I go to Hertfordshire, Fitzwilliam? Please will you take me?"

He looked across the table at her hopeful expression. He was not convinced whether he wanted to go himself. Would he be able to spend all day in Elizabeth's company, knowing just how much she disliked him? The memory of her came unbidden into his head, and he smiled to himself. Perhaps he could manage to spend a few days in the country. He doubted that he would have the opportunity to see much of the Bennet family during their stay, except for the actual wedding day, of course. As his aunt had said, he had been working very hard recently, and the rest would probably do him good.

Smiling at his sister, he said, "Yes, we will go, if you would like to."

"Oh! That is wonderful! I must discuss this with Mrs Annesley; she will know what I should take. Do you think I will be able to speak to Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Anne has said such lovely things about her."

"I am sure a meeting can be arranged," Darcy replied reluctantly, feeling a momentary regret at his earlier acquiescence.

"Oh, and I must write to Anne and tell her the good news. Thank you, Fitzwilliam!" she cried, impulsively kissing his cheek before leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Throwing his napkin onto the table, Darcy laughed at the absurdity of his position. He had spent the weeks since his return from Kent trying hard to forget Miss Elizabeth Bennet, but he now had to admit that it had been a futile exercise.

Any moment when his mind was not occupied, it began to wander, invariably recreating the places they had previously met: in the drawing room at Netherfield; listening to her play the piano at Rosings; walking in the grove, near the parsonage; and his thoughts often returned to the temple folly in the midst of his aunt's landscaped park.

In an attempt to conquer his affliction, he had tried to keep his day full and his attention focussed on business matters. His secretary was far too conscientious, leaving Darcy with little to do and far too much free time on his hands, and he had resorted to desperate measures to remain in control of his carefully nurtured workload. His secretary's aged mother had benefited greatly from his desire to keep himself occupied.

Would meeting Miss Bennet again help to dispel this iron grip she had on his memories? Would a few hours spent in her company be sufficient to rid himself of this debilitating infatuation he suffered? And, most importantly, what would her opinion be of his attendance?

He had done his part in encouraging Bingley to return to Miss Bennet, although, in truth, it had taken very little effort. Darcy also sincerely hoped that Mr. Bennet had told his family what he had learned about Wickham. If he had, Elizabeth might now understand that the man she had so eloquently supported at Hunsford was not the person she thought he was.

He recalled the angry words that had tormented him these last few weeks; they were so familiar to him now that remembering them no longer brought the pain they once did. Would she still think of him with such distaste? Had he changed enough to alter her opinion of him? He already knew the answer to that question. He had made little effort to improve those supposed faults, which she had identified in his character.

She called him arrogant; but he had been conditioned, almost from birth, to believe that his family were superior to their neighbours. In most cases, they were. She considered him to be conceited; but he did not think that he had an inappropriately high opinion of his own abilities or worth. If Elizabeth spent any amount of time with him in his world, she would come to realise that for herself. She accused him of disdain, and that was, in some respects, true. Because of the society he associated with it had become a habit to think meanly of those below his own social status. He could not accuse his upbringing of fostering this attitude—Fitzwilliam's formative years were very similar, and yet he could still identify capable men in the lower ranks and ignore their parentage.

Here, perhaps, was something he could improve. Unless he was prepared to forfeit his friendship, he was destined to be in frequent company with Bingley and his wife in the future, and would, therefore, be unable to avoid members of the Bennet clan. Perhaps becoming better acquainted with her family would soften Elizabeth's opinion of him, to the point where they could at least have a friendly conversation about the weather, without it degenerating into an argument.

The perfect opportunity had just been handed to him. Elizabeth had once thrown down a challenge for him to improve his social skills. What better place to practice than at a wedding, where, he assumed, Bennet relations from every social sphere would be gathered to celebrate Miss Bennet's marriage to Bingley?

~~*~~

The following Sunday, Colonel Fitzwilliam called on them unexpectedly after church. Georgiana was thrilled to see her cousin, and eagerly told him of the wedding she was hoping to attend in Hertfordshire. "And I am so looking forward to meeting Anne's friend."

Mrs Annesley then appeared in the room to ask whether Miss Georgiana still wished to go for her walk today. When the ladies had left them, Richard turned to his cousin. "I did not know that Anne had any friends, never mind friends in Hertfordshire. Who is Georgie looking forward to meeting?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," Darcy replied with a sigh.

"Oh." Richard paused thoughtfully. "Have you been much in her company since ... since April?"

"No. I have not seen her at all since I left her in Mrs Maltby's care at Rosings that evening. However, Bingley's wedding can hardly be avoided without questions being asked."

"That makes it a little awkward for you, does it not?" his cousin asked sympathetically.

"For me, yes, a little, but I am sure my presence at her sister's wedding will not concern Miss Elizabeth in the least. She does not remember our meeting, and can hardly think any less of me than she did before," Darcy replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "I did consider sending my apologies and not attending, but Georgiana was so looking forward to it that I did not have the heart to refuse her."

"And were you planning on warning Georgie about Wickham being in the vicinity?"

"Wickham?" Darcy dropped his head into his hands and groaned. "Damn! I cannot believe I had forgotten him. Surely, I cannot allow Georgiana anywhere near Hertfordshire while that man is in Meryton."

"But you saw how excited she is about Bingley's wedding. What excuse could you give for not attending? Besides, there is a very good chance he will not be in Meryton much longer. The rumour at Whitehall is that they are moving some of the Militia regiments down to Brighton at the end of the month. In fact, I expect to spend a few weeks there myself. You may find that Wickham has left the neighbourhood by the time you arrive."

"I do hope you are correct. If I were to meet Wickham in Hertfordshire again, I do not know whether I could hold my emotions in check for a second time."

"Perhaps that was your biggest mistake, Darcy. Had you allowed me the opportunity to show the scoundrel the error of his ways last year, he would not be in the position of being able to cause you any further pain."

"At the time, I thought it the right decision. Of course, there was also Georgiana to consider."

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled cheerfully. "If you assume that I would not be thinking of my young cousin while I was beating Wickham to within an inch of his life, then you would be entirely mistaken."

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