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Part XXI.

Georgiana, memories of her father's funeral still vivid in her mind, broke down and had to remain at the house. Elizabeth stayed with her, her own mind still in a state of shock about the whole course of events. Anne's death had an unreal quality to it, one that she could not ignore, even though she had witnessed the passing herself. It was not right, it was unfair that she should have so little time on this world compared to others. Elizabeth was well aware of the injustices of life, in her situation it would impossible to avoid them, but nothing seemed just in the death of her friend. She had only known her a short time. Was it really only since Michaelmas last? Time was frequently all too cruel.

The house, if it was possible, mourned all the more deeply now the event had occurred. The sadness, the grief had drifted to the outside, where a thick mist hung over the grounds and formal gardens, clothing everything in its despondence. A coldness, like some deadly plague of centuries past, had inflicted the house and it occupants, one that was impervious to any fire, no matter how blazing. Fortunately none of the occupants seemed to notice it.

Elizabeth knew not how the day had passed. She felt herself at times to be watching the world as if she were an outsider and did not exist within its harrowing aftermath. She did not witness the mist fade into the darkness of the night. She did not remember standing with Georgiana to welcome Lady Catherine, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr. Darcy back. She knew nothing of the meal that followed their arrival, nor her escort back to Hunsford Parsonage where a dour-faced Mr. and Mrs. Collins were waiting.

Indeed the only thing that did manage to somehow force itself upon her notice was a thin piece of paper, folded in half and sealed, lying on the bureau in her bedchamber. Closer examination revealed the directions written by a familiar hand; it was her father. Anxious for some partial relief, no matter how temporary, Elizabeth set herself down and opened the paper. The contents were brief and succinct, as such that might be expected coming from a source so usually hateful of sending correspondence. He asked her to come home. The letter, delayed by the usual modes of travel for such mail, was dated earlier than the express she had sent to Longbourn, informing them of her friend's death. However at this moment, none of that concerned her. She wanted to go home, to put some distance between herself and the weeks at Rosings now so horrible to her. She wanted the chaos of her sisters, the nerves of her mother, her father's whimsical and often barbed humour. But most of all, she wanted Jane. The outlet to whom she could finally pour out all her grief. She had been forced to be strong for others far too long. It was time for her to grieve herself.

The morning brought little alteration to either the people or the weather. At breakfast Elizabeth informed her hosts of her desire to be on the road by the afternoon. Unfortunately proprieties interceded, Mr. Collins vowing on their behalf. Elizabeth was forced to delay a day, so she could make proper farewells to those of Rosings.

Whether Lady Catherine had realised her daughter was dead or not was not for Elizabeth to judge. All she could remark about to herself after the visit was that her cousin's patroness seemed unchanged by the circumstances around her. That Miss Bennet should leave so soon was not to be borne. That her father could not do without her was, to Lady Catherine's mind, even more incomprehensible. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. Why would she not stay a fortnight longer? If she would stay but another month complete, it would in her power to take Miss Bennet to London herself;- in the Barouche box.

Careful to make sure her host was placated, Elizabeth exclaimed that as sensible of the honour as she was, she believed that she must abide by her original plan. To which, her host's reply was to make inquiries as to if a servant was to be sent with her. When she heard that Miss Bennet's uncle had already taken care of that, Lady Catherine turned to making sure that the equipage by which Elizabeth was to travel would change horses in Bromley, and that if Miss Bennet mentioned her name at the Bell, she would be attended to.

The visit ended shortly after that. Mr. Darcy, understandably morose and silent, escorted Elizabeth and the Collins to the carriage. As he held her hand in assistance, Elizabeth had occasion to look into his eyes. Seeing the sadness she felt and more besides, she turned away, only to glance up once more as he pressed a thick envelope into her hands. She had no time to question its author or contents, only to stare at him from the carriage window as it moved out of the front drive.

Not until she was inside the parsonage did Elizabeth open the envelope and take out the two sheets of letter paper contain therein. Even then, it was only to skip to the end and find out the author. It was Anne. Elizabeth rapidly put the letter back, and then out of her immediate sight. She was not ready to face such a letter yet, nor did she presently possess the will or ability to read it. Her emotions and thoughts were still tangled too complexly for the contents of the letter sheets to make any sense to her current frame of mind. Slowly she returned to her trunks and travelling clothes, making a final check on all their content. She placed the letter in a deep pocket of her coat, hoping to read it after she had put a distance between the neighbourhood of Hunsford, Rosings and herself.

The next morning passed slowly. Mr. Collins sequestered her company soon after breakfast, thanking her for the honour that she had paid him and her sister in coming to visit them so soon after their happy union. At length did he hold monologue over the bliss that was his marriage with Mary, and how well suited, in fact seemingly designed, they were for one another. Most fervently did he summarise the hours and days spent in the company of his gracious patroness, underlining the value she had showed by choosing to invite them so many times to Rosings Park.

At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting between sisters, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr. Collins, and as they walked down the garden, he commissioned her to send his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his compliments to Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner, whom he had been so happy to make an acquaintance of at the happy occasion of his wedding. He then handed her in, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he reminded her with some consternation that she had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the occupants of Rosings.

For that duty however, he was willing to take on himself, and then the door was at last allowed to be closed, whereupon the carriage drove off.

Part XXII.

Elizabeth found the ride first to London then to the last stop before home, too short to take the time to dwell upon her friend's letter. In remained in her pocket throughout each carriage ride. As she stepped out of the post at the Inn which had been appointed as the place to meet her father's carriage, she happened to look up at the building, causing an instant sigh as a result. Her younger sisters were behind an open window, Lydia shouting down to her, laughing at the surprise and gesturing for her to come up. Elizabeth obeyed, trying at the same time not to regret her earlier desire to be returned to chaos of her family life.

"Is this not nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?" Lydia uttered as soon as Elizabeth had entered the dinning room. "We have been here but an hour and we mean to treat you as well, Lizzy, but you will have to lend us the money, for Kitty and I have just spent it at the delightful shop opposite. Look at this bonnet! I do not think it is very pretty, but I thought I might as well buy it as not."

"It is frightful, isn't it, Lizzy?" Kitty declared.

"Indeed it is. Whatever possessed you to buy it, Lydia?"

"Oh there were two or three much uglier in the shop, but it will not signify much what one wears this summer, for the militia are leaving Meryton in a fortnight."

"Are they indeed?" Elizabeth cried with great satisfaction. Even though she had not seen much of them, she was thankful that her sisters would no longer be subjected to their charms.

"They are to be encamped near Brighton, and I do so want Papa to take us all there for the summer. Especially as Mr. Wickham is still safe. Mary King was taken to Liverpool by her uncle."

Lydia's chatter continued throughout lunch and into the carriage ride beyond. It turned from the departure of the regiment to inquiring whether her sister had gained a husband, and laughing protesting to be married herself before she was twenty, on to what she believed a delightful scheme that she and Mrs. Forster had played on an officer, then back to the Brighton plan as the carriage drew up Longbourn's drive. Elizabeth focused her mind upon as much of it as she could, unwilling to think of the sadness she had left behind in Kent.

Mrs. Bennet rejoiced to see her home, asked constantly after Mrs. Collins, and more than once during dinner did her father say voluntarily, "I am glad you are come back, Lizzy."

The party was large for dinner, joined as it had been by the Lucases and Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bingley. Elizabeth was overjoyed to see her sister looking so well, so happy with her life as the mistress of Netherfield, although they were to move very soon. Being seated so with her father, Jane and Charlotte, she was able to return to serious conversation, though Lydia did try much to rule the discourse in general with her desire for Brighton. It was a topic Elizabeth found her parents to have debated frequently, and adamantly persistent in their positions upon it; her mother for, her father just as steadfastly against.

The next morning, Elizabeth met Charlotte at the gate, and together they called on Jane at Netherfield. It was a meeting which had been planned the night before, and only once in the calm solitude of her sister's new home did Elizabeth feel able to touch upon the subject of the late Mrs. Darcy.

Jane and Miss Lucas listened carefully and solemnly to her, as she related everything that passed; having no secrecy between her best friend and sister. With quiet sadness did she tell of Anne's gradual decline, and the reaction of everyone there, including her shameful thoughts concerning misperceptions of Mr. Darcy. Jane, anxious that no blame be attached to anyone, struggled hard to reconcile her sister being at fault rather than her husband's dearest friend, neither of which she could rightfully choose between. Charlotte added her usual collected rational side, and soon Elizabeth felt all the better for having confided in them.

Lizzy and Charlotte stayed to luncheon with Mrs. Bingley; the conversation drifting on to what had passed while the former was in Kent, and descriptions of her future home; Pearlcoombe Abbey. Sad as she was to part from her sister, Jane was reassured by her Charles' promise that Lizzy could visit them often, and the latter expressing the wish for her sister to be happy, that she was perfectly right in wanting to move from the risk of their mother visiting daily.

Indeed, Jane was happy. Married but three months, and enjoying every moment of it. Netherfield had fallen rapidly under her charms, and was now as besotted as its master. She managed the household perfectly- a relief to the housekeeper, who had feared herself captive of Miss Caroline for life. Mr. Bingley joined them at Lunch, and Lizzy was glad to see such love between them as she had hoped for her sister.

She parted from Charlotte at the gate of Longbourn, and entered the house to find it in chaos. The reason was soon discovered; Lydia had been invited to Brighton by Mrs. Forster. While she flew about the house exclaiming her ecstasy to everyone, ignoring completely Kitty's repining, Mrs. Bennet was in such raptures for her daughter that her husband had been forced to retreat to his Study.

Elizabeth secretly joined him there but half an hour after her return from Netherfield. Her intention was to persuade him to refuse Lydia permission to go, for she could not help but feel a foreboding about the journey; a quiet dread that something would happen which would be a death warrant to her sister's character.

Mr. Bennet however, was not so convinced. "Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place, and here is an opportunity that is without any expense or inconvenience to her family."

"If you were aware," Elizabeth persisted, "of the very great disadvantage to us all which arises from Lydia's unguarded and impudent manner, I am sure you would judge differently."

"Do not make yourself so uneasy, Lizzy my dear. Wherever you and Jane are known, you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to any less advantage for having a couple; I may say even three, very silly sisters. We shall no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and she is too poor to be any kind of prey to a fortune hunter. Rest easy, my child, all will turn out well."

Elizabeth was forced to be satisfied with this answer but only a week. For, in the second since her return from Kent, matters concerning Lydia's travelling plans were taken out of their hands. It all began with a visit from Mrs. Phillips, who came dashing to the house one late afternoon.

"Sister," cried she, "I hope you still do not mean to let Lydia go to Brighton, indeed it is my hope that if you do, you shall no longer after I tell you my news. A terrible scandal has descended on Meryton this day and you will all be surprised at its source. Louisa, one of Mrs. Long's nieces, has been caught inflagrante delicto with Mr. Wickham! Mr. Wickham of all men! It all started at an evening party Mrs. Long had held but last night. The officers were all there as usual, and he and Louisa were in company all evening, until it was time for them to go, and only then did all notice the two were missing. Louisa eventually was to be heard screaming and crying from the garden, causing us all to rush to her, where we encountered the shameful sight."

Told as this had been to all three daughters and their parents, reactions were varied and in the extreme. Mrs. Bennet exclaimed in grief for the poor girl, relief when she learnt that Miss Louisa was unharmed, the party having reached them in time. Wickham it was said, had been under arrest since the incident, whilst his activities were being investigated. But alas for Lydia, who had yet to appear in the least concern, things were already decided; she would not go to Brighton. Her father and mother were, for once, in total agreement about that.

As deeply overjoyed as she had been about going, was Lydia grieved that she no longer could. In vain did she appeal to each and everyone of her sisters to persuade her parents to relent. None would hear her. Kitty was glad that her younger sister was for once disgruntled, and Elizabeth grateful that the danger had emerged before her sister had left with the regiment, though she was distressed at the way it had arisen. Even Jane, whose generosity for her sister's well-being was always paramount, was of the opinion that Lydia must be resigned to remaining at Longbourn for the summer.

If there was one constant in his life, then Mr. Darcy was sure that summer that it was his home. Despite all the grief its occupants had suffered, Pemberley seemed to possess a certain mysterious magic in its walls and rooms that produced smiles in even the gloomiest of expressions. The weather had blessed its sandstone with a beautiful golden glow, casting magnificence all over the grounds below.

Darcy, who had ridden himself almost to exhaustion by only stopping to change horses during the journey from Kent to Lambton, now brought his mount to a halt where the valley dipped low and presented him with the first real view of his country home. The sun had just cast its brilliance over the walls and grass, and everything glistened as valuable gems. Enchantment took only a moment; his features brightened, his tears faded away. Dismounting his horse, he let the stallion rest while he walked to the large lake that lay in front of the house. Discarding his jacket, waistcoat and cravat, Darcy dived into the water. He emerged some twenty minutes later, refreshed to the core.

Seeing that his horse was attended to, he walked on to the house, where he was welcomed by the comforting arms of his housekeeper. Mrs. Reynolds, having known her master from the age of four, had no trouble in the task of making him drop his masks, and Darcy always felt the better for confiding in her all his troubles. Since the death of his parents she was the only person on whom he could rely to offer impartial judgment on any matter that haunted him.

Together did they sit in the Library, his personal retreat, until dinner. Mrs. Reynolds was shocked and saddened at the sight of her master. Knowing as she did the full circumstances of his marriage, she had not expected such a onslaught of grief and guilt to be hanging upon him, as it did. Since she had seen him last, he had lost weight, slept little and laughed even less. His entire appearance and manner conveyed to her such a sadness as she had only witnessed at the passing of his parents. And it had been by luck that she had managed to help him rise out of it then.

Darcy did indeed feel as weak as he looked. He had come alone to Pemberley, leaving his sister in the company of Mrs. Annesley at their townhouse, so she was not a witness to his sad state. He was not ready to face any part of the world, a feeling he made clear by requesting that his presence in Derbyshire was to be kept a secret. No one, not his tenants, Kympton nor Lambton, were to be informed that Pemberley was no longer shut up. How long this was to be a requirement, he did not know, and neither did his staff. Mrs. Reynolds was determined that it would not outrun the summer, and made sure that every other member of the household, strove to ensure the same.

Mr. Darcy however, noticed not. Nor did he notice the passage of days, spending time involved with accounts, ledgers, and all nature of things which contributed to his fortunes, without any desire for distraction. He could not yet bare to face the world, nor did he feel ready to read the letter that had remained in his bureau since his luggage had arrived from Kent. He already knew the identity of its author; and it was this alone which drove him away from its drawer, for it related to all the other matters which caused his grief and guilt.

For, if there was one similarity between our hero and heroine that summer of 1812, it was that neither of them could read the letters Anne had penned them. Thus, neither of them were to know that, had they risked doing so, all their feelings of guilt would be forever washed away.

Part XXIII.

Anne did not do it justice. That was the foremost thought which entered Elizabeth's head upon first encountering Pemberley. She had heard her late friend's description of her Derbyshire home many times, including the best stop along the entrance way from which to view the place. Now, as she sat with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in their carriage viewing the country house, Elizabeth also realised that no one could really describe Pemberley and do justice to the reality.

A part of her had been concerned at visiting the place so soon after Anne's death, but after being assured by the servant who had attended them at the Inn that the family were not in residence for the summer, she had agreed to her Aunt's desire. And, as she told Mrs. Gardiner her opinion of Pemberley, she was glad that she had.

The carriage drove on to the entrance and the trio descended. After acquiring the assistance of a groundsman, they stood waiting to see if the housekeeper would allow them to see the place. Elizabeth gazed at the house, silently observing to herself once more how happily the place was situated. She remembered the words her friend had used once about the place; claiming that no matter how a visitor felt, Pemberley always managed to a cast a spell of happiness upon them. Indeed, she could confess to possessing the same enchantment.

The trio were a little concerned when the wait had begun to lengthen, and then even more surprised when the groundskeeper returned without the housekeeper in tow. Instead the person that accompanied him was no other that the owner himself. Elizabeth uttered a gasp which drew an enquiry from her Aunt, but before she could reply Mr. Darcy was standing in front of her. Scarcely able to lift up her eyes to his face, she was astonished at her efficiency in answering his enquiries after her family and herself. When she apologised at their presumption and misconception that he was not at home, only then did she risk a look upwards. The result gave her much to think about. Though he spoke with the same tone and intellect as reflected their previous acquaintance, it was clear from his entire mien that Mr. Darcy was not at all himself. His face, nay his entire form, appeared almost shrunken, and his clothes, once tailored precisely to his measurements, seemed to hang upon him.

"There is no need for you to apologise, Miss Bennet," he answered to her last words. "It is my own fault. I did not wish any body to know that Pemberley was no longer shut up. And now that you are here, it would be my pleasure to escort you and your friends in a tour of the house. Would you do me the honour of introducing me to them?"

Still wondering at his much altered appearance, Elizabeth obeyed and stepped to the Gardiners to perform the introductions, giving her connection to them. Immediately Darcy entered into conversation with them, almost smiling in his recollection of his youth in Lambton when he heard that Mrs. Gardiner hailed from the village.

They were first shown a Dining Parlour, a large, but well proportioned room, and handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to the window and viewed the prospect it displayed.

"What do you think of it?" Darcy asked, surprising her, for she had thought him to be beside her Uncle and Aunt, describing the pieces in the room.

"I do not believe I have ever seen a place so happily situated. Anne was right."

"Right? What did she say?"

"That Pemberley possesses a magic about it that has the ability to make any person smile."

Darcy displayed the emotion as he replied, "indeed it does." He returned to her relatives.

As they continued the tour, Elizabeth found the place to be rising further and further in her estimation. The rooms were all lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy, nor uselessly fine; with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the architecture of Rosings Park.

The owner proved also to be an excellent guide, answering any question that might be put to him about any object within the place, with detail and an unconscious appreciation. He truly loved his home, that was clear to see by all of the visitors. It showed in his every description of each room and his what changes his ancestors had done to them. Even the discovery by Mrs. Gardiner of a likeness of Mr. Wickham- whom she had seen at a Christmas a gathering at the Phillipses -at a mantle piece, did not discomfort him. Calmly did he tell them that it was his late father's favourite room and everything had been left as he preferred it and that was that.

They soon reached the second level, and were shown into a sitting room which their guide explained had been just done up for his sister, who adored the room. A picture gallery, and three of the principal bedrooms were all that remained to be shown. In the former their were many family portraits, which the owner took care to name each one's identity, along with a story about them which served to produce interest in the visitors who otherwise would not have dwelt upon a stranger. Elizabeth soon discovered his own likeness, wearing such a smile as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her. The painting having taken in his father's lifetime, contrasted naturally with the reality, due to the passage of time. Elizabeth however soon noticed as well how much better the likeness seemed than the man himself, who was trying so much to hide his suffering.

With their tour of the interior now completed, the owner offered refreshment, which was politely refused, before escorting them outside. They walked across the lawn to the lake, where they surveyed the outside of the house once more, before entering a beautiful walk by the side of the water. Here Elizabeth found herself by Mr. Darcy's side, her Aunt having taken her Uncle's arm. Once more did she offer her apologies about their intrusion, once more did he brush them aside.

"I am glad you have come," he finished, "for as you know, I am joined here tomorrow by Georgiana and Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. I would be delighted if, providing you and the Gardiners have no fixed engagements, you could join us for dinner."

"I am sure we would happy to," Elizabeth replied, knowing that they had no fixed plans in the neighbourhood as yet.

They entered the woods, where Mr. Gardiner expressed a wish of seeing the entire grounds, only to be informed that they were over ten miles round, causing his wife to request for a return to the carriage, as she was not a great walker.

Mr. Darcy obliged them by taking them back the long but easier route, passing through the valley and glen on the way. He observed Elizabeth's regret at not exploring the coppice wood, and decided. Instantly did he offer for them to spend the remainder of their time in Derbyshire at Pemberley, assuring them that due to the estate's position they could visit the other places in the county that they had planned to see as well as seeing the rest of the estate at their own pace. After inquiring as whether they were imposing and being assured that they were not, along with the information of the Bingleys joining him on the morrow, the Gardiners were delighted to accept.

When they had reached the carriage he offered refreshments once more, which were again politely declined, and then bade them farewell until the next day. Lastly, as the Gardiners were climbing into the carriage, Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "Do you approve then of Pemberley?" He quietly asked her.

"I think there are few who would not," Elizabeth replied.

They moved to the carriage. Darcy held out a hand to assist her and then added, "but your good opinion is so rarely bestowed and therefore more worth the earning."

Elizabeth was too astonished by the reply to respond, as she took his hand and stepped into the equipage. She could only watch as he delivered his farewells and the expectation of seeing them for dinner on the morrow, before the carriage drove her away.

Darcy watched the vehicle until it had disappeared out of sight, then walked back inside his house. Only when he had reached his retreat did his mask collapse, along with the rest of his strength. Sinking into a chair, he put a hand to his eyes as the entire visit began to repeat itself in his head. He had been overjoyed to see her, but now the guilt at that feeling had started to attack him in the extremes. It had been an indulgence, one that he should have left to Mrs. Reynolds, rather than deciding to take them around himself when she had informed him of their arrival. Yet he could not resist the temptation of seeing her again.

A knock at the Library door startled him out of his gloomy reverie. "Come."

"I thought you might like some refreshment," Mrs. Reynolds answered, entering with a tray in her hands.

"Thank you Mrs. Reynolds, but I am not hungry."

"It was not a request."

There was only one person at Pemberley who could overrule him by authority of relationship, and that was Mrs. Reynolds. Darcy gazed up at the woman who had known him most of his life, and reluctantly allowed the tray to be placed in front of him. Slowly he let a little of its contents pass into his mouth.

His housekeeper was not satisfied. "William, you have had no breakfast, and no lunch. You must eat more than that." She sat down upon the sofa opposite him, showing no intention of leaving the room until the tray before her master was cleared.

Darcy carefully swallowed some more food. "They are to have dinner here tomorrow."

Mrs. Reynolds smiled, knowing who he meant. "Good. Maybe that will persuade you to partake of the meal."

"Kate....."

"No excuses, please, sir. Your sister will be here tomorrow and you are a too awful object to greet her. Since your stay here you have done little to improve the neglect you have inflicted upon yourself since I last saw you. Rest assured, it may make Miss Bennet pity you, but it will not accomplish anything else. Promise me, that you will try to return to your normal well and happy self while she stays here."

"I promise, Kate." Darcy smiled at her. "Thank you." He knew however, that the assurance he had just given, would prove difficult to keep.

Part XXIV.

"William!"

He caught her before she could fall out of the carriage, his smile almost as radiant as her own for their reunion.

Georgiana's journey to Pemberley had been a protracted affair. After leaving Rosings as she had done so with her brother in April, she had remained in London while he travelled to Derbyshire. A month exactly was then spent in town under the chaperone of Miss Annesley, before travelling with Colonel Fitzwilliam to his parents estate in Matlock, where she had occupied herself until the time had come to travel to Pearlcoombe Abbey, where she had joined the Bingleys in their journey to Pemberley.

Now, as she set herself back from the embrace he had eagerly returned, Georgie looked with solemn concern into his eyes, her own carrying the silent message that she had noted his neglect of himself and that she was most displeased about it. His reaction to it was all that she could hope for; serious acknowledgement, and promise to make retribution upon the neglect as soon as may be.

"Darcy!" The ever jovial Bingley cried, causing his friend to retain a hold of only hand of his sister in order to receive the vigorous shake from the latter. "I must say again how well chosen Pearlcoombe is! How can I ever thank you?"

"There is no need, Charles, you know that. I only passed the description, name and location of the place on. You did the rest."

"Nevertheless I am grateful for your keen senses in smoking it out." He put a loving arm around his wife as he added, "we both are."

Darcy held out a hand, "Mrs. Bingley I am happy to welcome you to Pemberley."

"I am happy to be here, Mr. Darcy," Jane replied, her eyes grazing up at the sandstone front entrance. "Anne was right when she said that the place holds an enchantment over you."

"And there are none who are more so bewitched than its owner, I assure you," Darcy added as he lead them into the courtyard to the stairs and entrance hall. "I believe your sister said the same thing when she visited."

"Lizzy was here?" Bingley queried in surprise.

"Yes with the Gardiners. Did you not know of their vacation in the county?"

"When we moved to the Abbey they were still fixed for the Lakes," Jane explained as they entered the first room of the house.

Darcy nodded in understanding, and repeated what Miss Bennet had told him the day before concerning the demands of Mr. Gardiner's business which had prevented the party from travelling so great a distance. He further elaborated into his offer and their acceptance to stay at Pemberley, along with their addition to the dinner that evening. The Bingleys were delighted at the prospect of seeing them so soon.

Georgiana meanwhile had gone to Mrs. Reynolds who had been there to welcome her home. "Dear Mrs. Reynolds, how has my brother been?"

"I think you can see that for yourself, Georgie," Mrs. Reynolds replied, their voices low and distance from the man himself. "We have tried to remedy the matter, but you know how stubborn he can be."

"Only too well," Georgie replied. "I hope the presence of myself, the Bingleys, the Gardiners and Miss Bennet will reverse the neglect." She gazed at him unobserved. "But he will only really recover if he heals himself."

Pemberley cast its spell upon Elizabeth once more she arrived there that evening, the Gardiners and their luggage in tow. She noticed the deeper effects it had in candlelight; the glow that the decor and furnishings emanated in result. This glow could be found everywhere in the building, including the owner himself. For the first time in their acquaintance Elizabeth discovered herself judging him not as the husband of her late friend, not as a widower, not as a man of wealth, not as a man of influence, not even as her friend. She saw him instead as a woman regards a single man that she cares for great deal, and spends the night in his company contemplating what it would be like for the rest of her life.

Such a revelation was not realised until later night, but it begun like the enchantment of the estate, in slow, soft, small incidences, rising steadily to a crescendo. Nor was the effect noticed by the man himself. Concerned he was that her every whim should be seen to as was due of a host, but Darcy remained more focused on how he appeared by his manner and discourse to the party rather than awake to any new feeling the lady of his dreams might suddenly have. The words of his housekeeper the night before had done a great detail to affect the concern he felt over how people saw and judged him. His natural reserve had assisted the desire, and he forced himself not to collapse and show the reality. A front of perfect calmness and health had to be kept, at least until it became fact rather than fiction.

Dinner was announced; and it was with surprise that Elizabeth noted her place beside Mr. Darcy who was at the head of the table, which had been shortened from its usual length for twelve to accommodate conversation more freely. Jane was opposite, her Uncle and Mr. Bingley flanked them, Georgie and Mrs. Gardiner at the end. Like the house the meal also served to charm its consumers, containing nothing but the best that the season and his kitchens could provide.

Darcy exerted himself to both eat and talk, and Elizabeth, being aware of his struggles in conversation, willingly assisted him, by requesting a history of his family. It was a topic that he was very familiar and very fond of, for the history had been the first thing he had read; a tradition in his family regarding all children.

This occupied them for the first course. By the time the servants had returned with the next, Darcy had realised that he had run away himself on the topic and apologise. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I am being selfish. I have not even asked you about your own family history."

"No indeed, sir," Elizabeth replied immediately, anxious that he should not slide into his reserve. "It was I who asked you, and I was well aware of the length it might entail."

"But it cannot be very interesting, surely?"

"It is, I assure you," she answered with a light laugh. "Please continue."

And he did.

Night arrived, and the guests retired to their beds. Unknowing to each other Elizabeth and Darcy were the last to fall asleep, both their minds having too much thought upon the events of the evening.

Elizabeth lay awake for two full hours, her mind continually reflecting upon every nuance of the evening, from arrival to retirement. He had been everything she could of expected. It was only her feelings that she believed needed clarification and rebuke. She had no right, no right at all to suddenly think of him as a potential partner in life. Marriage of convenience he may have had, but it was to a woman she regarded as friend, and who had passed on not four months ago. Every feeling in her should forbid it. This place and its magic had stole upon her unexpectedly, catching her off-guard, serving to awake such thoughts about a man she had known for ten months. From this moment on she would make herself more aware of probabilities, such as the likelihood of a owner recently widowed wishing to inform no one in his parishes that he was at his estate for the summer so he could pass the season in the relative solitude that the building afforded him.

With Darcy, he spent most of the night seated in a armchair before the fire in his bedchamber, stroking his faithful greyhounds which sat either side. They, alert as any other dog to the moods of their master, had stayed by him from the moment he had allowed them into his present. Silently had they followed him from the gallery, down the stairs to the Music Room an hour after the guests had retired, pushing their curiosity about the room aside to observe him leaning on the mantle, gazing at the pianoforte.

Just as silently they had returned with him to his bedchamber some moments later, watching with anxious eyes as he dismissed his valet, stripped down to his shirt and breeches, and sank into the chair before the hearth. They had joined him their immediately, pushing their heads into his hands for a stroke and pet before he could sink into a gloomy reverie. Like their master, they knew that they had only obtained partial success.

Darcy lost track of how long he remained haunted by the flicking flames, his eyes fixing upon them as a marker to guide him back to the present, upon the instant that memories of the past threatened to overwhelm him.

Part XXV.

My dear Lizzy, you and I have been such close friends for so short a time. I wish it could be longer, but I know that cannot be. I have to depart, if my wishes for you and my other dearest friend are to come to fruition......

Elizabeth opened her eyes, and the image, like any other dream faded way. Arising from her bed, she walked to the window, remembering the scene in her past where the words had come from. It was when she had sat beside Anne at Rosings, on that dreadful day.... she sighed. Even now she could not recall the specifics of the conversation. At the time she had been too concerned with the need to make her friend content rather than the details of what she was promising herself to fulfill.

Before she could dwell upon the moment now though, her eyes and senses recollected where she was. Pemberley. She looked out, gazing at the prospect properly for the first time. The grounds below her rose quite naturally and gradually into a hill, whose own foundation level remained the same until the woods, which seemed to almost surround the estate, over came its plush greenness. Straining her eyes, Elizabeth could espy two figures upon the hill, working in harmony the only way that man and horse excel at. Even at this distance she could, from the outline, determine the identity of the rider. Indeed, it could not be anyone else; Mr. Bingley was married and prone to later rides, while her Uncle preferred to hunt the trout. Elizabeth found herself fixed upon the figure until he arched the horse round to return to the house, whereupon she instinctively turned from the window to a chair. She knew it to be ridiculous to think that he could discern her from where he was presently halted, and therefore put the irrational fear down to her revelations the night before. Verily now she still did not believe in the notion that the feelings which had arisen during one evening spent in Mr. Darcy's company were more of a longer nature rather than the effects of Pemberley's enchantment. He was an excellent man- she could hardly acknowledge otherwise, given her intimacy with Anne. Their friendship had presented her with a side to him which she might only now be beginning to learn if he had been unattached upon their first acquaintance. And it was in this significance which the barrier lay. As a rational woman she could not ignore the reality, she recognised that. Had they met in different circumstances..... no, she should not give way to such supposing. There was nothing that could alter the situation between them.

It was simply not meant to be.

Upon a hill far away, a rider sat upon his steed, staring at the house. He wondered absently if she knew that he had spent the hours before her arrival discerning which window was to be hers, for just this moment. Loosing any desire to be attuned to his whereabouts or the time, he remained gazing at the panes, until he had almost imagined the figure in white who he had seen move away just as he had come round. Below him his stallion, as wild as its untamed ancestors, stamped a hoof and rapidly reminded him where he was. Flicking the reins he complied with its wish for exertion.

Arriving in the breakfast room not half an hour later he found to his satisfaction only his sister and Miss Elizabeth- how oft he was prone to drop her last name, wishing for his own to replace it -partaking of the bread and pastries his servants had laid out. Delivering a genial good morning to them both he sat down in his usual seat, and discovered, to his surprise, that, for the first time in months, he actually felt a desire for nourishment rather than just a need.

Georgiana noticed her brother's marked alteration regarding food, and unconsciously smiled in relief before drinking her tea. Her companion espied the gesture, but was unable to remark upon the emotion until their host had moved to sip his tea at the window, a custom she had observed from her days at Netherfield.

"Forgive me, Lizzy, I did not mean for you to notice it," Georgiana replied, her voice too low for her brother to hear.

"Then I shall not inquire further about it."

"Oh no, I do not want that. It is something I dearly wish to keep an eye on, and I know full well how rarely my daily pursuits cross his. Yet, the matter is so delicate..... and heaven knows I do not want him to realise my worry....."

"But..." Elizabeth prompted her.

"It is necessary. Since.... well, I'm sure you can guess, I have seen him take little, if any, enjoyment from eating. He eats the little that he does out of necessity rather than want. I know him too well to think that this will not last. It is his way when he dwells too often on things past. This is the first time in months that I have seen any change."

"I understand your concern. Do not worry, I will try to help, if I can."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Georgie answered, her thoughts adding but I believe you already have. It was too soon for that to be voiced aloud.

Darcy returned to the table, and the rest of the occupants entered the room to partake of the repast, ending the conversation.

While Georgiana offered to show the ladies around the rest of the grounds, the gentlemen decided that their morning activity was to be fishing. As soon as breakfast was concluded the latter set off, their host regretful that formalities had to be observed, while the former dawdled longer, reminiscing over their travel delights.

Thus, many a minute of the morn was passed by host and our heroine fighting to appear all that could be expected of them and thinking about the other at the same time. He failed to lessen the quantity of fish in his estate, she found herself spending the entire walk wondering on his location and what distance he lay from her group. His distraction soon led to his friend speaking almost entirely to her Uncle, and her own for her Aunt to smile at her other niece and their hostess and for them to return the expression in mutual understanding.

At luncheon the entire company reunited, and the weather turned for the sake of host and heroine. In the Music Room they sequestered themselves, Georgiana at the pianoforte, idly playing out a tune, the Gardiners in conversation with the Bingleys, Elizabeth at the window watching the effect of rain on the grounds, and Darcy quietly in the sofa by the hearth, his eyes never moving from her form.

The doors opened and the greyhounds came in, rushing for their master in complete disregard of the footman that had only brought them to the room in a request that they be let out of their confinement for some indoor exercise. Their master brushed away the apology, happy for the distraction, his mental meandering having by now drifted into gloom. Silently he greeted them both, and then watched as they moved from him to meet the others. Despite their size it was with grace that they moved to each person, allowing them to make the first move before sniffing their hands and prancing to the next. With Georgiana they balanced their forelegs upon her lap, willingly accepting her joyful fuss of them, until the woman by the window caught their eyes. Solemnly they walked towards her, sitting down before her in almost a bow. Her own pupils lit up at their arrival, and willingly she held out a hand in greeting. Eagerly they stayed by her side.

Their preference did not go unnoticed. Darcy watched them not with surprise, but the emotion of a man who had long suspected such an event to occur. A man who had foreseen that she would have such a way with everything that he owned, stealing all their hearts without any intent or design, but by sheer manner and character themselves.

A man who knew how well the woman had stolen his own heart.

Part XXVI

With the first day passing so agreeably to all concerned, one could hardly hope that the second would pass by with the same emotion felt by all. Yet it did, even going so far as to surpass the first. The weather continued to prove satisfactorily for this time of year, that is as far as satisfaction can be gained by spending one's time in a typical English summer, being both good and bad, wet and dry, answering not only the requirements of our hero and heroine, but the rest of the guests currently residing at Pemberley as well.

Elizabeth woke to the second morning at the estate with cheerful memories of the pleasant day which had passed before. After the entrance of the dogs, afternoon had soon drifted into evening, bringing dinner. In the Dining Room she had found herself seated by him as previously. Conversation was begun by him, an anxious enquiry concerning the company of the hounds, to which she had replied in a truthful and enjoyable opinion. They had continued to talk amongst themselves throughout the rest of the meal, the other guests happy to let them alone. The formalities of separation by sexes followed, whereupon she had spent a half hour with her Aunt and Miss Darcy. Upon the entrance of the gentlemen, he had resumed his usual seat, which happened to be opposite her, causing the trio, quite naturally, to involve him in their discussion.

As a result of this first day, Elizabeth found her emotions unchanged. She responded to them this time however with a new resolution. While she could suppose herself to be affected by the estate for feeling the feelings she currently felt about its owner, she could hardly assume that he was feeling the same about her. She should not even expect him to consider it. Therefore she knew that it was pointless to dwell and second guess those feelings. Nor should she ever hope that he would learn to feel them too. With this resolution in mind, she put the emotions to the back of her thoughts, and concentrated purely on the present.

Thus, our heroine spent her second day at Pemberley in the noble quest of helping Georgianna and her brother in law, Charles Bingley, in overseeing the health of their host. The latter had expressed his own concern to her during the evening before, and Elizabeth, her own sensibilities deeply concerned with what Anne would have thought of this, promised her willing assistance. This she began today, the weather proving a help to her cause by not melting the frost of the cold night before enough to encourage the thought of fishing. Instead their host and the gentlemen spent their morning with the ladies, where Elizabeth and Georgianna banded together to involve the former in conversation, keeping him so occupied that when food came before them, he ate with enjoyment rather than necessity.

Darcy was not slow to feel the effects. He had noticed his sister's concern, as every good brother should, but until now it had not occurred to him that she would gain Miss Elizabeth's assistance in the matter. Before this day he had never entertained any reality in the idea that she might feel some part of the same concern and affection that he often felt for her. The revelation both pleased and distressed him. He still felt guilt over Anne, and he was worried that the distraction of Miss Bennet's presence might lead him to unconsciously express his deep and loving regard for her before either of them were ready to consider such a motion. As an educated man he knew that his lack of concentration had to do with in part at least to the neglect he had shown in looking after his health, so he began to compensate accordingly. To the delight and relief of his household and of those around him, he ate all his meals, and threw himself not so very wholeheartedly into any estate work that might require his attention while he entertained, as he had be inclined to do so before the arrival of his guests.

Added to this, and in a conscious effort not focus on his feelings for her, Darcy sought to encourage his sister's relationship with Miss Elizabeth. To see Georgianna so much like the young woman he had witnessed before the summer spent at Ramsgate was truly a joy. He saw just how much both Anne and Miss Elizabeth had contributed to make Georgianna smile, laugh, and be confident with her feelings and opinions, and the results did much to heal his own heart as well as his sister's.

Throughout the second day therefore, while Elizabeth and Georgianna were encouraging him in the restoration of his health, he was often reverting to silence in their company, content to watch and or listen to their conversation. For this he had no other motive, only a desire that his sister recover fully, aware of the future when she would find her own love and move away from him. He could only hope that she had better success than he.

As the days passed, Mr and Mrs Gardiner bore witness the state of their niece and Mr Darcy. Both being keen observers, they soon detected how much each felt for the other, and the concern that consumed them enough to prevent any present avowal of feelings on either side. It was a topic that the Gardiners often mulled over between themselves, with the rising worry of when, if indeed at all, the relationship might be begun. Due to Mr Gardiner's increasingly successful business, he could not length their disgustedly short vacation in Derbyshire. Nor could they accept the Bingley's kind offer of taking Elizabeth home in their own time, for the Bingley's stay would only last one more day in the county than their own, for Charles still had a multitude of things to sort at Pearlcoombe.

Mrs Gardiner tried therefore to speed things along, but in vain. Usually Elizabeth confided in her everything that she could not discuss with Jane, especially now because of Jane's marriage, but so far she had not. Mrs Gardiner knew of the letter from the late Mrs Darcy to her niece which had yet to be read, knew why it had yet to be read, and could discern from appearance alone just how her niece felt about Mr Darcy. However until Elizabeth made the move to confide in her, Madeline could render nothing in the way of succour. She knew her niece's character too well to expect anything other than a denial in response if she expressed her suspicions.

Madeline was also aware that it was far too early for either of them to begin such a courtship. The recent mortal departure of Mrs Darcy aside, it was clear that neither of them were ready to even contemplate such a possibility, let alone act upon it. A marriage of convenience for Mr Darcy it may have been, but Mrs Gardiner could clearly espy the guilt that still lingered within him, despite their short acquaintance. Added to this was her niece's relationship with his late wife. For Elizabeth to even consider the idea Mrs Gardiner knew to be impossible. Every feeling for her late friend would justly forbid it. Months would have to pass before either of them would begin to dwell upon such a courtship without any feelings of guilt or betrayal accompanying such an idea.

So therefore Mrs Gardiner could only watch the couple she hoped so much for throughout the stay at Pemberley, along with the constant and private prayer that nothing, upon this green and pleasant land or in their minds, emotions and fears, would hinder and or prevent such a future union. For what happiness such an event would bring, not only to their family and friends, but also to the couple themselves.

Part XXVII

Posted on March 15, 2003

The Gardiners and their niece passed only six more days at Pemberley before moving from the county back to town. With their absence, distressingly, went what little of their host's brief recovery, which they had accomplished during their stay. Mr Darcy felt deeply the effects of her withdrawal. Within a day of the Bingley's departure to Pearlcoombe, he sent his sister to Matlock, and returned to the cycle he had wrapped himself so much in previously. He ate little, slept even less for fear of the dreams that would haunt him, wore himself out so he would have no dreams, and threw himself into work on the state.

His household tried in vain to prevent it. Mrs Reynolds, whom had the advantage of the others by being held in high regard, tried every day to get him to eat, sleep and abandon what little estate work remained, but without success. Her battle ended with him taking the key of his library and study, and locking himself in both each day, leaving her no chance to disturb him until meals or the household accounts, which, due his lack of appetite, required almost no attention.

Darcy seemed to notice nothing of the worry and concern he was creating by the neglect to himself. The symptoms had settled upon him from the moment of her departure, and nothing could remove them except her return. He would suffer, but he would not allow her to see it. Pleased he had been once in the knowledge that she cared for him, now he looked upon it with distress. He was not worthy of her concern, nor did he neglect himself just to gain her attention. She deserved a better man than he, a man who had no past that he would rather forget.

Summer began slowly to fade into Autumn, and he moved himself out of the house to help his tenant farmers recover the harvest. It was something he had participated in ever since he was a boy, and they welcomed him to their cause. Yet this change of occupation did not result in a reversion of appetite. He accepted their offer of repast during the breaks, but often ate little or no dinner and frequently missed breakfast upon his return to the house. Usually he was a sensible man and realised that this neglect would slowly kill him, but his affection for her had made him act irrationally for so long, that he no longer paid attention to the qualms of his conscience.

If he had thought the strong focus upon his estate would cure him of his fascination for Elizabeth Bennet, he was soon proved mistaken. More and more frequently would images of their time together come into his mind, causing much distraction. Only one look, or expression, or manner, or turn of phrase, only one of these would be remembered without any reason by his mind, and he would be lost for the rest of the day.

When this occurred he worked himself more harshly to the ground; adding riding and fencing- provided by a retired master from Lambton -to his pastimes, until there was almost no occasion to think of her. This resolution had sporadic results. Sometimes he would go days without thinking anything about her, and other days she would come into his mind no matter what he used to try and his distract himself.

As the days passed, suspicions of the reasons were awakened not only in his household, but also in his tenants and parishes of Kympton and Lambton. When presented with a view of the state of him, the populace of both villages and his rented land could only comment about it amongst themselves. None knew how, or even if a recovery could be brought on by themselves.

The household, however, did not loose hope of recovery. Mrs Reynolds risked retribution one day and wrote to Miss Darcy. She had little idea of what result it could bring, but it was the last avenue open to her.

Georgianna was shocked indeed to hear of her brother's debilitating health. Never had she seriously thought for a moment that when he encouraged her to visit the Matlocks that he had another motive than her happiness. She knew it was not a conscious motive on his part to starve himself, but she also realised that he had sent her away so she could not see it, and try to persuade him out of it.

Immediately she wrote a reply to Mrs Reynolds assuring her that she would return at once, and that everything that could be attempted to help her brother, would be. What she did not mention to Mrs Reynolds, is that as yet she knew of nothing that could be done. She knew her brother in grief and guilt too well. Reversing the process would not be an easy task to accomplish with any degree of success. She could guess at the nature of the long term solution, but also knew that for the solution to be a possibility, other things would have to be achieved, including a answer for the interlude.

At length, Georgianna summoned her courage and confided in her Aunt, Uncle and cousins the full history of events since they had last seen her brother, which, apart from Colonel Fitzwilliam, was well over a year ago. The reaction to the discovery was great; everyone could not be more shocked, so far had the suspicion of such an event been from their minds. Only to Richard did the development seem not so wholly unexpected.

Discussion of what to do as by way of resolution then followed. First proposed was the notion that they arrived at Pemberley without warning, and confront him. Georgianna instantly discounted that:

"He would not look kindly upon us," said she, "and I doubt if he would admit anything to any of us. I do not wish him to be angry with me or Mrs Reynolds."

Second was the proposal that they persuaded him to travel to Matlock, a notion that was also rapidly discounted. They knew his stubbornness all too well, he would give too clever an excuse to refuse. Disguise of any sort was his abhorrence, but he would do enough to make sure that the excuse was reality should they try to check.

The viscount then suggested that they took him town. Soon that was discarded as well; they had all witnessed frequently the effect of Society upon him. Alexis Fitzwilliam was a practical man by nature, and therefore could not understand how his cousin could be so wholly consumed by the guilt of loving someone while under a marriage of convenience, and how his character would forbid him from reacting upon the affection after the end of the matrimonial barrier.

For days did they admit a partial defeat at this juncture, and return to their previous activities for distraction in the hope it would bring inspiration. In vain did they struggle. Georgianna knew not what to do; to inform any one else would only make them concerned, and feel a uselessness in the inability to offer a solution.

At last then, just when all hope of an answer seemed hopeless, a proposal offered itself up for debate, and the nature of it pleased all.

Part XXVIII.

Posted on Saturday, 22 March 2003

Pearlcoombe

August 24th

My Dear Lizzy,

I know you will wonder at my writing to you so soon after your return to Longbourn, but the news- or rather the confirmation -came so suddenly as to preclude otherwise. Be assured I am well, as well as any woman can expect to be so upon learning of a little addition to mine and dear Charles' happy union. We expect to have Pearlcoombe noisy with childish delights in the new year.

We left Pemberley as you known but a day after yourself, and since then have had no news from the place, other than Miss Darcy is presently enroute to Matlock. Charles believes his friend has much work to do on the estate, though he knows not what the work could possibly be, for he remembers hearing his friend involved upon it while in London.

Nevertheless it is not the motive of this letter to talk of him, but rather of your feelings towards him. Lizzy, I am not so involved in my own happiness to notice that you and he talked frequently during our stay in Derbyshire, and his often distraction while out of your company. Surely you yourself noticed his attentiveness to you? I cannot recollect a moment during all the time we were all together there when he was not in your company. One occasion in particular comes to mind; he watched you throughout your performance at the pianoforte, and with such a look upon his face as to erase all doubt of what he felt for you.

You will protest to this no doubt, but I saw your concern for him. Charles has told me that he confided to you his concerns over the state of his friend's health, but I would not know my sister as well as I claim to if I did not witness something else, some other feeling from you than just concern and duty you felt regarding Anne. If such a suspicion on my part is false, then I beg you to forgive me and we shall never speak of it again. But if it is true, I beg you not to worry yourself over the rightness of feeling it. He clearly feels the same for you. If your hesitation is a result of Anne, remember what she told you concerning their marriage. Such a future union would cause much happiness to your families, friends and especially yourselves. Delay is only needed for Society's sake, and since when did you much care for what others thought of you?

I hope, dear sister, that you will consider all of the above seriously, and send me a reply only when you have thought fully over the whole.

Yours etc,
Jane Bingley

It would cause considerable surprise to all concerned if Elizabeth, after reading such a letter, did not react with astonishment and surprise. She had not been a week back at Longbourn when she received it, and the reaction that it caused was such as one would expect from one so unsuspecting that another had seen the feelings which had arisen in that county and the strange idea that he felt the same. For a long time did she sit in the garden grove where she had first retreated to read the letter, pondering over the revelations.

When she had first returned to the bosom of her family, Elizabeth had been so caught up in talking with her father, her sisters and listening to her mother, that she had scarcely time to reflect over what had happened in Derbyshire, let alone any thought of him. Only now did she realise that her avoidance had be unconsciously deliberate. For Jane had stated the truth. She did still feel for Mr Darcy the feelings that had been awoken in Derbyshire. The degree and intensity of them had not lessened, indeed quite the opposite, increasing so gradually and so silently in her mind that, almost immediately after reading Jane's letter, she could not protest them without lying to everyone that knew her, including herself.

But the idea of he actually returning those feelings was the thing which made her so astonished to remain where she was until her father came to tell her that it was time for supper. Joy at the idea slowly faded into uncertainty as she recollected the events of her vacation, striving to remember if there was any occasion when he had paid her more attention other than that due of a good host. Jane's recognition of the recital evening could not be confirmed by herself, for she had been wholly concentrated on performing the piece to the best of her ability to notice nothing else. No other impression came to her mind that could confirm her sister's suspicions.

Yet, the thought did occur that she might be so determined to think that he could not feel for her what she felt for him so far that her own view of the stay was clouded beyond true and impartial recognition.

However, after just such a concept had occurred to her, Mr Bennet came upon her, and Elizabeth was obliged to forget the matter entirely for the rest of the evening. Indeed, during the days immediately after her return, she was unable to give the matter any attention, for other persons feelings required to be looked after. There was her father to consider, whose penchant for her did not frequently conquer his abhorrence for the pen of correspondency, and as such had much to talk with her about which she had missed during her absence. The occurrence of their daily evenings together in his study only resumed after her mother and her sisters had exhausted their need to tell her of all that had happened while she was away, and to ask whether she had acquired any new beaux.

Then, just as the days returned to normalcy in the Bennet household, their evenings were taken up with the addition of the Phillips and then the Lucases for dinners and social engagements, along with the rest of the four and twenty families that Mrs Bennet claimed amongst her closest friends. Elizabeth was obliged to be all that sociable and dutiful of a daughter, as well as fending off her mother's entreaties on any new- and sometimes old -eligible personages, and make sure Kitty and Lydia resorted not to their usual wilderness.

Thus, it would be many days and many events would have occurred before Elizabeth ever had time to think upon all that Jane had written to her.

Part XXIX.

Posted on Saturday, 29 March 2003

With the arrival of Michaelmas signaling the full circle of the year which first drew all in to the events in Hertfordshire and its surrounding counties, the house that begun it all had been closed up for four months. Since the quitting of Mr Charles Bingley, the owners of Netherfield had received no requests to lease the place again. It servants had been transferred or dismissed, its windows and doors shut up, and its game allowed freedom of its skies and grounds without the risk of being shot once more.

Speculation as to who might take up the place had long been exhausted by this time. Many- those who regarded Mrs Bennet as the least interfering and matchmaking of all mothers, indeed, compared to some in Meryton,- Mrs Long in particular -she was the mildest of all -had expected the Bingleys to remain at the place indefinitely and had been mixture of astonishment and insulted when they quit the place in May. The latter emotion soon dissipated in the wake of speculation that another eligible gentleman might take up the place, which accordingly faded into disappointment as the months passed on and no such circumstance occurred.

Ergo, by the time the Netherfield estate began to display signs of life once more, the personages of Meryton, Longbourn, Lucas Lodge, the great house at Stoke and Hay Park, had forgotten about the place; though if you were to recall such a opinion aloud to them, they would deny such a truth entirely. Its closure was reversed slowly; with the gradual arrival of a household staff, followed by the slow renewal of shooting on the estate, but so sporadic was the latter that it was hardly noticed. Only when Mrs Long happened, quite by chance,- at least that is her excuse -to pass the house, and look up to see the windows no longer shut up, that the news of Netherfield being let once more made itself known to the immediate neighbourhood.

Conjectures as to the identity of the new tenants duly followed, beginning with the brief expropriation of servants in order to try and gleam the names of who they served. However, unlike the last time, the servants proved difficult to persuade and refused to yield any information concerning whom they obeyed.

Eventually, the tenant himself, being a man of quick parts, caprice and wit, let the neighbourhood know who he was, by posting a notice in the local newspaper. The name at first did not bring full understanding to all, and most complained that it had been done so very ill; just Lord Edmund Fitzwilliam and family, without a syllable said of where he came from or what his family entailed.

Only one guessed the full at once. Elizabeth could not help but gasp at the news, knowing that there was only one Fitzwilliam family. Confirmation came a day after the announcement, with a letter from Jane to herself, relating the news that the Matlocks had travelled to Pemberley and then set off for Netherfield, bringing their nephew and niece in tow. It was at this moment that Elizabeth returned to considering her feelings and the possibility that the man in question might reciprocate them. Indeed she could not foresee any other reason that would bring him to Hertfordshire.

She went to bed that night with the matter still heavily upon her mind, and perhaps it was due to this that when she woke the next morning, a memory she was unaware of ever having existence was the first thing to possess her mind. Opening her eyes she was disappointed to find that it had only been a recollection, so vivid was the sensation of his breath, his touch and his words.

You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you that was what he had said, just before she had lost consciousness, that night when he had happened upon her at Hunsford Parsonage. She remembered now, just as she remembered him caressing her cheek, and smoothing away a curl of hair in accompaniment. Despite the suddenness of this revelation, Elizabeth could not doubt its truth. Arising from her bed, she went to her bureau and opened a drawer, from where she took the letter that her tumult of emotions could no longer bar her from reading.

Hunsford
April 11th

My dear Elizabeth,

I write this with the knowledge that I have not long left upon this world, and with realisation that unless such a thing is written, the future I hope for you and my cousin will never occur.

Doubtless such news of my hopes will cause you much surprise, so without further ado, I will relate to you the whole.

I had not long been in Hertfordshire before I saw that William was attracted to you. Knowing my cousin as well as I did told me at once how events would proceed; he has never looked at any other before you and is unlikely to look at any other after you. By the time of the Netherfield ball he was in love with you, of that much I am certain. The only thing that stood in his way, was me.

Depending on when you read this, and the progression of events, I know not how you will treat this certainty of mine. Astonishment will most likely be one feeling that will possess you, along with disbelief of what I write. I know not how to assure you of the truth. William has not confided in me or anyone else what he feels, yet I know it. I witnessed all his unguarded looks at you, saw and heard all his praise of you that he felt he could express before he realised what he felt and thought there was a need to be circumspect. I have never seen him in love before, but I know him to be so and with you. How you feel for him is less certain at present to me. Since what he told you of Wickham and our marriage I know that you see him for the good and generous man that he is, but whether you have yet to begin to regard him as someone with whom you could spend the rest of your life with remains unknown to me. You have been such a good friend as to make me feel disgusted with myself as to what I am about to ask of you when I know my eternal farewell is imminent, but I cannot let the words remain unsaid. If you have any degree, no matter how small, of the feelings that he feels for you, please tell him. I know him too well to know that if you do not, he will guilt himself to the point of death over it. I do not wish to make you feel guilty if you cannot express the feelings; nor do I wish you to feel obligated into carrying out such a notion anyway, out of some misguided duty towards me. I only wish to let you know that if you do not tell him of what you feel, he will never have the courage to tell you. His sense of duty has so long been ingrained upon his character that the idea of you returning his feelings will probably never occur to him, unless you let some of your own show.

I know that you think him to be a good man, a good cousin, a good brother, so the possibility that this will grow into more and this hope of mine concerning your feelings is not entirely in vain. I wish so much for him to have the happiness in life that he has deserved for so long. The happiness that I could not provide him, for we were never in love and never hoped to be so either.

I wish I had the time or the strength to persuade you to think and feel the way I wish you think and feel about him. But I know I do not. Therefore I can only hope that my wish is father to your thought.1

So, dear friend, I bid you adieu, and hope that you do not throw this letter out in disgust, but instead consider all that I have told you and the extent of your own feelings towards him.

Anne.

The knowledge that her recently departed friend had not only known all along, but had also given her blessing to the matter, comforted Elizabeth almost immediately. Her estimation of Anne was increased by this news; that she could be so concerned with the happiness of her friend and husband of convenience while she was suffering her fatal disease made her all the more worthy a friend.

Only one thing was left to distress her. That was that she had yet to hear of his feelings for her from the man himself. Until then, she could do nothing but hope.

1. "Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought." Henry IV, Part 2 (1597) act 4, sc. 5.

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