Beginning, Section III

Chapter 15

Posted on Sunday, 24 June 2007

“Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous.” ~ Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

The day after the Carringtons’ ball, the ladies residing at the Rostov townhouse felt it incumbent upon themselves to visit with the ladies residing at the townhouse of Viscount Harcourt, not only to thank Lady Diana for her kindness in introducing them to her various acquaintances, but also for a certain member of their group to see Colonel Fitzwilliam under the pretext of a collective visit.

They were shown into the drawing room, but to Alina’s great disappointment, only the ladies of the house were present therein. Lady Diana noted her questing eyes and with half a frown and half a smile, discreetly sent a servant to inquire after her brother’s whereabouts.

The Princess immediately engaged Lady Diana in a quiet, polite conversation and Anne wished very much to show Elizabeth the latest letter from Mrs Collins, so it was left to Alina to entertain the shy Miss Darcy. At first, conversation did not flourish, but then Alina inquired about Miss Darcy’s embroidery, showed her a stitch she had learned in Switzerland, and spoke so well of Handel and Mozart, that even Georgiana, who was uncomfortable with girls near her own age, found herself very interested and talking much more than she had anticipated.

“Do you not long to be out, Miss Darcy?” Alina asked.

Georgiana flushed. “When my guardians feel that I am ready to come out,” she said stiffly, “I am certain they will let me know.”

“Oh,” Alina was taken aback, “I meant no offense, I apologize! Every young lady of my acquaintance can speak of little else but having a Season, I assumed that you were just as anxious to have yours as well! But I understand,” she continued, bending her head towards Georgiana, “it can be a positively harrowing experience, to be exhibited like that.”

Georgiana looked up at her uncertainly. “You-- you do?”

“Of course!” She laughed, shaking her head, “My own sister dreaded it. In fact, she escaped to our family’s house in the country after only two months and married an old family friend. If I were not as thick-skinned--” she shrugged, smiling.

Georgiana’s eyes widened at this speech. “Thick skinned?” she repeated, a little dazed.

“Yes, well, I am, really. I never mind what anyone says to me, unless they are my family or close friends. My cousins always tease me for it, but I cannot help it, I do not take offense when people who do not know me at all say awful things about me, for I know it cannot be the truth!” Alina raised her shoulders with a grin.

“My cousins tease me as well,” Georgiana ventured. “Colonel Fitzwilliam the most, I think, but I know he means well.”

“Oh,” Alina felt a warm rush at the mention of the Colonel’s name. “I danced with him last night -- twice!” she whispered, leaning in to Georgiana. “He is a lovely dancer. Is it due to your tutelage?”

“Oh, no, Miss Rostov” Georgiana exclaimed, mortified. “I would never -- oh,” she relaxed, “you are joking…” She smiled sheepishly. “I suppose I am a bit slow to catch on.”

Alina laughed and pressed her hand. “Perhaps my joke was not very funny!” She cocked her head and looked at Georgiana. “Miss Darcy, may I ask you a favor?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do please call me ‘Alina.’ I would feel ever so much more comfortable. All my friends do, and we are soon to become --” She wanted to say “cousins,” but remembered herself in time. “We are soon to become friends, I hope.”

Georgiana blushed and nodded. “Yes, Mi-- Alina, I will try. You must call me Georgiana, then.” It had been a long time, perhaps since her brother took her out of school, that she had had a friend. Except Anne, she thought, but Anne was also her cousin and that made things different. Georgiana liked this girl with laughing eyes very much and wished, quite impartially, that she could be as gay and carefree as Alina always seemed to be.

Colonel Fitzwilliam practically burst into the room. “Hello!” he exclaimed brightly, including the whole room in his greeting. Lady Diana prevented herself from rolling her eyes. “My dear Princess,” he continued, approaching Catherine, “how have you been? Miss Bennet, you looked charming at last night’s ball, you must wear that gown more often!”

He walked on, dispensing pleasantries, until he reached the settee where Alina and Georgiana were waiting for him.

“My dears,” he said warmly to both girls, and pulled up a chair. “Georgie, you are looking quite well today! This embroidery is just wonderful, you are very talented. Is she not accomplished, Miss Rostov?”

“Very,” Alina agreed. “I only wish I could do half as well, but I am afraid I am very clumsy with the needle.”

“Nonsense,” Colonel Fitzwilliam disagreed, “I have seen your work, and is very lovely.”

They smiled at each other, and Georgiana quietly rose and moved away, knowing that they would not notice her absence.

Colonel Fitzwilliam only saw that the seat next to Alina had become vacant and moved himself into it. “Did you enjoy the ball last night?” he asked in a low voice.

“Oh, yes!” Alina exclaimed, blushing.

“I hope you dreamt of me…” he whispered, touching her arm lightly.

“Richard!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. “If that is the way you will say my name when I anger you, I must remember to do it more often,” he said, thinking how delightful it would be to be married to her.

“Richard, do stop being so silly.” Alina moved away a little for the sake of propriety, and then smiled to herself, wondering how it came to be that she should be the proper one. “The ball was nice indeed,” she said primly, “Everyone I met was very pleasant.”

“Oh,” Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head, bemused, “you will be dissuaded of that notion as soon as you know them more closely. We all have our failings. Did you see Elliot slip away with Miss Cray before dinner?”

“Elliot? I do not believe I met him…”

“Sir William Elliot. The one with the handsome, superior wife.” Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. “Chases everything with a skirt, Elliot does; notorious for it!”

“Bur surely--” Alina frowned slightly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam waved a hand. “Oh, he does it all the time. Most of the men do, I daresay it is the same in Moscow. You have nothing to worry on my account, however,” he assured her, touching her hand again, “I would never be that kind of a fool.” He continued speaking lightly about the ball -- the music, the food, the people who had not been invited -- but Alina could not focus on his words, she kept thinking on what he had said about Sir William.

When they got home, she sought out Peter in the library. He was sprawled out on a chair, legs stretched in front of him, the corners of his mouth bent in a small smile at something he was reading. He sat up, however, when he saw Alina.

“Well, hello,” he said, “you have an odd look on your face… did your visit not go well?”

She sighed and sat on the corner of a chaise. “I feel odd, Peter… that is -- I know I should not, but I do. Does that make sense?”

Peter thought about it for a moment. “Er… no.”

“Oh, well, it does not matter,” Alina said, rising. “I should occupy myself with useful things, accomplishing things.”

Peter frowned and held her back with a look. “I think you should tell me what happened,” he said.

She sat back down and folded her hands primly on her lap. “Richard -- Colonel Fitzwilliam -- we were talking, and he told me about Sir William Elliot, and how he -- he has affairs with many other women and that it is more the rule than the exception…”

Peter’s expression was inscrutable. “Well, you are not a child anymore, you know how it is. You have been in society enough. Unfortunately, it is the same everywhere, Moscow or London.”

“Oh, yes,” she said impatiently, “I know, but it was the way he spoke of it, so casually, without censure even, as if it were all one big joke! I am not naïve, Peter, I do know what happens, but I suppose I never thought--” she broke off.

“Did he say he condones such behavior?” Peter asked carefully.

“No, he said that I shall have nothing to worry about. All the same… Well, I daresay it is nothing and I am making a mountain out of a molehill. Really, I am very silly sometimes!”

Peter tried to smile reassuringly. “I think you are right, you have nothing to worry about. If you really love him, and he really loves you, then all will be well.”

“Well, yes,” Alina said uncertainly, “yes, I suppose so.” She brightened. “Thank you, Peter, it is always so good to talk to you!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was walking out of Townhall & Spencer’s with a new snuffbox. It was a very nice snuff box and he was pleased with his purchase. He also had picked up a necklace for Alina -- a thin gold chain with a delicate cross -- it was quite fashionable at the moment and he thought she would like it. He imagined her laughing that tinkling laugh of hers, like a brook bubbling over in the spring, and her eyes lighting up with delight. A strong, polite voice shook him out of these agreeable musings.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the voice said.

He looked up to see Alina’s cousin walking up to him. “Ah, Orlovsky,” he said cheerfully, “Going up to Townhall & Spencer’s?”

“No,” Peter replied dryly. “I was actually hoping to meet you, Colonel.”

With faint surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired politely, “Oh?”

There was hesitation in Peter’s manner, but he sighed and said, his voice quiet but strong. “I was hoping to speak with you on the subject of my cousin.” Not allowing the Colonel to reply, he continued. “I know she is rather fond of you, and I do believe that you are fond of her…”

“How can you doubt it?” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam with feeling, “She is the most charming woman in the world!”

“Yes, undeniably.” Peter paused. “I also know the habits of a certain set of young men in London. You see, Colonel Fitzwilliam, while traveling with the Russian Army, I have been to a number of places in the world. There, I have met many women whose husbands, either with their knowledge or without, are content to be very fond of their wives but to also -- er -- develop close friendships with a number of other women.”

“Good God, man,” Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed, “You are not suggesting that I would--”

Peter cut him short. “I am not suggesting anything to you in particular. However, if I were to speak with my cousin’s future husband, I would suggest to him that he give up any thought of developing such intimate friendships. Family ties are very strong for us, Russians. I would wish a long and -- ehem -- healthy life for any of my cousins’ husbands.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood agape, looking blankly at Peter. This was one of the very few times in his life when he was rendered completely speechless -- with surprise, with shock, perhaps even with righteous indignation. How dare the Count speak to me this way… the insolence!

Peter glanced at the Colonel, his eyes friendly again. “I am very glad we had this talk,” he said mildly. “I hope that we understand each other.” And he turned and walked away, swinging his cane easily.

Chapter 16

A little rudeness and disrespect can elevate a meaningless interaction to a battle of wills and add drama to an otherwise dull day.” ~ Bill Watterson

When Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to his brother’s townhouse, another unwelcome surprise awaited him. Raised voices coming from the drawing room alerted him to the presence of guests, and the butler answered his questioning glance in low tones: “Your Aunt is here, sir, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

Oh Lord, he thought, not that old--

“Richard, thank goodness you are here,” Anne said, coming down the stairs. “My mother just arrived.” They exchanged a knowing glance, and Colonel Fitzwilliam thought with regret that retreat was now impossible. With a deep sigh, he took Anne’s arm and brought her upstairs.

The picture in the drawing room looked dangerous indeed, the battle lines having been clearly drawn. On one side, stood his Aunt, quivering with indignation, and on the other, stood his brother and Lady Diana, her lips pressed thin with anger and color in her cheeks. It looked like the conversation, if it might be called such, had gone on for quite a long time before his appearance on the scene.

“Oh!” Lady Catherine gestured to him, “you dare show yourself here! Unfeeling, selfish boy!”

He cleared his throat, but did not have a chance to say anything, as Lady Diana came to his defense: “And where should he show himself, may I ask, Lady Catherine? He lives here, as does your daughter!” she exclaimed, eyes flashing. The Viscount closed his eyes, as if in pain.

“Hello to you, Aunt,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said calmly. “I do not believe I have the pleasure of understanding how I have provoked your ire…”

“Ha!” Lady Catherine whirled to him, “you do not have the pleasure! You can imagine, young man, that I, myself, did not have the pleasure of learning about some most important developments from you! No, I had to find out from that odious Mrs Price! ‘Lady Catherine,’ she says to me in that annoying voice of hers, ‘do you know that there is talk that your own nephew is cavorting with a foreigner?’” She looked around distastefully. “A foreigner! Can you imagine! What a disgrace for our family!”

“Aunt!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed angrily. “I do not ‘cavort’ with anybody! Miss Rostov is a most proper and intelligent young lady--”

“She is a foreigner!” Lady Catherine said loudly and accusingly.

“Well, yes,” Colonel Fitzwilliam looked slightly bewildered, “she does happen to be from another country… but her family--”

“A ha! A foreigner! Oh, I knew this would happen if I allowed all of you to conduct your own affairs! Is our lineage to be thus polluted?”

“Madam,” Lady Diana’s cold voice rang out, “you forget yourself! While you are in my house, you shall comport yourself with the dignity expected from one of your breeding and your position and refrain from insulting my guests or their friends!”

Lady Catherine turned to her, then, eyes glittering maliciously. “Your house?” she asked, scorn tingeing her voice, “your house, indeed! This is my nephew’s house, and you are but a--”

“I am the daughter of a Duke, Lady Catherine” Lady Diana said in steady, clear tones, allowing the many shades and implications of that sentence carry around the room. Lady Catherine looked at her, impotent with rage.

The Viscount finally spoke, his voice sharp with warning. “Aunt, you have said quite enough. Remember the respect due to my wife and lower your voice! This is her house as well as mine, and though I have a great love for you, I will not stand by idly while you speak to her thusly.”

“Thank you, Edward,” Diana inclined her head in his direction. “Lady Catherine, if you wish to remain welcome here, I urge you to re-think your approach.”

Lady Catherine looked from one person to the other and, not finding sympathy in anyone’s eyes, turned to the window, her shoulders slumping. “Oh,” she mumbled quietly, “I know, I am just a poor, old aunt, who only wishes to be of use, why should my opinion be counted?”

The tension in the room had broken, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, rolling his eyes to his brother, approached his aunt and put an arm around her shoulders, leading her to a chair. “Oh, Aunt, you know we all love you and treasure your advice, for you always give such good advice!” he said, his usual charm in full force.

“Yes, Mamma,” said Anne quietly, taking her mother’s hand, “we do all love you very much.”

Lady Catherine turned her head away. “No, no, you do not. I can see that I am not welcome here any longer… I shall leave immediately…”

The Viscount and his wife had a silent battle of wills. Lady Diana sighed - family was family. “You are welcome,” she said, almost gently. “But you must see that…”

“Oh, yes, dear, I know, I am sorry. I should never have raised my voice at you, you know that I have always loved you.”

“Mother feels things very strongly,” murmured Anne.

“Oh, I do, I assure you!”

Lady Diana gritted her teeth and left to give orders for the preparation of another guest room. Her husband ran out after her.

“Thank you,” he said, pressing her hand. “You know how I detest these scenes.”

“At least she apologized,” Lady Diana sighed. “Is it too much to hope for that she will refrain from criticizing the food at dinner?”

He shrugged. “Yes, but you knew that. Yours is the stronger temperament, my love, so you must bear the most.”

“You do love her,” she accused.

The Viscount smiled indulgently. “She dangled me on her knee when I was a baby and kissed my scrapes and bruises when I fell from trees and secretly brought food to me when I was in disgrace with my parents and was sent to bed without dinner… how can I not love her?”

“Yes, you have always been her favorite nephew.”

He brought his wife’s hands to his lips. “Thank you for understanding,” he whispered.

Lady Diana’s lips twitched in a smile. “She does rouse my temper like no one else,” she mused. “At least we shall not be dull.” And with a long-suffering sigh, she continued on her quest to find the housekeeper.

Chapter 17

Posted on Friday, 29 June 2007

"Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn." ~ Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet)

Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Lord and Lady Hardcastle’s ball very early, contrary to his usual habit. Looking around to ascertain that none of his particular friends were yet here, he walked nonchalantly from one group to another until he stepped out onto the smaller, secluded balcony overlooking the garden. The door opened once again behind him and closed with a soft thud. The smell of female perfume assailed his nostrils and he turned around to look into the achingly familiar face.

“Richard,” she whispered. “I am glad you have come.”

He kept himself from touching her. “I could not have stayed away, I had to see you one last time.”

That he had said “last” was not lost upon her. Emma sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. “I-- I have missed you these three years,” she said hesitantly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam swallowed. “I do not think you should say that to me. After all, you are a married woman now.” He had not wished to taunt her, but could not help the bitterness of his tone.

Emma turned away, as if struck. “Yes,” she said after a pause, “I am married, though surely it brings me no joy. My husband--”

“He mistreats you!”

“Well, no,” she admitted, “not as such. He… finds his amusements elsewhere.”

Leaning back on the balustrade, Colonel Fitzwilliam let out a quiet, “Oh.” He was not surprised at her confession, many men in London amused themselves elsewhere than their wives’ beds; he reminded himself that her happiness was no longer his problem. He looked at Emma for a while, seeing the young girl he had loved. She was still strikingly beautiful, though there was a sadness in her eyes now that he knew he had no right to see. “I am very sorry your marriage was not all you anticipated it to be,” he said presently.

Emma bit her lip, pained, and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “This is all you can say to comfort me? It is not very like you, this is not the man I remember.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam felt unexpected anger and resentment surging through him. “Well, really, what do you wish me to say? I loved you, walked after you like a love-sick puppy, and you married -- you married him! Not because you loved him, no, but because--”

“Richard!” Emma cried, “I had to! My family would never have allowed me to marry you.”

“Oh, of course, because I am only the second son and I could not upkeep you in the style to which you were accustomed. Can you be surprised at my not being happy to have been thrust aside for title and a fine estate in the country?” Colonel Fitzwilliam turned away; he did not want to look at her face, for he knew that her power over him was not gone as he had thought previously. He had not forgotten, the memories had simply sunk into a fog that now lifted with her presence, and he felt the urge to take her into his arms. “No,” he muttered, “no, this cannot be.”

“Richard,” she implored, putting a small, warm hand on his arm. “Please, do not be so cross with me. I did what I had to do, can you not understand? Now, I have given my husband an heir, and he wants nothing more to do with me. I am free, Richard, free!”

He stared at her, uncomprehendingly. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that we can be together again now…”

Recoiling, Colonel Fitzwilliam freed himself from her touch. “Emma… it is you who does not understand. I loved you, a long time ago, but this is not how I would want to love you again.”

“Oh, do you mean, because of my husband? Pooh,” she waved her hand dismissively, “that has never stopped anyone before, why should it stop us?”

He shook his head. “It is not the same. I care about you. I cannot do this.” He saw Alina’s face in his memory, the two women were so different, yet each held a piece of his heart -- how was he to reconcile that? He needed to get away and think, to understand what was happening to him. He realized that Emma was still looking at him, her gaze faintly puzzled. He took her hands gently. “I cannot do this,” he repeated. He wanted to say also, my heart is not free, but he saw veiled hostility in her eyes, and stopped the words before they came out.

Emma looked at him for a few moments, her eyes unreadable, and released his hands, stepping so close to him that he could almost feel her breath. “I understand,” she said, sighing softly. “I am very, very sorry, Richard. I only hope you can forgive me and see that it was the only way for me.” She looked up at him, the diamonds around her slender white throat glittering in the moonlight, a pendant dipping low. “I would be your friend.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s breath came in short gasps as he struggled to gain control over himself. “I -- I will always be your friend,” he managed to say.

She touched his cheek delicately for a mere moment. “Thank you.” Her skirts rustled as she turned around and walked back into the ballroom, leaving only that maddening smell of flowers to taunt Colonel Fitzwilliam.

After Emma was gone, his head cleared and he began to review their encounter. How that woman stirred him! Even after three years, when he thought he had gotten her completely out of his mind, the mere familiar scent of her clouded his judgment so that he could barely recall what he had said. Lord, he had been a fool about her three years ago, and if he was not careful, he risked becoming a fool again. Women were women, he thought, but women who had power over you were dangerous. He was not going to allow that to happen again.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood on the balcony for some time, thinking of whether he should acquaint Alina with the whole situation. Given Emma’s penchant for the dramatic, he supposed that he should say at least something, but he knew not what. Guiltily, he thought that he should probably speak with his brother of these latest developments; his brother would hear anyway -- secrets were notoriously difficult to keep in London -- and it was much better that he heard it from Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. This determination cheered him up immediately, and, resolving to think no more of this until he spoke with the Viscount, Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped out into the ballroom with the return of the usual spring in his step.

He sought out Alina in the throng of people, but found Elizabeth instead.

“Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you, as always!” he said, approaching her from behind.

Elizabeth turned at the sound of her name and found Colonel Fitzwilliam bowing to her charmingly. “Likewise, sir,” she smiled and, looking around him involuntarily, felt a stab of disappointment at once again not finding Darcy in attendance.

He saw the direction of her gaze and added apologetically, “I seem to be the only representative of the Fitzwilliam family tonight; I understood that my cousin Darcy would be back in town already, but he must still be detained by urgent business. I am sure nothing less could keep him away.”

Elizabeth blushed, aware of how transparent she must be to him. “I am perfectly satisfied with your company, sir,” she said lightly.

“Excellent,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, “perhaps that means you will favor me with the first set? I have previously engaged Miss Rostov for the second one.”

“With pleasure, sir.” She allowed the Colonel to lead her onto the dance floor where the couples were forming the lines for a country dance. The music was lively and the conversation was pleasant, and Colonel Fitzwilliam really did his best to engage her attention, but Elizabeth could not deceive herself anymore -- she would have rather been dancing with Darcy. She sighed. What was it about that man, she thought, that even in his absence he affects me so? Suddenly, the music seemed a little too loud and the colors too bright, she just wanted to leave these people to their merriment and seek a quiet hour of reflection and solitude.

Colonel Fitzwilliam’s voice, full of concern, startled her out of her reverie. “Are you well, Miss Bennet?”

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth answered with as much gaiety as she could, “how could it not be, with such a charming partner? Even an old country dance seems refreshed.”

The Colonel bowed, acknowledging the compliment, but his eyes were serious, contemplative. “Yes, I take great pleasure in dancing,” he said, looking at Elizabeth probingly, “unlike my cousin who almost never participates in the sport unless he is made to.”

The dance separated them, giving Elizabeth time to compose herself. When they met again, she was able to respond with a tolerable degree of indifference. “I daresay your cousin can follow his desires wherever he wishes, but for myself, I find it a delightful entertainment, and I am pleased that you enjoy it as well.”

Teasing remarks of mutual admiration then followed, and as the dance had come to an end, the Colonel escorted Elizabeth to her party, now clearly visible, and gathered Alina for the second set. Peter politely asked Elizabeth to dance and she accepted with relief, knowing that he would not be a demanding conversationalist. Perhaps sensing her mood or perhaps for a reason of his own, he stayed quiet for the duration of their dance, only once remarking on the large number of people filling the ballroom. Indeed, it was very crowded, but the figure she sought still failed to appear. She swallowed past her disappointment. The air suddenly felt hot and stifling, the music seemed jarring and the familiar steps of the dance did not bring their usual comfort and pleasure. Elizabeth was overcome by the desire to go home -- home where she would be loved by her family, where the surroundings would not oppress her, and where everything was simple and understandable, even her own emotions.

After the set with Peter had ended, a Mr Raleigh, whom she had briefly met once before solicited her for the next, and though her only desire was to find a quiet corner somewhere, she complied; Peter did not seem to understand the subtle pressure of her hand on his arm, and to decline would seem very rude after she had just danced two sets in succession. Elizabeth danced with increasing weariness and a lack of pleasure that was uncharacteristic of her; even her partner noticed and remarked upon it, but was too much of a gentleman to delve any further. It seemed as if the dance was lasting forever, but as the music changed, Elizabeth realized with relief that only one set remained until dinner. In vain did she look for anyone she knew well enough to join; her own cousins seemed to have disappeared and Colonel Fitzwilliam as well, and she was just about to brave the dense crowd in search of her family when she felt a pull on her arm and turned to find Sir Stephen Clayton smiling at her benignly.

“Miss Bennet!” he exclaimed loudly. “What a pleasure to see you tonight, and looking lovelier than ever!”

His effusions made Elizabeth very uncomfortable, especially because she had heard of his reputation as the most outrageous flirt, but she felt the eyes of several matrons turn to her and returned the smile, though with considerably less enthusiasm. “Thank you, sir.”

He continued in the same vein: “Really, Miss Bennet, you are one of the brightest jewels in London at this time -- a veritable feast for the eyes. Please, do me the honor of dancing the last set with me!”

Elizabeth saw that he was drunk and colored in embarrassment, feeling more and more eyes turn to her. He took her arm and short of outright refusal, she could do nothing to stop him and, fuming internally, followed him to the dance floor to join the couples. Sir Stephen kept up a steady stream of chatter, all the while holding Elizabeth’s hand a second longer than the dance really demanded, his eyes remaining on her even when their partners changed. Elizabeth could not wait until the dance finished. Before the music even stopped, she excused herself from her tiresome partner and went in search of a quiet corner where she could rest for a minute and hope that the insistent pounding in her head would cease. She found a small balcony off the side of the room that was mercifully empty and with a sigh of relief, slipped outside.

Holding her burning face out to the wind, she contemplated her own fickle nature. When Mr Darcy had been in Hertfordshire, she had clearly missed seeing any of his good qualities (or, if she was honest with herself, she willfully ignored them), all because of a stupid comment he made. It was monstrously rude of him to speak so, especially in a crowded ballroom where people might overhear and carry his words onwards, but all in all, especially with the dislike Mr Darcy had generated, it was really nothing. Mr Wickham’s improprieties were much more grave, and had Elizabeth’s pride not been bruised, she might have seen that and not blinded herself to the faults of one and the virtues of the other. Her cheeks flamed in remembrance of the accusations she had flung at him in Kent… and his response… “God bless you.”

Elizabeth sincerely hoped that he did not despise her family so any longer -- that was the one thought that brought her back to reality. Good man he may be, but she could never be free with anyone who thought so low of her. However… he had been so solicitous to her uncle, aunt and cousins in Baden, had sent his regards to her family especially, had evidently striven to put things right between Bingley and Jane… These circumstances demonstrated a deep change within the man’s opinions. Elizabeth wished Mr Darcy could hurry up and get back to London so that many of these speculations could be put to rest and not simply simmer in her overactive imagination.

So lost was she in her thoughts, that she did not notice the balcony door open softly and Sir Stephen Clayton walk inside, the speculative look on his face hidden by the darkness. She started as he said her name softly.

“My dear Miss Bennet,” he said, taking her gloved hand and caressing it in a way that made her shiver with disgust. The smell of wine filled the air around her.

“Sir Stephen,” she replied curtly, trying to dislodge her arm.

“I am so happy to find you here alone,” Sir Stephen said, lowering his voice intimately, “There is something I have long wished to speak to you about.”

Elizabeth frowned. What was the man about? “Sir,” she said, stirring, “I really must return to my party. They will soon be looking for me.”

“Pish posh,” he waived her denial away, relinquishing her hand for a firm hold on her arm. “I have some things I would say to you, my lovely, sweet Miss Bennet.” His eyes strayed towards her neckline and Elizabeth felt anger rising. She tried to pull her arm away, but he held on with a force which made her wince. Elizabeth tried to protest again, but he pulled her forward, and his eyes now held very little mirth or good will.

“Come, now, Miss Bennet, you can be at no loss to understand the reason for my speaking to you thusly.” Sir Stephen’s voice was pitched for her ears alone and his eyes glowed with malice and lust. “You must have seen my admiration for you, and being a pretty, healthy country girl such as yourself, I am certain you are no stranger to such invitations.”

It took several seconds for Elizabeth to really understand what he meant -- she had never been more shocked in her life at such a proposition from such a man. “Sir!” she said forcefully, breathing hard, “you forget yourself! Unhand me this instant!”

He just smiled lazily. “I would lower your voice if I were you, Miss Bennet. You would not wish for the whole world to know what we are speaking of -- everyone will assume that we have already entered into … ahh… an arrangement such as I propose. What will it take? I am rich, Miss Bennet, I can give you jewels you have only dreamt of, and trinkets and clothes--”

As angry as Elizabeth was, she realized that causing a scene would only bring censure to herself and to her family, and that Sir Stephen’s position in society would protect him above all else. At the same time, her position -- alone with a man on a secluded balcony -- was precarious at best and dangerous at worst. She tried, fruitlessly, to disengage her arm, and failed. His grip on her was causing pain, and her previous headache -- abated for a moment by her anger -- returned twice as strongly. Her head was spinning.

“Sir,” she hissed, “I demand that you release me right now. In fact, I find your suggestions intolerable and disgusting. I have never had such degrading words addressed to me and I would ask that you immediately forget everything you have said to me as if it never happened. You may have sunk so low as to believe that I would be willing to enter into such an ‘arrangement’ with you or with anyone else, but do not mistake me, I have not descended to the same level!”

Instead of releasing her, however, his grip became tighter and more excruciating. His eyes flashed with drink and wounded pride and he threw her against the balustrade painfully. Elizabeth tried to push past him back into the room, but his large form blocked her escape, and what was even worse, blocked her from the view of the rest of the room so no one could come to her aid even if they had wanted to.

“Insolent girl! You should be honored that I even pay attention to an insignificant, low-born country miss such as yourself,” he spat out. “You have no idea what your refusal will do for your reputation -- I have the kind of power to ruin you and your inconsequential relatives. After I am done with you, you will not think of refusing me again!”

Elizabeth had had enough. Not caring about causing a scene, not caring about anything except escape, she brought her foot sharply upwards and kicked the drunk man squarely in his shin. She would have kicked higher, but the delicate silk of her dress constrained her movements, and she did not wish to return with a torn dress and arouse even more questions. Predictably, he wailed in pain and humiliation.

“You bitch!” he growled, through clenched teeth. “You will pay for this, I promise you!”

Elizabeth was preparing to kick him again, but the balcony door opened and, as if introduced by the hand of drama itself, Mr Darcy strode through it forcefully. Sir Stephen’s angry words died in his throat with a pitiful, gurgling sound, and he could do nothing but stare.

Darcy measured Sir Stephen with a cold look. “What were you saying, Clayton, about payment?” he inquired in a calm, measured voice. Elizabeth, shocked as she was by his sudden appearance, caught the subtle notes of danger in his tone, and apparently, so did Sir Stephen. He seemed to shrink into himself and cower.

“I-- er… well, you see,” he stuttered, “Miss Bennet and I were just talking, yes, talking.” He giggled drunkenly. “I was joking with her, yes, that if she loses a certain bet, er… well… you know…” he trailed off, as Darcy continued looking at him.

“Yes, I see,” Darcy said, his words clipped. “Perhaps I can settle that payment with you in Miss Bennet’s stead?”

Sir Stephen’s eyes widened with fear at the implication and he shook his head. “N-no, no need, Darcy, no need at all. As I said, er, I was not really in earnest.”

“Good,” Darcy said, his voice filled with scorn, “Then perhaps you would wish to rejoin your wife in the ballroom now?” It was offered with the sound of a suggestion, but with an air of finality that made it a command.

“Of course, yes, thank you,” Sir Stephen mumbled and then almost ran inside to the now empty room to find where the dinner was being served.

Darcy watched him with undisguised contempt, and then turned to Elizabeth. “Are you well?” he asked gently.

Now that the ordeal was over, Elizabeth found to her frustration that she was shaking and could not stop; her legs would barely hold her up and her hand was trembling against the balustrade. “I thank you, yes,” she replied in a hoarse voice.

Darcy offered his arm and she took it, grateful to lean on his solidity. “Do you wish to go stay here for a moment before rejoining the others?” he asked in a neutral tone. “The ballroom is empty now, everyone has gone in to dinner, you need not be afraid of anyone coming in.” Elizabeth nodded and drew in a calming breath of air, allowing the wind to cool her flaming cheeks. She shivered in the night air, and Darcy, almost without thinking, took off his own jacked and placed it about her shoulders. She sighed deeply.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment, when she had recovered, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes. Darcy was suddenly very conscious of being in his shirtsleeves.

“Please, do not thank me,” he said tightly and looked away. “I did what any gentleman would have done.” Echoes of their meeting at Hunsford rose up between them like ghosts.

“Oh.” Elizabeth colored at her own presumption. She had thought, albeit for a moment, that it was for her, but of course, he would have done this for any person who was in distress; that was his nature. “Well,” she lifted her shoulders, “that fact does not make me less grateful for it, sir.”

Darcy frowned. “I hope, Miss Bennet,” he said, “that you will put this unfortunate incident of your mind entirely.”

“I, too, would wish that,” she replied frankly, wondering at how easy it was for her to trust him. “I cannot, however, forget his threats against my reputation or my family.”

Their eyes met once again. “I can assure you that you have nothing to fear on that account,” Darcy said with a quiet certainty and Elizabeth again detected the hardness in his tone; though his whole attitude and stance was of cool control, his eyes were filled with shadows.

“I am in danger of wanting to thank you again,” Elizabeth said teasingly, hoping, for his sake, to dispel his anger.

He laughed then, relieved that she seemed in good spirits despite of what had just transpired; it was a rich laugh that warmed Elizabeth from head to toe -- she wondered why she had never noticed it before.

“Then let some things be left unsaid between friends,” he nodded. “Although as far as I saw, you hardly needed my help.”

Elizabeth colored -- surely, that had not been the behavior of a gentlewoman! “I -- I did not want to hurt him…”

“Yes, I think you did,” Darcy replied, his mouth twitching in a smile.

She smiled too, looking up at him. “The situation called for some -- creative thinking,” she agreed.

Darcy laughed, throwing his head back. “Indeed, you are a formidable opponent,” he said, looking happily into her sparkling eyes. “I hope I will never be on the opposing end of your -- er -- creative thinking.”

Elizabeth dimpled. “I believe, sir, you have been on that end several times, though mostly to my own detriment.”

That admission, though made in jest, silenced Darcy, throwing him into memories of their past encounters. An almost awkward silence settled over them -- Elizabeth suddenly realized that they were alone and that she was wearing his jacket, which smelled disturbingly male and felt unfamiliar and heavy on her shoulders. She divested herself of it and held it to him.

“Thank you, I am quite warm now.” She turned away while he shrugged back into it, thinking of the strange turn of events that had brought them together again.

“Perhaps I should take you back to your family now,” Darcy said somewhat stiffly, the comfort of the last ten minutes having been broken.

“Oh, yes, of course. It is very kind of you.” Elizabeth thought she understood. He had done his duty as a gentleman, and now, he wanted to leave again. Was she wrong in acknowledging the happiness she had felt while they were together? She sighed, accepting his arm, and allowed Darcy to lead her back into the ballroom.

Almost as soon as they walked into the dining room, now bustling with servants and people crowding around a very full buffet, Alina sought her out. Mr Darcy discreetly dropped her arm.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she exclaimed, after having greeted Mr Darcy, “I have been looking all over for you! Mamma has one of her migraines -- she is very, very sorry to take us away from the ball, but she would like to go home right away. Papa has already called for the carriage.”

“Oh! Of course, I shall be down immediately! You must go ahead to her, Alina, I promise I shall not be long.” Alina left quickly and Elizabeth turned to Mr Darcy.

“I am sorry, but I must go now,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Thank you again for -- for coming to my aid.”

His eyes were dark and inscrutable. “Please, no gratitude between friends,” he said quietly. “Goodbye, Miss Bennet, until we meet again.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Elizabeth to ponder his last words.

Chapter 18, Part I

Posted on Friday, 13 July 2007

“My dear father, when one pays a visit it is for the purpose of wasting other people's time, not one's own.” ~ Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband

The next morning, the Rostov townhouse was very quiet. The Princess, still feeling the after-effects of her migraine, was resting in her chambers and Prince Alexei, eager to accommodate his wife in every regard, stayed with her in reading quietly to her from her favorite book of poems. Peter, feeling the need for exercise, went out riding in the Park, and thus, the two girls found themselves alone in the breakfast parlor.

“Not too tired after last night, Lizzy?” Alina asked, looking at Elizabeth with concern.

Elizabeth shrugged and said absentmindedly: “It was a very -- strange evening.”

Alina’s eyebrows climbed upwards. “Really? Now, Lizzy, none of your usual reticence, you must tell me what happened.”

Elizabeth sighed and rolled her eyes -- her cousin’s persistence was well known in the family and to deny her would only make her more curious, and thus, more persistent. She related the encounter with Sir Stephen, leaving off the part that involved Mr Darcy -- it was too delicate a matter to share with anyone just yet. Alina listened with rapt fascination; nothing half as exciting had ever happened to her, she thought.

“You kicked him where?” Alina asked with obvious admiration when Elizabeth was finished.

Elizabeth coughed. “In the shin, dear.”

“Oh, I should have aimed a bit higher,” Alina said impartially.

“Alina!”

“What?” she opened her eyes very wide, “do not be coy, Lizzy, you were thinking the same thing.”

Elizabeth had to admit that she was.

“I hope Mr Darcy did Sir Stephen no further injury after you so thoroughly demonstrated your kicking skills,” Alina said innocently, hiding behind her teacup.

“What?” Elizabeth sputtered, “How did you know? I mean,” she attempted to correct herself, “what can you be speaking of, I really have no idea!”

Alina laughed for a full five minutes at Elizabeth’s discomfort. “Oh dear,” she said, patting her cousin’s hand, “You should have seen the look on your face, Lizzy. How did I know? Why, anyone could see it when he brought you in to dinner, the man had eyes only for you. When I took you away, he looked positively crushed -- in that inscrutable way of his, of course. I only wonder that you could not tell!”

Elizabeth mumbled something about all the women bearing the Bennet genes being blind to the attentions of the opposite sex. Alina looked at her strangely.

At that moment, the butler entered the breakfast parlor, interrupting their conversation.

“Miss,” he addressed Alina, “there is a visitor awaiting you.” There was mild, well-bred distaste in his tone.

Alina glanced at the clock. “Oh, goodness, we are very late over breakfast today,” she exclaimed. “You had better bring whoever it is into the gold salon -- who is it, by the way?”

“A Miss Bingley, miss,” he bowed and left the room.

Alina stared at Elizabeth.

“Mr Bingley’s sister,” Elizabeth explained in a stage whisper. “She was not at Netherfield when you visited Longbourn.”

“The one angling after Mr Darcy?” Alina asked, also in a stage whisper.

“Alina!” Elizabeth exclaimed in her normal voice, shocked that her young cousin would speak of such things and so coarsely. Alina, so well-mannered in public, was alarmingly direct in private. “You must not speak like a fish-wife,” she admonished. “But yes, that is the one.”

“From your expression, I expect that I shan’t like her.”

“Oh, it will be much worse than that,” Elizabeth remarked darkly.

What was Miss Bingley doing here, and most importantly, why would she call on them? Mystified, they walked over to the gold salon to await their guest.

Miss Bingley stood in the hall where that odious butler had left her and contemplated her plans. What a great surprise it had been to have been approached at a card party by none other than Lady Carrington -- just the kind of rich, beautiful and well-connected lady that Miss Bingley had wanted to become friends with for some time but had failed miserably. Lady Carrington, her neck and wrists positively dripping with diamonds, had been so kind to Miss Bingley, inquiring about her family and even granting her permission to call at the Carrington townhouse the next day. When Miss Bingley had called, Lady Carrington had been most charming and attentive again and Miss Bingley felt that she was on her way up in society if such persons as Lady Carrington began to take notice of her. Of course, Miss Bingley thought, the very rich had their eccentricities. For example, why had Lady Carrington been quite so interested in the Miss Bennets and these Russian nobodies? Well, Miss Bingley mentally corrected herself, judging by the location of their townhouse and by the fine furniture, the Rostovs were not exactly nobodies, but… Naturally, Miss Bingley instantly offered to find out all she could about the Rostovs, whom the detestable Miss Eliza was so conveniently staying with. Fine eyes, indeed!

At that moment, the butler interrupted Miss Bingley’s musings by coughing slightly and saying, while looking down his long nose at Miss Bingley: “Miss Rostov will see you in the gold salon, madam” and without even waiting for a response, turned around and walked a mere shade too quickly, compelling Miss Bingley to hurry behind him. Miss Bingley vowed to spill a drink on the impertinent man at the first opportunity. Now, however, she had a part to play. She swept into the room with a rustle of her skirts.

“My dear Miss Bennet!” she exclaimed in her most engaging tones. “What a delight to discover that you are indeed in London. I simply had to come and see you.”

Elizabeth and Alina exchanged bemused looks. “Thank you, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth replied, matching the other’s tone “it is indeed a pleasure to see you, one that my sister Jane enjoyed when she was in town last winter, I believe.”

Miss Bingley had the good grace to blush a little while Elizabeth performed the necessary introductions, though the feeling did not last very long as she was consumed with curiosity about this girl that Lady Carrington found so interesting. Her survey did not bring her any pleasure -- she saw that Miss Rostov was well formed, wearing fashionable, well cut clothes, and had a pleasing face and the same sparkling eyes that Mr Darcy had so admired in Elizabeth. Miss Bingley was torn -- on one hand, it would behoove to be very polite to a rich, beautiful young woman such as Miss Rostov; on the other hand, however, this same rich, beautiful young woman may get ideas above her station and aim for several men Miss Bingley considered to be strictly her own territory, hence Miss Bingley felt it was her duty to deliver an adequate set down which would immediately show this upstart whose interests dominated.

“You townhouse is charming, Miss Rostov,” she said with the most sincere smile she could manage, which was not very sincere at all. In fact, the townhouse was more than charming -- it was tasteful, which Miss Bingley could instantly recognize and envy, despite having little taste herself. “Of course, not being from here, you do not know town as well as I do, so if you would allow me to give you some friendly advice, Berkeley Square is considered the most fashionable address. It matters little, of course, but…” Miss Bingley trailed off with an elegant shrug.

Alina blinked. “Er… thank you, Miss Bingley. I will relay to my father your suggestion for a more appropriate address. May I inquire, in what part of London do you yourself reside?”

Miss Bingley’s thoughts raced quickly, for she could not tell this little minx that the Hursts’ townhouse was in a neighborhood that was only barely considered fashionable any longer. “It is… very near Berkeley Square,” she lied carefully.

Elizabeth turned her to Miss Bingley confidentially. “Then we shall be very nearly fashionable together,” she said with an air of commiseration that Miss Bingley was sure to despise.

Miss Bingley’s nostrils widened a little at this, but she rallied. “It is so fortunate that you have relatives staying in town, Miss Bennet. Otherwise, you might have been consigned to your aunt’s house in -- where was it again -- Cheapside?”

Elizabeth was about to retort that she would gladly stay with her aunt rather than with the Hursts who, she imagined, did not live anywhere near Berkeley Square, but Alina was faster. With her sweetest smile, she said: “I know that I am very new to London, Miss Bingley, but I have heard that people of commerce, some of whom live in Cheapside, now also find it quite convenient to reside in Manchester Square… It has become quite the new Cheapside.” She fluttered her eyelashes and rang for refreshments.

The blow was well dealt, for the Hursts’ townhouse was in Manchester Square, which had once been a fashionable area, but was now populated by respectable tradesmen more so than any people of the haute ton. Due to lack of funds, not alleviated even by Louisa’s dowry, the Hursts could not purchase a house in an area better suited to their taste and so chose to spend as much time with Mr Bingley in the country as they could. Damn her, Miss Bingley thought. How could she know of this, the little-- She narrowed her eyes. “It is certainly no Cheapside yet,” she managed to say scornfully.

“What a pity,” countered Alina, “for Georgiana -- Miss Darcy, I believe you may be slightly acquainted with her -- was just saying that she would very much like to go shopping to Cheapside, but has been so far unable to do so due to the distance.”

Both Miss Bingley and Elizabeth gaped at her, for different reasons. Elizabeth had never seen her cousin look quite so sly or quite so triumphant. She realized that Alina was enjoying verbally besting Miss Bingley! Elizabeth had always seen Miss Bingley as a necessary evil, to be ignored rather than taken head on, but it was obvious that her cousin had different ideas. Well, she had to admit, the look on Miss Bingley’s face at hearing Miss Darcy referred to as “Georgiana” and her relationship with that lady deemed “slight” was very funny indeed.

Miss Bingley was shocked into a brief, choking silence. During her long, albeit very shallow, acquaintance with the Darcy family and with Miss Darcy in particular, she had never been allowed the privilege of calling her “Georgiana.” Not even when she had accidentally slipped in hopes of being asked to continue the informality. No, Miss Darcy had simply looked at her very coldly and accepted her apology with a slight nod. And here was this -- Miss Bingley, who had been given a lady’s education after all, could not think of a ladylike word to describe this impertinent upstart -- practically brandishing “Georgianas” about in a most forward manner. The insolence! Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes angrily.

“I am surprised that a lady with Miss Darcy’s taste and education even knows where Cheapside is,” she said, smiling poisonously. “You must have misheard her -- your grasp of the English language being what it is -- for I am quite certain she meant ‘Bond Street,’ where the good shops are. Miss Darcy is quite a lady, you know. Or perhaps you may not know, your own acquaintance with her being so brief.”

Alina bristled at the multiple insults in Miss Bingley’s speech, especially the implication of herself not being quite a lady for knowing where Cheapside was. Alina may have been slightly spoiled by her parents, but she prided herself on judging people on their merits rather than their address. Elizabeth saw her cousin slowly turning red and decided it was time to intervene.

“Speaking of Bond Street, my dear Miss Bingley,” she said cheerfully, “We have recently had the good fortune to be recommended to Mme Lenore, who graciously consented to make up some dresses for us. You have been to her salon, have you not?”

“Of course I have,” lied Miss Bingley, but her confidence was flagging. Oh, she thought, these odious Bennets, insinuating themselves everywhere! First, it is “Georgiana” and then Mme Lenore -- it was too unbearable. Mme Lenore was the most sought after and elusive modiste in London and her dresses were the envy of every lady in town. Everybody knew that even to get an appointment with Mme Lenore, one had to be recommended by an existing client, and the woman had the most exclusive clientele. “Who recommended you?” Miss Bingley could not help asking, through clenched teeth.

“Lady Diana Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy’s cousin,” Elizabeth replied, succeeding in keeping almost all the smugness out of her tone. Alina winked at her behind a teacup.

“Oh…” Miss Bingley replied weakly. The clock then struck the half hour and Miss Bingley rose hurriedly. It had been a most unpleasant visit, but at least, she would have a lot to tell Lady Carrington about this shrew of a girl.

“I fear I must keep another engagement,” she said, curtsying. “Thank you for tea, Miss Rostov, Miss Bennet.”

“It was delightful of you to call on us,” Alina smiled charmingly at Miss Bingley’s retreating back. However, and in spite of convention, she did not ask Miss Bingley to call again. The footmen looked at their young mistress approvingly.

“Well!” Alina turned to Elizabeth, once she was sure that Miss Bingley had gone. “What a ----!” and she confirmed her fish-wife tendencies by saying a very shocking word.

For once, Elizabeth did not admonish her, but simply nodded in agreement. She sank deeper into the comfortable settee. “I feel as if I need something positive after that odious woman -- fresh air, sunshine, anything!”

Alina appraised her speculatively. “I think we must visit Georgiana,” she said, suddenly businesslike. “She will want to hear all about the ball. Stay, I will go get Peter. I heard him come in, but he is probably hiding out in the library, having been informed of our visitor.”

Elizabeth looked very alarmed. After all, she and Mr Darcy had parted on such terms, she could not just go traipsing into his house! “No, my dear, I think I have got a headache. You may go and I will stay here and read.”

“Nonsense, Lizzy,” Alina said firmly. “We shall all go. Only you and Peter must keep Mr Darcy occupied because I have something very specific I would speak to Georgiana about.”

She left the room quickly, before Elizabeth could recover enough to protest, and went to the library where she was almost sure she would find Peter.

Chapter 18, Part II

Posted on Saturday, 27 October 2007

“So whilst our infant loves did grow, disguises did, and shadows, flow from us…” ~ John Donne, “A Lecture Upon Shadow”

Alina peeked into the library, and sure enough, Peter was stretched out in his favorite chaise, his profile outlined against the light streaming from the window. She paused by the door, noticing how truly handsome he was; of course, Alina had always known that Peter was very attractive -- women pined after and flirted with him all the time -- but now, in this moment of quietude, she somehow felt a proprietary sense of acknowledgement of this fact. After all, what did all those women know of his looks -- they had never seen him smile with genuine humor and affection, had never seen his grey eyes flash with barely suppressed mischief, had never known the gleam of intellectual excitement -- in short, they knew nothing of what really made him so different from other men who had the great misfortune of being merely handsome and vapid. Of course, she thought with sudden cattiness, Anne de Bourgh seemed to appreciate all those things well enough. Many times she had seen Peter and Anne bent together in conversation. Alina could not say why that thought was so disturbing, for she knew herself to not be the type of woman who was ill satisfied until she collected the attention of all the men present. She would not begrudge Anne, and yet --

Alina shook herself free of these silly thoughts, a mere reaction, she thought, to this new environment and the hostile people, where anything familiar seemed more dear than ever before. The Bingley woman’s visit must have called up more feelings than she had realized. She shook her head again to purge these strange emotions and walked into the room.

“Peter,” she said with forced gaiety, “you have had a very lucky escape, my dear, and I cannot help feel that it was not so very unintentional…”

Peter looked up from his book with a slight smile. “No, you are quite correct. I heard a shrill voice in the drawing room, and the servants had those kinds of looks, so I fled here immediately. I make my most humble apologies.”

“Yes, well, but you shall have to make up for it,” Alina said impatiently.

“Anything, my Princess,” Peter nodded with a hand on his heart and his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. Then, he thought about it for a moment, seeing Alina’s eager face. “Almost anything,” he corrected himself hastily.

“Hmpf. Well, I suppose ‘almost’ anything shall have to do,” Alina smirked, sitting down on the corner of the chaise he was occupying. “It will be no great pain, I assure you. Simply put, Elizabeth and I would like you to accompany us to the Darcys, upon whom we wish to call. And, when we are there, you must make sure that Mr Darcy and Elizabeth have a chance to speak without being interrupted.”

Frowning, Peter shut his book. “Matchmaking?”

“No! Really, I am not. I cannot disclose the reason, but I promise, I am only allowing nature to take its course. Why, just watch them closely when they are together, and if you tell me that I am wrong, I shall stop interfering immediately.”

She looked so sincere that Peter had to relent. “As long as Elizabeth knows what you are about to do, I will play along this one time only.” He smiled and held her hand for a moment. “I do trust your judgment, my dear, have no doubt of that. I just want to make sure you are not putting yourself in where it would do more harm than good.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the butler. “Madam,” he coughed, “Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh are here. I have escorted them to the Blue Room.”

“Good Lord! Mr Darcy!” Alina exclaimed, jumping up. “What -- I was not expecting him here!”

Peter hid his amusement behind his hand. “Quite right, thank you, Wilkins,” he nodded. “We will be there presently. Miss Bennet--”

“I conducted her to the Blue Room to meet your guests, sir.”

“Ah. Excellent. Thank you, Wilkins.” He turned to Alina. “My dear, there is nothing to worry about. The Blue Room is our best drawing room and we are both quite presentable. Wilkins’ subtlety of distinction is perfection in itself. Or is it the Colonel’s presence that discomposes you so?”

“No, it is not that! I was just not expecting them here, and… well… I do not like surprises!”

Peter laughed openly now. “No, you do not like surprises that disarrange your previous plans!”

Alina drew herself up in mock indignation. “I see no difference. In any case, you will remember what I told you about Him and Her?”

“Aye aye, captain of obvious references. Lead the way.”

The conversation in the Blue Room was already well on the way, and Alina saw at once that it was due in large part to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne’s efforts. While those two were upholding their end of the conversation, Darcy and Elizabeth were looking at each other while trying to give the impression of looking the other way and Georgiana was throwing glances of mute appeal at both of them.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rose and spoke with enthusiasm as soon as they entered the room. “Ah,” he said, “Miss Rostov, Orlovsky. As you see, we have come to inquire how you are faring after yesterday’s festivities and to invite you to take some air with us by walking to the park.”

Alina was delighted at the prospect, especially because it would give her a chance to throw Darcy and Elizabeth together. “How fortunate that you have come then,” she replied to Colonel Fitzwilliam, extending her hand, “I had exactly the same idea just a minute ago!”

He bent over her hand while murmuring a gallantry about great minds. Alina caught Peter’s eyes and was surprised to see that there was an expression of coldness in them, so unlike his usual demeanor. At the next moment, however, he addressed himself to Anne and Alina thought she had probably imagined it all.

“I am glad you came just as you did,” Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered to her, “Anne and I were running out of topics for conversation!” He looked meaningfully at Darcy and Elizabeth.

“I understand your meaning perfectly,” she whispered back. “Perhaps if we leave them to walk together…”

He looked at her with admiration. “You are uniformly charming, madam!” he said, “We must implement your suggestion at once.”

It took little time for the party to assemble and, only a short walk later, they were all in the cool lanes of Hyde Park. It was slightly earlier than the fashionable hour and they were not on the main road; as a consequence, they were able to walk with some privacy and without being stopped every minute by friends and acquaintances. The Colonel offered one arm to Alina and the other to Georgiana and Peter quickly claimed Anne for his companion; Elizabeth and Darcy, to their mutual embarrassment, were left to walk together slightly behind the other members of their party, the lane not being wide enough to accommodate more than three.

After some time of walking in silence, Darcy finally cleared his throat. “I hope, Miss Bennet,” he began quietly, “that you are feeling quite well after -- after last night.”

“Oh yes, thank you, sir. Very well indeed,” Elizabeth replied, coloring. She did not like to think of what had transpired at the ball.

“You must not blame yourself for what happened,” Darcy said suddenly, and Elizabeth was amazed at the accuracy with which he read her feelings.

She looked up at him for the first time since they began walking. “You are too kind, Mr Darcy,” she said. “However… if I had just been more careful, more observant… I must confess that I am not familiar with the ways of the haute ton; it is – different – from home, I feet like an outsider.” She looked up. “I very much appreciate you coming to my defense last night, but I would like to forget the incident altogether. I will not be so foolish in the future.”

“You were not -- no, it was not your fault, you must not blame yourself. It is not so very different, only there are more people and therefore more unscrupulous and depraved characters.” He paused as several people passed them. “But,” he continued in a different tone, “I cannot fully agree with your philosophy of forgetting -- for me, the painful incidents of the past bring useful lessons.”

Elizabeth twisted her parasol and fought to slow the beating of her heart. “I would carry the lesson with me, sir, but would rather leave the pain behind.”

“That,” he said with a wry smile, “I believe I can learn to like, though I am not certain I am able to adhere to it completely. Such is my nature, I am afraid.”

She returned his smile. “Then nature cannot be changed? ‘God never made His work for man to mend’*?”

“Ah,” he said with seriousness, “Perhaps we cannot change in essentials, but with time and self-reflection, we can be molded, perfect our understanding and direct it into the proper channels. I cannot presume to mend His work, but I can attempt to know myself.**”

The words resonated with Elizabeth. “You speak well, sir,” she said. “I have felt that same thing myself -- to truly know oneself is a great achievement.”

“The task of a lifetime, Miss Bennet.”

They walked forward, both thinking of each other’s words and their shared understanding. There was an unexpected humility in Darcy’s expression that Elizabeth was surprised to find echoed in her own heart.

“Do you know,” she turned to him with a smile, “that this may well be the very first time we have agreed on something?”

Darcy looked down at her, the corners of his mouth twitching. “It is a novel experience. If you prefer, however, I can instantly become disagreeable again.”

“No, please,” she laughed, “allow me to take pleasure in this rare moment.”

He bowed. “I do not believe,” he said presently, “that you would enjoy it if we were always of the same opinion.”

“Goodness, certainly not,” Elizabeth said with mock horror, “There is nothing which would frighten me more. However, there seems little danger of that ever happening.”

Darcy seemed about to speak but then simply smiled and refused to take her bait. Instead, he held out his elbow. “The path becomes uneven here, Miss Bennet, do take my arm.”

As Elizabeth linked her arm through his and felt the warmth of his coat, she reflected on the strangeness of the situation; only a short time ago, she had hated him, accusing him undeservedly -- at least in part -- of deeds vile and despicable; only a short time ago, he announced with insufferable conceit that he was ready to lay aside all his doubts about her lack of dowry and connections and allow her the honor of becoming his wife. Only yesterday, he had come upon her in that ridiculous situation and did not turn away, as she thought he must. They had not know each other at all, but it seemed that had known themselves even less. And yet, Jane was to be married to Mr Bingley and she was now walking in Hyde Park on Mr Darcy’s arm.

It would perhaps not be accurate to say that she was a different woman than she had been last April, and he was certainly not a different man, but something had changed in both of them. He had been courteous to her family in Baden and now he was, if not supportive, then at least not disparaging, of her cousin’s alliance with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Though he was by no means talkative still, he spoke with an unaffected sincerity and without the condescension of their previous encounters. Last night and even now, he looked at her as a person, not simply as a lower step on society’s ladder. Seeing him without the veil of hostility she had imposed on herself in Hertfordshire, albeit unknowingly, she noticed the way his gravity of demeanor wavered when she teased him, his tender regard for his sister, the depth of even their most casual conversation…

“Miss Bennet,” he said suddenly, “my sister and I are to visit Kew Gardens tomorrow. Would you do us the honor of accompanying us? Georgiana, I know, would very much like your company.”

That was a compliment for which Elizabeth was unprepared. Although he said “Georgiana,” she heard in his tone that he was speaking for himself as well, and her heart delighted in it. She smiled and colored and was able to reply that the honor and pleasure would be all hers in such an outing.

* John Dryden
** “Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind is man.” Alexander Pope

“Well, Lizzy?” Alina asked with shining eyes upon their return home.

Elizabeth tried to look innocent. “The walk was very pleasant, if that is what you mean. The Park is beautiful even at this time of year.”

“Oh!” Alina threw up her hands. “You know very well what it is I do mean. Tell me, what did you talk about? You looked so comfortable on his arm, I almost envied you. He is a very handsome man!”

“Alina,” Elizabeth laughed, trying to stay the tide of her cousin’s conversation. “we spoke of a number of things. I may have quoted Dryden to him.”

Alina wrinkled her nose. “Dryden! Not that boring old -- oh, Mamma says I should not speak of famous poets so. However, could you not at least have quoted someone romantic?” She tilted her head and intoned dreamily: “‘I loved you; and perhaps I love you still, The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet It burns so quietly within my soul…’ Ah, now that is truly wonderful!”***

“Indeed,” Elizabeth laughed, taking Alina’s arm, “I will not argue with you for I know how you love that great poet, but as for me, he is too melodramatic. I feel as if he would whither away and die if the lady did not return his love.”

“Is that not how it should be?” Alina asked, sighing. “If he really loved you, he would suffer in your absence.”

“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said lightly, leading Alina to the music room, “I think I should take your education in hand. Let me compensate for my lack of appreciation for Russian poetry by playing some of the music you brought. I will not even attempt to pronounce the name of the composer.”

Elizabeth could not explain it, but she did not want to share her conversation with Mr Darcy with anyone; even a letter to Jane was postponed because of her reluctance. It was all too new, too uncertain, to be subjected to light-hearted teasing and dissection by the curious members of her family. She would ask her uncle’s permission to visit Kew Gardens, but other than that, she could not bring herself to tell even Alina, though Elizabeth knew her cousin would be disappointed.

Elizabeth looked at the dying fire in her room with an unconscious smile. She had been surprised at the alteration in his manners, and yet, when he looked at her, she felt that it was her own understanding that had changed. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

*** Alexander Pushkin

Chapter 19

Posted on Sunday, 4 November 2007

November 3, 1810
Netherfield, Hertfordshire

Darcy,

Received your letter. Your explanation of the events of last {smudge} came as a complete surprise. I had thought you honor{blot}, and most importantly, I had thought you my {smudge}est friend. I had no idea you were such a {smudge}ful {blot}. In fact, if you were here, I would {smudge} your {smudge} so hard that you would not recognize yourself. You {smudge}y {blot} of a {blot}, I am going to {blot} your {blot} and {illegible}{illegible}{illegible}{very large smudge}.

evidently written some time later

Darcy, I was unfair, I must own to you that the fault is entirely mine. I am the {blot} that left Jane all alone. I should have made my own decisions. I realize that you were only trying to be a friend, although I still believe your interference was officious and unwarranted. I have forgiven you, of course, although I do not know if I can ever forgive myself. I would like you to be the first of my friends to know -- Jane has agreed to make me the happiest of men; I do not deserve her nor such joy. If you see Miss Elizabeth in London, where I am told she is staying with her Aunt and Uncle Rostov, please try not to insult her, or you shall have to answer to her future brother, and more pertinently, my {smudge} is going to connect with your {blot}. We are going to be married here in Hertfordshire at Christmas and you will do me a great honor if you would stand up with me.

CB

Darcy’s lips twitched over his tea while reading Bingley’s letter at breakfast. He was relieved to finally receive it; knowing his friend’s indecision, he waited to write until all was settled with Miss Bennet. Despite the menacing and -- thankfully -- almost fully illegible first half of the letter, he knew with relief that Bingley had forgiven him. Darcy found himself feeling truly happy for Bingley and for Miss Bennet, and slightly envious that his friend’s affairs, as opposed to his own, had been concluded so quickly. He had no doubt now of their felicity together -- for Miss Bennet was clearly the kind of woman who could make Bingley analytical of his own feelings and actions, and also the kind of woman who could give his friend the intense joy that practically radiated from every word in the second part of the letter. Darcy chuckled inwardly, entertained by the image of Bingley as a fierce protector of his future sister.

Georgiana looked up at him inquiringly.

“I received a letter from Mr Bingley today,” he explained.

“Oh?” her voice sounded anxious and alarmed.

“He is announcing his engagement to Miss Jane Bennet.”

“Oh! But that is wonderful! I do hope they will be happy together, even though I have not met Miss Bennet; but Miss Elizabeth and Miss Rostov are so very--”

“Georgiana,” Darcy stemmed the relieved flow of his sister’s conversation, “you need not have married him if you did not desire it. I hope you know that.”

Georgiana colored and was silent for a long moment. “I would not have wished to disappoint you, Fitzwilliam,” she said very quietly. “You can be very -- direct -- with your wishes, and at that time, I would have done it just because of that.”

“But not anymore?”

“No,” she said in a firmer voice, “not unless you had a very good reason.”

He put the letter down and reached over to put a finger under her chin. “I am glad of that, my dear,” he said gently. “I will always be here to advise you, and you cannot expect me not to try to plan for you nor guide you, for I am your older brother as well as your guardian--”

She smiled. “I would not suspend your pleasure in that… nor mine.”

“However,” he continued, “I hope that you and I will make the decisions regarding your future together.”

“I should like that.” Georgiana’s eyes filled with unbidden tears and she swallowed. “I love you so very much, Fitzwilliam. I-- I want you to be happy.”

“I already am,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

They sat at the table silently, finding it difficult to return to mundane conversation.

“Do look at the rain,” Georgiana said in a casual voice. “Do you think it will abate anytime soon?”

They both laughed at the sudden awkward change of subject, until Georgiana recalled their plans for the day and sobered instantly.

“Oh, no, look at the rain!” she exclaimed, with real alarm this time. “It cannot rain today -- what of our outing to Kew Gardens with Miss Bennet?”

The mood in the room instantly soured as neither could think of a way to remedy the situation.

“Perhaps,” Georgiana said tentatively, “we could invite them to tea?”

Darcy nodded after some contemplation. “We shall have to invite the Prince and Princess, as well as the Count and Miss Rostov, you know.”

“Oh, but they are very charming, Fitzwilliam, did you not find them so?”

“I did, but will you be comfortable with so many people here?”

“I-- I do not know… But perhaps it is time for me to stop hiding behind Anne.”

“If you wear your new blue dress that makes you look like a piece of the summer sky in Derbyshire, you need not worry at all,” her brother said, surprising her with this uncharacteristic for him speech.

“Oh,” she blushed, “I had no idea you noticed my gowns. Really, Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes, I am becoming sentimental in my old age, Georgiana. I am proud to have such a beautiful young lady for a sister.”

“Really, Fitzwilliam,” she repeated with another self-conscious blush and a smile. “I will go and write the note to Miss Rostov.”

The invitation was duly written and a reply was received with the information that Miss Bennet and Miss Rostov would be happy to accept, however, the other family members had to decline. The Count had a prior engagement and the Princess had come down with a slight cold and was being taken care of by her husband. Brother and sister infinitely preferred this arrangement, for although they liked the Rostovs and the Count, both were more comfortable with entertaining a smaller party.

Several hours later, the carriage with Elizabeth and Alina, having made a short journey down Grovesnor Street, pulled up to the Darcy townhouse.

“Oh,” Alina exclaimed, looking up at the noble edifice, “it is charming, Lizzy. I do hope you will entertain often…”

“Alina!”

Alina giggled. “Yes, fine, I will stop. It will do you good to feel how it is to be on the receiving end of teasing once in a while, cousin.”

They were announced and promptly led into a graceful drawing room where Georgiana awaited them. They were not there five minutes when her brother also joined them. Elizabeth had not known quite what to expect, but she was pleased to find that the house was full of comfort and charm without being overbearing or stiffly fashionable. She was really pleased to see Georgiana, whose shy timidity and sweetness reminded her a little of Jane when they were both younger. Darcy, she could not say whether she was pleased to see or not; “pleased” was not precisely the word – her stomach knotted after one glance from his dark eyes and she could barely speak three words together without blushing.

“This is a lovely house,” Alina said, once they had greeted their hosts, with much more politeness than she had when she teased Elizabeth earlier. “You must be very proud to have it in your family. Georgiana, you look positively glowing, I must solicit you for an afternoon in Bond Street sometime very soon for I should like your opinion when I order my next gown.”

Georgiana blushed at the easy compliment and wondered at Alina’s ability to put her at ease with almost no effort. Her new dress and her guests’ sincere appreciation of it gave her confidence and she surprised herself by addressing several remarks to Alina and Elizabeth without being prompted to do so by her brother.

Alina’s steady stream of light chatter could have drawn a hermit from his shell and in Georgiana, she found a willing participant who needed only a little encouragement. Elizabeth joined their discussion several times, but felt rather like an older sister watching her younger siblings, and she could not compete with Alina’s stories from Moscow and from her travels on the Continent which fascinated Georgiana. With Elizabeth and Alina talking, and Georgiana inexplicably contributing, Darcy could hardly get a word in edgewise; he was content to simply watch his sister participate in a conversation with another young lady of her own age, and occasionally, to glance at Elizabeth’s profile outlined against the silver light of an overcast afternoon. She was so lovely that he could not have said much even if he had wanted to, the words just would not come, and he could not say what needed to be said in front of spectators.

When he brought his attention back to his sister, Alina was just inquiring about her sketching.

“Oh,” Georgiana replied, blushing, “it is nothing remarkable, but Anne and I did paint a great deal while I was at Rosings. The woods are so beautiful there…”

“Oh, do show them to me, please!” Alina exclaimed. “I am certain they are very much worth looking at.”

Georgiana blushed even more fiercely. “I fear you will be disappointed… However, if you really wish--”

“I do!”

“…There are several in the music room, along with some very fine family portraits.”

Alina rose. “No, please,” she said, seeing that Darcy and Elizabeth were to accompany them, “do stay here. We shall be back almost immediately.”

She grasped Georgiana by the arm and led her out of the room, taking care to leave the door open.

“I have much to tell you,” she whispered energetically. “Have you heard of the very tragic story of Lord Talchester and Lady Jennifer? You must know someone who can do something about this dire situation. Your cousin, Lady Diana, perhaps? She seems like a lady for whom nothing is impossible…”

Darcy looked after the retreating figures with raised eyebrows.

“I believe, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth remarked, hardly able to contain her mirth, “that we have been outmaneuvered.”

“Your cousin would have made a very fine general, Miss Bennet,” he agreed dryly.

“If she were to hear you, she would take your words as a compliment!”

“I feared as much,” he sighed, but there was laughter in his eyes and Elizabeth relaxed. “I hear I am to congratulate your sister,” he spoke again.

“Thank you, she claims that she is indeed the happiest of women and I believe that it is truly so.”

Darcy smiled. “Bingley assured me of his own felicity just as fervently. I received a letter from him this morning.” Silently, he took the letter from his pocket and offered it to Elizabeth. She took it, wondering that he would share his private correspondence with her.

“As you see,” he said after Elizabeth had finished reading, “his decision to ask for your sister’s hand was entirely his own. As for me, after my part in the business, I was very fortunate to retain his friendship.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly. “I believe you were also fortunate to be separated from him by distance. I can guess at the meaning of some of the more ominous parts, though they were almost fully obscured by ink stains.”

“Indeed,” her returned her smile. “I wish I could not guess quite so well.”

“Thank you for showing it to me, Mr Darcy. I needed to know that Mr Bingley chose Jane because it was his own heart and mind that spoke to him.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment as she handed the letter back, but then looked up at Darcy with sparkling eyes. “It seems, however, that I have gained a fierce protector in my future brother. You had better take care to stay in my good graces, sir!”

“I assure you, madam, I will take the greatest care,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Will your sister come up to town now?”

“Oh, almost certainly. For it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a beautiful lady in possession of a handsome fiancée, must be in want of wedding clothes! They plan to marry by Christmas and Mamma has the whole house in uproar getting ready for such an important occasion. I am in no doubt that she will squire Jane to London as soon as it is humanly possible and thrust her into mountains of lace and lakes of silk and muslin.”

Darcy bore the image of a fussing Mrs Bennet stoically. “That sounds quite dangerous,” he said. “I wonder how ladies can bear it all.”

His tone was very serious, but Elizabeth had seen enough of him to recognize an expression in his eyes that could be called merriment if the rest of him participated in it. “Indeed,” she replied with a dramatic sigh, “all the difficult tasks fall to us, women. The gentlemen see only the end product. I am not worried for Jane, however, for my Aunt Gardiner and I will be there to safeguard her from the worst of it.” Elizabeth paused. “Most likely, Jane will stay with my family in Gracechurch Street.”

“I should like to meet your aunt and uncle,” Darcy said, the statement shocking Elizabeth more than his earlier teasing had. “I have heard much of Mr Gardiner, he has built a fine name for himself in the business circles.”

Elizabeth colored and did not know what to say. Mr Darcy wanted to meet her family! From Cheapside! She could not believe it. “Surely -- that is… I am certain they will be very pleased to make your acquaintance, but--”

“Perhaps,” he said tentatively, “if they are not otherwise occupied, Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have a box for the theater for Thursday next week. The play is King Lear, one we both particularly enjoy, and it is said to be a fine performance. I can speak for him that we would both be delighted to have you and your family join us.”

“I thank you, Mr Darcy, and will convey your invitation with great pleasure, as I am to dine with my aunt and uncle tonight. I hope -- I hope very much that we shall be able to attend.”

Elizabeth tried to keep her voice steady, but oh, how she wanted to go home, to her own room, and think for an hour of what this all meant! Could it be a simple offer of friendship? Nay, it must be more, he must still love her; she felt her breath quicken and her heart leap at the thought. “Do you favor King Lear, then, of all the Bard’s plays?” she asked to distract herself from her emotions.

“I do, yes. And you?”

“It is too sad for my taste. I am afraid I prefer the comedies.”

Darcy rose in an excited manner and came to stand before the fireplace, leaning on the mantle. “Yes, very true, it is sad; however, it speaks of the human condition, of love and loss, wisdom and redemption…”

“Perhaps, but so do the comedies, with many less tears…” Elizabeth shrugged, smiling at his animation. He argued with her until Alina and Georgiana rejoined them, and the ladies took their leave.

Chapter 20

Posted on Wednesday, 14 November 2007

“… And so, my dear sister, I enclose this sketch, which is the design for your bridesmaid dress. Please do make sure the pelisse (a design for which is to follow in my next letter) is done in a complimenting color – perhaps it would be best to solicit Aunt Gardiner’s advice. I have made out a schedule for all that we still need to do before the wedding and I enclose a small list of purchases I would very much appreciate if you could make and send back here with the next post. Mr Bingley and I send our love to you and all our family, but Lizzy, please, do not forget to order your dress soon for it may take several weeks to make up and may not come out right the first time…”

Elizabeth shook her head and replaced the rather thick packet that came for her from Longbourn on her vanity. What had happened to her sweet and serene sister? With her engagement, Jane had put aside her soft and compliant characteristics and had begun to organize her wedding with a military precision. The neighborhood looked on in astonishment as she out-Mrs-Benneted even Mrs Bennet herself in her desire to become one with her beloved. Mr Bingley, in equal parts alarmed and amused at this change in his bride, signed the checks, thinking that even if some part of this side of her personality would carry over to the management of his household, he was going to have a very efficiently run house. Mr Bennet revised his initial prognosis of their future and no longer felt that every servant will cheat them. Most importantly of all, Jane herself, who had never had anything of her own to organize, was happy, and made everyone else happy with her radiance.

Elizabeth placed the sketches in her reticule to show to her aunt and smiled at her sister’s newfound sense of freedom.

She walked out of her room and knocked on Alina’s door.

“Come in!” she heard her cousin’s voice.

Alina was already dressed for the card party, which Elizabeth would not attend in favor of having dinner with her aunt and uncle, and was engaged in placing some small flowers in her hair.

“What do you think?” she turned to Elizabeth. “Do they suit me? Colonel Fitzwilliam sent them this morning.”

Elizabeth assured her that the flowers suited her very well indeed, but Alina remained unconvinced.

“I think,” she said sighing, “that I should wear them, for Colonel Fitzwilliam will be at the party and will be gratified to see it, but perhaps I had better just pin them to my dress.”

Elizabeth noticed her cousin’s strange mood, but decided not to remark on it, and instead, hastened to say that the flowers looked lovely in any position. “You are not excited about the party?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Alina sat on her bed, “I really do not know myself. They are all alike, these parties. I thought that it would be somehow different in England, but it is all the same – women simper and gossip and men drink, flirt and talk of politics, not necessarily in that order. I do believe that I enjoy myself much more when we are just in our family circle.” She sighed again.

“But… Colonel Fitzwilliam will be there…”

Alina averted her eyes and studied the embroidery on her slippers.

“Alina,” Elizabeth asked, coming closer and taking the girl’s hands, “are your feelings towards Colonel Fitzwilliam— are they not what they used to be? You may tell me, you know, I only ask because I care for your happiness.”

Still looking away, Alina gave the tiniest shrug and Elizabeth could see that her eyes welled with tears.

“I really do not know my own mind,” she whispered. “I did love him, ever so much, but now… I am not certain of anything anymore.”

Elizabeth sank down on the bed next to Alina and put an arm about her shoulders. She really did not know what to say – humor was her usual weapon for such a situation, but whereas Jane would smile through tears, she had a feeling that Alina might not.
A servant knocked on the door and Alina wiped her eyes hastily.

“Your uncle’s carriage awaits you downstairs, Miss,” an apple-cheeked maid said to Elizabeth, curtsying.

Rising, Elizabeth turned to her cousin. “I must go, but I am going to find your mother,” she said rather uncertainly.

“No, Elizabeth, please. I shall be fine, I promise,” Alina protested. “Give my regards to Mr and Mrs Gardiner when you see them. Do not think about this, it is nothing.”

Elizabeth frowned and went in search of her aunt. Upon hearing her niece’s concern, Catherine immediately hastened to her daughter’s room. She entered the room, but instead of speaking, simply walked over to the window and stood next to her daughter, taking her cold hands into her own warm ones.

“What shall I do, Mamma?” Alina asked, her voice full of misery.

“Oh, my dear.” Catherine drew the girl into an embrace. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but she did neither – she still recalled what it was like to be twenty and be confused about life, when every little thing seemed like it would end the world – she knew that any call to reason now would only push her daughter away.

“Sit down and tell me about it,” she said gently.

Alina sighed. “I – I do not even know where to begin.” She thought for a moment to the beginning of her acquaintance with Colonel Fitzwilliam. “When I met him, my heart used to flip a bit every time I saw him. Do you know what that feels like? Well,” she peered up at her mother keenly, almost as if seeing her clearly for the first time, “of course you know.”

Catherine smiled a little smile. Did she really still look at Alexei that way? Fancy, after all these years… And Alina noticed! Her daughter was growing up.

“I felt so funny when he would speak to me or smile,” Alina continued. “Like this whirlwind of emotion welling up inside me, like I could cry just from looking at him.”

“And now?” Catherine prodded, when Alina had fallen silent.

“Now… I suppose I still do, a little. Except – I do notice what he says much more than I did back then. He makes me feel quite uncomfortable sometimes, the way he speaks of marriage as if it were a lovely walk in the park. Perhaps it is because he has not lived with his parents since he was a little boy; they sent him away to school and then to the Army. If he had, he would have known that marriage… at least the kind of marriage I want to have – like yours, Mamma – is so much more difficult and wonderful than that. And not only that, it is many other things as well.”

At these words, tears did come to Catherine’s eyes and she felt that, if she had given her daughter just that one understanding, she had fulfilled her duty as a mother. She stroked Alina’s cheek tenderly.

“Oh my dear child,” she said. “you are right, it is exactly like that, and you must find someone who understands and is willing to share that with you. Colonel Fitzwilliam is a good man and I have no doubt that he loves you, but you must do what your heart tells you is the right choice. Marriage is for the rest of your life and you must think carefully whether your dispositions and your ideas of life suit before making such a commitment.”

Alina nodded.

“Perhaps if you spoke with him…”

“It is not that… I do feel as though I still love him… my heart still flutters when he smiles at me, but – I do not know how to explain it…”

“You love him,” Catherine said carefully, “but you are not certain you like him?”

Alina looked up. “Yes, yes! It is exactly that. How is that possible?”

“Sometimes, my darling, people grow apart, even though they retain affection for each other still; and sometimes, it is not love but infatuation that had captured the heart previously – only you can really know. Let us go to the party tonight, you can speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam yourself. You are no longer a little girl and you must make a decision. Talk to him -- he deserves no less than that.”

Squaring her shoulders, Alina stood up. “You are right, as always, Mamma,” she said a little sadly. “I must make my own choices. Let us go.”

Catherine followed her daughter from the room, thinking all the time of the comedy and tragedy of life and of the rite of passage her daughter was making into adulthood.

The card party was a small, intimate affair, if one could call the gathering of forty or so people, all glittering with their own self importance, small and intimate. The Rostovs were invited because they were new in town and had become the fashion, and the guests, bored as they were with seeing the same faces year after year, came to listen to the Prince’s exotic stories of Europe, see up close the Princess’s Parisian gowns and listen to the pretty Miss Rostov’s bell-like laughter.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who came with the Viscount and the Viscountess, wished to see Alina. They had not seen much of each other as of late and he was eager to tell her about a new pair of grays he had recently acquired for his phaeton and ask her to ride in the Park with him. She had not been as cheerful as usual the last time they spoke and he wanted to make sure that nothing had particularly upset her. He found that it was becoming more and more difficult to engage her attention and to put the smile he so adored on her face; it annoyed him slightly that their intercourse was not so easy as it was before.

What he did not expect was to also see Emma. She was with her husband this time – a large, indolent man, who had more eyes for his cards and his drink than he had for his wife – and she caught his gaze as soon as he walked into the room. Something of their old connection still remained then, he thought as his heart skipped a beat. Emma had been in his thoughts constantly – her luminous face, softly framed by waiving hair, her fragility and the sadness in her eyes. Could it really be that she had been forced into her situation? Was there anything he could do to relieve her unhappiness; and should he? His feelings for Alina almost seemed to recede into the background as he considered his past with Emma and relived the emotions of that time. Hours of reflection at his club and a bottle of French brandy finally brought him to the realization that he could not, must not see her or speak with her, for his own sanity at least. He loved Alina, he wanted a new life with her, and he did not wish to think of the past any longer. And yet, when Emma raised her eyes toward his as he entered the room, Colonel Fitzwilliam could not help the increased pace of his heartbeat.

He stood watching as his brother and Lady Diana joined one of the tables, waiting for Alina and her family to arrive; a warm hand descended onto his sleeve, and startled, he glanced down to see Emma’s curls next to his shoulder.

“Lady Carrington,” he nodded, watching with annoyance as many people in the room turned to look at them. Some even put their lorgnettes up.

Emma lowered her eyelashes and released his arm. “Colonel, it is a pleasure to see you here. Will you walk with me? The room is very hot.”

Feeling many eyes on him, Colonel Fitzwilliam knew it would be impossibly rude to decline, so he put on his most charming smile and offered his arm to the lady.

“Have you thought any more about what I said?” she asked in a low, throaty voice as they walked the perimeter of the room. Her arm was warm and soft and very white, the alabaster skin glowing in the candlelight.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, in spite of himself, felt a stirring of desire for her; it had burned hotly before, and now, he could have her. She had made that very clear. It took all of his strength as a man to make his reply.

“I cannot – we must not see each other.”

She looked up sharply. “Because of that Russian chit?” she asked, unable to keep spite out of her voice. “She is nothing, I will not mind if you marry her.”

At her words, Colonel Fitzwilliam felt as if she had doused him with cold water. He looked at her anew, wondering how words like these could come from someone with the face of an angel.

“How can you say that?” he asked quietly. “What has become of you, Emma?”

Her face lost all its color. “I have tasted real life, Richard,” she said bitterly. “And have found it not to my liking.” She released his arm. “Leave me. Please, just go.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam backed away and then left the card room. He walked to the dining room where the buffet was laid out and took a plate of he knew not what, staring at the food and yet not seeing any of it. His mind was in turmoil. All these years, he had held up Emma as the image of all that was good and pure; he had loved her and had missed her terribly; he had thought that his love had returned. Now, he knew that it was only nostalgia that had re-captured his heart when he saw her beauty. And yet, how could he say that he loved Alina with all his heart when just an hour ago, he was afraid that he loved another? Perhaps that too was not love, but if not, what was it? He had never thought so hard about relationships, they had always just happened, and he was unused to the complexities of the decisions he knew he must make.

“Richard,” he heard his brother’s quiet voice. “I must speak with you.”

He groaned. “Now? Can it not wait?”

The Viscount looked grave. “No.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed and followed his brother out onto the patio where they could speak without being interrupted.

“What do you think you are doing speaking to that woman?” the Viscount said harshly. “She made a fool out of you once and is about to do it again! Do you have so little regard for your own dignity and for Miss Rostov’s feelings?”

“You have no right to lecture me,” Colonel Fitzwilliam retorted angrily. “I am not ten anymore and my life is my own.”

“I do when it comes to the honor of our family, and you know that perfectly well,” his brother replied hotly. “I do not interfere with your life very often, but when I do, I have a good reason.” His voice softened and he put a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

“I know that you only say this because you care about me,” Colonel Fitzwilliam relented, “but I will ask you to leave this to me. I know what I am doing, truly.”

Lord Harcourt looked at him intently. “I hope so,” he muttered. “Otherwise, Diana is going to have my head on a platter.”

They both laughed, relieving the tension. “Do not worry,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said quietly, serious once again. “I know what she is. It is myself that I have yet to understand.”

Nodding, the Viscount left him standing in the cold November air, looking down at the arriving carriages and searching for a certain dark head and bright eyes.

Darcy House - after the card party

Three men sank into the comfort of lushly upholstered chairs and listened to the cracking of the fire in the warm library of Darcy House in Grovesnor Square.

“Pass the brandy,” the Viscount said lazily to his brother, and poured himself another half a glass.

“Leave some for me, old boy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam admonished, stretching his arm out for the bottle.

Darcy just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “At this rate, you will both be foxed before the hour strikes,” he said.

“That,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, gesticulating with his glass, “is precisely the point, my dear cousin.”

His voice was unsteady and Darcy exchanged an amused glance with the Viscount, wondering whether to call a footman to help the Colonel to a guestroom. Lord Harcourt, as if understanding the direction of his thoughts, shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Tedious party,” he said nonchalantly and threw Darcy a meaningful glance.

Colonel Fitzwilliam emptied the contents of the glass into his mouth and coughed. “Not the party that was tedious,” he mumbled.

Darcy’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Women, my friends,” the Colonel said, slurring his words, “it is women who are tedious. Never know what to think of them, the maddening creatures. They love you and then they hate you and then they love you again.”

Lord Harcourt coughed. “Lady Carrington was present tonight,” he said as an aside. Darcy nodded, understanding. He had heard that she was back in London with her husband and fervently hoped that she would stay away from his cousin, whom she had used very ill.

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. “She was there. Looked like an angel, she did, and offered herself to me.” He shivered. “Said she would not mind if I married Miss Rostov, as long as she could still have me. Do all women want to own you body and soul?”

He was much more drunk than either of the other two had realized, but they knew that it was much better to let him talk it out than to send him to sleep in this mood.

“Not all,” the Viscount said gently.

“Miss Rostov would not,” Darcy added quietly.

“No,” the Colonel said in a strong voice, “she is too good, too gentle a creature.”

He was silent for a moment and then put his glass down with such force that the table shook.

“Damn it all,” he bellowed. “I cannot do this, ‘tis not right, not fair to her. Yesterday, I was ready to say that I loved another woman. How can this be love?” He looked beseechingly at his friends. “Tell me, both of you, how can this be love?”

Darcy looked down, thinking of Elizabeth. He could admit to himself that he was very much in love with her, much more so now that he had seen her again. During the months since Hunsford, she had haunted his imagination, but how much better was the real woman than the one he held in his thoughts! Such warmth, such life… Darcy had never actively sought out young women, and since falling in love with Elizabeth, they had completely ceased to exist to him. No, if his cousin had room for anyone else in his heart other than Miss Rostov, he could not really have loved her.

The Viscount was the first to break the silence. “You are certain,” he said carefully, “very certain that you cannot love her?”

“No,” Colonel Fitzwilliam slumped back in his chair, “Perhaps I could, in time, but I do not think that I do right now -- love her, I mean -- and… everything is so muddled in my head. How did I get myself into this fine mess? What will I tell her? I feel like the worst kind of an arse.”

“You are the worst--” Lord Harcourt began, but fell silent at Darcy’s pointed glare. “Fine,” he muttered, “I’ll hold my tongue.”

Darcy sighed. “You cannot break the engagement, Fitzwilliam. If she wants you, you are hers.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” the Viscount exclaimed, “you cannot be so correct all the time, Darcy!”

“I was not finished,” Darcy said with a cold glance towards his cousin.

“Oh… er -- sorry -- no offence taken, I hope.”

“None, thank you for asking. Now, as I was saying, you cannot break the engagement, but you can try to ascertain the nature of her feelings. You had said before that she seemed less inclined to you than before -- speak with her, perhaps she feels the same way as you do. And if not…” he trailed off and shrugged.

“If not,” the Colonel said quietly, “I will spend my days making her happy. It is my responsibility.”

The other two nodded in agreement and watched the fire silently.

After a while, the Viscount chuckled. “Taking advice from Darcy about love…” he said, his shoulders shaking, “’tis like asking a cow to teach you how to fly. Oh, really, I do wish I could tell Diana, she would be vastly amused.”

Darcy just glared at him and took away the brandy.

Chapter 21

Posted on Monday, 19 November 2007

“I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance.” ~ Lady Bracknell, The Importance of Being Earnest

Alina,

I have spoken with my cousin, Lady Diana, of Lord T— and Lady J—. She looked very shocked at first and then she laughed. Then, I told her what you said, that she seems like a lady who can make anything happen, and she said, very dryly, “I shall try not to disappoint you.” What do you think that means? I saw Lady J— in Bond Street today and her eyes look very, very sad. I do hope… Well, my cousin will know what to do, she is very clever. Would you like to have tea with us again next week? I should like that very much.

Yours, &etc,
Georgiana Darcy

The sun streamed through the French-paned windows of Lady Bracknell’s Berkeley Square townhouse. Diana, Lady Harcourt, sat somewhat impatiently on a fashionably upholstered chaise, watching the rays of the sun make their careful progress through the sitting room. The card party she had attended the night before had tired her greatly and reminded her of her promise to Georgiana; as much as she usually enjoyed spending an afternoon with Lady Bracknell, she had other calls to make and she still had not achieved her purpose in coming today. At the moment, however, the lady of the house was engaged in telling a most compelling (or so she believed) story about some young man who wanted to marry her daughter, Gwendolen.

“And if you would believe it, Diana,” said Lady Bracknell indignantly, “this Mr Worthing -- whoever he is, for he is certainly not on my list of eligible bachelors -- still has pretensions to my daughter’s hand, even though I distinctly told him that no man who was careless enough to lose both parents could ever aspire to join this illustrious family! Why, poor Bracknell would have an apoplectic fit! Is that not scandalous, Gwendolen?”

A girl smirked in the corner of the room. “Yes, Mamma, it certainly is,” she agreed demurely, her tone at odds with her expression.

“Yes, but my dear Lady Bracknell,” interrupted Diana politely but insistently, “what do you think of this matter I spoke about earlier?”

“Oh, yes, of course, I had quite forgotten, my dear. Naturally, I have heard about the young things wanting to marry. Well, well, I can tell you that I did not know the girl’s parents, but the Duke of Malbern, Lord Talchester’s father, has always been a fool. I must say it is encouraging to see that men really do not change, it would be a tragedy if they did -- women should never know what to expect. Edmund is quite an eligible young man, however, but if he will not even so much as look at any girl other than Lady Jennifer, he may as well marry her and stop encouraging the hopes of every mother in London.”

“But--”

“They will make a very handsome couple and have very handsome children, no doubt,” continued Lady Bracknell self-assuredly.

Diana beamed. “I knew it, you will help then!”

“Help!” Lady Bracknell snorted indignantly. “Do you not know, my dearest Diana, that I make it a policy never to help anyone for any reason? People are always wanting more and, let us be frank, it gets tiresome very quickly. Help, indeed! There, now that you know my feelings on the subject, let us speak of it no more.” She turned to her daughter. “Gwendolen?”

“Yes, Mamma?”

“Where are we invited to next week?”

Gwendolen picked up a thick packet of invitations from a side table and looked though them thoughtfully. “Lady Stradbrook is giving a tea on Tuesday and there is also Mr and Mrs Fitzpatrick’s dinner, Wednesday is Lord and Lady Peresham’s ball, there is a card party on Thursday night at Viscount and Lady Remington’s house and--”

“We shall go to Lady Peresham’s ball, Gwendolen” declared Lady Bracknell. She added, as an aside to Diana, “The Duchess of Malbern and Lady Peresham are great friends.”

Leaning in, Diana touched the older lady’s hand warmly. “Thank you. ‘Tis nothing to me, but my cousin Georgiana is positively obsessed with the romance of it.”

“Pshaw, romance. Young people’s heads are quite full of it these days.” Lady Bracknell dismissed romance with an unconcerned shake of her head. “On a completely different topic, my dear, did I ever tell you that the Duke of Malbern was madly in love with me during my first Season…?”

Chapter 22

Rostovs’ townhouse, the night after the card party

Alina did not see Peter during the whole of the next day that followed the card party. She had awoken very late and with a headache and had been obliged to accompany her mother to several very dull morning calls and endure the sly looks of the older women. After that, while Peter escaped to dine at White’s, her father announced that they were to attend a small dinner party at the home of one of his new English friends.

Normally, a schedule of such pleasant events would have caused Alina to feel much excitement and anticipation at meeting new people and wearing yet another one of her pretty dresses; however, everything was spoiled by her unfulfilled decision regarding the Colonel. She had tried to speak with him alone at the card party, but with little result, and now, she carried the knowledge that she was to hurt him like a leaden weight inside her stomach. All day she had suffered pangs of guilt, and nothing, not her dress made of lace and ivory silk, not the new acquaintances -- who seemed to really like and esteem her parents -- not Elizabeth’s infectious laughter, had been able to lift her misery.

Upon their return from the dinner -- where Alina ate very little and paid attention even less -- she knew she would not be able to fall asleep without a book; there was too much on her mind and she needed the soothing feeling of dog-eared pages under her fingers and the musty smell of paper and leather. There was a sliver of light under the library door and Alina pushed it open uncertainly. He was there, Peter, sitting at the mahogany desk and frowning over a large stack of papers. Looking up, he smiled wearily with his familiar smile and passed a hand through his hair.

“Oh, is it so late already? I must have lost track of the time,” he said.

Alina sat down lightly on the arm of the sofa. “No, no. Mamma was tired and we left early. I forget sometimes that she is not so young as she used to be.”

“How was the dinner?”

“Not particularly interesting.”

“Did you have a nice time with the Colonel at the card party last night?” he asked. “I have hardly seen you since yesterday.”

“I did not get to really speak with him; we were not left alone for two minutes. It was a small party, so I had to take extra care that we are not seen together too often.” She fidgeted with the tassels on her dress. “What are you working on?”

He sighed contentedly and leaned back in his chair. “Estate business. Ivanovich sends me updates every month and this time, there were many decisions that had to be made for the next winter and spring. I am almost finished, though.”

Alina stared at him. “Estate business?” Somehow, she never really thought of Peter as managing his estate, though she knew he must, just like her father did.

He passed a hand through his disheveled hair again. “Of course, what else did you think I do since my father’s death?”

“I really do not know… I suppose I thought you were like Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the other men I saw here.” She got up and walked towards him. “Tell me about what you are doing,” she asked.

Peter looked at her curiously. “You would find it very boring, I am certain. It is nothing like Fitzwilliam’s conversation.”

“Peter,” Alina said gently, “you know I would never find you boring. Please, I really do want to know.” She pulled a chair close to the desk where he was sitting and brought another candle.

“Well, fine, if you like,” Peter said, laughing a little at the expectant way in which she sat down and looked at him, just like a schoolgirl. “Only I warned you, it will probably not interest you.” He pulled up the charts he was looking at to show her. “Look. We are going to experiment next year with a new theory - we are giving the peasants a percentage from the profits made from the land that they rent. We tried it with several last year and they worked harder so that even after I gave them their share of the profits, my own were increased still. And look here, these are the schematics for some new machinery for the harvest.” He laughed, completely in his own world now. “You should have seen the look on Temkin’s face when I showed him how to use it. He thought the Master had gone completely mad. He likes it well enough now, though…”

He showed her another sketch and described the machine in detail - where it came from, how it operated, how much it increased production. Alina listened and listened and could not stop staring in wonder. It was the same Peter she had always known, but he was also transformed. His usual restraint and gentleness receded to give way to energy and passion and Alina was filled with respect and admiration for his efforts to increase the profits from his estate while bettering the lives of people dependent upon him. He knew their names and spoke of them without the disdain and condescension so often found in polite conversation. It was such a direct contrast to the evening which she spent in a well-appointed drawing room, listening to polite gossip and watching women battle for social dominance, that she almost could not reconcile the two.

Peter stopped speaking. “I knew I would bore you,” he said with a frown.

“No, no, you did not at all. It was very exciting.” Oh, how banal that sounded, how inadequate!

“You do not have to feign interest,” he murmured, turning away and gathering the papers, “none of this concerns you.”

“It-- no…” Alina did not know what to say. He cared so much about it all, it hurt her to think that she could not find the words to express what she felt. Suddenly, they were both very conscious of her silk evening gown, white gloves and the diamonds glittering at her throat.

“You should go to sleep, it is late,” Peter said harshly. “You should not have let me go on like this, I had forgotten myself. Things like this have no place in your world.”

Hot color flooded Alina’s cheeks. She bit her lip and rose from the chair. “You think I am too young and too frivolous to care about anything other than balls and parties and flirting, but you are wrong -- you do not know me at all!”

She ran out of the room, leaving him staring after her in shock, at once furious with himself and relieved.

Alina shut the door to her room so as not to awaken the maid and stripped off her gown and jewels. Valiantly, she tried not to cry, but it was no use; all she could do was muffle her sobs with a pillow and pull the bedclothes around herself to still her shaking. She had accused Peter of not knowing her, had felt fury at first for the insult, but the bitterest part was that he had known her after all -- she was frivolous and foolish and very spoiled; all she had known in life were parties, picnics and other ladylike pursuits. She thought with horror of her almost-elopement last year and the very casual way she had written about it to Elizabeth and felt for the first time what her parents must have suffered thinking of her wild behavior and worrying all the time. The trip to Baden was supposed to have made her think about her life, but had she used the opportunity to enrich herself? No, all she had done was look for more ways to have fun; sneaking French novels into the house and meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam on the sly. Twenty years of life had certainly not brought wisdom or humility, Alina thought bitterly.

And Peter, he also enjoyed the same things in town that she did, though he only came once a month. Somehow, it had never occurred to Alina to wonder what he did when he was not there -- now she knew. He filled his life with purpose while she frittered it away on meaningless activities. Surely that was why he always treated her like a sweet child -- how could he think of her as otherwise if her behavior had complied with her own worst expectations? Alina did not truly know why it had become so important to her that the gentle companion of her childhood realized that she was no longer a child, but it was, and it was bitter to think that she had given Peter no basis to change his opinion. While he had grown into a man, Alina realized that she had not made great strides on the road to maturity.

She had imagined herself a grown woman, but how wrong she had been! She was not ready to be in love, not ready to get married -- even this very evening, she purposefully avoided speaking with Colonel Fitzwilliam about the only thing that mattered because she was afraid of what he would think of her and what the others would think. These were the actions of a little girl -- to hide in the corner and cry -- not of a woman who was ready to take responsibility for her own life. It could not go on like this, she decided. She must tell him that she could not marry him, no matter how much it would hurt both of them -- to live in a marriage where there was neither love nor respect would hurt them both much more in the long run.

These thoughts occupied her for some time until, giving in to the demands of her body, she finally surrendered to the silence and darkness of sleep.

The next morning, Peter awoke in a foul mood. What in the world, he thought, had prompted him to be so rude to Alina last night? He had reduced her to tears, something that had never happened before. He felt terrible. After all, she could not be faulted for her upbringing nor for her easy and carefree life in town -- she led the life of every respectable lady of his acquaintance, she could not be expected to care about irrigation machinery, no woman could. Besides, he himself enjoyed the same amusements occasionally; it was pleasant to come up to town and dress in evening clothes for a play or a ball where women’s gowns were cut dangerously low and sparkling eyes beckoned from under long eyelashes; to go to his clubs and set aside the worries of a farmer’s life. Peter’s father, a cousin of Prince Alexei, left the estate in a dire condition upon his death, a circumstance that Peter had been reluctant to disclose to anyone, even to his mother and closest family. Only years of discipline -- Peter had his army experience to thank for accustoming him to that -- and his hard working and loyal peasants had gotten the land to turn a profit; now, the estate almost ran itself and Peter could allow himself to experiment and to dream.

Perhaps that was why he had gotten so angry, he reflected. He cared about his land and his people. He had opened up the secret part of himself to another person, something he had never done before, and she just looked at him blankly, the delicate silk of her dress rustling under her gloves. It hurt particularly that she did not understand.

Peter was not a man who deceived himself and in this instance, he knew exactly what his feelings for Alina were. Most importantly, he knew what they were not. He cared about her, very much so, but he did not believe himself to be in love. To him, she was but a child still -- charming, vivacious, sweet, engaging, but knowing so little of the world as to need constant supervision. Relationship with his own father having been what it was, he cherished his connection with Prince Alexei and his family and loved them all in different ways; however, when Peter would decide to take a wife, she would be -- he hoped -- more responsible than Alina.

Perhaps because he viewed her as a child, he felt so guilty for hurting her so. That must be the explanation, he thought to himself as he dressed for breakfast. He would apologize and take her to the Park, and everything would be as it was before. And if she did not understand about his commitment to his duties, well, it was not surprising given her age -- only twenty! -- and he would not allow it to color their relationship.

At breakfast, though, he did not find Alina, and upon inquiring, he was told that she and Elizabeth had gone for a walk in the Park. Disgruntled that his apology would have to wait, he unrolled the packet from his steward and began to peruse the new plans, albeit without last night’s enthusiasm.