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Chapter 10

Posted on Sunday, 13 July 2003

In London Darcy stood at the window of his study seemingly engrossed in watching the carriages pass in front of his townhouse. In truth, he could not tell you what he saw, for his mind was otherwise engaged. It had been less than a fortnight since he had last seen Elizabeth Bennet, and yet it seemed more like a year. He had thrown himself into activity, willing himself to forget her. Business needs preoccupied him for the first few days, but they were soon completed. Socially, he visited often with Bingley and his sisters and renewed other acquaintances in the ton, attended the opera, and even considered putting in an appearance at a ball that was to be held that night, although he acknowledged that he would be quite bored with it all. He spent much time with Georgiana, listened to her play the pianoforte, encouraged her to be at ease among his friends, and had served as her escort to dinner at Bingley's just last night. He threw himself into physical exercise, visiting his fencing master almost daily, and in the evenings he often went for long walks in the park.

And still, it was not enough.

Darcy had resolved to put all thoughts of Elizabeth out of his mind. Standing at the window, he had to admit that none of his efforts had succeeded. He missed her more than he had ever thought possible. His need for her rose from somewhere deep within him, so deep that he could not fathom how it came to be, where it came from, nor how to rid himself of it. Darcy was lost.

As he looked out the window at the fading sunshine, he wondered where she was at that very moment. Was she enjoying her stay at Brighton? Was she engaging in long walks on the beach and did she walk alone? Did her curls now appear somewhat lightened from the sun? Whom did she spend her days with and who was the fortunate person on whom she bestowed her sparkling smiles? Had she at last been in a mood for poetry once again?

And, had she heeded his advice to think seriously on the worth of this man to whom she was attached? Who could he be? Darcy had tortured himself for endless hours in detailed consideration of the men who presided near Longbourn. He could think of no one he had met there whom he would deem the equal of Elizabeth. How could I ever have considered her as inferior to me?

"William?"

Darcy started when he felt a soft hand touch his arm.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to startle you." Georgiana said.

Darcy turned to face her and she continued, "I called your name more than once. I can see that you are deep in thought and apologize for the intrusion."

"There is no need to apologize," he replied. "Your intrusion is not unwelcome. My thoughts," he stopped and sighed, " . . . my thoughts are ones I would gladly put aside."

"James has brought in the mail. I left it on your desk."

Darcy walked to the desk and sifted through the envelopes without opening them. "Georgiana, are you ready to return to Pemberley?"

"If you wish. You know I am not at ease in London society. I much prefer the country."

"Yes, I, too, have a longing to see the peaks of Derbyshire once again. I believe Pemberley may be just what I need."

Georgiana looked at him intently. "You surprise me, for you have been in London such a short time and I thought you preferred the town."

"Yes, well, perhaps my taste has changed, for I am ready to depart as early as next week."

"Will you not be somewhat lonely without the company of your friends?"

"Lonely?" If you only knew how lonely I am, he thought, but said only, "I have the remedy for that - I shall invite Bingley and his sister and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst to accompany us. No one can be lonely for long with all of them along."

Georgiana said nothing, but walked to the chaise and sat down.

Darcy noticed her lack of response. "Do you not like my idea?"

"Whatever you decide."

Darcy walked around the desk, still holding the mail, and sat down on a chair close to his sister. He laid the letters aside and took her hand in his. "What is it, Georgiana? Tell me why your countenance has fallen."

The girl immediately sought to reassure him. "You are mistaken, William. Truly, if you want to invite your friends, I shall be glad to have their company although . . . your mood does not lighten when they are present."

"My mood? What do you know of moods?"

"I know when something is troubling you, William. I wish you would share it with me."

Darcy rose and walked back to the desk, averting his face from his sister. "I could say there is nothing troubling me, but I would not be honest. What troubles me, however, is a situation that cannot be changed," he said, staring out the window again.

Georgiana joined him behind the desk and once again touched his arm lightly. "Is there nothing I can do to relieve your suffering?"

Darcy shook his head and spoke quietly. "When something cannot be made right, nothing remains but to accept it. No good will come from dwelling on it, so have no fear for I shall conquer this." He turned away from her and repeated under his breath, "I shall!"

Georgiana frowned to hear the tone of desperation in her brother's voice but when he picked up the mail once more, she returned to the chaise. Upon reading the return address on the last letter, Darcy groaned. It was from his aunt and he debated on whether to open it now or wait until tonight after he had partaken of a good amount of Madeira. He then remembered that he had promised to attend a ball that evening and knowing it would be late when he returned, he slit open the envelope and read its contents and then groaned, "Blast!"

"What is it, William? Is something else wrong?" asked Georgiana.

"Lady Catherine desires my presence at Rosings once more. It seems she is in need of my assistance."

"Is she ill again?"

"No, it concerns an incident that happened while Miss Bennet was there."

"Miss Bennet? Is this the same Miss Bennet you told me plays and sings so beautifully?"

Darcy felt as though someone squeezed his very heart at the remembrance of Elizabeth singing, but he simply nodded in affirmation.

"What happened?"

"Some gypsies stole her necklace and some personal items and Lady Catherine writes that one of the scoundrels is still in the area and tried to sell Miss Bennet's jewelry to the innkeeper in Hunsford Village. Fitzwilliam and I had alerted the local constable as to the robbery and he has now arrested the youth who attempted the sale."

"That is good news, but I do not understand. Why must you return to Kent?"

"The youth denies the theft. He says he bought the necklace from someone else and no one can identify him as a participant in the crime except Fitz or I or . . . Miss Bennet."

"And is she still residing at Brighton? I believe you said she had gone there with her friend and would remain for some time."

Darcy nodded and walked to the window once again. He had no desire to return to Kent, to once again see the groves where Elizabeth had walked, the sofa in the library at Rosings where she had slept, the lane between the mansion and the parsonage where she had been attacked and he had rescued her . . . where he had held her in his arms. His memories needed no reinforcement; they were well and alive on their own. I cannot go back there now, not until I have rid her from my mind, until I have accepted the fact there is no hope, he thought.

"Does this mean we shall have to delay leaving for Pemberley?" Georgiana asked.

"No," Darcy said with more force than he had intended, "I shall call on Fitzwilliam and see if he can go in my stead. I have no wish to return to Kent."

In Brighton Lizzy sipped her tea and sighed, wishing she could escape to the beach instead of entertaining Mrs. Forster and Lydia in the parlor of Waverley Cottage. The colonel's wife was a pretty sort of woman and extremely vivacious, but Lizzy found her conversation somewhat affected and frivolous and exceedingly long. She liked her share of gossip, but this woman seemed absolutely dedicated to it. She had spent the last half hour regaling Charlotte and Maria and herself with news of Brighton's society, who was involved with whom, who wished to be involved with whom, and certain other intrigues and scandals pertaining to people that Lizzy did not know and had no desire to meet. She frowned at the thought of Lydia spending the summer in this woman's company, for her youngest sister was already flighty and silly and as her father often said, had very little sense. Mrs. Forster seemed to do all she could to encourage such behavior in Lydia.

But since the woman was such a maven of gossip, Lizzy determined to make use of her knowledge. As soon as Mrs. Forster paused to catch a breath, she asked, "Can you enlighten us on some news we heard at Kent? Is it true that Mary King became engaged to Mr. Wickham and then broke it off?"

Mrs. Forster began to laugh merrily. "Oh, that was the strangest and shortest engagement I have ever encountered. Miss King was quite enamored of Mr. Wickham, you know," here she stopped to laugh again and give Lydia a knowing look, "as we all are. Poor Mary - she should have known it would never work."

Lizzy's face paled as she strained to understand Mrs. Forster. Charlotte noticed the frown on her friend's face and so she asked, "It is true, then? They were actually engaged?"

"Well," the colonel's wife replied, "as I said, it was all so strange. Mr. Wickham did pay special attention to Mary and I sensed an intimacy between them. She confided to me in the strictest of confidences that he wished to marry her, but there was no public announcement and he never made any mention of it in my presence. It was almost as though they had entered into a secret engagement and then all of a sudden her uncle whisked her off to Liverpool. I do believe he did not approve of Mr. Wickham." She had to stop and giggle at this thought and then went on, "A very proper gentleman, you know, and one not open to his relations marrying below themselves."

There was much talk and laughter after that, but Lizzy said nothing. She clasped and unclasped her hands, gazed out the window and chewed on her lip. Charlotte knew that this news about Mr. Wickham had upset her somehow, but as to why she had not a clue. At last the visit ended with not only an invitation to Colonel Forster's ball, but a promise from Maria and Lizzy that they would soon return the call on their guests.

Maria departed to the music room to practice her lessons on the pianoforte, which left Lizzy and Charlotte alone. Lizzy helped her friend to recline on the chaise lounge, plumping the pillows behind her head and shoulders. "Can I get you anything, Charlotte? Perhaps some more tea or the novel you have been reading?"

"No, Lizzy, thank you, I am fine. What I really want is a chance to talk with you."

"Oh? Have we not been talking for the last hour? I would think you tired by all this chatter."

"There has been much conversation, true, but not between just you and I and that is what I desire."

"Very well," Lizzy said, seating herself close to her friend on a great stuffed ottoman covered in rich green brocade.

"Lizzy, this is none of my business, but I cannot refrain from asking you if something is wrong? Each time Mr. Wickham's name is mentioned, a very strange look covers your countenance."

"I don't know what you mean, Charlotte."

"There it is now, Lizzy. If you could see yourself, you would understand what I am saying. The very mention of Mr. Wickham causes you to pale. What is it? What do you know about him?"

Lizzy rose and walked to the window. Should I confide in Charlotte? I long to do so, but is it right to burden her when she is still not recovered?

"Lizzy?" Charlotte called from the chaise. "Are we not the closest of friends? Can you not trust me with your confidence?"

"Of course I trust you," Lizzy said, returning to her friend's side. "It is just . . . that I have given my word to another . . . not to reveal certain things, and so I cannot feel justified in telling you. But, oh, Charlotte, I would very much like to, please believe me."

"I would not ask you to betray a confidence, Elizabeth. But tell me this, at least. Am I right that your secret has something to do with Mr. Wickham?"

Lizzy said nothing, but bowed her head and traced the ornate design in the Persian rug with her foot. At last she nodded in agreement.

"I hope you are not in love with him."

Lizzy did not reply but searched her heart for the last time. It was but a moment before she shook her head and said plainly, "I am not."

"Good. From what I have observed he is not worthy of you. Gossip follows him wherever he goes. We have just received confirmation of his actions while in Lancashire. My mother has written me of whisperings about him in Meryton, how he gambles excessively and is overly fond of drinking in taverns. Oh, I know he is exceptionally amiable in the presence of company and possesses the most pleasant of manners, but have you noticed how he seems to take delight in telling his tale of woe to any and every available ear, whether he is well acquainted with them or not?"

"But, Charlotte, it is true that Mr. Darcy treated him in an infamous manner!"

"Perhaps, but has anyone ever asked Mr. Darcy for his side of the story?"

"I have . . . well, I did not exactly ask him . . . but I gave him the opportunity to defend himself and he did not."

Charlotte was surprised at this revelation. "How did that happen, Lizzy? Can you not tell me that much?"

Lizzy sighed and looked over her shoulder, making certain that Maria was still occupied elsewhere. "You must keep this in strictest confidence, Charlotte."

When her friend promised that she would, Lizzy said, "While I was at Kent, Mr. Darcy proposed to me."

Charlotte's eyes widened and she sat up, leaning forward to listen more closely. "Proposed? I always suspected he had feelings for you! What did you say, Lizzy?"

"I refused him, of course."

"But how could you? Think of what such a marriage would bring you! How could you slight a man who is of far greater consequence than any other of our acquaintance?"

"Charlotte," Lizzy pleaded, "listen to me. When you accepted Mr. Collins, I was not happy for I hoped you would marry for love. You set me in my place. You told me you were not romantic, that all you longed for was a good home and a respectable situation and I have accepted that. But, Charlotte, you must understand me, now. I am romantic. I do not wish to marry for titles or houses or money. I hope to marry someone whom I admire and respect, a man that is above all others in my estimation, a man that I love more than life itself."

"And Mr. Darcy is not that man?"

Lizzy looked away then, aware of a yearning deep within her soul to see his face just once more . . . but she said nothing.

"Lizzy, are you reconsidering Mr. Darcy? Is that what is troubling you so and what does it all have to do with Mr. Wickham? How shall it all be made right?"

At that moment Maria entered the room, announcing luncheon. The conversation was ended and Charlotte received no answer to her question. She was left to wonder and, in truth, Lizzy was, too.

Early the next week the physician, Mr. Russell, called on Mrs. Collins and examined her. He was a likeable man, very distinguished in his appearance, and quite tender in his handling of his patient. Before Mr. Collins had returned to Kent, he had shown Lizzy and Maria the doctor's great house built on a huge bluff overlooking the ocean. He was a man who knew the sea and believed strongly in its curative powers. He prescribed a bottled potion of seawater mixed with other ingredients known only to him to be administered three times a day. His second prescription was much easier to digest - three visits per week to the beach.

"Do you wish for Mrs. Collins to enter the sea in a bathing machine?" Lizzy asked. She had watched with interest ladies going into the strange looking "smoakers" pulled out into the surf.

"Not yet," the doctor replied. "Eventually I hope she will be strong enough to be dipped by Martha Gunn, for she is a local who is much experienced in the art. For now, I simply want her to sit on the beach, let the sea breeze warm her and if she feels strong enough, she may briefly stroll along the shore."

After Mr. Russell had departed, Charlotte sighed and said, "Well, I rejoice that the doctor did not prescribe those sea-bathing treatments immediately. Just getting to the beach will be exercise enough for me."

"Mr. Russell is sending a litter tomorrow for your use," Lizzy said. "Two of the men servants can carry you down the steps, Charlotte, and Maria and I will attend you. You need not worry. We will not allow you to overdo."

"I am quite looking forward to it," Charlotte answered with a smile.

And, indeed, the next day proved to be quite pleasant for all concerned. The ladies took great pleasure in their time on the beach. Cook had packed a picnic lunch for them and Charlotte thoroughly enjoyed reclining on the pillows and rugs placed far back from the incoming tide. She allowed the breeze to blow through her hair and even took off her bonnet at Lizzy's urging. Maria and Lizzy once again removed their shoes and walked along the edge of the water and Maria spent much time searching for shells up and down the beach. At last she returned and after showing Charlotte and Lizzy her treasures, she joined her sister on the rugs and both of them soon fell asleep.

Lizzy had no desire for a nap and so she walked a long ways up the shoreline, watching the gulls calling to each other as they flew back and forth from the sand to the water. A line of pelicans flying in perfect formation low over the water's edge delighted her so that she laughed aloud.

Ahead not more than 200 feet, Lizzy saw how the waves splashed against huge stone formations jutting out into the water. They were placed around a curve in the beach and she determined to explore them, even though it hid her completely from the view of her friends. In fact, she saw no other people who had ventured that far down the shore. When she reached the great black rocks, she climbed upon the lower part, hanging onto the rough points. With great caution, she managed to sit along the edge, dangling her legs off the side. What a delightful spot, she mused, quite enchanted each time the waves bounced against the rock and sprayed her lightly with salt water.

Once again, nature's wondrous mystique soothed her troubled spirit and she felt peace flowing within. All thoughts of Wickham vanished as though he had sailed away to the edge of the sea and fallen off on the other side. The other sensations that had tormented her just last night - the memory of Darcy's eyes upon her, his dark curls damp from the rain, a glimpse of one of his rare smiles, the strength of his arms, the way his skin smelled, and the haven of safety in his embrace - all of these feelings now seemed natural and right as she lay back against the stone and immersed herself in the presence of this place. Lizzy and Darcy and the sea all seemed to connect in some mystical manner within her heart and she gave herself up to its pleasure.

How long Lizzy sat by the sea she knew not, but when her reverie was disturbed, it came with a shock. Someone was calling her name from the sand below and when she looked, Mr. Wickham stood within her view.

"Miss Bennet, will you not come down? Or do you require my assistance in doing so?"

"No," Lizzy cried quickly, attempting to smooth her wind-blown curls and conscious that she had left her shoes and stockings with Charlotte. She scampered down the rocks and had only to hold Wickham's hand in a brief clasp when he offered his assistance at the lowest level. With unspoken but overt immediacy, she withdrew her hand from his upon reaching the beach.

"You startled me, sir, for I did not expect anyone. What are you doing out here?"

"Mrs. Forster sent me to invite you and Miss Lucas to luncheon tomorrow, and Mrs. Collins, too, although we understand she is not yet making calls. When your friends could not see you anywhere on the beach, I offered to go and find you."

"I see. You now serve as Mrs. Forster's personal courier, in addition to your other duties. How convenient for her. Please thank Mrs. Forster for the invitation and tell her we accept with pleasure."

Wickham ignored her barb and changed the subject. "You certainly walked a great distance from your friends. Mrs. Collins pointed out the direction, but from her site none of us could even see you."

"If I alarmed anyone, I shall apologize."

"No alarm. Just curiosity." Wickham smiled and continued, "Why did you stray so far?"

"I did not stray. I simply went exploring and found a lovely spot to enjoy the view."

"Well, you made a most lovely spectacle perched on that rock, almost like a mermaid sunning herself," he said, his voice growing low and inviting.

Lizzy began walking faster and said nothing in return.

"Come, Eliza why do you hurry? Are you avoiding me?"

"Sir, this is hardly the time or place to address me in so familiar a manner."

"But why? There are no others here and your friends cannot see us around this bend in the shoreline," he said, his tone quite intimate, "and you know my greatest desire is to be alone with you." He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. He frowned, "Eliza? What is wrong? Your actions do not portray that of the woman who is to be my future wife."

Lizzy stopped and looked directly into his eyes. "Am I to be your wife, sir? Or are you engaged to Mary King? And is your relationship with her a secret betrothal as well? Are you perhaps making a collection of fiancées?"

"Eliza, keep your voice down. You know not how far the wind carries sound and we are not that distant from Mrs. Collins."

Lizzy began walking again, taking even faster steps. "I will be glad to keep my voice down, Mr. Wickham. I will be glad to not ever speak to you again!"

He grabbed her shoulders then and turned her around to face him. She shook off his touch and stepped out of his reach. "Please keep your hands from my person, sir."

"I want an explanation, Eliza!" he demanded. "Why are you acting in this manner?" Lizzy began pacing back and forth on the sand, too angry to even begin to speak. Wickham's voice held a tone of exasperation, also. "Surely you are not still angry about those rumors of Miss King and myself. I have explained the situation many times, as you are well aware."

Lizzy stopped walking then and looked him in the eye. "You have explained nothing, Mr. Wickham. You have evaded my questions, you have accused me of listening to gossip, and you have continued to act in a faithless manner. Every snippet I hear is whispering and gossip about you - your exploits, your flirtatious manners, and your involvement in conduct unbecoming that of a gentleman."

"Well," Wickham said, sarcasm evident in his tone, "I never claimed to be a gentleman. If you recall, I am only the son of old Mr. Darcy's steward. I did not grow up with all the advantages that some have known."

"Perhaps you did not, sir, but I have always judged a man to be a gentleman by his conduct, not by his advantages."

"Then you hold to a quite different standard than the rest of the world. You will recall that since I have been deprived of my living, I have had to make my own way in this world. I have had to live by my wits and intelligence. I do not dwell within a world of privilege as Mr. Darcy does."

"Sir, how easily you have changed the subject once again. I find you are quite skilled at doing so. Many honest men have grown up with much less than you have and they do not make a practice of crying about their lot in life to each and every person they meet! But then I did say honest men, did I not?"

By this time Wickham had begun to pace and his face darkened with Lizzy's last words. "Exactly what are you saying, Miss Bennet?"

"I do not think you are an honest man, sir. I no longer trust you." She stopped and took a big breath. "And . . . I no longer wish to marry you."

She turned her face away from him then, not wanting to see the anger she was certain it contained. Instead, she heard him gasp as though he had been struck and when she looked, he turned away from her and took several steps toward the sea. He said nothing for some time. At last, Lizzy spoke. "Will you release me from our betrothal?"

He turned then and looked at her, no anger in his eyes, but rather what appeared to be utter despair. "How can I, Eliza? You are my life. How can I go on without you?"

Lizzy could not believe her ears. "Come now, sir, you cannot mean it. I am a very small part of your life. Why, for several months we have hardly seen each other and you have done quite well without me."

"But can you not see that is all a façade? That everything I do is an act? I told you in the beginning that we would have to keep our attachment secret and to do so, we must conduct ourselves as though we are quite free. Will you not believe that everything I have done I have done for us?"

He looked so honest, so appealing that for a moment Lizzy almost believed him . . . but only for a moment. Then the memories of all his past behavior washed over her just as the waves were washing the beach and she felt a familiar nausea besetting her.

"Mr. Wickham, I ask you to cease your playacting and be completely honest with me. Why did you ask me to marry you? And do not tell me it was for love, for I will not believe you. I am long past being fooled by endearments. You love no one but yourself; that is evident. I have no fortune and you have need of marriage to a woman of means, a woman like Mary King. I would not hold that need against you, for I am a sensible woman, if . . . you had not already engaged yourself to me! I simply cannot understand why you ever asked me to marry you! Was it just a dalliance? Did you believe I would succumb to you physically, that you would have your way with me and then throw me aside? I cannot believe you could be that low or that you held me in such poor esteem! Come, sir, will you not at last tell me the truth?"

Wickham once again looked as though he had been struck. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came forth. He then looked out to the ocean's horizon as though searching for an answer. When he made no response for some moments, Lizzy finally said, "I see. You have no answer." She began to turn away.

"I do," Wickham said quickly. "I do have an answer, Eliza. Hear, me, please." When she inclined her head toward him, he sighed and then said, "You say I do not care for you, but I do. I admire you greatly. I like to be with you. In truth, I like the man I am when I am with you." He took his hat in his hands and began to brush at it, seemingly unaware of his actions. "Eliza, I am a better man when I am with you."

He looked her straight in the eye when he said these last words and for some reason Elizabeth believed him. "Tis a pity, then," she said softly, "that you cannot be that man when you are away from me."

"Yes," he answered, "a great pity. But the situation is not hopeless for when we marry, Eliza, I can become that man. I truly want to be a better man, a true gentleman, one that would meet even your standards. With you by my side I know that I can accomplish that feat."

"Sir, I have always believed that a man of worth is the same no matter who is by his side."

"Perhaps, but do you not believe in redemption - that a man who is not yet so worthy may change with the right circumstances, the right advantages?"

"I do believe in redemption. But to exactly what circumstances and advantages do you refer?"

"Why, as I said before, when we marry I will be in your company and that of your family. You and your esteemed parents can only aid in my development and then, of course, the association with your oldest sister when she weds Mr. Bingley can only further our prospects. It will throw us into the company of those who can offer untold possibilities of future advancement."

Lizzy almost laughed out loud then. So that is why he wishes to marry me, she thought, he thinks he can live off Mr. Bingley! She considered informing him that all prospects between Jane and Bingley were off, but she refrained. Instead, she said, "It is a shame, then, Mr. Wickham, that we are not to marry. Now I will not have the personal opportunity to see how far you advance within the proper company."

"Do not say that," he sputtered. "Please, Eliza, I cannot let you go like this. You must give it more thought."

"Believe me, sir, I have thought far too long. I wish to be released from our engagement."

"Well . . . you . . . I . . ." Wickham stammered and stuttered, seeking some way to persuade her otherwise. At last he said, "Think of your reputation, Miss Bennet. A woman who breaks an engagement is marked by scandal. No reputable man will ever marry you."

"Mr. Wickham, our engagement is secret! How can there be any scandal when society does not even know we are engaged?" When he said nothing, she asked again, "Will you release me?"

"I will . . . on one condition. You must give me more time. You must consider this for at least one more week."

"I have no desire to think on it one more hour, sir!"

"Those are my terms. Surely one more week in which you truly search your heart, Eliza, is not too much to ask. I recall that you asked for time to consider your answer before you agreed to marry me and I consented. Is it not your turn to indulge me? Colonel Forster's ball is to be held one week from tomorrow. Promise me that you will think seriously on the consequences of such rash action and give me your decision at the ball."

Lizzy sighed, shaking her head, extremely tired of the entire matter. She looked up the beach and saw Maria in the distance, waving to them and walking in their direction. She knew she could not argue with him any longer. "Very well. I will consider my decision this week, but I can assure you, sir, I will not change my mind."

In London Darcy cursed as he left Colonel Fitzwilliam's quarters. He had just learned that it would be impossible for his cousin to travel to Kent to fulfill his aunt's summons, for he had just received orders to travel to Brighton on regimental duty the very next day. There was nothing to do but swallow the bitter pill and make the trip to Rosings, himself.

While returning to his townhouse, he debated on whether to take Georgiana with him, but knowing her dread of being in Lady Catherine's presence and having seen the results of his aunt's overbearing manner imposed upon his fragile young sister, he dismissed the very idea. He would not even suggest it to her. He would go alone to face his demons, to stare down his memories, and to search for a way to forget Elizabeth.

That evening Darcy wrote to his aunt, informing her that he would arrive early the next week. He then dressed in impeccable evening clothes, drank a prodigious amount of brandy, and proceeded to a ball held at the mansion of an old acquaintance. There he danced with every young fortune-hunting lady whose mother forced her upon him. He searched the eyes of each woman, looking for the sparkle that lit Elizabeth's eyes; he examined their hair - blonde, auburn, or raven-colored - seeking the shine and perky bounce that had always possessed Elizabeth's curls; he gazed upon the lips of each woman and saw none that he wished to kiss as he had Elizabeth's; and he made polite conversation and endured unending flattering remarks and affected airs, none of which could match the intelligence and wit of Elizabeth.

Darcy returned home that night, filled with wine but bereft of pleasure, knowing he had spent another night in useless pursuit - nothing he did could exorcise the ghost of Elizabeth. At last he fell asleep, his heart drowning in her presence and his soul longing for deliverance.

Chapter 11

Posted on Monday, 21 July 2003

Elizabeth and Maria arrived promptly at Webster House on the next day to partake of luncheon with Mrs. Forster and Lydia. Maria could hardly sit still, such was her anticipation of enjoying the coming event, but Elizabeth dreaded it and had consented only because it was a requirement of polite society. She had never thought highly of Mrs. Forster and being frequently in her presence here in Brighton had not raised Elizabeth's estimation of the woman. What gave her the greatest trepidation, however, was the possibility that Wickham might also be in attendance. At their last meeting on the beach, she had said as little as possible to him in the presence of Charlotte and Maria, and had proved successful in avoiding any further private audience with him.

Today they entered the house through a commodious portico, noting the Italian influence in design. The day was warm, but the setting of the house was such that the southern breeze blew softly through the large windows and Lizzy noted that it was a most artfully arranged building. As the servant led them down the spacious hall, the tinkling of a piano could be heard coming from the salon, along with much female laughter.

The sight that greeted Lizzy and Maria was surprising to say the least. Mrs. Forster stood embraced in the arms of an extremely tall, skinny, gangly-looking man. His beak of a nose pointed so directly at the ceiling that he gave all the appearance of a strutting popinjay. He danced her around the room in the most intimate of postures and both of the girls were quite shocked at such a display.

From a chair nearby Lydia clapped her hands and giggled, calling encouragement to her older friend as the couple circled the room. A bespectacled, middle-aged, redheaded lady played the piano with deep concentration, rarely lifting her long, hooked nose from the sheet music.

Suddenly Lydia spied her sister and friend and before the servant could announce them, she cried, "Lizzy! Maria!" and ran across the room to greet them.

Mrs. Forster and the funny-looking man ceased dancing and he signaled to the lady to quit playing. "Miss Bennet and Miss Lucas, do come in," Mrs. Forster said. "I am so glad you have arrived early. This way you can join in our lesson."

Elizabeth looked at Maria and then back at Mrs. Forster. "I was told we were to come at this hour, Ma'am. We would never have presumed to call so early had we known you were otherwise engaged."

"No, no, it is nothing. Wickham probably got the time wrong. His head is in the clouds most of the time and I seriously doubt that he listens to half what I say. Now, if it was Lydia talking to him, that would be another story." She laughed and raised her eyebrows at her young friend, but Lydia just giggled.

"Lizzy, you must learn this new dance!"

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Forster agreed, "Mr. Henley-Higgins here is teaching us the latest dance from Vienna." She then went on to introduce Lizzy and Maria to the dancing master and then his sister, who rose from the piano and bowed slightly. "They have just returned from the continent where the waltz is all the rage. Do sit down and we shall demonstrate for you. Maestro?"

The tall man nodded at his sister and she began once again to play a tune that was actually quite lovely, although totally foreign to the guests. Maria sucked in her breath when she saw how Mr. Henley-Higgins took Mrs. Forster into his arms and began to move her around the room, never releasing her as in most country dances, but holding onto her in the most shockingly close position. Lizzy finally whispered for her to close her mouth when it was still standing open at the conclusion of the number.

"Oh, Lizzy, is it not the most romantic dance?" Lydia cried with a great sigh.

Before her sister could answer, a loud snore emanated from a corner of the large room and Maria jumped so that it made everyone laugh. When Lizzy glanced in that direction she saw Colonel Forster reclined in his chair, his newspaper spread across his stomach and his eyes closed, sound asleep.

"Do not mind the colonel, " Mrs. Forster said, frowning. "As usual he has been asleep for over an hour."

"I do wish he would snore in time with the music," the dancing master sniffed, pulling out a lace-tipped handkerchief and dabbing at his forehead.

"Is Colonel Forster not interested in learning this new dance?" Lizzy asked.

"My husband rarely dances, Miss Bennet, and as for learning anything new, that is asking far more than he is willing to give. Never mind him for now. I am so glad you are here, for I want you and Miss Lucas to learn the waltz, too."

"Me?" Maria cried. "I could never do that!"

"Oh, pooh, Maria," Lydia exclaimed, "It's very simple. Here, let me show you." She walked into Mr. Henley-Higgins' arms and as the music began, they whirled around and around the room.

Although admittedly shocked at first sight of the new dance, Elizabeth found herself smiling as she watched the graceful movements of this new waltz and before she knew it, she began to tap her toe in three-quarter time. At the close of the number, Lydia began once again to entreat Maria to try it, but she still refused, adamant that she would not unless Lizzy did it first.

And so, Elizabeth stepped forward and allowed the dancing master to place her right hand upon his shoulder while he placed his hand at her waist and then took her left hand in his. "Now, Miss Bennet, it is very simple. Just count one-two-three and follow me."

Lizzy was surprised at how easy the number was to learn. Once she relaxed and allowed the strange man to lead her, she had no difficulty in mastering the simple steps. When it ended, she had to admit that she had quite enjoyed herself. It took only a few more times for Mr. Henley-Higgins to pronounce her as quite proficient and ready to perform the waltz at the colonel's ball on Saturday.

"Do you mean people will actually dance this way at Colonel Forster's ball?" Maria asked, her eyes widening in unbelief.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Forster answered, "Several of the local gentry who will attend have already learned the waltz at other balls held here in Brighton. We will be quite behind the times if we do not include it with our country dances on Saturday night."

"But can any of the officers dance the waltz?" the young girl asked.

Lydia smirked, "Well, if they cannot, it is not for lack of teaching! Mrs. Forster and I have spent the last week dancing every night with more than I care to count, trying to teach them these steps. You cannot imagine how awkward Lt. Sanderson is, though! He stepped all over my feet last night and they still hurt!"

"Yes, ladies," Mrs. Forster added, "do avoid the poor lieutenant if at all possible. Captain Carter and Denny, however, are quite proficient, and then, of course, Mr. Wickham outshines them all. I have never seen a more polished dancer and I have danced with the very best, you know."

Lizzy raised her eyebrow at this news. "Mr. Wickham is a quick learner, then, I take it?"

"Actually, when Mr. Wickham takes me in his arms, I would have to say that I am the learner, would you not agree, Lydia?"

Lydia giggled. "Oh, yes, Lizzy! Wickham knew the waltz long before Mrs. Forster or I had ever heard of it. In fact, he is the one who suggested we include it at the ball."

"I see," Elizabeth murmured, "Mr. Wickham seems to be very well rehearsed in the latest ballroom behavior."

Mrs. Forster laughed. "Mr. Wickham is well rehearsed in all behavior that pleases the ladies. He is a definite charmer."

"That he is," Lizzy agreed, gritting her teeth.

Colonel Forster then woke with a snort and they all shortly thereafter went into the dining room for the mid-day meal.

Darcy was already angry when he arrived at Rosings Park. He was angry that he had to make this trip at all. Kent was the last place he wished to visit and his only desire was to take care of the business at hand and quit the place as quickly as possible. Thus, when Lady Catherine announced they would entertain Mr. Collins at supper, Darcy had to literally bite his tongue. The very thought of enduring a meal with that toad of a man did nothing to improve his mood. When he had asked for the whereabouts of the constable and his prisoner - the reason for his visit - Lady Catherine dismissed his question, stating he could see them on the morrow. Tonight he must satisfy her. She wanted to know all about Georgiana, whether she was applying herself with diligence to her lessons and, in particular, her mastery of the pianoforte. Darcy put up with such questioning as long as he could and then excused himself from his aunt's presence with no explanation.

In the great hall he summoned the butler and asked for a servant to be sent into Hunsford Village to the constable's quarters with news of his arrival. He sought an immediate audience with the youth being held in custody who had tried to sell stolen goods. Then Darcy secreted himself in the library and awaited their arrival. He thought that room would provide a rest from his aunt's ceaseless prattle and afford him some relief, but no actual respite was found. True, the library was free of empty talk, but the memories of that room flooded his senses. He could see Elizabeth asleep on the sofa; he could feel her body in his arms as he lay her down; he remembered the scent of her skin and the pucker of her lips; he saw her standing by the bookshelves clad in her robe, her rich, dark hair streaming over her shoulders, and her eyes luminous in the candlelight. He now heard the rain hit the windowpanes just as it had the last night he sat close to her before the fire. How could this great room which belonged to his aunt and which he had visited since childhood now harbor such an essence - the very essence of Elizabeth?

Darcy was haunted - desirous of staying where he could feel her presence surrounding him and yet wanting to run from it. Relief arrived when a servant entered and announced that the constable awaited him in an adjoining room. He strode from the library and greeted the peace officer tersely. A coarse looking youngster cowered nearby, his hands tied behind him, while another man held onto his arm.

"Is this the youth?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy," the constable answered, "he's the one who tried to pawn the necklace off on Henry Adams at the inn."

Darcy took the parcel handed to him and began to unwrap the scraps of paper that held the necklace within. There it was - Elizabeth's garnet cross - none the worse for wear except for the broken chain. He could see it encircling her neck, the dark red stone resting against her creamy skin. The thought of any man's rough hands touching her drove his senses wild and he put his hand to his mouth to keep from cursing.

"Is that the lady's jewelry?" the constable asked. When Darcy nodded, he went on, "And is this boy one of the gypsies you ran out of town, sir?"

Darcy raised his eyes to those of the boy, seeing the fear within. He said nothing but stared at the youth for some time, uncertain whether he had seen this boy traveling with the band of gypsies. At last, he spoke to him, "Where did you get this?"

When the boy said nothing and stared at the floor, the constable yanked his chin upward. "Answer the gentleman and mind your manners!"

"I already told them. I bought it off a man." The lad's speech was rough and his accent made it plain that he was not from around Kent.

"What man?" the constable pressed.

"I don't know his name."

"And how did the likes of you happen to meet this man?"

When further questioning led to nothing of significance, Darcy interrupted. "Did you steal the necklace from a young lady?"

The boy's eyes grew wide with fright once again. "No, sir, I never touched no lady! I never stole from any woman!"

"But you did steal it from this man you speak of, right?"

When the boy dropped his eyes to the floor, both Darcy and the constable could see the truth. "He's not one of the gypsies. I never saw him before," Darcy said.

"That's right," the youth cried, "I ain't no gypsy! But it was gypsies that I got the jewelry off."

"Where were they?" Darcy asked.

"Camped up north. More'n 20 miles from here."

"And what were you doing up there?"

The boy averted his eyes once again and said nothing. The constable twisted his arm and said harshly, "Answer the gentleman!"

"I . . . I met up with the gypsies after I left London."

Darcy looked him in the eye. "What are you running from? Are you wanted by the law?"

The boy shook his head, "No, sir. Just my stepfather. He's a drunk and powerful mean and after my mam died, I lit out. I didn't mean to do no wrong. I couldn't find no work and I was hungry. I thought I could sell the lady's necklace and get some food and enough money to make my way down to the coast. I was hoping to get work on a ship."

Darcy motioned to one of his servants. "Take him in the kitchen and feed him. Then take him down to the stables and let him sleep there."

The constable frowned, "But, sir, do you want the likes of him at Rosings Park?"

Darcy turned to the youth. "Are you bent on making a seaman or would you be satisfied watching my aunt's flock?"

The boy's eyes grew huge with wonder at this undeserved kindness. "No, sir, I mean . . . yes, sir. I . . . I'll do anything you say, sir. All I want is a job and a place to stay."

"You do honest work and I will guarantee you a permanent place, but if you lie and refuse to work or engage in any other dishonesty, my aunt will turn you over to the constable once again, and believe me, son, you do not want to incur the wrath of Lady Catherine. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," the boy said quickly, nodding his head up and down, "thank you, sir." The servant took him to the kitchen and the constable soon left. Darcy wrapped the necklace up in the bits of paper it had come in, slipped it into his pocket and then rejoined Lady Catherine and her audience in the salon.

That night in his bedchamber, Darcy emptied his pockets and placed the packet containing the necklace on the desk. His valet brought him his robe, hung his clothes in the armoire, and after turning down the bed and stoking the fire, he was dismissed. Darcy poured himself a glass of brandy and opened the scraps of paper, once again holding Elizabeth's garnet cross in his hand. He examined where the chain was broken and could see it would take no great expertise to repair it. I should give it to Collins, he thought, and let him return it to Miss Bennet. The thought of giving up this last piece of her, however, saddened him anew as though she was being torn from his very arms.

He threw the necklace on the desk and strode to the window, staring out at the stormy clouds moving swiftly across the dark sky. Why does she prefer another man to me? Am I what she says . . . truly selfish? How did she put it? Full of conceit and prideful disdain for the feelings of others? Darcy stood there for no little time, examining his actions since he had first met Elizabeth Bennet. He relived every instance of their time together, starting with their meeting at an assembly in Meryton. He frowned when he thought of how often in the beginning of their acquaintance he had spoken disparagingly of her or members of her family. He grew embarrassed when he thought of how overconfident his proposal must have sounded in her ears, how pompous he had appeared as he listed the inferiority of her connections, and how totally without regard for her feelings he had declared his willingness to marry her in spite of all this.

I am a fool! I have done nothing to warrant her love or affection. In truth, I have done everything to destroy it!

He ran his fingers through his hair and twisted his signet ring around and around his finger. At length, Darcy returned to the desk and gazed at Elizabeth's necklace. He picked it up and straightened the chain where it had begun to twist when he had thrown it onto the desk. Elizabeth, if I could place this around your neck . . . he thought and then he laid it on the desk once again, realizing he would never have the right to do so.

The scraps of paper in which the necklace had been wrapped littered the desk and Darcy picked them up, intending to toss them in the fire, when the writing on one side caught his attention. . . . beth Bennet was all that he could make out. He turned it over and examined the other side. Only a portion of the writing was legible; he picked up a candle and held it close so that he could read: . . . must conclude, then, that Mr. Bingley does not care for me as I do for him. Do not concern yourself about me, dear Lizzy . . . The words, Bennet and Bingley jumped out at Darcy and he read and re-read both sides of the scrap.

He then quickly picked up the other bits of paper, trying to put them together to form an entire sentence. On one piece he could see some words that were readable . . . scent of your skin drives my passions to excess, and the memory of the taste of your lips . . . He turned it over and on that side it was torn in such a way that he could only make out the name Eliza at the jagged top and Longbou at the bottom. The remainder of the writing was blurred beyond recognition, an obvious consequence of the paper getting wet.

Darcy stumbled backward, sitting heavily on the great bed, completely unaware of his movements. The writings possessed him. He examined them over and over again. Two different hands had written the messages, of that he was certain. A decidedly feminine hand had written that referring to Bingley, a fact that was plain to see when he thought about the message. It must be Miss Bennet who had written it and these must be parts of the letters that Elizabeth had lost in the robbery. What had Jane Bennet written? Mr. Bingley does not care for me as I do for him. Darcy swallowed, wondering if he had been as wrong in his assessment of her feelings for his friend as he had been about Elizabeth's regard for him? If true, his actions were not those of a prudent and wiser friend as he had considered himself to be, but interference of the very worst kind.

He stood and then began to pace, re-examining the second piece of paper. From the name Eliza on one side along with Longbou, it must be a letter written to Elizabeth at Longbourn. For some unexplainable reason the handwriting appeared faintly familiar to him. How could that be? Darcy sickened as he read the passionate words on the opposite side once again. The man's expressions left no doubt that it was written by a lover. This man had held her close, so close he spoke of her scent . . . he had kissed her lips . . . he knew Elizabeth intimately.

Darcy crushed the scrap of paper in his fist and slammed it against the wall, crying out with a curse of anguish too mournful to describe.

Elizabeth stepped out of the apothecary's shop in Brighton, having purchased a headache powder for Charlotte, and was surprised to hear her name being called.

"Miss Bennet!"

She looked around and was delighted to see it was none other than Colonel Fitzwilliam! They greeted each other with great felicity and stood in the open sunshine renewing their acquaintance. The colonel explained that even though he was not in uniform this morning, he had traveled to Brighton on regimental business and would remain until next week. They spent some time reviewing the health and status of their mutual friends. The colonel was relieved to hear that Mrs. Collins seemed to be improving and that Elizabeth and the young Miss Lucas were greatly enjoying their stay at his aunt's residence. He, in turn, informed them that Lady Catherine had completely recovered from her spring illness, as well as his cousin, Anne.

"And Mr. Darcy?" Lizzy finally asked, since he had failed to make mention of him. "I trust he is well?"

"Yes, very well, although the last time I saw him he was quite put out," he laughed.

"Indeed? And did you find that unusual?"

Fitzwilliam laughed again. "I see you know my cousin better than I thought, Miss Bennet."

"One need not know Mr. Darcy well to know that ill humor often besets him," she smiled sweetly. "Was there some particular reason this time or did the sun fail to shine exactly as he preferred?"

"Actually, he was compelled by my aunt to return to Kent when he had planned to return to his home in Derbyshire."

"But your aunt, you said, is well?"

"Oh, yes, Lady Catherine is fine. Darcy was called there to be a witness. The local constable arrested one of the gypsies who accosted you and my cousin was needed for his conviction, I believe."

"Oh," Lizzy said softly, the memory of the incident suddenly flooding her mind and her senses. Her face turned quite pink and she felt herself growing somewhat faint.

"Are you unwell, Miss Bennet?"

"A sudden headache. Perhaps I should return to Waverley."

"Then let me escort you," he said, offering her his arm. They walked across the street to where Lady Catherine's carriage awaited Lizzy. As the footman opened the door to the vehicle and the colonel assisted her on the first step, a voice called out to her and she turned to see Denny and Wickham riding by on their horses. It was Denny who had spoken and she smiled and waved to him. Wickham also nodded, but Lizzy dropped her hand when she saw him.

The colonel noted the exchange and after he had safely deposited her into the carriage, he asked, "May I ask, Miss Bennet, are you acquainted with both of those officers?"

"Yes, they were quartered at Meryton during the winter."

"I see," he said, frowning. He looked up to watch them ride on down the street and saw Wickham turned around in his saddle, his eyes regarding him with suspicion and a frown likewise knitting his brow.

"Do you know them, Colonel?"

"I know Mr. Wickham slightly and what I know of him does not bode well."

Lizzy looked closely at the colonel's expression. "May I ask if your impression of the man is influenced by Mr. Darcy's dislike of him, for I know he does not care for Mr. Wickham, or do you have personal knowledge of him?"

"Unfortunately, my dislike is due to the latter, Miss Bennet. I am not at liberty to discuss the situation, but I would caution you to have as little to do with him as possible. He tends to leave the taint of scandal in his wake."

With a promise to call at Waverley soon, Fitzwilliam bade Lizzy good-bye and they both went on their way. She wondered at the particulars of the colonel's warning but in her heart she was not surprised. The unfailing first impressions that Lizzy had always prided herself upon were beginning to fall like toy soldiers. Upon arriving in Hertfordshire, Wickham had appeared as all that was good and worthy and now she was quite convinced he must surely be the opposite. How could she have been so wrong about him?

Had her father not always praised her astute judgments of others? Yes, the memory flashed before her of his satisfied smile at a pertinent example of her sagacity compared to the blind optimism of Jane or the witless, hopeful acceptance by her younger sisters of any and every male caller who made their way to Longbourn. Perhaps Mr. Bennet's commendations had swelled her own head a little too much. If he could see her now . . . and the dreadful mistake in judgment she had committed, what would he think?

Lizzy leaned her head against the back of the carriage seat, willing the few remaining days to pass quickly until Colonel Forster's ball. In the most clear-cut manner possible, she would tell Wickham that her decision remained unchanged and then she would be free of him at last; thankfully, neither her family nor friends would ever know of her foolishness.

Outside Rosings Park, Lady Catherine's imperious voice faltered when for the umpteenth time she questioned Darcy as to why he must accompany Mr. Collins to Brighton and he gave her no further information than, "I have business there."

She was quite put out that he had cut short his visit to Kent, for she had entertained high hopes that with this visit he might possibly be nearing the time when he wished to make his formal proposal to Anne. After all, they had been thrown together far longer than usual during the spring tonic episode, and even though she had seen his eyes dwell on that uppity Miss Bennet more times than she liked, she knew for a fact that Darcy was too sensible to ever fall for any of her arts and allurements. Why, the girl had no family or connections to attract him! No, Lady Catherine had felt quite smug in her heart that he would not have hurried his return to Rosings were it not for the added attraction of being near Anne. Now here he was, having stayed only long enough to dismiss the charges against that vagabond youth, and today departing for Brighton with nary a "by your leave." She was quite vexed by it all.

Mr. Collins, on the other hand, was beside himself that Mr. Darcy had called on him personally only two days ago and asked him to share a carriage to the seashore. A quandary did present itself when his noble patroness had objected to his absenting his pulpit so soon after he had returned from depositing his wife and family at Brighton, but Mr. Darcy had prevailed, insisting that a man's first priority should be the health and well being of his wife. All in all, the parson was quite done in by so much attention from two such esteemed personages.

Darcy, himself, was in a foul mood. He was excessively tired of Lady Catherine's incessant whine and he dreaded with a passion the close company of Collins on the long ride to Brighton. He had insisted on the rector's making the trip, knowing he needed the man to be in residence at Waverley so that he might stay there also, but he did not relish the thought of spending several days in the boorish man's company. At least Mrs. Collins would be at the house, as well as Miss Lucas . . . and Elizabeth.

In truth, Darcy had been in the blackest of moods for two days since the very night he pieced together Elizabeth's bits of correspondence. Again and again he had tortured himself, racking his brain as to the identity of the man who had written the letter of passion and wondering why the handwriting appeared vaguely recognizable? Once more he went through the list of men he knew in Longbourn whom Elizabeth might possibly consider. The sole resident who fit the bill and whose script Darcy would know could only be Bingley. The very thought of his friend penning such a note to Elizabeth was ludicrous. In the first place, his affections lay with her sister, plus this hand hardly compared to Bingley's ink-blotted scrawl.

Eventually, Darcy's mental inventions even progressed so far as to suspect Fitzwilliam! Could the colonel have entered into such a base arrangement with Miss Bennet? Surely not! Still, he did admire her and he had made no attempt to hide his regard. Could Richard have asked her to keep quiet their attachment until he persuaded his parents to accept her? Darcy dismissed the idea, seeing that they had not even met until just before Easter. His cousin could not possibly have secured her affections so quickly . . . or could he? Darcy thought back to the night Elizabeth lay sleeping on the sofa in Rosings and Fitzwilliam's words, "I could put up with a lot to be married to such a woman."

From there Darcy's mind raced to his last visit with his cousin in London and his excuse for not making the trip to Kent - Fitzwilliam was required to travel to Brighton on military matters! "On military matters, my Aunt Fanny!" he shouted aloud in his chambers.

He then scoured his room, his books, his papers, anything that might contain a sample of the colonel's handwriting, but to no avail. If it had not been after midnight, he would have awakened Lady Catherine and asked to see correspondence she might have saved from her nephew, but thankfully, Darcy did look at the clock before engaging in such action and by morning his good sense had returned. He knew his cousin was far too reasonable a man to engage himself to Miss Bennet, a woman with no fortune or connections. Richard was a younger son and his future depended upon his marrying well. No, the passionate letters could not have been written by Fitzwilliam.

The realization that a man had such access to Elizabeth as had been suggested in her lover's letter still shocked and inflamed Darcy's senses. When at last he had ceased reading the inflammatory words over and over again and eventually calmed himself, he attempted to be rational - after all, she had admitted she was engaged to another. Did not such an attachment afford her intended such liberties? Indeed, if he were so fortunate as to be in that man's position, would he not take every opportunity to touch her cheek, her hand, her hair, to take her into his arms and satisfy his desire to kiss her until he could somehow slake this tormenting hunger? Yes, he had to admit that he wanted the right to do all that and more, but the very thought that another man had the privilege was driving him mad.

For this reason his first reaction had been a most urgent desire to drop off the necklace with Collins and make haste to Pemberley without the slightest backward glance, putting all of this far behind him. But then he thought of Jane Bennet's letter to her sister, how desolate her words had sounded, how Darcy could identify with her feelings of despair. The thought that he had contributed to the sorrow of such a kindred soul was what finally drove him to make this trip to Brighton. If he had been wrong about Miss Bennet's feelings for Bingley, if she truly did care for him, he must make it right. He must correct his part in the misdeed, but first, he must make sure that he had not misread the scraps of paper. He would have to see Elizabeth one last time and ascertain whether her sister truly did love Bingley.

Darcy told himself that was the sole reason for this trip, that it was for this noble cause that he would endure the torment of her presence one last time. He told himself that more than once . . . and as it gave him comfort, he desperately tried his very best to believe it.

And of course, a voice deep within added, it will do no harm to observe Fitzwilliam's behavior when he is in the company of Elizabeth.

Chapter 12

Posted on Saturday, 2 August 2003

Mr. Collins and Darcy arrived at Waverley Cottage without prior warning. There had been no time for a letter to reach Mrs. Collins before they departed Kent, and thus, none of the ladies in residence at Brighton were expecting them. They entered the house in late afternoon and received greetings only from the servants. The housekeeper informed Mr. Collins that his wife and sister-in-law were resting in their chambers. As for Miss Bennet, she had gone out some time ago and had not yet returned.

Much excitement ensued when Charlotte and Maria discovered their presence. They both descended the stairs and Mrs. Collins ordered tea served in the parlor. She was quite surprised by the visit from her husband, but even more so by Mr. Darcy, and could only speculate that it must be due to his continued interest in Elizabeth. She was at a loss to explain where her friend had gone, but supposed it to be for a long walk, as they all agreed that Miss Bennet was an excellent walker. After paying his respects to Mrs. Collins and assuring himself that her health appeared to be improving, Darcy excused himself with the proffered reason of allowing Mr. Collins time alone with his family. In truth, he sought the relief of time away from Mr. Collins.

He retired to his chambers for a short while, but the view from his window drew Darcy just as it had when he was a boy. He had always loved the sea and remembered with pleasure the seasonal occasions he had spent in this house with his parents before Georgiana was born. His mother also particularly cared for the ocean, and as Lady Catherine did not, it was the Darcys who frequented Waverley more than the de Bourghs, at least in the years prior to his mother's death. He tried to remember whether he and his father had ever brought Georgiana to Brighton, and could recall only one time when she was quite small. Memories at the place particularly stirred the older Mr. Darcy's grief and thus, they had never returned. For the first time Darcy had some inkling of the deprivation and pain his father must have experienced in the loss of his wife. Elizabeth still lived, but she was as good as dead in Darcy's life.

He felt himself growing morose and resolved to put away such thoughts. A walk on the beach was in order. It would surely lift his spirits as it exercised the constraint of travel from his limbs. He changed to more casual clothing and slipped out the back entrance, hoping to escape any notice of company and especially that of Mr. Collins. After descending the steps of the chalk cliff, he turned away from the more populated eastern beach and headed west. Once again, he rejoiced that his uncle had bought property on the outskirts of Brighton, affording a much more private shore. Darcy's favorite haunts were the rock cliffs straight ahead around the bend. There he could appreciate nature's majesty, watching the waves splash against the dark rocks, the edges spewing ripples of foam.

The sea was rough today, its roar deafening, but Darcy welcomed it, for it drowned out the voices in his head, the voices that repeated what a fool he had been for falling in love with a woman who did not want him and what a fool he continued to be for seeking her out once again. He resolved to use this walk to collect his thoughts, to prepare himself for her presence. He would refuse to allow his emotions to rule his actions. He would ask her of her sister's true feelings for Bingley and then he would know how to act. If he had wronged the couple, then he would make it right. Once that was done, he need have nothing more to do with the Bennet family. He need never see Elizabeth again. There, he had worked it out. It was a good plan, one that he would stick to, one that he would carry out with no diversion.

As Darcy congratulated himself on this sensible resolve, he leaned against the huge black cliff jutting out into the ocean. He remembered how, as a boy, he and Fitzwilliam had often climbed on it, what fun it had been. He even smiled in remembrance when . . . he looked up and to his utter amazement saw Elizabeth climbing down from that very rock!

"Mr. Darcy!" she cried when she saw him, her eyes wide with shock.

"Miss Bennet!" was all that he could say.

"I . . . that is . . . I thought you were in London, sir . . . I had no idea . . ."

"I . . . I just arrived an hour ago. You are . . . all wet."

Lizzy's eyes widened even more as she remembered that her damp clothing had precipitated her sudden descent from the cliff. A larger than usual wave had caught her unawares as she had perched on the rock and now her gown and hair were quite soaked. She had intended to run back to Waverley before anyone might discover her in such disarray.

"Yes . . ." she stammered, "an unexpected wave . . ."

Darcy's eyes took in how the damp gown clung to her body, outlining her curves, the pale peach color appearing almost the color of her skin when wet. When his eyes returned to her face he could see how embarrassed she was and he tried mightily to avert his gaze. He raised his hands to assist her, but just then Lizzy's foot slipped slightly on the wet rock and she started to fall. Instinctively, Darcy's hands encircled her waist and he caught her in his arms, her face next to his, her scent enveloping him and his senses on fire with her nearness. When her feet touched the sand, Darcy held onto her, his eyes upon hers, neither breaking the gaze. Then his eyes traveled to her lips and he was helpless to break his fascination. Slowly, so very, very slowly, he leaned down toward her mouth.

Elizabeth had caught her breath when first he touched her, but now necessity dictated that she breathe and her breathlessness came forth in a gasp, her bosom moving against his chest, her body trembling within his embrace, and . . . reality returned. Darcy met her eyes once more and then released her. "Here, take my jacket," he said quickly, shucking his coat and placing it around her shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured, obviously flustered. "If you will give me a moment, sir, I must find my shoes."

Darcy smiled slightly. "So you have misplaced them once again?"

Lizzy turned away from him and closed her eyes, recalling the awkward moment at Rosings to which he referred. "I know where they are this time, as I put them safely inside this cleft at the base of the rock." She walked around the side of the cliff, but much to her dismay she discovered that the tide had washed in much farther than anticipated and now her slippers were somewhere at the bottom of the deep. Why must this man repeatedly come upon me in the most embarrassing of circumstances? she fumed.

When she returned to Darcy's side still barefoot and pursing her lips, he asked, "Is there some difficulty, Miss Bennet?"

"It seems that the sea has claimed my shoes. Excuse me." She bowed slightly and began walking rapidly toward Waverley.

Darcy could not refrain from smiling at this lovely girl's attempt at dignity in such a disconcerting position. She held her head up and gave every appearance that she was quite used to walking down the beach in a thoroughly wet gown, sans shoes, and clad in a gentleman's jacket far too large for her slender frame. He started to call to her, but decided to let her go. Perhaps she might even consider that as the gentleman-like thing to do. Only moments before he had come dangerously close to acting less than a gentleman. How could he have allowed himself to almost kiss her? She was engaged to another man. He had no right to her. Had he not determined less than an hour ago to banish all thoughts of her from his mind other than to question her about her sister and Bingley? Yet at first sight of her, the impulse to claim her lips with his had overwhelmed him, overpowering his reason as easily as the waves washed over the rocks on the sand. He had no more strength against his desire than a grain of sand could withstand such a deluge of water. Had Elizabeth realized what was about to happen? Was that the reason for her audible gasp? If so, her opinion of him had no doubt dropped even more. Darcy turned back to walk along the beach, his thoughts in tumult, and a smile no longer gracing his countenance.

That evening at dinner Elizabeth avoided looking directly at Darcy. She was busy enough ignoring knowing glances from Charlotte. From the beach Lizzy had slipped into her room with only the servants' knowledge of her appearance and she had sworn her maid to secrecy when she entrusted her with the return of Darcy's coat to his valet. She knew, of course, that the servants would talk among themselves, but as long as none of it drifted back to Charlotte or Maria or, even worse, Mr. Collins, Lizzy felt that her escapade on the beach would remain between Mr. Darcy and herself.

Mr. Collins had occupied most of his wife's time before dinner telling her of all that had occurred at Rosings Park since her absence, so that Charlotte had no time to discuss with Lizzy the possible reasons for Darcy's visit. Now, at the table, there was no mistaking her obvious matchmaking.

"Mr. Darcy," Charlotte said, "do you not find all of our complexions improved since we have the benefits of the sea air, and in particular, Miss Bennet's?"

Darcy looked at Lizzy and a faint smile could be seen playing around his eyes. "Most assuredly, Mrs. Collins. I would say the climate agrees with both you and Miss Lucas. As for Miss Bennet, I believe she and the ocean seem to possess a mutual attraction for each other, for I have never seen her look better."

Lizzy blushed under his perusal and determined to change the subject. "I recently met with an acquaintance of yours in Brighton, sir."

When he looked up from his drink, she went on, "Colonel Fitzwilliam. I assume that is the reason for your visit, that you have business with him?"

Darcy's eyes narrowed and he looked at her intently, searching for some preference on her part for his cousin. "Yes, Richard told me he was coming to Brighton and I do have plans to see him soon. Did you say he has called on you?"

"No, I met him by chance while on an errand, but he has promised to call and we look forward to it with pleasure."

Darcy measured her words carefully, searching for any clue that there might be some tie between the colonel and Elizabeth. Had her eyes sparkled a bit more when she spoke of him? Did she appear slightly more animated? He heard his name called then and struggled to focus his attention on Maria Lucas.

"Mr. Darcy, will you and the colonel not attend Colonel Forster's ball on Saturday?"

"The colonel is hosting a ball?" Mr. Collins interjected. "How splendid! I do love a ball!"

Lizzy rolled her eyes at the thought of having to endure another dance with her bumbling cousin. "Surely, sir, you will not leave Mrs. Collins here alone."

At this point Charlotte quite shocked her friend. "Actually, Elizabeth, I am quite looking forward to attending the dance."

"Charlotte!" Maria cried. "Will you go?"

"Do you think that is wise?" Lizzy asked.

Charlotte smiled, "I think it is if I go as an observer. Mrs. Forster has assured me there will be an abundance of comfortable seating and my physician has given his approval. He believes getting out in society will do me good."

"That is wonderful, Charlotte!" Lizzy said.

"Indeed," Darcy echoed. "And, Miss Lucas, to answer your question, if Fitzwilliam and I are invited to the ball, we shall attend I am sure. Did I understand you correctly, though? Did you say Colonel Forster? Could this be the same Colonel Forster who was with the militia in Meryton?"

"Oh, yes," Maria answered, blushing at the man's attention, for she was still quite in awe of him. "It is the very same. He and his soldiers have been here in Brighton as long as we have, is that not correct, Lizzy?"

Lizzy nodded and watched Darcy's expression grow dark. He realizes Wickham is here, she thought. Perhaps he will not attend the ball after all.

Darcy was gone for much of the next day. He returned to Waverley late in the afternoon and brought Colonel Fitzwilliam with him. Their timing was most unfortunate, as it coincided with the conclusion of a visit to Mrs. Collins by some of the younger officers. Denny, Captain Carter, and Wickham had just risen and were making their farewells when Darcy and Fitzwilliam entered the house. Being in uniform, the officers, of course, greeted the colonel with great respect and then spoke to Darcy. He, in turn, greeted each of them until he came to Wickham. With an abrupt turn and less than a curt nod, he stalked to the opposite end of the room and stood gazing out the window. Upon first seeing Darcy, Wickham had appeared quite startled and then with the realization that he was obviously in residence at Waverley, Wickham had looked from Elizabeth to Darcy and back again quite pointedly. Colonel Fitzwilliam, as well, had very little to say to Wickham. It was a visibly awkward moment and the three young men soon left, assuring all that they would see them at Colonel Forster's ball.

Mr. Collins immediately applied to the colonel as to his health and well being and positioned himself in a chair nearest the gentleman so that he could enlighten him on the status of his aunt when last he had seen her at Rosings Park. Elizabeth could not keep from watching Darcy even though she attempted to listen attentively to the conversation about her. Why could Darcy not even be civil to Wickham? Was it guilt that caused such discomfort in his presence? Lizzy acknowledged that Wickham was far less of a gentleman than she had originally thought, but why did Darcy positively detest him? Surely his faithlessness with women could have no bearing on Darcy's opinion of him. Why would that cause him to withhold the living his father had promised to Wickham in his will? It was all such a puzzle.

Darcy, on the other hand, struggled exceedingly to gain control of his temper. The thought of Wickham setting foot in his aunt's house grated on him exceedingly, not to mention the idea of his calling on Elizabeth. Oh, he knew according to society, the officers were calling on Mrs. Collins, but it was plain to see that the appeal drawing them to Waverley had to be the unmarried ladies, the most attractive of which could only be Elizabeth. It angered him anew each time he thought of the untruths about him that Wickham had obviously fed her. If only she had read his letter at Rosings, she would know the truth. Did it matter what she thought of him? After all, she would never be his, and yet, Darcy could not rest thinking Elizabeth believed he was capable of the malicious deeds of which Wickham had accused him. I must find a way to tell her, he thought.

Eventually, Mrs. Collins invited Colonel Fitzwilliam to stay for supper. They spent much time visiting and after dining, Elizabeth was prevailed upon to play and sing for them. The colonel sat beside her and dutifully watched the music in time to turn the pages, but it was Darcy who watched Elizabeth.

Sometime earlier he had satisfied himself that his suspicions about his cousin and Elizabeth were false, mere delusions brought on by his frantic jealousy. Upon Darcy's introduction of her name several times during the course of their day spent together, Fitzwilliam had shown no undue or excessive interest. The colonel, in turn, had spoken long and passionately about a certain Miss Bradshaw whom he had met at a soiree in London shortly before leaving for Brighton. Darcy considered that such talk might be nothing more than a ruse to hide the truth, but Fitzwilliam did appear quite smitten with said lady. The final confirmation that his fears were in error occurred when he observed the colonel sign a voucher for a lace handkerchief purchased for his mother's upcoming birthday. In no way did his handwriting compare to that of the author of the love letter to Elizabeth. Relief had washed over him at the thought that his cousin was not the guilty party, for by now Darcy was convinced that any man who thought so lightly of Elizabeth as to engage her in a secret manner and yet avail himself of her charms as this man so obviously had done, could be nothing but a rogue.

Now that Lizzy had finished, Maria took her place at the pianoforte and Fitzwilliam told the company that he and Darcy had eaten luncheon with the Forsters that same day and they had issued an invitation for them to attend the ball on Saturday.

"And did you meet my sister, Colonel Fitzwilliam?" Lizzy asked.

"Ah, yes, the fair Miss Lydia. I did, indeed."

Lizzy noted the frown crossing Darcy's brow. "I do hope she behaved herself, for she is at that most trying of ages."

"Most ebullient, but quite charming in her own way," he answered graciously. "She was quite excited over a recent game encountered at Sir Andrew Mayhew's house the other evening. What was it named, Darcy?"

"I do not recall," he replied, obviously uninterested.

"It is where one person acts out a title to a novel or a play or perhaps a line from a poem and the others must guess what it is. The actor is bound to say nothing, as though he were a mime. Let me see, why can I not remember it?" He then snapped his fingers, "Oh yes, of course, that's it - Charades! Have you ever played it?"

When all assembled answered in the negative, Fitzwilliam went on to repeat some examples Lydia had related. "Your sister said that names of songs were quite easy to guess and, of course, titles from Mr. Shakespeare's plays."

"It sounds quite challenging to me," Charlotte remarked. "I doubt that I could think of any way in which to portray something without speaking."

"I think it would be great fun," Lizzy said, "although I do believe the most difficult to interpret would be lines of verse, simply because there are so many."

Darcy stood up then and poured himself another glass of brandy. "That would be the advantage, then, would it not?"

"What do you mean, Darcy?" asked Fitzwilliam.

"Those like Miss Bennet, who are great lovers of poetry, would be certain to win." He turned to Elizabeth and said, "Surely you could guess lines acted from William Wordsworth's collection, could you not? Is he not a great favorite of yours?"

"I suppose it would depend upon the skill of the actor."

"Well, say I did a line from It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free such as, 'The greatness of heaven broods o'er the sea.' Would that not be fairly simple to portray?"

"Certainly not for me, Darcy," the colonel replied.

"Nor I," Charlotte added.

"The greatness of heaven . . . hmm, surely I could act that out," Mr. Collins intoned, standing and beginning to flap his arms around.

"Well, if you did, you would be in error, sir," Lizzy said with an arch look, "for Mr. Darcy has misquoted Mr. Wordsworth."

"Have I now? I think not." Darcy said, staring at her over his glass.

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed, "Enlighten us, Miss Bennet, please. It will give me great pleasure to see you correct my cousin."

"The line is, 'The gentleness of heaven broods o'er the sea.'"

Darcy shook his head. "No, I take exception, Miss Bennet. I am sure the word is greatness, for why should the poet speak of the sea as gentle or heaven for that matter? Are not both of them more aptly described as great? No, I am sure you are wrong."

"I am not wrong, sir. I know the poem well."

"I beg to differ, Madam. You are mistaken."

"I am not."

"Does it really matter?" Charlotte interrupted, unhappy to see discord arising between the couple.

"I believe it does matter, Mrs. Collins," Darcy replied. "Tell me, is there a copy of Wordsworth in the house? I know that my aunt has no ear for poetry and keeps no editions in Waverley's library, but perhaps one of you might have a collection?"

Lizzy looked at Darcy intently, suddenly knowing full well that he had misquoted the poem on purpose. He was telling her to read Wordsworth. Once again he was directing her to the poet. What was he trying to say? She stood up and placed her glass on the table beside her. "I have a copy among my things. Shall I retrieve it for you, Mr. Darcy?"

"There's no need for me to see it, for I am quite certain of what is contained therein. But do take the time to look it up and report back to us, for I am most interested in your discovery."

His words said one thing but Lizzy had the strangest feeling that his eyes were sending her a completely different message. All three gentlemen stood as she left the room, but Darcy's eyes were those that followed her.

When Lizzy had not returned over an hour later, Charlotte sent Maria to check on her. The young girl tapped lightly on the door and upon entering, was quite surprised to find Lizzy sitting in the middle of her bed surrounded by pages of correspondence.

"Lizzy, are you not returning? Colonel Fitzwilliam is about to leave."

Elizabeth looked up, her eyes clouded as though she did not comprehend Maria's message, as though she were somewhere far away. "What? Oh! Please make my excuses, Maria. Bid the colonel good-evening for me and tell him I hope to see him again very soon."

"Then you are not coming downstairs?"

"What? No, no, I . . . I cannot. Not tonight."

"Lizzy, are you unwell?"

"I have a slight headache, but please, do not concern yourself, Maria. Go now and do as I ask."

She turned toward the door, but then stopped again. "Lizzy, what about the poem?"

"The what?"

"The poem - the lines in the verse. Did Mr. Darcy quote it correctly or did you?"

"Oh, yes, the verse." Lizzy picked up the book of Wordsworth poems and handed it to Maria. "Here, take the book to Mr. Darcy. He can see for himself what it contains and . . . what it no longer contains."

With a confused expression on her face, Maria took the collection and left the room. Soon thereafter, Colonel Fitzwilliam made his farewells for the night and all except Darcy soon made their way above stairs to retire. Charlotte looked in on her friend briefly and found her in the same position that Maria had seen, surrounded by what appeared to be pages from a letter.

"Is everything all right, Elizabeth? Maria said you have a headache. You have not received an alarming post this late in the evening, have you?"

Lizzy quickly gathered the pages together and attempted to fold them. "No, Charlotte. This is not a recent letter. It was written some time ago."

"And yet it has disturbed you, has it not? Yes, I can see from your countenance that you are upset. Why must you read it again?"

Lizzy turned her face from that of her friend. "At times it is essential to face the truth, is it not?"

"What truth, Elizabeth and why tonight? What was it that happened between you and Mr. Darcy? I had the strangest feeling you were not arguing about lines in a verse. Can you not tell me about it?"

"I wish that I could, Charlotte, but it involves others and I am not free to do so."

"You do know that I love you as a sister, Lizzy. I will do anything that I can to help you."

"Aye," she said, putting her arms around her friend and kissing her lightly on the forehead, "and I feel the same toward you. Now, please, go to bed and do not worry about me."

After Charlotte left, Elizabeth walked to the window seat and pushed open the panes, gulping in the salt air, hoping it would lessen the constriction she had felt in her chest since opening the book of Wordsworth. True enough, as she had suspected, contained therein she had found much more than poetry. The letter Darcy had tried to give her in Rosings Park the morning after his proposal tumbled to the floor when she opened the book. This time she no longer refused to read it and its contents were all that she feared and much, much more.

Lizzy had stormed all over the bedchamber upon reading the first portion of the letter. Darcy believed that Jane Bennet had no strong feelings for Bingley and he, along with Bingley's sisters, had concealed knowledge of her presence in London from his friend. He had done all that he could to dissuade his friend from pursuing her because of her lack of fortune, her connections, and the want of propriety betrayed by her family, but most of all because he did not believe Jane showed any peculiar regard for Bingley. Insufferable presumption!

The second part, however, had caused Lizzy to sit down. Darcy gave a detailed account of his dealings with Wickham, how they had grown up together and how his father had cared for him and supported him at school and at Cambridge after Wickham had lost his own parents. Mr. Darcy, Sr., had died some five years previous and in his will left a valuable living to Mr. Wickham hoping he would make the church his profession, but by that time George Wickham's behaviour had grown quite dissolute. He refused the living and was granted the sum of 3,000 pounds in its place. Darcy had lost all connection with him until last summer when he discovered Wickham attempting an elopement with his sister, Georgiana, who was but 15 years old! Darcy had arrived just in time to foil the scheme. He then had referred Elizabeth to Colonel Fitzwilliam for the veracity of his statements, saying he was well acquainted with all of the particulars.

She was stunned. Astonishment, apprehension, and even horror oppressed her. She had come to suspect on her own that Wickham was a ladies' man, but to be a trifler of young girls. How could this be? How could he have deceived her so? How could she have allowed herself to be so taken in? She felt like such a fool. Over and over again she returned to the letter, refusing to believe it and then seeing the truths contained therein.

Elizabeth grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling that she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd. "How despicably have I acted!" she cried, "I who have prided myself on my discernment! I who have valued myself on my abilities! How humiliating is this discovery! Pleased with the preference of one and offended by the neglect of the other at the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance and driven reason away where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself."

The clock struck midnight when Darcy took his glass and walked out on the terrace. The moon was almost full and cast a shimmering path over the whitecaps from the shoreline to the dark horizon in the distance. A light breeze ruffled his hair, but it was warm and pleasant. He sipped his drink and listened to the call of the ocean for some time. At length he left the terrace and walked down to the rock wall. There he leaned against it and let his thoughts wander. What had been Elizabeth's reaction to his letter? She evidently had an aversion to even being in his presence or she would have rejoined the party tonight. Perhaps she would never want to see him again. He thought with regret of the harsh things he had written about her family. If possible, he would have erased that part of the letter, for he had no desire that she read his angry outburst in that regard; but he did want to defend himself against her accusations of his mistreatment of Wickham. He would not be held liable in her eyes for that scoundrel's losses.

What did her opinion of him matter, anyway? She belonged to another and once he corrected his part in the situation between her sister and Bingley, he would leave and never see her again. The very thought made his heart ache and he turned to look up at her window, searching to see if a candle still burned therein. Instead, Darcy saw the door to the terrace open and Elizabeth standing there, her figure illuminated by the light inside. He held his breath, silently willing her to walk out, and when she did, his relief was palpable. He stood perfectly still, waiting to see if she would remain on the terrace, but she continued walking straight toward him. When she reached his side, they both turned and leaned against the wall, staring out at the moon and the water, looking at everything and anything but each other. For some time, the only sounds heard were those of nature.

At last Elizabeth said, "You were wrong about the poem."

"Yes."

"I was wrong about more serious things."

"Miss Bennet, I know you could not accept the letter from me because of your . . . attachment, but I felt it was imperative that you know certain facts. I could not rest without defending myself against Mr. Wickham's false accusations. As you have obviously guessed by now, I placed the letter in your book when I went to Hunsford Cottage to see about Mr. Collins the night everyone was so ill."

"Very clever. I marvel that I have never discovered it since that time, but then my mood has not turned toward poetry as of late." She began to walk back and forth along the rock wall, turning her face from his. "Mr. Darcy, prior to tonight I had discovered that Mr. Wickham is not a man to be trusted, but your revelations are shocking. I believe I owe you an apology. I should not have believed his lies about you."

"Mr. Wickham has the happy manners that enable him to make friends easily and they likewise make him appear very believable as well. You were no more taken in by him than any other."

"Well, perhaps a little more," Lizzy sighed, "but I now know what kind of man he is and have only to regret any association we ever had."

Nothing more was said for a few moments and then Lizzy spoke anew, "What I cannot forgive, Mr. Darcy, are your accusations about my sister's lack of feelings for Mr. Bingley. The charges against the rest of my family may be just, although I have no appreciation for your unkind detailing of them, but you are quite mistaken about Jane!"

"I am very glad to hear that."

"And if you think I will stand here and permit . . ." Lizzy stopped and turned to face him. "I beg your pardon? What did you just say?"

"I said I am very glad to hear that I am mistaken about Miss Bennet. I had reason to suspect that I was in error on that point and that is actually the reason I made this trip to Brighton - to talk to you and learn the truth on that point. If your sister truly does have a strong regard for Bingley, then I shall write to him first thing tomorrow and correct my part in discouraging him from his pursuit."

"She does! Truly she does care for Mr. Bingley!"

Darcy smiled. "I rejoice to hear it for both their sakes and I apologize for my interference. I also hope you will forgive me for my rudeness concerning your family. I confess I wrote in anger that night and I should not have said what I did."

Lizzy smiled slightly and cocked her head to one side. "True. You should not have, but I will forgive you, for as I recall, I said some terrible things to you as well."

"Nothing that I did not deserve. The recollection of my conduct, my manners, and my expressions that day are inexpressibly painful to me. I shall never forget your reproof - 'Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.' You know not how those words have tortured me."

"I had not the smallest idea of their ever being felt in such a way."

"I can easily believe it. You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling. And now I must ask your forgiveness one last time for contriving this way for you to read the letter when your conscience so clearly forbade it because of your . . . engagement." He looked away then, unable to hide the sorrow in his voice.

"There is no need, sir," Elizabeth said softly, "for I did not violate my conscience. I am no longer going to marry."

A lump then appeared in Darcy's throat so large that he could not speak. He turned to look upon her beautiful face, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes, and the softness of her cheek illuminating the shadows, but it was all so unclear, as though he were in a dream. Elizabeth said no more, but with a long look into his eyes, she left him and walked into the house. It was then that Darcy realized he watched her go through an unexpected mist of tears.

Continued In Next Section