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Chapter 38: Confrontation

Darcy, returning to the manor, was feeling quite relaxed and satisfied. The fresh air had quite invigorated his spirits, his lady was returned to him and improving rapidly, and it would not be long before the unfinished business between them was settled to the satisfaction of all concerned. His posture and easy stride bespoke his happiness; Bingley, beside him, grinned with pleasure.

"I say," said Hurst, who was leading the party. "Isn't that your housekeeper, Darcy? And whose is that carriage?"

The sight of the normally staid Mrs. Reynolds half-running down the drive towards them gave both Darcy and Bingley a jolt of alarm. Abandoning dignity, Darcy broke into a jog, his heart filling with an unbidden fear.

"Oh! Mr. Darcy!" panted the housekeeper as he ran up to her, relief evident on her face. "You are needed in the house, immediately. Lady Catherine De Bourgh has just arrived - she demanded to see Miss Bennet, and that is where she has gone. As soon as I was told of it I saw that Mr. Bennet was informed - but I fear you are needed, sir, and very much!"

"Lady Catherine, here?" Darcy's eyes widened at the thought.

"Yes, sir. She arrived not long ago, and forced poor Emmet to tell her of Miss Bennet's whereabouts. By all accounts she is very angry..."

But she was speaking to the air; Darcy had taken to his heels, with Bingley in hot pursuit. Mr. Hurst was left in puzzlement on the drive, as Mrs. Reynolds instantly hurried back the way she had come.

Mr. Bennet escorted Lady Catherine to a sitting room well removed from Elizabeth's vicinity, and they sat to wait for tea. He then amused himself by engaging the quietly fuming Lady Catherine in polite conversation about his cousin, Mr. Collins. The effort required to do so proved a welcome distraction, for his anxieties about his daughter's current condition were plentiful - yet he felt he could not leave this particular visitor unattended in order to quiet his fears. The relief that flooded through him when Georgiana and Mrs. Gardiner entered the room was well-hidden but very real, and it was not long before Mr. Bennet made his excuses, promising to return anon.

No sooner had Mr. Bennet quit the room than he met Darcy and Bingley, who were striding down the hallway, Darcy's expression intent, Bingley's worried.

"Lady Catherine is inside, with Miss Darcy and Mrs. Gardiner," said Mr. Bennet, the teasing glint missing from his mild blue eyes. "I managed to extricate her from Lizzy's bedroom - now I must go and see if Lizzy has survived the experience."

"Thank you, sir," said Darcy grimly. "And I must deal with my aunt. I trust I will see you shortly."

With a nod, Mr. Bennet hurried away.

Lady Catherine's unforgiving gaze pinioned Darcy the instant he stepped through the door.

"Darcy! So there you are, at last."

"Aunt Catherine," said Darcy coolly, with a bow. "This is an unexpected pleasure."

Lady Catherine raised her brows. "Unexpected? You do not think that your nearest relations should take an interest in your future?"

"Mr. Darcy," interjected Mrs. Gardiner as she stood, warmth and sympathy radiating from her expression. "Lady Catherine, I am so pleased to have made your acquaintance, but I really feel I must go and see how my niece is faring."

Lady Catherine's eyes swept over to Mrs. Gardiner, who did not flinch. "Yes, I understand she has been ill."

"Very ill, ma'am. In fact she is still affording us a great deal of anxiety - so if you will excuse me..."

"Of course, Mrs. Gardiner," said Darcy calmly. "Perhaps Georgiana would like to accompany you."

Georgiana, who had been sitting in silence with wide eyes and a pale face, almost jumped up in her obvious eagerness to comply with her brother's suggestion.

"Very well then, Georgiana," condescended the Lady. "I will speak to you later, no doubt. Mrs. Gardiner, good day."

The two ladies curtsied respectfully and left the room. Bingley, with a bow and a nervous clearing of the throat, snuck out behind them, leaving Darcy and his aunt alone.

"Sit down Darcy, I mean to speak with you," ordered Lady Catherine.

"I prefer to stand," Darcy replied shortly.

"As you will, though you must know I think it perfectly rude to stand while someone else is talking." Lady Catherine gave her nephew a look of disapproval, but Darcy did not react, so she continued. "A report of the most alarming nature reached me at Rosings very recently, and I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, that I might make my sentiments known to you."

"A report?" frowned Darcy, anger in his tone. "What kind of report?"

"A most disturbing one," was Lady Catherine's assured rejoinder. "Admittedly some of it turns out to have been exaggerated, and I can only hope the rest will prove likewise."

"Well, Aunt," said Darcy, striding to the window, "Are you going to tell me the substance of this disturbing report?"

"Most certainly! It concerns the presence in this house of Miss Elizabeth Bennet," declared Lady Catherine.

Darcy turned to his aunt, his face expressionless. "Miss Bennet is in this house because to move her further would have threatened her life. She has been very seriously injured and common decency would permit no other option, even if I did not consider her a friend."

"A friend!" Lady Catherine pounced, getting to her feet. "So, you are not engaged to her?"

"Is this what the mysterious report said? That we were engaged?"

"Very nearly engaged, it said. Have you forgotten Anne? Have you no thought for duty, honour and gratitude? To consider an alliance with a young woman of inferior birth, of no importance in the world, and wholly unallied to the family! Are you lost to every feeling of propriety and decency, Darcy, to be contemplating such a thing?"

Darcy held up a hand. "A moment, if you please, Aunt. You have not given me opportunity to answer your question."

Lady Catherine stared at him a moment, then recovered. "So you are not engaged to her?"

"I am not."

Closing her eyes in relief, Lady Catherine sank back into her chair. "You are not engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

"I am not engaged to Miss Bennet, for one very good reason - and that is not the inferiority of her connections, her family's lack of fortune, or your desire that I marry Anne." Darcy was beginning to enjoy himself.

Curious, Lady Catherine demanded, "Then what is the reason?"

"Quite simply, it is because she was unfortunate enough to get shot just before I could ask her to marry me," Darcy announced, not without satisfaction. "So perhaps I should say, I am not engaged to Miss Bennet - yet."

Lady Catherine's mouth hung open for a moment. "You must promise me you will not!" She burst out.

"I will make no promise of the kind," said Darcy, with considerable determination. "I fully intend to marry Miss Bennet."

"And what of Anne? What of your poor mother's wishes, that the noble lines from whence you both descend be strengthened by unity?" Lady Catherine was clearly horrified.

"I have every respect for Anne, and for my mother's memory; but I believe she would first have wished to see me happy. I mean to pursue that happiness, and for many months now I have been of the firmest belief that my happiness lies with Miss Bennet. You cannot dissuade me." Darcy remained adamant.

While Lady Catherine was digesting this most indigestible of thoughts, a servant entered with fresh tea, cakes and fruit; directly behind her came Mr. Bennet, his face drawn and grey.

One look at the grim set of the older man's features was enough to make Darcy's blood run cold. "Mr. Bennet! What news, sir?"

Mr. Bennet sat as though he could no longer carry his own weight. He glanced up at Darcy, but would not hold his gaze as he spoke. "We cannot wake her up. She is completely unconscious again. I have taken the liberty of calling for Dr. Maxwell."

Darcy swayed, his face visibly paling as he carefully lowered himself into a chair. There was silence for several moments before Darcy, his face now reddening with anger, surged to his feet and confronted his aunt.

"The doctor had issued strict instructions that she was not to be upset, yet you took it upon yourself to invade her sickroom and do just that despite the protests of the servants! What did you say to Elizabeth, Lady Catherine?"

A flicker of guilt passed over Lady Catherine's sharp features, but it was quickly replaced by her usual hauteur. "I said nothing upsetting. I merely asked her why she was at Pemberley. And I'll thank you not to take that tone with me, young man, I am your Aunt and your senior."

At this, Mr. Bennet could no longer contain himself, and he too rose to his feet. "Why she was at Pemberley? Would that have been before or after your little lecture on her merits, or lack of them, as a match for your nephew? I am a mild fellow, Lady Catherine, and I do not like to speak ill of anyone, but to raise such an issue with a young lady in her condition was a completely heartless thing to do! Now my daughter's condition has worsened again, thanks to your friendly little visit. What will the doctor tell me? That this time she will not wake up?" Utterly distressed, the poor fellow could not continue, and after contemplating the floor for a moment he turned and left the room.

Darcy heaved a sigh, and directed a look of withering disdain at his aunt. "I know not how you came to be told of the situation here at Pemberley, Lady Catherine," he said grimly. "But I fear you have made things very much worse indeed. Perhaps it would be better if you left."

Lady Catherine had the grace to look uncomfortable. "Yes, well, I did not intend to harm the girl - in fact I had been informed that she was making her injury out to be worse than it was in order to play on your sympathies - to draw you in. I only wanted to protect you, Fitzwilliam."

"Lady Catherine," Darcy said bitterly, "A fool could see, upon looking at her, that her injuries were genuine and serious. You were more determined to believe an idle report than to accept the evidence of your own eyes. You will be held responsible if she does not recover; by her father and by me. I must ask you to leave Pemberley at once."

Lady Catherine, staring at her nephew's face, could see that he was in earnest; every protest she made was thrown down, until finally she had no choice but to gather what dignity she could and return to her carriage.

"Jane!" Georgiana ran out into the garden, where Jane was walking, enjoying the peace while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley sat together on a lawn bench, enjoying some gossip. "Oh, Jane, you must come inside!"

"Whatever is the matter, Georgiana?" Jane's calm manner and soothing voice, usually an effective palliative, made no impact on Georgiana's distress; she would not stand still, and had trouble expressing herself, but Jane waited patiently for the story to emerge.

"Lady Catherine - Lady Catherine came - she was angry and she went and spoke to Lizzy - and she got Lizzy upset - and now we cannot wake her up again."

"Lizzy will not wake up?" Jane's blue eyes widened.

A new voice intruded as Miss Bingley hurried towards them. "Georgiana, dear, did you say Lady Catherine De Bourgh was here?" Behind her came Mrs. Hurst, and neither lady looked pleased at the news.

"Yes," sobbed Georgiana. "She has just left - but it is too late."

Jane looked closely at Miss Bingley, whose face had abruptly leached of colour. Miss Bingley, in her turn, exchanged a long look with her sister, Mrs. Hurst.

"We must go in at once," Jane announced firmly.

"Yes," breathed Miss Bingley, and she swallowed hard.

Chapter 39

A Painful Confession

Pemberley was as silent as a tomb. The ladies immediately headed for the master bedroom, knowing that all the others would be found there or nearby. They were not disappointed; even Mr. Hurst was in Darcy's sitting room, a frown of peeved worry replacing his usual expression of self-absorption. Bingley, who was sitting with him, rose from his seat and strode to Jane's side as she entered the room.

"Charles, is it true?" she asked quietly. Bingley only frowned, taking her into his arms and holding her tightly - answer enough.

After a moment, Bingley asked, "Would you like to go in?" Jane nodded against his coat, and he released her, keeping hold of one of her hands as they moved toward the bedroom door. Georgiana preceded them; the Hursts and Miss Bingley followed awkwardly.

Inside was a piteous scene. Mr. Bennet had his face in his hands, and was sitting slumped by his daughter's side. Mrs. Gardiner was with him, sober faced; behind her stood Darcy, his expression an implacable façade. Elizabeth herself lay still and pale, her eyes shadowed with a faint purple hue. No one spoke. Miss Bingley pursed her lips, shot one guilty look at Darcy, and quietly left the room.

Darcy did not quit the sickroom until the arrival of Dr. Maxwell, some time later. Mrs. Gardiner had insisted on taking her distraught brother-in-law for a walk, accompanied by Jane. Georgiana stayed near her silent brother; the Hursts, Bingley and Miss Bingley were downstairs in the large drawing room, Miss Bingley an uncharacteristically silent member of their party. At length Dr. Maxwell left and Darcy came to join them. Bingley, who had been on the edge of his seat, shot to his feet as Darcy entered the room.

"Well, man?" Bingley burst out, almost stuttering in his agitation.

Darcy's inscrutable gaze lightened slightly, and one corner of his mouth twitched. "The good doctor assures me that her pulse is strong and she should awaken at any time."

"Ha!" Bingley smiled, a little uncertainly. "Is that all?"

Darcy gave a brief nod. "As far as he can tell, she fainted after her altercation with my aunt. Her physical condition is much improved, however, when compared with what it was. He is hopeful that her recovery will continue apace, and that this is but a brief setback."

"Oh, thank God!" came a fervent pronouncement; the party turned, surprised, to look upon the speaker. It was, of course, Miss Bingley. A faint sheen of sweat had formed on her forehead, and she met Darcy's gaze with what seemed a dreadful effort. "Mr. Darcy," she continued, licking her lips nervously. "Could I ask...that is...I need to speak with you, on a matter of some urgency, sir."

A faint frown creased Darcy's brow. "Of course. What is the matter, Miss Bingley?"

"If you would favour me with a brief turn outside...sir...it is of no great consequence but I would prefer..."

"As you wish," Darcy nodded, and gestured towards the door. She rose, not meeting anyone's eyes, and preceded him outside.

They walked down toward the lake, an awkward silence hanging about them. At last Darcy looked at his companion and spoke. "Tell me what it is that has been bothering you, Miss Bingley, for I can see that you are upset."

Miss Bingley stopped walking. Her face was white except for two points of red on her cheekbones, and she was breathing unsteadily.

"Mr. Darcy, I...I..." she dared to look up the tall man she had been pursuing for so long. "I have done a most foolish, cruel and hurtful thing. I cannot bear to think of my actions without abhorrence." Her face crumpled and she began to cry; Darcy, surprised and alarmed, fumbled in his waistcoat for a handkerchief, which he offered her. A cold suspicion began to form in his chest, and Miss Bingley's next words gave it confirmation.

"It was I, Mr. Darcy, I," she burst out, hiding her face in her hands. "I wrote the note to Lady Catherine De Bourgh. Oh, how I wish I could take it back. I don't know what came over me; I was so jealous of her, and I only ended up hurting everybody..." She turned away and began to weep in earnest. "I am so sorry," she wailed in between sobs. "How you must despise me..."

Darcy found himself torn. The anger and disgust that surged inside him warred with a certain amount of pity; Miss Bingley could easily have said nothing and let suspicion for the act fall upon one of the servants. Darcy's acquaintance with the Bennet family had indeed decreased his tolerance for the hypocritical affectations of Miss Bingley and her ilk; but to see such a woman discard her self-seeking vanity in what could only be a most painful and humiliating manner could not but touch his heart. He watched her crying, almost dispassionately. He had never before seen Caroline Bingley show genuine remorse or compassion for another - yet it seemed that she had the capacity, after all.

"I will, of course, return to London immediately," she said, sniffing slightly, when she had regained enough control over herself to speak. "I can only say once more how truly sorry I am to have caused such pain to you and to Miss Bennet. And to her family, of course. My actions were inexcusable. I know what you must think of me - rest assured my own conscience vouchsafes the same opinions." She risked a glance at Darcy, but his expression was unfathomable. "I find I must thank you, Mr. Darcy, for your unfailing hospitality, generosity and kindness towards Charles, and of course Louisa and myself. And Mr. Hurst." Her speech had the air of a final farewell; she spoke quietly and hesitantly, yet not without dignity. "It has been an honour to know you, Mr. Darcy." After one last, unsteady glance, she bowed her head and began to walk away.

"Miss Bingley," Darcy called, halting her return to the house. "You understand that it is...difficult for me to speak about such things at this moment. You are well aware of my resentful temper." He was unable and unwilling to prevent a certain amount of anger from roughening his voice. He cleared his throat. "My wife, however - that is, my wife-to-be - has much more the forgiving nature, as I have had reason to be thankful for many times over. I am certain that, unhappy as the current state of affairs may be, an invitation for you to once again visit Pemberley will be forthcoming soon enough."

Astonished, Miss Bingley looked him full in the face. He was still frowning, but seemed perfectly serious in this offer of eventual forgiveness; her chin began to tremble again, and she gave him a weak smile. "You are too good, sir. I sincerely wish you and Miss Bennet every happiness." She turned, and began to walk quickly toward the house.

Before leaving for London as promised, Miss Bingley made a similar confession to her brother and Jane. Jane did not know what to say at first, and Bingley spluttered a bit before giving vent to his temper. His sister weathered his disapproval humbly, accepting every harsh word as her due. The servants were busily packing her trunks even as Bingley berated Caroline repeatedly. Finally, Jane put her hand on his arm; at the touch, he started and fell silent.

"Caroline has, of her own confession, done a most dreadful thing," Jane allowed, her gaze serious without being condemnatory. "But give her the credit for having confessed it. I'm sure she is telling herself all the things you have already mentioned, my dear, and good many others besides."

"Yes, well," Bingley muttered. "Elizabeth could have died."

"But she did not," Jane said gently, and Bingley bestowed upon his fiancée a gaze of such tenderness that Miss Bingley had to look away.

It was only ten minutes after Miss Bingley's interview with her brother that Elizabeth once more opened her eyes. By prior agreement, no excitements or tearful scenes ensued, though more than one individual found this an almost impossible requirement. Georgiana had to leave the room, and Mr. Bennet followed not long after, particularly as Elizabeth seemed to want to discuss Lady Catherine. Accustomed as he was to treating aggravations lightly, that particular aggravation had struck too close to home for even Mr. Bennet to dismiss easily. He had long been aware of the tender spot he held in his heart for his two eldest daughters, Elizabeth in particular, and the strings of his aging heart had been plucked a little too firmly and a little too often in the last few days for his liking. A weeping and excitable Georgiana accompanied him to the drawing room, where he fell upon the brandy decanter with a heartfelt sigh.

Mrs. Gardiner, after ascertaining that her niece was little the worse off for her latest adventure, gave Darcy's shoulder a squeeze and announced her intention of taking some air. "I shall return in a little while, and bring you some flowers from the garden, Lizzy."

Elizabeth smiled her thanks, and Darcy communicated his gratitude with a heartfelt look at his future aunt. She returned his affectionate glance with a wry smile, and made her farewells. Darcy heaved a sigh and sank back into the chair by Elizabeth's bedside. As had become his habit, he reached out and gently clasped one of her hands, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"I do believe, Miss Bennet," he announced, "That I shall station an armed guard outside this room, with orders to shoot on sight anyone resembling my aunt, Mr. Wickham, or anyone else who is likely to cause unpleasantness."

"You may add my cousin, Mr. Collins, to that list, Mr. Darcy," smiled Elizabeth. "When one has a headache already, the last thing needed is a conversation with Mr. Collins. Particularly after one has already become acquainted with the sentiments of Lady Catherine regarding the matter." Her tone was light and her eyes sparkled with humour, but Darcy regarded her seriously and leaned forward.

"I think I may safely say that if any of those people tried to gain admittance to this house, let alone this room, Elizabeth, I would not be answerable for my actions. If my heart has to suffer any more attacks of anxiety over your health, I think I would become unhinged."

"Unhinged!" Elizabeth laughed. "A likely story. If I were to credit such a possibility, I would first need to know where you are hinged, Fitzwilliam."

Darcy smiled, his eyes conveying such warmth that Elizabeth felt her heart rate begin to quicken. He leaned in close to Elizabeth's face, raised her hand to his lips, and caressed her fingers with tender kisses. "Do you not know, dearest Lizzy, where I am hinged?" She was not given an opportunity to answer, for Darcy leaned closer still, brushing his lips over hers several times, each time increasing the pressure and duration of the kiss until Elizabeth moaned a protest.

"I am meant to be calm and restful," she said teasingly, running a hand down his cheek as he twined a finger in her long wavy hair. "I believe Dr. Maxwell was right when he warned me against you, after all."

"Dr. Maxwell is a wise man," said Darcy with a small smile, and with considerable reluctance he leaned back in his chair.

Chapter 40

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to my dedicated stalker, Melly. Her efforts may be irrelevant to my posting schedule, such as it is, but they are highly amusing and enjoyable nonetheless. Long Live the Duck. ;-)

Fresh Air

The next several days saw a continuance of Elizabeth's slow but steady recovery. Darcy had a small writing desk installed in the bedroom so that he could deal with his correspondence while she slept, for he found himself quite unable to relax or concentrate on business unless assured of her wellbeing, and this assurance was best obtained by the evidence of his own eyes. In the last week he had experienced such flurries and sweeps of circumstance and emotion that he could scarcely trust peace when it was offered. He felt sure that some capricious devil was sitting somewhere, watching him, wondering how best to torment him next; as though he and Elizabeth were pawns in some unfathomable amusement show. Well, he could not guard against the forces of nature - but he could certainly guard against human interference. When he was not sitting in his bedchamber, talking with her or watching over her, he made sure that someone trustworthy was; and more often than not he could be found in the sitting room directly outside the bedroom door, if he was not inside with her.

Darcy's guests, those that found Miss Bennet's company to be desirable, likewise availed themselves of the writing desk in the sickroom, so that Elizabeth often found herself waking to the scratching sound of a quill on paper. She could tell without opening her eyes whose hand it was that wrote, for if it was Bingley's, the quiet sounds of writing were regularly punctuated with such mutterings as "Damn!" and "There - Darcy himself couldn't have said it better"; Jane's writings were always disturbed by the strange sound of riffling feathers, as she had always had the habit of playing with the pen while composing her thoughts; her father would occasionally chortle to himself while reading or writing; Georgiana could be heard turning the pages of a book, for she was still too shy to write in front of others; her aunt was fastidiously silent and wrote with a regular speed that never failed to impress, hardly stopping until she was finished; and as for Darcy himself, he too was silent, much more so than Aunt Gardiner - for his writing was punctuated by regular and lengthy cessations of activity, wherein Elizabeth knew he was gazing in her direction. She found awakening to such regard both embarrassing and gratifying, and as her health improved so did her frustration. She could not be insensible to the need for the restrictions that Dr. Maxwell had, very firmly, reminded her of every other day; nor, however, could she be insensible to her own feelings, which were gaining in strength as she herself was. She was now allowed to sit partially upright, supported by pillows, in her bed. She was able to feed herself, and to participate more helpfully in the consequences of doing so. She was also able to feel more keenly what it was to have Darcy near, a condition only exacerbated by the liveliness and harmony of long conversation, the full realisation of how much common ground they shared, and the satisfaction that comes as one begins to open one's soul to another, finding the understanding and acceptance that one has always craved. Each touch, each look, each soft kiss stirred her frustrations, and his own - but with resignation and humour the good doctor's strictures were adhered to, and Elizabeth continued to improve.

It could not be long, however, before other frustrations began to make themselves heard, and Elizabeth found, contrary to her expectations, that as she reached a level of strength and comfort that reminded her of what it was to be well, she also found herself subject to a creeping unhappiness. Melancholy silences began to overtake her, and upwellings of emotion over which she had little control. She felt that to complain of such to Darcy would be to exhibit ingratitude, so she said nothing, though he could not help but notice her growing irritability. Puzzled, he mentioned it to Bingley, who immediately suggested a remedy that struck Darcy as being eminently sensible - that they turn the matter over to Jane. Jane was accordingly sent to investigate her sister's moods, and knowing her as she did, it did not take her long to reach a conclusion, which she reported to Bingley and Darcy that evening.

"It is perfectly obvious what is the matter," said Jane, causing both men to frown, for it was not obvious at all as far as they could see.

"No it isn't," Bingley retorted, never one to let the plain truth go unexpressed.

Jane gave her fiancé a smile, and said, "When I tell you what it is, you will both kick yourselves."

At this there was a pause, and finally Darcy had to plead. "Miss Bennet, I pray you not to toy with me. Is it something that is easily cured, or not?"

"As to that, some ingenuity may be required," said Jane, "But the cause is very simple. What time of year is it? What is the weather like outside?"

Both men glanced out the window, noting anew the blue sky and cheery sunshine of late summer. Understanding blossomed on Darcy's face.

"She needs to go outside!"

"Oh!" cried Bingley. "Of course! I'll wager a fine day is something that Elizabeth hates to waste indoors, and we have had a succession of them."

"Why couldn't I see that for myself?" said Darcy, pacing to the window, whereupon he turned, and smiled at Jane. "Thank you very much, Miss Bennet. Once again, I am indebted to you."

Jane blushed lightly at his earnest tone and made light of the situation, at which point Bingley joined in, always ready to praise his Jane, until Jane was quite embarrassed. Darcy, meanwhile, was frowning, deep in thought, as the banter of the pair washed over him. When silence finally fell, he remarked,

"Come, Bingley, how can we move her outside when she is not to stir from her bed?"

The next morning found Elizabeth engaged in a light argument with her Aunt Gardiner.

"I can sit up perfectly well, aunt, and it causes me no pain. Why can I not have a bath? I am sick of being washed in a prone position, as though I were a complete invalid."

"Now Lizzy," replied her aunt in a reasonable tone, not without humour. "You are an invalid."

Elizabeth sighed in exasperation. "Please, aunt. It will do me no harm, and it will do me the world of good to feel properly clean. I promise not to overdo it, it will not be for long, and the servants will be washing me anyway."

Mrs. Linnehan, who had been standing in the corner as though she were a piece of furniture, cleared her throat softly and curtsied to Mrs. Gardiner. "If you please, ma'am, and begging your pardon, might I have a word?"

Mrs. Gardiner, who was on good terms with Mrs. Linnehan and held her nursing abilities in high esteem, gave her niece one last glance and moved to speak quietly with the servant. Elizabeth could not understand what they said, and rolled her eyes impatiently. Her head was itching, and she longed for some other sensation to distract her from the ever-present temptation to rub at it.

Before long her aunt returned to her side, wearing an expression of good-natured longsuffering. "Very well, Lizzy, Mrs. Linnehan has convinced me that a short bath will not hurt you. I shall order the water heated, and warn Mr. Darcy not to come into his dressing room." At this she gave a broad smile, and Mrs. Linnehan could not restrain a burst of laughter, which she stifled with a hand before giving Elizabeth a wink. The young lady grinned her delight, and the servant curtsied and left the room to make the arrangements.

It was not long afterward that Mrs. Gardiner left to warn Darcy of the upcoming challenge. She faced the task with not a little trepidation, knowing how protective the young man was towards her niece, and doubting that he would approve of so risky an activity. To her surprise, however, when informed of the change of plan, Darcy merely frowned thoughtfully and rubbed his chin.

"And when did you say she would be having this bath?"

"In about an hour, sir. The bath itself will not take long."

"Yes, yes..." Darcy seemed distracted, and Mrs. Gardiner regarded him curiously. She had expected a discussion, if not an argument, over the issue, but it seemed one would not be forthcoming. Instead, Darcy continued, "Tell me, Mrs. Gardiner, would you say Elizabeth has been unhappy of late?"

Elizabeth was having a most satisfying morning. The servants had very carefully lifted her out of the bed and taken her to the dressing room, where a steaming hot tub of water awaited. Twenty minutes later, not only was she feeling clean, warm and relaxed, she had even convinced them to wash as much of her hair as possible. Any pain felt due to movement or the gentle pulling on her hair was easily forgotten in the bliss of hot water's embrace. And what joy it was to stand on one's own two legs again, however briefly, and however weak they felt. Special care was taken at every moment not to jolt her or make any sudden movements, and Elizabeth thanked all the servants for their concern in a manner so heartfelt that Mrs. Linnehan gave an involuntary sniff, patted Elizabeth's hand affectionately, and continued to assist her with dressing.

"Lizzy!" came her aunt's voice, and the door opened to admit Mrs. Gardiner. "Lizzy, make sure you put on a dressing gown, we have a surprise for you."

Properly covered in a dressing gown, Elizabeth was shortly carried out by her servants to see Darcy and Bingley, smiling, and two manservants preparing something on the floor. As she came through the door, they stepped back from it so as not to obscure her view. She stared - it looked like a small portable bed, with two handles on either end. Her mouth fell open; Bingley and Mrs. Gardiner beamed at the sight and Darcy's eyes shone.

"What...what is it? Is it for me?" she at last enquired, hardly daring to hope that some form of freedom may be before her. Bedclothes and pillows had been placed on it, and the covers turned back.

"It is a modified stretcher," announced Darcy, not without pride. "Place Miss Bennet on it," he said, gesturing to the servants. Carefully, they did so, arranging the bedclothes and pillows to make her comfortable. Elizabeth was quite speechless with joy and surprise, and could only smile repeatedly as the maidservants fussed around her. Then they stepped back, and Darcy spoke again.

"Holland and Brown have been working on this all morning. By all appearances they have done a fine job - so shall we test it?"

At his signal, the two manservants seized the handles and lifted. Elizabeth laughed out loud at the sensation, and the anticipation of getting a little fresh air, or at least a view.

"Oh, this is too much. How can I thank you all?" She smiled a little tearily up at Brown, who flushed in embarrassment but did not drop her, then turned her gaze to Darcy, who had clearly masterminded the whole thing and was looking on with considerable satisfaction.

"Shall we go outside?" His eyes lit as Elizabeth's heartfelt look of gratitude caressed his face.

"But how shall we negotiate the stairs?" she asked as her litter-bearers carried her through the bedroom doorway.

"Sideways," was Darcy's terse and good-humoured reply.

Elizabeth, trailed by every guest in the house, was carried out the front door and down toward the lake. Darcy walked at her side; before them went three servants bearing blankets and picnic baskets. Merry conversation was all around her, and at the touch of the sun on her face Elizabeth let out a sigh of utter contentment. A gentle breeze was blowing, playing with the ends of her damp hair, and she closed her eyes for a moment, scarcely able to believe how good it felt.

The servants laid everything out on a flat stretch of lawn by the lakeside, and with much jocularity the party settled down to drink tea and eat sandwiches, fruit and cake. Mr. Bennet sat on one side of Elizabeth's stretcher, and Darcy took the other; the one to pay Elizabeth every proper care, and the other to tease them about it.

"You have done prodigiously well, Lizzy, attracting such a clever and handsome fellow," said Mr. Bennet quietly to his daughter, as Darcy was procuring another plate of sandwiches for them all. "It could not have turned out better if you had planned it so from the beginning."

"You like Pemberley, don't you, Papa?" responded Elizabeth, not above a little teasing herself. "Perhaps it is even nicer than Longbourn."

Mr. Bennet gave a low laugh. "Well, I am sure that you and your clever husband will be able to tolerate the occasional visit from an old man."

Elizabeth took her father's hand, and smiled. "I think you may visit as often as you choose - whether I am here or not."

"If you are not here," asserted Mr. Bennet, "I shall eat my hat." And they shared a smile until Darcy's arrival distracted them.

The next hour was spent very pleasantly in amiable conversation, with even Mr. Hurst venturing to make the occasional humorous aside. Stomachs were filled, hearts were light, and the weather was all that could be hoped for. Elizabeth felt her eyes growing heavy, and before she knew it the breeze in the trees and the gentle lapping of the water had lulled her into a sound sleep. Quietly, the servants packed the remains of the picnic away, and almost everyone moved off to take a relaxing walk around the lake's shore. Darcy, of course, declined the exercise, and stretching himself out on the blanket near Elizabeth's makeshift bed, soon fell asleep himself.

He awoke with a start about two hours later. Something was moving in the grass - he opened his eyes but could see no one, and hear no one. Raising himself up on one elbow, he looked around, and when he saw the source of the sound, smiled.

"Elizabeth!" he whispered, prodding her gently in the arm. She stirred and frowned, not yet ready to awaken. "Lizzy!" he whispered again, poking her a little more firmly. "Open your eyes and have a look, we have a visitor."

Curious, she did as he requested, and her eyes followed the direction of his gaze. A small brown duck was foraging for crumbs not six feet away from her, muttering gently to itself in the constant way of a feeding duck, pushing its beak through the grass as it winnowed for pieces of bread and other scraps.

"Oh," breathed Elizabeth, delighted. "Is it a wild one?"

"Yes," smiled Darcy. "A young female. She has two little ducklings, and a nest in the reeds down there." He pointed toward one of the reedy curves on the lake's edge.

"Is she tame?"

"No, not quite. If we move too much she will become nervous - but if we stay still..."

They did so, watching the pretty little creature intently as it edged slowly closer to the stretcher. Carefully, Darcy reached behind him for the small basket of leftovers he always liked to have while picnicking by the lake, in readiness for just such a circumstance. He passed a crust to Elizabeth, who crumbled it deftly, and lightly tossed it just within the duck's reach. With what could have been a grateful mutter the duck advanced on its prize, drawing ever closer to the two observers. More rewards followed, and the little duck was coaxed to within three feet of Elizabeth's bed - but at that moment, Bingley's loud cry shattered their peace. Alarmed, the duck gave a harsh quack and waddled quickly down to the lake, where she splashed into the water and sailed away with all the purpose of a tiny gunship.

"I say, Darcy!" Bingley was calling. "Are you still asleep?"

"Yes!" Darcy called back, rolling his eyes as Elizabeth laughed.

"Then you don't mind if I take Georgiana and Jane for a ride?"

"No, Bingley, not at all," came Darcy's reply, and more quietly for Elizabeth's ears only, "Take them into Lambton, and come back tomorrow."

"All right then, we'll be back in a few hours I dare say!"

Darcy gave Bingley a wave, which Bingley returned in his jaunty manner before striding off at a brisk pace towards the stables.

"I hope Jane never gets sick," smiled Elizabeth, "For Charles would make the most dreadful nurse."

"Indeed," Darcy agreed with a chuckle. "And I?"

"You are a tolerable nurse," Elizabeth allowed, her eyes sparkling. "Your chief fault is your tendency to disturb the patient's rest."

"Am I disturbing your rest, Lizzy?" Darcy inquired, manoeuvering closer to her.

"You are," said Elizabeth affectionately, "But it does not follow that the interruption must be unwelcome."

His eyes dropped to her lips, and she shifted slightly to face him. Their eyes met and locked in a gaze of tender warmth, and Darcy slowly lowered his head towards hers.

A loud and sudden spate of quacking startled them both, and they looked around to see that the brown duck had returned, and was eyeing them from not far way. Elizabeth laughed, and threw it some of the crumbs that lay beside her stretcher.

"She's insatiable," she smiled. "Give her some more, Will, look at her. She's a hungry duck."

Darcy found some more bread and tossed it to the duck, who pounced on it with more muttering sounds. To Elizabeth's surprise a veritable rain of bread, crumbs, apple cores and other edible scraps followed, and she turned to Darcy, who displayed the empty basket with a smirk. The duck, initially startled by the sudden arrival of so much heavenly bounty, accepted the offering with hardly a backward glance.

"No more interruptions," Darcy announced, satisfied, before bending to kiss Elizabeth's lips. Time slid away from them as each tenderly caressed the other's mouth. At length, Darcy drew back, still stroking her unbound hair. The moment felt absolutely right.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, "Will you marry me?"

The duck chose that moment to once more set up a loud racket, but Elizabeth hardly heard it. Darcy's question had taken her completely by surprise, though it should not have - but somehow in the newfound ease of their relationship, she had forgotten that nothing had been formalised. Her normally quick wits abandoned her, and she could think of no appropriately witty or romantic response; so she simply answered, "Yes."

Chapter 41 Blessings

Posted On: Tuesday, 11 February 2003, at 1:32 a.m.

Darcy was not long in obtaining Mr. Bennet's blessing after having secured his beloved's consent. He cornered his guest in the library, striding through the door with such deliberation that Mr. Bennet, eyeing his disturber over the top of his newspaper, could be at no loss as to the nature of the discussion to come.

"Mr. Darcy. You look like a man on a mission," said the object of that mission in a distracted tone, returning to the article before him with a sense of well-concealed glee.

"I am, sir," announced the intruder firmly. "I have come to ask permission to marry your daughter."

Mr. Bennet looked at him over the top of his newspaper again. "I presume we are speaking of Elizabeth?"

"I know it may surprise you, sir, that I have not come to apply for the hand of one of her sisters, eligible as they all are. But yes, I speak of Elizabeth." Darcy's voice betrayed only the smallest hint of his impatience.

Mr. Bennet smirked behind the newspaper, then obliged his prospective son-in-law by folding it up and laying it carefully on a nearby table.

"Well then, as it appears we have serious matter to discuss, I shall forgo my survey of the ridiculous state of our politics for five minutes. She has accepted your offer, has she?"

"She has."

Mr. Bennet eyed the stern young man before him with affection. "Then far be it from me to introduce any impediment to her happiness. Mr. Darcy, you have pursued my daughter with admirable patience, fortitude, restraint and good humour. It is a pleasure to reward such devotion as you have shown. I could not have parted with her to anyone less worthy." He stood, the hint of a tear in his eye, and offered his hand to the younger gentleman, which was warmly accepted and shaken. "My most heartfelt congratulations to you both. But before you go, Mr. Darcy, I do have one small proviso to add."

Darcy looked at him questioningly.

"I beg of you - and I don't wish to imply any blame in this matter, for I know you are entirely without fault - but please, for the sake of my old heart, make sure Elizabeth never gets shot again!"

With a deep breath and a small smile, Darcy assured him that it would be so.

The next few days saw plenty of activity at Pemberley. Announcement of the engagement of Mr. Darcy to Miss Bennet saw general rejoicing throughout the community at Pemberley and the village of Lambton, then further afield as the news began to spread. Mrs. Gardiner departed for London, where she was to meet her husband and children and the remainder of the Bennet family, who would then travel into Derbyshire to see Elizabeth. Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, who took the chance to leave for their London home themselves, offered her a seat in their carriage, which she gratefully accepted - occasioning a temporary reduction in the number of Mr. Darcy's guests, and somewhat of a calm before the storm whilst those in residence awaited the arrival of Mrs. Bennet and her three younger daughters. Fortunately the weather remained fine, allowing Elizabeth to make the most of her stretcher-bed, and those few peaceful days were the most pleasant yet for all concerned. Mr. Bennet contented himself with casting the odd acerbic, yet satisfied, eye over the activities of his daughters and their lovers. He trusted to the good sense of the one and the head injury of the other in forestalling any dramatic impropriety that may occur, if the couples were given too much privacy. As it was, Georgiana served quite well as a chaperone; all concerned were willing to further her education a little, but not too far, and the prospect of being discovered by the sensitive young lady was adequate motive enough, particularly for her brother, to ensure that discretion and restraint was the order of the day. If this discretion and restraint was relaxed somewhat whenever the dulcet tones of Georgiana practising upon the pianoforte could be heard throughout the halls, or over the lawns, then Mr. Bennet would not complain - for really, things could have been a good deal worse. Both his prospective sons-in-law, though subject to the same frailties as all young lovers, were men that had earned his good opinion, affection and regard. He could not have been happier with their treatment of his daughters. To see both Jane and Elizabeth afforded the respect and esteem he had always hoped, yet rarely truly expected them to receive from their chosen partners, was more than his jaded old heart had anticipated. He reflected often, and with gratitude, upon this blessing; and if he chose not to walk down to the lakeside, or to avoid a certain sitting room for a time, then it must be noted that his graying head also held the notion that young men and women of principle and good sense were less likely to indulge in excessively risky behaviour if the fruit was not completely forbidden - at least for a time, anyway.

The halcyon days were all too soon at an end, however, with the advent of Elizabeth's mother, accompanied by Mary, Kitty and Lydia. Mrs. Bennet's transport over the beauties of Mr. Darcy's estate could only be matched by her raptures over the good fortune of her second daughter, who had outdone even Jane in securing a husband of fortune and consequence. Elizabeth, unable to escape her mother's exclamations as she was still confined to her bed, or at least her stretcher, could only bear the palpitations and excitement with good humour. Kitty and Lydia were no less excited, and even Mary allowed her stern exterior to bend momentarily in praise of Mr. Darcy and his establishment. Mr. Darcy himself was not exempt from these accolades. Mrs. Bennet, in her relief at seeing Elizabeth in relatively good health, arrived somehow at the conclusion that Darcy had saved her life in a dramatic fashion, and was not backward in expressing to him her gratitude for the service.

"Oh! Mr. Darcy! And when I think of my poor Lizzy, at the mercy of that monster, Wickham, why, I grow quite...faint...in fact I am feeling rather faint even now, just speaking of it...!"

"Perhaps you had best sit down, madam."

But recovering herself, inspired by her next thought: "And then Wickham's defeat at your own hands, Mr. Darcy! What a brave and gallant gentleman you are! I can never thank you enough for saving my dear Elizabeth - I am quite convinced that she is the cleverest of all my girls, and Mr. Bennet agrees with me! But were it not for you, my dear, dear Mr. Darcy - oh! We would all be in mourning!"

"Please, Mrs. Bennet -"

"No, no, you cannot be so modest with me, sir, for I know how it was! And now you are to marry our dearest girl. God could not have blessed us more when he sent you to us Mr. Darcy, indeed he could not!"

"I thank you, madam - and now, if you will excuse me, I have a pressing matter of business."

"Such a charming gentleman, that Mr. Darcy. How fine he looks, how tall! Kitty, Lydia, I would not be at all surprised if he happens to have other single men among his acquaintance, just like Mr. Bingley, so make sure you are very polite to him!"

The door to Mr. Darcy's bedchamber, still in use as Elizabeth's sick room, opened quietly and closed again. The drapes were drawn and the room was darkened, to allow Elizabeth to rest more easily during the day. A tall figure slipped unobtrusively to her bedside, silent but for a slight sigh as of relief as he lowered himself into a nearby chair, which creaked under his weight, despite his care. The sleeper stirred slightly, then lay still, her breathing slow and deep, and her visitor seemed content to leave her undisturbed. Time passed, and at length a voice, muzzy with sleep, broke the silence.

"Fitzwilliam, what are you doing?"

"Hiding from your mother. Go back to sleep."

A low chuckle emanated from the blankets.

"I fail to see what is so amusing."

"There is nothing at all amusing about the Master of Pemberley hiding in his fiancee's sick room to get away from her mother. In fact, if anyone should find you here in the dark with me, I dare say you will not be amused in the least." Her amusement was evident from her tone.

"That is why I was being quiet. Go back to sleep, and no one will have anything to accuse."

"I cannot," she confessed, her voice strained.

"Why? Is something wrong?" He leaned forward slightly, concerned.

Her explanation, if she had intended to give one, was rendered incomprehensible as she lost her battle to hold in her laughter. It was immediately muffled with the aid of a pillow, but continued unabated for far too long, in Darcy's opinion.

"Elizabeth!" he whispered loudly, only a little embarrassed at having been caught with his tail between his legs - if anyone had to know of his moments of social cowardice, then he wanted it to be Elizabeth.

"I'm s-s-sorry!" came her obscured, still laughing reply. With great gasps, she tried to control herself. He could hear her shifting position, and dimly made out movement before she announced, in a solemn tone, "There. I'm very sorry about that. Don't mention anything else about my mother, or it will start all over again."

He squinted into the dimness of her bed. "Elizabeth, are you sitting up?"

"Yes, and don't scold me, I wouldn't be doing it if I did not feel up to it."

Darcy swallowed. Her remark served to remind him of her improvement, and given the situation in which they now found themselves, it was not a welcome reminder. Abruptly he stood, knowing that he should go, and declared his intention to do so. She did not object; nor did she object when he succumbed to temptation, bending over to brush her lips with his in the darkness.

"I will see you later, Miss Bennet."

"I shall look forward to it, Mr. Darcy," was her arch reply. The light coming through the open door illuminated his smile as he looked back at her before leaving the room; then the door closed, and darkness and quiet returned. Slowly, Elizabeth lowered herself back onto her pillows, letting out a heavy sigh.

"Patience, Lizzy," was her advice to herself as she closed her heavy eyelids, once more aware that recovery must come step by step, and that she would be well soon enough.

Within a few days of Mrs. Bennet's arrival, Elizabeth found herself able to sit fully upright quite regularly without too much dizziness. Dr. Maxwell was very pleased with her progress, and although the fortnight had elapsed, he left orders that she was still to confine herself to her bed and the stretcher for a further week, and that even should she feel able, walking about was quite out of the question. A bath now and then, however, was to be encouraged; but she was to remain calm and not to overexert herself under any circumstances. Darcy took these instructions to heart, keeping a close eye on her when he could, and enlisting Mary's assistance in making sure that family visits did not overtax Elizabeth's stamina. Lydia and Kitty, though scornful of Mary's admonitions, did make some attempt to rein in their exuberance when in Elizabeth's presence, assisted by an awe of Mr. Darcy and a respect for his sister, to whom Kitty in particular had taken a shine. Lydia found herself favoured by several walks in the garden with her father, who was attempting at long last to instill in her a small portion of wisdom, or at least the desire to think of other people on occasion; she, in her turn, was teaching him the value of patience and was giving him a good deal of amusement. No one else was able to ascertain just what it was they discussed when walking, for neither would say - hardly unusual for the capricious Mr. Bennet, but highly out of character for his loquacious daughter, who would not even tell Kitty, preferring to prolong the novelty of this experience of closeness to her father by maintaining an air of mystery.

The weather held clear. After a delightful picnic lunch, the party had decided on another indolent afternoon to enjoy Nature's good humour, while it could be had. Elizabeth was holding court by the lakeside, attended by her mother, Georgiana, and two of her sisters. Her father was walking with his youngest daughter; Darcy was walking with Bingley and Jane in the opposite direction, when the sound of running feet turned their attention from a discussion of science, and they stopped to allow the messenger to catch them up. The boy, a son of one of the kitchen staff, had in his hand an important message for Mr. Darcy, who took it and read it at once. His light mood vanished in an instant, and Bingley, watching his friend's expression close up like the proverbial clam, demanded to know the contents of the note.

Darcy, his eyes guarded and somber, regarded his companions. "It is news from the village," he revealed. "Wickham is no longer in custody there - he has escaped."

Part Forty-Two: Target Practice

Posted On: Tuesday, 18 February 2003, at 5:13 p.m.

It was all Darcy could do to hold himself back from a run as he made his way down to the water, where Elizabeth would be resting in her stretcher-bed, hopefully in the company of her family and not Wickham. He well knew that Wickham, while not the murderous type, possessed a goodly amount of malice and was certainly of the temperament to desire, and carry out, revenge against those who had damaged his prospects. It had happened before. For his father's favourite to return to Pemberley would be risky, but risks were just part of the game where Wickham was concerned; Darcy was convinced that the temptations would easily outweigh them. Cresting the green hill that sloped gently down to the lakeside, he could not prevent an audible sigh of relief from escaping his lips as he saw that the ladies were alone. Mrs. Bennet was not there - she had probably gone indoors - but Mary, Kitty and Georgiana were sitting together on a rug, and Elizabeth appeared to be asleep.

Affecting nonchalance, Darcy strolled down the hill towards them. The three girls were talking quietly amongst themselves, allowing the invalid, no doubt lulled to sleep by the breeze rustling its way through the overarching branches above them, to rest undisturbed. A glance in all directions showed that the coast was clear, and he allowed himself to relax, returning Georgiana's smile of greeting as she became aware of his approach.

"The breeze is cooling," he noted quietly to them, once close enough. "Perhaps it is time for Miss Bennet to be taken inside. How long has she been asleep?"

"Oh, she nodded off the instant Mama left, which would have been - " Kitty looked to Mary for the details.

"About half an hour," Mary announced.

Darcy nodded, pleased. "Then she will sleep again once inside, and to remove her now would not be too great an imposition."

"Yes, I believe you are right, William," said Georgiana, taking note of the air. "It does seem to be getting a little cooler."

"I shall be back directly, with the servants," said Darcy, and with a final swift sweeping perusal of the skyline, he strode away.

Mr. Bennet and Lydia joined them shortly after Darcy's departure.

"Mr. Darcy has just gone to get the manservants, Papa," Kitty informed him. "He doesn't want Lizzy out in this chill."

"What chill?" said Lydia.

"Hm. Better safe than sorry, I suppose," Mr. Bennet observed.

"Well, that means we don't need to be particularly quiet, as Lizzy will be woken up soon anyway," Lydia decided, perching herself cheerfully on the blanket with the other girls. No sooner had she sat down than she sprang back up, having taken a fancy to some little flowers growing by the water's edge. "Oh, look at these, Miss Darcy. Aren't they just delightful?"

Her father, meanwhile, had undertaken the task of easing his daughter back to wakefulness with as much gentleness as possible. Her eyelids fluttered as he called her name quietly, leaning close to her and touching her shoulder.

"Papa?"

"That charming young man of yours has decided it would be best for you to be indoors; he will be back directly with your litter-bearers."

She could not help but smile at her father's turn of phrase, even as her heavy eyelids insisted on her indulgence, and the slumber which had held her so warmly seemed to pull at her from inside, wanting her to return.

"Go back to sleep, my dear," said Mr. Bennet fondly, stroking her forehead. "They will be here soon enough, you still have a few moments."

He stood, regarding her pale face, and the thin hands that rested on the coverlet. Her light frame had lost weight over the past weeks; improvement was now evident, but it was clear she still had some way to go before she would be capable of traipsing about the countryside willy-nilly, like his Lizzy always had. A wistful smile twitched about his mouth, and he turned to watch the four girls, who were all down by the water's edge throwing breadcrumbs at a little brown duck that happened to be swimming nearby, with accompanying calls of delight and amusement. Mary tired quickly of the sport, returning to sit on the blanket, followed before long by Miss Darcy. The more boisterous pair continued their activities, affording them all with some entertainment, until Mr. Bennet heard Miss Darcy say:

"Whatever is that sound?"

And the bushes off to their left rustled again, loudly, as a horse and its rider pushed their way through to the expanse of lawn which they occupied. At first none of them could make out who it was, but as he drew closer, Georgiana's face paled considerably. For the rider, dishevelled, unshaven, and bearing a pistol in the waistband of his trousers, was none other than Mr. Wickham.

A small smile graced his handsome features, and he reined in his mount at a non-threatening distance.

"Good afternoon ladies, Mr. Bennet." He gave them a polite nod.

The degree of astonishment and alarm with which the picnickers greeted this most unwelcome apparition could not be exaggerated. Taking only a moment in which to recover, Mr. Bennet swiftly stepped forward, attempting to shepherd his young charges behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Wickham," he called, his tone deceptively cheerful. "I hope you have not come to finish the job. We were just getting used to her company again."

To everyone's surprise, a momentary disconcertion and abashment crossed the intruder's face. "No indeed, sir. Quite the contrary. Actually I came to offer my apologies, worthless as they may seem. I never intended to harm Miss Bennet."

"Well, perhaps you might consider that kidnapping her at gunpoint is not among the safest of ways to associate with a young lady."

"Yes," Wickham replied somewhat awkwardly, clearing his throat. "My desperation drove me to act in a stupid, cruel manner, I know. I can offer no excuse. But please accept that I meant your daughter no ill, and I am very happy to hear of her recovery. I am not a killer, sir, whatever else you may believe of me."

"You may tell yourself whatever you please, Mr. Wickham," came Elizabeth's voice, husky but clear, from behind her father. "It was only a happy accident that I am here to disagree with you. When one freely allows one's passions to dictate one's actions with impugnity, there is little point in claiming any sort of honour or innocence. It is only a matter of time. Such regrets are hollow."

Wickham coloured. "Perhaps," he allowed. "But I feel them all the same."

At this, Lydia could no longer restrain her indignation. "What a liar you are! And now you think you will just ride away and cause trouble somewhere else? I don't think so!" And she drew her hand from where it had been concealed in her skirts, and hurled its contents, a large, smooth stone, straight at the miscreant. A look of surprise widened his eyes, which crossed slightly as the stone struck him square on the forehead with a satisfyingly loud knock. Wickham swayed slightly, then slid from the saddle and plummeted gracelessly to the ground, where he lay still.

Confusion leaped forth, as Darcy and his men chose that moment to appear, and rushed towards them; effusions over Lydia's daring and marksmanship and general exclamations of dismay and relief mixed with demands to know what had occurred, and excited explanations. Wickham himself proved to be soundly unconscious, and was dragged away with little ceremony to the stable, where he was securely tied and removed to the village in the back of a cart, sporting an extremely nasty and swollen bruise directly above his nose (which would never fully fade, gifting its bearer with a somewhat sinister mien). As for the residents of Pemberley, there was much comforting and congratulations to be given and received, and Lydia had never found herself to be so universally approved of or admired in her life. She was to bask in the sunny consequences of her heroism for several days, and much to Mr. Darcy's relief, her mother was so distracted by the whole affair that her efforts to render unto him her undying gratitude were somewhat neglected.

"Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," and "The Lord works in mysterious ways His wonders to perform," was Mary's judgement on the whole affair.

"That will teach him to toy with my affections and shoot my sister," was Lydia's.

As soon as a moment of privacy was theirs, Darcy held Elizabeth so tightly she could barely breathe, then kissed her so thoroughly, and with such diligence, that she quite forgot the doctor's admonitions and made herself feel uncomfortably faint encouraging his efforts, and had to lie back on the pillows.

"We are getting married as soon as you are well," was his slightly uneven pronouncement, the look in his dark eyes so electric that Elizabeth found herself unable to break his gaze.

"Yes," she said quietly, the weakness of her flesh at war with the determination of her spirit. "How well, exactly?"

Her reply, accompanied as it was by such a sparkle in her eyes, drew from Darcy a delighted chuckle; and he raised her hand to his lips, his eyes conveying the complexity of the emotion he was feeling far more truthfully than his laughter. "I would never have believed that Fitzwilliam Darcy, bastion of self-reliance and rational respectability, could be rendered so utterly...powerless by his regard for another. By his need for another."

Moved by this confession, Elizabeth's expression sobered, though she gave him a small smile as she squeezed the hand that held her own so gently. "I need not ask you to explain, for the same can be said of Lizzy Bennet," she said, holding his eyes with her own. Submerging herself willingly in this moment of synchronicity, she understood the depth of his fear, and gave voice to what he needed to hear: "I will never leave you."

Darcy took a deep, almost painful breath, and his eyes sparked with sudden moisture and an unspoken Thank you. He held Elizabeth's hand to his lips; then lowered his head and pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, unable to speak.

Part Forty-Three: Progress Afoot

Posted On: Thursday, 27 February 2003, at 12:59 a.m.

Before many days had passed after Lydia's performance of David to Wickham's Goliath, Elizabeth allowed her frustration to finally get the better of her. The weather outside was cool, with sporadic rain, leaving her confined to the house. After a lazy breakfast she had been left to her rest; and so, taking advantage of the solitude, she put down her book, pulled back the covers, and swung her heavy legs over the side of the bed. She allowed herself a moment of self-examination before taking the plunge. She did not feel dizzy. Yes, she felt weak and uncoordinated, but that was only to be expected after so much inactivity. Carefully, she eased herself onto her feet and stood away from the bed, swaying a little but in no danger of collapse. Grinning broadly, she slowly made her way to the window, extremely pleased with herself. With a sigh of satisfaction she leaned right against the casement, shifting the drapes to allow a clear view of the grounds. The light drizzle that fell from the grey skies did not dampen the vibrancy of the green lawns and fields, or weigh down the dynamism of the trees and hedgerows - rather the contrary. A feathery mist obscured the furthest hills, and even from behind the closed window Elizabeth drew a deep, shaky breath, as if the lush, bracing air could reach her lungs by virtue of having been seen. Even an occasional momentary giddiness could not dispel her delight, and when her shallow exhalations began to cloud the cool glass she reached out impatiently to wipe it clean.

It was this movement that attracted the attention of Darcy, who was on the gravel walk below, conversing with his steward. He had noticed the twitching of the drapes several minutes earlier out of the corner of his eye but had not realised its significance; an unconscious shifting of position in the direction of the activity had, however, enabled him to detect more easily that something was moving at his window, where no movement should be. He looked up, frowning, to see a white-clad figure close against the glass. Elizabeth was out of bed. She had obviously seen him, as even from a distance he could see her hand fly to her mouth, but she did not move.

"Will you excuse me, Harris," he almost growled, making no other excuse as he pulled his hat more tightly over his forehead and strode abruptly towards the entrance of the house, greatcoat unfurling behind him. Harris, somewhat bewildered, shrugged and headed for the stables with an easy gait, used to his master's mercurial moods and secure in the knowledge that whoever was in trouble, it was not himself.

Discarding his damp overcoat and hat, Darcy took the stairs with enough speed to signify haste, though not so much as to abandon his dignity. His boots echoed loudly in the corridor as his swift stride propelled him onward, the look of gravity and displeasure on his face enough to make any servants duck their heads as he passed. When he reached his bedchambers, he flung open the door and stepped through, without hesitation.

Elizabeth was still at the window, her forehead against the glass, her hands wrapped around the drapes as though for support. Her dark eyes, full of guilt, distress and defiance, immediately met his, but still she did not move. Darcy stepped forward, about to berate her, but all admonishments were bitten back as he took in the paleness of her visage, touched as it was by a slight sheen of sweat; and he realised that there were no chairs near her, and she had not moved because she could not.

The frown that creased his brow was not one of anger. "You are not well," he declared, standing awkwardly some distance from her. The truth was that her appearance, her vulnerability and her stubbornness moved him profoundly, in every way. He fiercely resisted the urge to rush to her support, to catch her into his arms, though it was one of the most overwhelming compulsions he had ever experienced; he feared the consequences of it too much to let it hold sway, and as Elizabeth looked back at him, he knew she did too.

"No, I am well," she insisted against the evidence. Her hands, holding tightly to the thick curtains, trembled faintly as he watched them with a sense of frustrated helplessness. Abruptly he started, giving himself a mental kick, and seized a nearby chair, which he carried to her and placed close by.

"Take my arm," he urged quietly. "You must sit."

She did not argue, allowing him to support her elbow as she let go of the drapes and gingerly lowered herself into the chair, letting the last moments of her descent turn into a grateful collapse. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she breathed, almost overpowered by the intensity of her physical weakness and the turmoil of her emotions, feeling anew as she did all the reasons why this man held such sway over her heart, while she herself remained so wilful and foolish. She wished he would yell at her, rebuke her as she deserved for doing such a stupid thing.

"Would you like a blanket?"

She could hardly bear to look at him. Her entire body was still trembling with reaction, though at least the room was no longer spinning. "Thank you, yes."

He gently tucked the soft blanket around her, then stepped back. He could see she was close to tears, and very weak. At least, he reflected with no small degree of self-abnegation, the blanket served as a barrier between them, allowing him to relax to some extent.

With a sigh, he moved another of the bedside chairs into a better position, and perched himself upon it. "Elizabeth," he began, his tone none too smooth, "I can see very well how much you regret what just occurred. And if I am to be honest, then I cannot condemn you for it, for it is nothing more than I would have done myself were I in your position. So I shall say nothing more on the matter - however sorely I am tempted," he added slyly. A quick glance at the mortified Elizabeth revealed a minute lightening of her expression, so he continued, manfully crushing down all his unreasonable arguments and allowing only the more rational thoughts to be voiced. "Were you able to walk to the window without too much difficulty?"

She gave him a small nod, still not trusting herself enough to speak.

"But you stayed there too long?"

Again, a nod.

"Did you become dizzy? Were you fatigued?"

The concern in his voice gave her the strength she needed to admit the truth. She sighed, then spoke: "It was both. At first I felt tired, and only a little dizzy now and then. I was enjoying the view so much...but when I thought I'd had enough, and tried to leave the window - I was leaning on it, as you saw - I became very dizzy and weak. I think if you had not come in when you did, I could not have kept my feet." She struggled to retain her composure. Her dark eyes met his, and he saw fear there. "William - what if this dizziness does not go away? What if I have to stay like this?"

"You will not!" he assured her earnestly, sitting forward and reaching for her hand. "Lizzy, you are overwrought and you've given yourself a bad fright. This is the first time you've stood on your own feet in almost a month. All you need is a little more time. If you try again this evening, or tomorrow, there will already be improvement."

He returned her steadfast regard, and when she could no longer prevent the tears from escaping her eyes, he knelt beside her and folded her in his arms while she wept.

Darcy had never been so happy to be proven right as he was the next day, when Elizabeth (properly wrapped up in a dressing gown) walked to the window again, experiencing none of the debilitating dizziness of the previous morning, only small discomforts and fatigue. Her mother scolded her thoroughly, but her father would offer no opinion on the subject, energetic though his wife was in her demands for one. The others were full of enthusiasm at this new evidence of her recovery, and when Elizabeth turned from the window and smiled at him, Darcy felt his heart fill. She returned to the bed before long, having learned her lesson well, there to spend time in happy conversation with her sisters and Georgiana while her mother harangued Dr. Maxwell, receiving no satisfactory results. Everyone else was well satisfied with his pronouncements, however.

The week that followed saw many arrangements made. The idea of a double wedding ceremony met with unanimous approval and one or two cases of exultation. Darcy and Bingley needed to travel to London, ostensibly on business, though Mrs. Bennet had her own ideas about their motivations for such a trip at such a time, and made no secret of her suspicions.

"Mr. Darcy has his own town house, you know, girls," she instructed her younger daughters. "Everything must be prepared for the wedding! For that is where he will take Lizzy after they marry from Longbourn. And they must both arrange for licenses and rings and so on. Oh, how lucky your sisters are! And you shall be just as lucky, my darling girls!"

As for the Bennet family, Lydia (with Kitty's willing assistance) had no difficulty convincing her mother that they must return home as soon as possible, to begin preparations for the wedding themselves; though her real motivation in doing so was an urgent desire to boast of her exploits to all her friends. A trip to London was definitely needed, the girls told their mother cajolingly - so much to be bought and ordered! Who to invite? What sort of menu? What was the best date?

"Before any decision is made concerning dates, Mrs. Bennet," remarked Mr. Bennet dryly, "Let us not forget that one of the participants in this stellar event of the social calendar remains indisposed and is currently unable to travel. You will make sure to check with her as to her state of health before deciding on such things, I trust."

"Oh! Mr. Bennet!" said his wife, vexed. "Of course I am not setting a date before Lizzy is better! But you know how it is with weddings, so much to organise. Preparations should begin at once, then once the time comes, it will all be easy! Only think: two daughters to be married!" And she began to express her joy at the prospects before her, leaving her husband quite unable to either contradict or interrupt the flow of his wife's ecstasy.

With Mrs. Bennet's departure firmly fixed, Mr. Bennet decided to stay at Pemberley until Darcy should return from London; and given previous circumstances, it was not surprising that no opposition to this plan was vouchsafed by any of his family. Elizabeth, though mending well, was not yet able to bear the joltings of a journey by coach, and Jane insisted on remaining with her, frustrating all her mother's entreaties concerning fittings for a gown. It was anticipated that at least a week, possibly a fortnight after her mother's departure would be needed before Elizabeth could return home. Georgiana was not displeased with the notion of more time alone with her two favourite sisters-to-be, though she assured the three younger Bennet sisters that they would all be greatly missed, and that she depended on them all to visit her at Pemberley after their families were united.

On the evening before their departure, Darcy was tolerably sociable all through dinner (which is to say he spoke little and offended no one) but found he could not sustain the effort indefinitely. Pleading a slight headache, he absented himself as soon as was proper, making for the upstairs library and the prospect of peace and quiet in order to prepare himself for coming trials; for he had, in gentlemanly fashion, offered Mrs. Bennet the use of his coach-and-four, and would be accompanying them to London. Upon opening the door the soft candlelight illuminating one of the large wing chairs afforded him no small annoyance, until it dawned on him who the invader of his sanctum must be. With a nonchalant step he rounded the massive chair, startling the reader, who was curled cosily within its roomy confines and had not heard his entrance.

"Fitzwilliam!" she accused him, recovering her breath. "One does not sneak up on ladies, especially when they are ill."

"Your pardon, madam," said he, giving her a short bow and utterly failing to hide his pleasure at seeing her.

"I thought you were all at dinner," Elizabeth ventured, not displeased herself at his unexpected appearance, but unwilling to show her partiality as openly as he, for vanity was the last thing she wanted to encourage in a future husband.

"I am at leisure; I have a headache."

This brought a knowing smile from the lady, her eyes dancing merrily in the candlelight. "Let me not disturb you then, sir. I should probably not be in here anyway." Marking her place, she closed her book, and made to rise. A large hand on her shoulder prevented this ambition, and the owner of it declared with amusement,

"I will not ask how you came to be so far from your bed, if you will extend me the same courtesy regarding this headache, which suddenly seems to have grown markedly less painful. In fact, I am sure it will be gone in a moment."

Elizabeth could not restrain a wide smile, and mischief sparked in her eyes as she relaxed back into her chair. "Mr. Darcy - I recall once being told, by a most reliable source, that you never exaggerate and always tell the absolute truth."

Darcy cleared his throat, colouring slightly, his lips quirking in a delightfully cheeky expression that Elizabeth found excessively attractive. Without volition, she leaned a little closer to him as he answered,

"I am sure you have heard, Miss Bennet, of the exception that proves the rule."

"An unassailable reply, Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, raising her eyebrows. "And now, perhaps, you would be so good as to tell me whether the door is closed."

Closing the door was the work of only a moment, and it seemed to Elizabeth that she had scarcely had time to draw breath before Darcy was settling on the arm of her chair and leaning in quite deliberately, slowing as he drew closer, tantalising them both. When his lips were so close to her own that each inhalation was warm with the other's breath, she placed a gentle hand on his chest, halting him.

"Tell me, Mr. Darcy," she said softly, tantalising him as he had her, "Do you like Shakespeare?"

Nonplussed, he sat up slightly; but seeing the teasing glint in her eyes, he relaxed. "You know that I do."

"And do you have any Shakespeare in this vast library of yours?"

"You know that also, Miss Bennet. Why do you ask?"

"Because I would dearly love to hear you reciting his poetry. You have such a...lyrical voice."

Darcy was finding her own voice, low and gentle, to be fairly enticing as well; but the meaning of her sentence finally reached him, and he frowned. "Now?"

"No," she smiled roguishly, reaching up to stroke his cheek. "A little later, perhaps."

For some minutes thereafter, the soft sounds of kisses and sighs mingled with the relaxing patter of the rain upon the shutters; and when Bingley happened upon them a little later, he halted in the doorway and said nothing. Darcy was at one end of a sofa, long legs stretched in front of him, boots propped on a footstool and coat undone, reading aloud from a book of poetry. His free hand stroked Elizabeth's hair as she draped against him, eyes closed. With a smile of approval, Bingley left them to it.