The Beginning, Section II

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Jump to new as of March 26, 2002

Chapter One - The Midnight Visitor

Posted on Wednesday, 13 March 2002

Lightning snorted and pawed on the ground impatiently, but his master, a gentleman in a black coat, pulled the reigns tightly, restraining him. Stars glittered in the black canvas of a sky, while the big, round moon sat on the hill where the horse and his master stood, creating a beautiful yet eerie silhouette. Below them loomed a huge, dark building of concrete, ominous and grand.

"Ambercombie," the gentleman whispered hoarsely, and Lightning snorted as if he understood.

Ambercombie Manor was dark save for a tiny flicker of light emanating from a window. A few torches lit the path, but it was not necessary, for the moon illuminated it with its silvery glow. The gentleman shifted nervously on his saddle and Lightning, as if sensing his master's uncertainty, pawed on the ground once more.

"It will be all right, boy," the master said, patting Lightning's shimmering mane, more to reassure himself than his horse. He dug his heels against the animal's flanks and spurred him to a fast gallop down the hill.

Down they sped, with Lightning's hoofbeats echoing through the stillness of the night, until they came to a stream that separated them from the estate. Lightning stopped and drank the cool water rippling happily over the small rocks and pebbles in its path. When Lightning had drunk his full, his master urged him on. They splashed noisily across the water and on to the damp ground at a quick pace, but as soon as they hit the paved walkway, they slowed down gradually and finally halted in front of a massive oak door. The gentleman got down from his horse and rapped the heavy brass knocker three times. After a long minute, the door creaked open revealing a gentleman with a kind face, in his late fifties. He was still impeccably dressed despite the lateness of the hour, and if he was surprised at the arrival of the visitor, he showed no sign of it.

"Good evening, sir," he said, holding a candle up to see his visitor's face more clearly.

"Good evening," the gentleman replied, pulling out a letter from his pocket. "Are you Mr. Miller?"

Mr. Miller nodded. The gentleman handed him the letter and waited patiently as he opened it with one hand and read it.

"You must be-" Mr. Miller said, pausing for the gentleman to finish his sentence.

"Jonathan," came the reply.

"Of course. Welcome to Ambercombie Manor, sir." Mr. Miller opened the door wider so his visitor could enter.

Jonathan hesitated and looked at Lightning. "If it is not too much trouble, Mr. Miller, could you show me where the stables are?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Mr. Miller, a little flustered. He stepped outside and led the way to the stables, which were located way to the back of the manor. On the way there, a soft breeze blew out the candlelight and they had to rely on the moon for the rest of the way.

After safely leading Lightning to his stall, the two gentlemen made their way back to the big house, but instead of walking all the way to the main entrance, they entered a side door, which led into a dark hallway. They walked slowly feeling their way around. Mr. Miller, who was in the lead, mumbled his apologies. Jonathan gave no answer, and they walked silently until they reached another door. This door opened into the already lit dining room.

"I must apologize, sir," began Mr. Miller, "I should have brought the lantern instead."

"No apology necessary," replied Jonathan, giving him a slight smile.

"Er, would you like some supper, sir?"

"No, thank you."

"Perhaps some tea?"

Jonathan thought for a moment, and then said, "Yes, please, that would be nice."

A moment after he said this, a tall, stately gentleman with a grave expression stepped out from the shadows, carrying a tray containing a teapot, some cups, and biscuits. He expertly deposited the tray onto the long oak dining table, and deftly poured two cups of tea.

"Master Jonathan, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Edwards, our butler."

Mr. Edwards bowed stiffly and stepped back into the shadows while Mr. Miller and Jonathan sat down to take tea.

"We had despaired of ever seeing you tonight, sir. I sent everyone to bed except for Mr. Edwards, in case you came," said Mr. Miller.

"I apologize for the delay," said Jonathan.

"Oh no, sir. I beg you, do not apologize."

Jonathan gazed around him taking note of the huge chandelier above them, the ornately carved table, the heavy expensive drapes, and the fine porcelain and silver before him. He nodded, pleased with what he saw.

"How long have you been steward, Mr. Miller?" Jonathan asked.

"Thirty years, sir. My father was the steward before me. I grew up here."

"Then you would know a lot about this place and its former occupants."

"As much as there is to know, sir."

Jonathan nodded, quite pleased with the answer. He sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Who are our closest neighbors?" he asked after a while.

"To our right, sir, are the Darcys. Quite a respectable family. Their estate is called Pemberley. Very beautiful property. And to the right of Pemberley is the Bondeville estate. It is owned by Mr. Stewart, who is married to Mr. Darcy's sister. Very pleasant family."

"Very well," Jonathan said, finishing his tea.

"Perhaps you would like me to take you to your quarters, sir?"

"Yes, thank you. I am rather exhausted."

Jonathan and Mr. Miller walked up a winding staircase with carved wooden balustrades. Mr. Miller, who was now holding a lit candle, led him to a huge room. It smelled a little musty inside, for it had not been occupied in a long time. A big four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room. A fire was already roaring in the fireplace.

"If you need anything, sir, just pull on the rope," Mr. Miller nodded to the rope hanging near the bed. "It leads to a bell in the servants' quarters."

"Thank you."

Mr. Miller turned to leave.

"Mr. Miller," said Jonathan suddenly, "I do have one last request. If you are not too tired, could you please give me a quick tour of the gallery?"

Mr. Miller was a bit surprised, but he conceded. They walked down the hallway to where the huge portraits hung, waiting to be admired. Jonathan gazed carefully at each portrait and stopped in front of an old lady with white hair, sharp black eyes, and an aquiline nose.

"Lady Witherspoon, sir," said Mr. Miller, as if that explained everything.

Jonathan nodded and continued down the hall until he reached the end. He stopped once more, this time at a portrait of a beautiful young lady, with golden hair and deep blue eyes. Her lips curved into an alluring smile, as if to say, "I am here."

"Beautiful, is she not?" said Mr. Miller.

"Yes," replied Jonathan quietly. He turned and made his way back to his bedroom, still gazing at each portrait as if searching for someone in particular. When he reached the door of his room, he thanked Mr. Miller and bid him goodnight.

He closed the door quietly and walked to the window, throwing it open. The air was fresh and cool. He closed his eyes and savored it. Everything outside glowed under the moon's silver rays. "At last," he whispered hopefully, "at last."

Chapter Two - A New Neighbor

Posted on Saturday, 16 March 2002

Abigail Darcy briskly entered the sunlit breakfast room, cheerily greeting Elizabeth and Darcy, each with a kiss on the cheek. After being duly acknowledged by both, she sat to Elizabeth's right and began her breakfast.

"Where is Anthony?" she asked after her first bite. "Not riding around Pemberley again, is he?"

"I am afraid he is." Elizabeth sighed. "I do think that he rides that horse of his too fast, though."

"He is a good horseman," said Darcy with pride, obviously pleased with his son's riding skills.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "But even good horsemen get thrown off from their horses, do they not?"

Darcy did not reply, but Elizabeth caught the amusement in his expression. She was about to comment on the seriousness of the matter at hand, when Anthony, who was the spitting image of his father, came into the room. He was a few inches taller than Darcy, but had the same dark features, including the same dark curly hair. His purposeful stride and deep voice were that of his father's. Only his eyes, which sparkled with mischief, belied his otherwise grave countenance.

"Good morning," he greeted everyone, quite excited. "You will never guess what news I bring." He sat across Abigail.

"Then," replied Abigail, "do not let us guess."

Anthony ignored his sister. "I was riding Black Knight around the grounds this morning," he said, "when I came upon the hedge that borders Ambercombie Manor."

"And?" prompted Abigail.

"Well, I was enjoying the beautiful sunshine and the fresh air..." continued Anthony, deliberately taking his time in telling his story, much to the consternation of his listeners.

"Anthony," said the exasperated Abigail, "will you please spare us the unexciting details of your little excursion, and tell us whatever it is that you plan to tell us?"

Anthony chuckled, looking at his sister, whom he loved to tease. "I met the master of Ambercombie," he said simply. To his satisfaction, all three people at the table stared at him, quite astonished at his revelation. Ambercombie Manor has not had a master ever since its mistress, Lady Witherspoon, died several years ago. From that time on, Mr. Miller, the steward, has managed the estate. Whether he reported to anyone, no one knew. He was an honest and respectable man, however, and no one had the heart or the courage to question his right to man the estate.

Abigail, having been the subject of her brother's pranks for many years, thought this to be one of his jokes. She frowned. "Anthony, if you think this is funny, I am not at all amused."

"No, no," said Anthony, earnestly. "I speak the truth."

"Are you certain? Absolutely certain?" asked Darcy gravely. Somehow, Anthony's news gave him a sense of foreboding he had not felt in twenty-five years.

"Of course, I am quite certain, Father. He told me so, himself." Anthony had taken to calling his parents "Father" and "Mother" when he turned eighteen just a little more than six years ago.

"Is he very old, then?" asked Abigail, whose curiosity got the better of her.

"On the contrary, quite young."

"How young?"

"About my age."

Abigail looked at him, quite vexed. "Well, are you going to tell us more about him or do we have to resort to more persuasive means?"

Anthony grinned, quite amused at his sister's threats. Darcy, however, gave him a look that told him he must divulge all the information he knew on the subject matter right away. "Well, all I know is that he inherited Ambercombie and that he plans to stay. He is quite amiable, I think. A fine young chap, if you ask me. Oh, and he is handsome, too." The last sentence was directed to Abigail, who rewarded him with a scowl.

Elizabeth, who until now was silent, spoke up. "Did you say he inherited Ambercombie?"

Anthony nodded. Elizabeth and Darcy exchanged meaningful glances, both thinking the same thing. That could only mean... Impossible!

Elizabeth remained unconvinced. "I wonder why he has never come to visit Ambercombie in all these years. Do you not find it strange? I have been at Pemberley for five years before Lady Witherspoon died and nobody has ever visited her. She has been dead for twenty years now. Then all of a sudden, someone comes along claiming to be her heir."

"He has been traveling throughout the continent," answered Anthony, though no one, including himself, believed such explanation.

"For twenty-five years!" exclaimed Elizabeth incredulously.

"But Mother, Mr. Miller would never have accepted him in if he were some kind of fraud."

"For all we know, he might be a master at deceit."

Elizabeth looked at Darcy who was unusually quiet throughout the exchange, but he was deep in thought. There were only a few logical explanations for the appearance of their new neighbor, yet he refused to believe any of them.

Abigail thought hard. "If he is about Anthony's age, then Lady Witherspoon must have willed the estate to him when he was very young. Or, she must have willed it to someone who, in turn, willed it to him."

"He said he inherited the estate from his mother," informed Anthony. Both Darcy and Elizabeth paled when they heard this, but their children were too occupied with their new neighbor to notice.

Abigail knitted her brows together, trying her best to recall information about the mistress of Ambercombie, but her memory failed her. After all, she was not even born yet when Lady Witherspoon died, and all that she knew about her were gathered from neighborhood gossip. "Did she have any children?"

"She did not," said Darcy with a certainty that surprised his children. "Ambercombie was willed to her niece."

Elizabeth put a hand to her mouth to keep a gasp from escaping. She felt weak at the possible implications of this revelation. She glanced at Darcy and noticed that he, too, did not like the ramifications of his statement.

Abigail said thoughtfully, "Then he must be the niece's son. Papa, have you ever had the opportunity to meet this niece?"

Darcy looked uncomfortable. "Yes," he said, softly, "but I have not seen her for a little more than twenty-five years." Both his children looked at him in astonishment.

"How come you never told us, Papa?" asked Abigail.

"It never came up in the conversation."

"Did you know her as well, Mama?"

Elizabeth nodded. "I have met her, but I was not particularly well-acquainted with her." She glanced at Darcy, who had once more withdrawn to his thoughts.

"Where did you meet her?" Abigail inquired once more, for she had become increasingly curious.

"In London," said Elizabeth.

"Well, then, it settled," said Anthony. "Father and I are going to call on him, are we not, Father?"

"Huh?" Darcy looked at him absent-mindedly.

"We shall have to welcome our new neighbor and invite him to Pemberley's annual spring ball. After all, perhaps when we get to know him more, we shall speculate less," stated Anthony.

"Perhaps you are right," said Darcy, getting up. "Please excuse me, I will be in the library."

Darcy was barely out of the room when he heard Elizabeth ask a question. The answer made him stop dead in his tracks.

"By the way, Anthony, what did you say his name was again?

"Jonathan," replied Anthony. "Mr. Jonathan St. Vincent."

Chapter Three - Speculations

Posted on Saturday, 16 March 2002

Elizabeth entered the library and found her husband sitting on an armchair looking out the window, his mind very far away. She still thought him very handsome, even after twenty-five years of marriage. His proud bearing and brooding expression always made her heart flutter. She never told him, but she thought him irresistibly enigmatic when he was deep in thought.

"Fitzwilliam," she said softly, so as not to startle him.

Darcy snapped out of his reverie and looked up. He smiled at her. Whenever she was with him, his troubles seemed lighter. Perhaps it was because she always gave him sound advice, or maybe because she had the ability to brighten up his whole outlook. Whatever it was, he always welcomed her presence.

"You look worried," said Elizabeth, sitting down in the armchair opposite him.

Darcy nodded. He had discovered years before that it was useless to keep anything from his wife. She always knew if something was the matter. "I was thinking about our new neighbor."

"Do you think he is ... James and Angelica's son?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do not know. When James died, she told me they had no children," said Darcy recalling a conversation he and Angelica had ages ago. And yet it seemed like yesterday. He could still remember the shock he felt when he saw her standing before him after a long absence. Her blue eyes and golden hair, his angry words...

"Perhaps she was pregnant then and did not know it."

"It is the only logical explanation. Either that or Mr. Jonathan St. Vincent is a fraud."

"Do you," Elizabeth paused, trying to voice out the question that was uppermost in both their minds, "do you think Angelica is back?"

"I hope not," he said, almost a whisper.

"What have you to fear?"

Darcy gazed at his wife with tenderness. "I just do not want to complicate matters for our family."

"Fitzwilliam, if our love was strong enough to withstand what happened years ago, I am absolutely certain that it can withstand anything now. We have a happy marriage, built on a solid foundation. I trust you, as much as you trust me. There is nothing to fear."

"You are right, as always," conceded Darcy. He often wondered what he would be without her, and every time the answer was: nothing. "I love you."

She smiled at him. "I know." Elizabeth stood up to leave. "You are going to call on him, are you not?"

"I suppose I have to. It is but proper."

"Proper?" said Elizabeth with a twinkle in her eye. "I daresay, Fitzwilliam, you are as curious as the rest of us, no matter how much you try to conceal it."

"Elizabeth!" Darcy protested.

Elizabeth merely gave him a teasing smile and left the room.

Outside, Abigail Darcy was taking a walk on the grounds of Pemberley with her cousin and neighbor, Victoria Stewart. Victoria, the eldest of Gregory and Georgiana Stewart's three children, was a tall, attractive girl of twenty and two with eyes the color of periwinkle and hair the color of the sun. Abigail, having no sisters of her own, considered Victoria her dearest friend and confidante for she was the only female cousin closest to her age. Their proximity to each other made them even more inseparable.

"Victoria, truly I do not know how I can bear it," lamented Abigail. "Cousin Christopher is a good sort of man, I suppose, but I do not think I can ever forgive him. Imagine! To have the audacity to fall in love with you without my permission. And now you are to marry him. I think it very inconsiderate of him to take you away from me."

Victoria laughed. "Abigail, it is but thirty miles! Besides we will always come to visit you."

Abigail sighed. "Thirty miles too many, if you ask me. But it will do. After all, what is thirty miles of good road between friends? Which reminds me, Christopher is to come to Pemberley tomorrow to stay until after our annual spring ball next week. Though I am sure I will not see much of him for he will be constantly at the Bondeville estate."

Victoria blushed deeply, exclaiming, "Stop it, Abigail!"

"I was merely making an observation," said Abigail, innocently.

"I promise you, dear cousin, when you fall in love, I will never let you hear the last of it."

"If I fall in love, not when," corrected Abigail. "As I said before, nothing but the deepest love can ever induce me to marry. And since the prospects of me ever falling in love with anyone are virtually nonexistent, I am afraid that your threats are practically meaningless."

"We shall see about that," said Victoria.

At this point, the two ladies came to the part where Ambercombie Manor came into full view. It was a large estate, but not as well kept as Pemberley. The house itself was formidable, and the grounds possessed a rugged, untamed beauty.

"We have a new neighbor," said Abigail, "the master of Ambercombie."

Victoria's eyes grew wide with surprise. "The master!"

"Anthony met him this morning," explained Abigail, relating everything that occurred at the breakfast table. She then concluded by saying, "I agree with Mama. It is very strange."

"What does he look like?"

Abigail shrugged. "Anthony says he is quite handsome. But you know my brother. Coming from him I am quite convinced our mysterious neighbor is quite ghoulish. Your conjecture is as good as mine. Papa and Anthony are to invite him to the ball, however, and we shall actually see him face to face then, if not before."

"I am all anticipation!" said Victoria, whose curiosity was as strong as Abigail's.

The two ladies stared at the mansion for a few minutes as if doing so would make the master come out. When they decided that such activity was pointless, for Ambercombie seemed as cold and empty as it had before, they turned around and headed back to Pemberley house.

On the way back, Victoria turned to Abigail and said, "Do you have any engagements today? I was wondering if you can accompany me and Mama to look at some silk and laces for the wedding. Mama and I would appreciate it greatly if Aunt Elizabeth were to come with us, too."

"Oh!" cried Abigail. "That is just the perfect plan. Mama and I were just talking about buying some materials for our new gowns for the ball. I will go tell her directly."

The two girls decided that Victoria and Georgiana would pass by Pemberley, in their carriage, to pick up Abigail and Elizabeth. They parted immediately to tell their respective mothers of their plan. Half an hour later, all four women were on their way to town to do some serious shopping. They stopped at the first shop and were delighted to see a great variety of cloth, laces, buttons, bonnets, and every other thing that delighted ladies. Soon, they were all absorbed in making their purchases, seeking each other's advice from time to time. Suddenly, the door of the shop flew open and in came Mrs. Gable, a tall, plump lady with pink cheeks and a wide smile. She was the neighborhood's number one gossip.

"Mrs. Darcy! Mrs. Stewart!" she exclaimed, hobbling over to where Elizabeth and Georgiana were. "Oh, and I see you brought your daughters with you."

Elizabeth threw Georgiana a meaningful glance, and they both said, "Good morning, Mrs. Gable."

Abigail and Victoria curtsied, both of them thinking how unfortunate it was to be caught by Mrs. Gable at a time when they had so much to do. There was no doubt in their minds that she would apprise them of the latest scandals and reports and nothing short of being pointedly rude to her would make her stop. With all her children married, Mrs. Gable had nothing better to do than run around collecting bits of news and weaving them into the most fanciful tapestries of exaggerated rumors. That there was some element of truth in her tales was never doubted. The only problem was how to extricate those facts from fiction.

"Ooooh!" cried Mrs. Gable, catching her breath. "Have you heard the news? We have a new neighbor! Oh yes, the master of Ambercombie has come at last." Mrs. Gable paused - a very rare occurrence - to let her news sink in. To her disappointment, all four women suffered no change in countenance since all of them, including Georgiana, had heard of the news.

"Yes, we-" began Elizabeth, only to be interrupted.

"I have heard that he is a very strange man, prone to violent mood swings and fits of temper. But he is dangerously handsome I hear. Yes, indeed! Quite a charmer. Is not that wonderful, young ladies?" Abigail looked at Victoria, wondering what could be delightful about a man with a violent temper. The two young ladies stifled some giggles. Mrs. Gable, of course, did not notice for she was very much into her story. "Extremely wealthy. He has twenty thousand a year! I daresay, Miss Abigail, there is the man for you!" Abigail was mortified, but since her curiosity demanded more information, she did not show how she felt. Mrs. Gable continued, "I hear his father left him a huge fortune, with a house in town and in the country. Now what do you think of that?"

"I think-" Abigail started, but Mrs. Gable cut her off.

"He came alone, however. His mother is touring the continent. I have heard the Lady Witherspoon banned his mother from ever coming back to Derbyshire. There was quite a scandal, but it happened so many years ago, before my dear husband and I moved here."

Elizabeth glanced uneasily at Georgiana, who also knew the story of Darcy and Angelica. Her only comfort at this point was that Mrs. Gable knew little of what transpired thirty years ago. "Thank you for the news, Mrs. Gable," said Elizabeth. "If you will please excuse us..."

But Mrs. Gable was not listening for she saw another one of their neighbors walking outside, and eager to spread the news, hastily bid the four women goodbye and ran off to catch her next victim. Elizabeth and Georgiana were relieved. Surprisingly, Abigail and Victoria were sorry to see her go, for their new neighbor was becoming more and more interesting with each passing news and they found themselves longing to know more about him. There were so many questions they wanted to ask about the master of Ambercombie, but all they could do was speculate as to the answers.

Chapter Four - Abigail

Posted on Tuesday, 19 March 2002

Abigail sat in the drawing room, contemplating her next activity. After all the excitement of the morning, she longed for a less demanding occupation. The Stewarts had gone back to their home to sort out their purchases. Elizabeth had gone upstairs to take a nap, exhausted from shopping and the encounter with Mrs. Gable. Abigail, not wanting to go through cloth and laces without her mother, decided that the best thing for her to do was either read or write letters. She was about to choose the former, when one of their servants came in, announcing a visitor.

"Mr. Edsel Borden to see you, Miss," the servant announced.

Abigail winced involuntarily, as if in pain, for there was nothing more unpleasant than to spend the afternoon in the company of Mr. Borden. She had the misfortune of capturing his admiration, and she never forgave herself for it, though it was due to no direct fault of her own. They were introduced to each other at a ball, and she had unwittingly listened to his expositions regarding the insect world with as much politeness as she could muster. This he took to be a genuine interest on her part, however, and at the end of the evening, believed himself to be violently in love with her. According to his own words, he "had never met such a beautiful lady that had the same passions as he had for the fascinating little creatures." Such declaration made Abigail's skin crawl, so to speak, but the damage was done. Mr. Borden had become one of her most persistent suitors to date.

Abigail anxiously steeled herself for the encounter and asked herself what hideous topic he would choose that day. She sighed softly and wondered what evil she had done to merit such punishment.

"Miss Abigail, you are as beautiful as a monarch butterfly," greeted Mr. Borden.

"Thank you, Mr. Borden," replied Abigail, thinking that it was not so bad to be compared to a butterfly. After all he could have chosen worse, like a praying mantis or a black widow, both of which prey on the male of their species. "And you look-" she groped for an insect that would describe him. A grasshopper? For, indeed, he closely resembled one. A fly? No, not quite close. "You look very well, sir."

He beamed at her, delighted by the compliment. They both sat down, and Abigail nervously waited for him to begin.

"You know, Miss Abigail," he said, seriously, "I have just completed a fascinating study of mosquitoes, and I believe that a key to..."

Mosquitoes! Abigail searched her brain frantically for anything that will divert them from such a horrible topic. "Ah, Mr. Borden, that is very, uh, informative, but though I realize the importance of entomology, I am more drawn to botany." At least plants were far better than insects, unless he decided to talk about Venus's flytraps for they were related to insects, in a way.

At first, Mr. Borden seemed annoyed, and Abigail expectantly hoped that her difference in interest would be enough to drive his affections away. But then, he crinkled his forehead and said with great deliberation, "Yes, yes. Fascinating, fascinating. What branch or area of botany, in particular?"

"Area?" I have got to think of something! Abigail said the first thing that came to her mind. "I am by no means an expert on any branch of botany, but I have a particular inclination to the study of trees," she finished lamely.

"Ah, excellent, excellent." Mr. Borden had the irritating habit of repeating himself. "Are you particularly interested in conifers?"

"Oh, yes," replied Abigail. Anything but Venus's flytraps.

"Perfect, perfect. I have discovered that trees are the perfect habitats for many kinds of insects. So, I began a study of conifers in particular. I believe..." he went on to describe the merits of pines and firs in providing a home for this and that kind of insect.

Mr. Borden droned on and on until Abigail felt drowsy from boredom. She wished for a diversion, any kind of diversion, or else she was in very great danger of falling asleep in front of her visitor. She was grateful when Anthony entered the room, but her gratitude did not last long.

"Mr. Borden," he said, cheerily. "How are you today?"

"Fine, fine. Thank you very much."

"Would you like to dine with us tonight, then?"

Abigail felt an unladylike urge to kick Anthony, but refrained from doing so. Instead, she glared at him menacingly.

"I am afraid I cannot. I have a previous engagement."

Abigail breathed a sigh of relief, while Anthony shot her a look of pure mischief. Mr. Borden stayed but a few more minutes and soon took his leave. When he had left, Abigail reproached her brother for inviting her visitor to dinner.

"I was merely being polite," Anthony reasoned. "It is, after all, only proper."

"Proper!" She shook her head. It was hopeless. "You are beginning to sound like Papa." She walked off, quite disgusted.

All throughout dinner that evening, Abigail remained in bad spirits. Mr. Borden had used up all the patience she possessed, and the slightest irritation made her more cross. After dinner, Darcy and Anthony went to the study to take care of business matters, while Elizabeth and Abigail went up to their respective rooms.

Half an hour later, Elizabeth, who was reading in bed, heard a knock on her door.

"Come in," she called.

Abigail entered. She was already dressed in her nightclothes, her long curly hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. "I could not sleep," she said.

Elizabeth smiled fondly at her daughter and patted the bed, inviting her to sit beside her. Abigail clambered onto the bed like she used to do when she was young, and curled up beside Elizabeth, laying her head on her mother's lap. Elizabeth stroked her hair gently.

"I will never marry," Abigail declared.

"Why ever not?" asked Elizabeth.

"I will marry only for love, Mama, but since I do not think that is possible, I have decided to become a spinster. I can stay at Pemberley forever for I know Anthony will not turn me out of the house. Besides, I am sure that he will welcome my assistance in raising his children."

Elizabeth, seeing that Abigail was serious, tried to hide her smile. "Do you not think you are a little bit hasty in your conclusions? After all, you are not even one and twenty."

"But Mama, you married Papa when you were one and twenty. I only have a few more months to go before I am branded a spinster."

Elizabeth laughed this time, for she could not suppress it any longer. "I do not think you are on your way to spinsterhood. Why, your Aunt Jane did not meet your Uncle Bingley until she was almost three and twenty, and she was by far the prettiest and kindest of us all."

"Yes, but I am not as kind as Aunt Jane nor as pretty. Perhaps I am just too plain."

"Plain! That is the most absurd thing I have ever heard!" exclaimed Elizabeth. She looked at her daughter's creamy complexion, her fine nose, and very dark auburn hair that glinted with red highlights in the sun. She admired her expressive dark brown eyes that either sparkled naughtily or smoldered angrily. No person in his right mind could call her daughter plain. "Do you not have enough suitors to disprove such an assertion? The last time I counted there were about five begging for your hand."

Abigail sniffed. "Most of them liked me for my money, I am quite sure. And even if they did genuinely like me, I do not like them. One was too arrogant, another, too unintelligent. The other was a chronic liar, and yet another, vulgar. And now, I have Mr. Borden, who is the most boring person in the world. To be sure he has seven thousand a year, and rich men, I suppose, can afford to be boring, but I do not care for him one bit." Abigail sighed. "I am tired of this marrying business. I will be perfectly happy alone for I do not think I will ever find my ideal man."

"And may I ask what your ideal man is?"

"Well," began Abigail, "he must be intelligent and skilled, handsome, kind, humble yet dignified, even-tempered, understanding at all times, and well-bred. He must love me for myself and not merely for my money. He must also trust and respect me, provide for our family's needs, be a good father, allow me enough liberty to pursue my own interest, and protect my well-being."

Elizabeth smiled at this. "I am afraid, Abigail, that you may indeed end up a spinster with such expectations. I do not think there is any man in the whole world that meets your criteria. There is no such thing as a perfect husband."

"Papa is all those things."

Elizabeth chuckled. "He possesses most of those attributes, but not all of them. We all have faults, you know, yourself included. The trick is to find a person who complements you, such that his weaknesses are your strengths and your strengths are his weaknesses."

"Do you think I will ever meet such a man?" asked Abigail hopefully.

"I have no doubt in my mind. Do not fret about the future, dearest. Everything works out in its own time."

Abigail got up from Elizabeth's lap. "I think I am going to bed now," she said, kissing her mother on the cheek and giving her a big hug. "I hope Mr. Borden asks for my hand soon."

Elizabeth looked surprised. "What? I thought you did not like him?"

Abigail grinned. "I do not. I just want him to ask me so that I can refuse him, and that will be the end of that."

Elizabeth shook her head.

"Thank you, Mama," said Abigail, leaving Elizabeth quite amused.

Chapter Five - More Information

Posted on Tuesday, 19 March 2002

Christopher Bingley arrived at Pemberley the next morning. Abigail, knowing that Victoria had been awaiting his arrival with great anticipation, invited her and her family to breakfast with the Darcys. The Stewarts readily assented, for they were quite excited to see Victoria's fiancé.

Christopher was greeted warmly by the party that awaited him. News and pleasantries were exchanged and they soon discovered that Jane, Bingley and their two other children would not be coming until the day before the ball. This caused a little bit of disappointment, but such feeling was soon replaced by the comforting thought that the ball was but a few days away. The conversation soon turned to pleasanter topics such as the upcoming wedding and the annual spring ball, but the discussion was momentarily interrupted by the arrival of Bernadette Raines.

Bernadette, a lively young lady with flaming copper hair and emerald green eyes, was one of Abigail and Victoria's childhood friends. Her parents were by no means rich, but they owned a comfortable estate in Derbyshire and were good friends with the Darcys and the Stewarts. Because of her long friendship with the two families, Bernadette was also acquainted with the Bingleys, and seeing that Christopher had already arrived, greeted him enthusiastically. More news and pleasantries were exchanged, and soon the delightful discussion of balls and weddings resumed.

Darcy, who was not particularly enthused with such topics, rose and said, "Well, Anthony, Gregory, I believe we must do our neighborly duty and call upon Ambercombie Manor."

"Ambercombie Manor?" said Christopher, a little confused.

"Yes, we have a new neighbor," said Abigail, a little weary from repeating the news over and over again.

Before another session of speculations about their new neighbor commenced, Darcy walked toward the door and said, "You must excuse us for we need to be on our way to visit Mr. St. Vincent." With that, Darcy, Anthony, and Gregory walked out of the room.

"I have been meaning to tell you, Christopher," said Victoria, "that the master of Ambercombie has arrived at last!"

Christopher's reaction, upon first receiving such news, was like everyone else's. He was shocked. Soon Victoria, Abigail and Bernadette supplied him with every bit of information that had been gathered the day before. Elizabeth and Georgiana chose to remain silent, while the two younger Stewarts, Daniel and Anna, hung on to every word the older girls said.

"Mrs. Gable says he has twenty thousand a year," related Victoria.

"More like fifteen thousand," countered Bernadette. "Mrs. Gable always tends to exaggerate."

"She also says that he has a vicious temper," continued Victoria.

"Now how would she know that?" said Abigail, "I do not think she has even met him yet. At least Anthony has talked to him. He thinks him quite amiable."

"He must be right, then," said Bernadette, having complete faith in Anthony's perceptive abilities.

"How old did you say he was?" asked Christopher.

"About your age," replied Abigail. Anthony was only a few months older than Christopher.

"St. Vincent did you say his name was?" said Christopher thoughtfully. "I do not think I ever came across that name in Cambridge."

"Well, he has been touring the continent. Perhaps he studied in some foreign country. Though I think no self-respecting Englishman would study in France," said Abigail.

"Actually," said Bernadette, "I hear that he studied in Oxford."

"Ah," said Christopher, thinking that no school was better than Cambridge.

After all the facts about Jonathan St. Vincent had been exchanged and thoroughly discussed, all that was left for the whole party to do was to wait for the arrival of the three men and squeeze out of them more information about their encounter with the master of Ambercombie. Meanwhile, Elizabeth asked some of the servants to help Christopher become situated at Pemberley, where he was to stay for a fortnight.

An hour later, though it seemed an eternity for the ladies, the three gentlemen came back and were bombarded with so many questions that they soon wished they had never come back. Darcy, who was quite annoyed with the noisy chatter, excused himself and requested that Elizabeth come with him. Poor Anthony and his Uncle Gregory were left to fend for themselves.

"Well," Abigail demanded of Anthony, "does he have his family with him?" She hoped Mrs. Gable was wrong about his being an eligible husband.

"No, he came alone."

"He is single, then," deduced Bernadette.

"That is most unfortunate," said Abigail, with a frown, "for now I am sure that I will never hear the last of it from Mrs. Gable. She believes that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."

At this, Gregory chuckled loudly. "I do not know about that, Abigail," he said to his niece. "He does not appear to be a wife-hunter."

"What about his parents?" inquired Victoria. "Mrs. Gable said that his father is dead and left him a large fortune, and that his mother is somewhere in the continent."

"For once, Mrs. Gable is right," answered Anthony, "though I suspect that his mother is wealthy as well. He comes to Ambercombie, after all, through his mother's aunt, Lady Witherspoon. He seems to be a nice enough fellow, in my opinion, though not very talkative."

"Is he very handsome, Mr. Stewart?" asked Bernadette.

"Yes, he is, actually." This answer satisfied everyone, except for Abigail. Although she had never met Jonathan, she was already inclined to dislike him for nothing could stop Mrs. Gable from playing matchmaker with her now. After her encounter with her last five suitors, concluding with Mr. Borden, she was not in any humor to receive any eligible gentlemen, including those who were both handsome and wealthy. For all she knew, he might prove to be yet another one of those insufferable bachelors who fancied themselves intelligent even though they were not. In fact, she was a little disappointed that he did not turn out to be as strange and mysterious as she had imagined. Another normal, boring bachelor. It was not to be borne.

In another part of the house, Darcy and Elizabeth were having a conversation of a different sort regarding Jonathan St. Vincent.

"So, Angelica is not with him?" asked Elizabeth.

Darcy shook his head. "I tell you, Elizabeth, there is something strange going on. He is trouble."

"Why, did you not like him? Do you think he is," Elizabeth searched for the word, "a blackguard? A fraud?"

"I do not know," Darcy sighed. "He seemed nice enough, though uncommunicative about his past, especially about James. His manners were cordial, but not overly friendly like Wickham's. The only thing is, he does not resemble Angelica in any way, except perhaps for his eyes. But there are many people with blue eyes. How can we even be sure he is who he says he is?"

Elizabeth watched her husband's troubled features and gently brushed a wayward wisp of curly hair, something she always did to sooth Darcy. "That is Mr. Miller's concern, and at this point, none of our business. Fitzwilliam, surely you cannot pass judgment on him on the first meeting. Just remember how much trouble we have gotten into with relying on our first impressions."

"I really cannot pinpoint any fault in him. He makes me uneasy, is all. Anthony and Gregory seem to like him enough. Perhaps it is the thought that he is James and Angelica's son..." Darcy's voice trailed off.

Elizabeth sighed. "We cannot fault him for the mistakes of his parents."

Darcy drew Elizabeth close to him. "Do not worry, my dearest, I will give him the benefit of the doubt." In his heart, he hoped that he would never find himself regretting his decision to do so.

Chapter Six - The Pemberley Ball

Posted on Friday, 22 March 2002

From the window, Darcy watched Jonathan St. Vincent alight from the carriage and for some strange reason he remembered the first time Angelica came to Pemberley's annual spring ball. How long has it been? he thought wistfully. Almost thirty-five years ago. Time does fly.

"Fitzwilliam," said Elizabeth, coming from behind him, "shall we not meet our guests?"

Darcy followed Elizabeth downstairs to the ballroom just in time to see Jonathan come in. A low murmur arose from the other guests when they finally saw in person the most talked about figure of the week. When Jonathan came up to meet his host and hostess, Elizabeth had to grab Darcy's arm to steady herself. There stood before her the most amazing replica of James St. Vincent. He had the same light brown hair, stature and easy manner. He even ran his hands through his hair exactly the way James did. The only significant difference-Elizabeth would conclude later, after she had recovered from her surprise-was the eyes. Whereas James had warm light brown eyes that matched the color of his hair, Jonathan had icy, steel blue ones that made Elizabeth shiver.

"Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy," he greeted, in a rich baritone voice so much like his father.

"Mr. St. Vincent, I am pleased to finally meet you," said Elizabeth, feeling as though time had been set back and she was sixteen once more.

After he had passed, Elizabeth whispered to Darcy, "There is no doubt about it. He is the son of James and Angelica." The statement made Darcy curious, but before he could ask her to explain, more guests streamed in. He would have to ask Elizabeth what she meant later.

As always, almost all of Derbyshire attended. Jane and Bingley, together with their twin daughters, Vanessa and Veronica came the day before, and were now enjoying the festivities. Caroline Bingley and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were also present. There were, however, quite a few absent. Kitty and her husband could not come for their youngest, and most rambunctious child, had fallen off a tree and broken his arm. Mary, as expected, was not fond of balls and declined the invitation. The Collinses, who were now staying at Longbourn since the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, sent their last-minute regrets for Mr. Collins had taken ill with the flu. Edward, the new Earl of Matlock had some pressing business to attend to, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and his family were in Scotland. Anne de Bourgh was also in Scotland visiting the Colonel's family.

The crowd soon sorted out into groups: Caroline Bingley chose to remain with Mrs. Hurst while Mr. Hurst sought the company of other wine-loving gentlemen; Daniel and Anna Stewart, eighteen and sixteen respectively, happily joined the company of Vanessa and Veronica Bingley, both seventeen; Bingley decided to socialize with Darcy and Gregory; Georgiana remained with Elizabeth and Jane; Victoria and Christopher delighted themselves with each other's company; Anthony, Bernadette, and Abigail crowded together; and Jonathan St. Vincent was most unfortunately thrown in the company of Mr. Borden.

Upon seeing Jonathan, Abigail, who had hoped until then that he would turn out to be an oddity, remarked to her companions disappointedly, "He looks normal to me."

Anthony laughed. "And what did you think? That he would look like a clown or court jester, or a strange creature perhaps?"

"Actually," said Bernadette, "I think him rather handsome."

Anthony looked dismayed when she said this, but Abigail said, "Handsome? He is tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me." She could not bear to admit that he was attractive. If anybody overheard her, Mrs. Gable would have the time of her life.

Anthony readily agreed with his sister, and Bernadette, feeling outnumbered, decided to say no more about it. The orchestra soon struck the first chord, and Anthony quickly asked Bernadette for the first dance. Left alone, Abigail was about to retreat to a corner, when Mr. Borden stopped her and asked her for the first two dances. She could think of no reason to decline and was once more forced to endure his tedious company.

On the other side of the room, Jane stared in disbelief as Jonathan danced with a pretty young lady. "Lizzy!" she exclaimed. "Is that the famous master of Ambercombie? Why, he looks exactly like James!"

"I know. Uncanny is it not?"

"But the eyes," observed Georgiana, "they are exactly like Angelica's. Only when I knew her, they were not as cold as his."

"The only question in my mind is," said Elizabeth, "why did he wait twenty-five years to come to Ambercombie?"

"Angelica has never visited either," said Georgiana, remembering the day Angelica left Derbyshire forever. She had never seen her since, even when Lady Witherspoon died.

The first dance was over, and the second was starting. Darcy, Bingley, and Gregory claimed their surprised wives for a dance and all three pairs joined Abigail and Mr. Borden, Anthony and Bernadette, and Victoria and Christopher on the ballroom floor.

When the dancing commenced, Darcy took the opportunity of talking to Elizabeth.

"Why were you so sure that he is their son?" he asked her.

"Why, Mr. Darcy! It is so unlike you to begin a conversation during a dance," she teased, but grew a little serious before answering, "He looks just like James, except for his eyes. For a while there, I thought I was looking at a ghost. To be sure his manners seem more reserved than James, but the similarities are so striking, I have no doubt in my mind."

Darcy remained silent until they had gone down the line. "He is who he says he is, then," he said after a while.

"Yes," said Elizabeth. "I pity the young man, actually. How horrible it is to walk into a room where all the people in it have nothing better to do than stare at you and gossip about you."

Darcy said he knew the feeling, which made Elizabeth smile.

After the second dance was over, Abigail hurriedly walked over to the buffet table to get away from Mr. Borden. The night was not going so well for her. Her disappointment in Jonathan, her fear of Mrs. Gable, and her annoyance with Mr. Borden all combined to lower her spirits. To top it off, she was feeling lonely for Victoria had abandoned her for Christopher, and Bernadette had exchanged her for Anthony. All her other cousins seemed to be enjoying themselves, except for her. She made her way through the crowd, thinking that nothing worse could happen to her. She was wrong. Before she could reach the refreshments, she ran right into Mrs. Gable.

"Ooooh," Mrs. Gable trilled. "Miss Darcy, how delightful to see you!"

Abigail curtsied and mumbled her greeting, praying for a chance to escape. But Mrs. Gable would not let go.

"Have you met Mr. St. Vincent?" asked Mrs. Gable, and Abigail died on the spot.

"No, I have not had the opportunity," she said, weakly.

"Now, that is a shame! For how can you be mistress of Ambercombie if you are not properly introduced!" Mrs. Gable giggled, her whole body shaking. Abigail noticed that quite a number of people were listening, including Mrs. Hurst and Caroline Bingley. She died a second death.

By now, Abigail was thinking desperately of ways to save herself, but Mrs. Gable seemed intent on completing her humiliation. "Now we must fix that, must we not? Oh, Mr. St. Vincent!" she called across to the room to a surprised Jonathan. "Mr. St. Vincent, you must come over. I must introduce you to a very lovely young lady."

Jonathan obeyed, and soon Mrs. Gable was making her introductions. "There," said Mrs. Gable after the introductions were completed. "Now all we have to do is wait for the happy event to take place, eh, Mr. St. Vincent?" She nudged Jonathan and winked conspiratorially.

He looked slightly amused, but Abigail blushed furiously with mortification. She had never been so humiliated in her life in front of so many people. Thankfully, Jonathan bowed politely at her and excused himself immediately.

Mrs. Gable continued to talk to Abigail, who was already feeling very ill. After what seemed like eternity, she was able to excuse herself and slink away, but not before overhearing Caroline Bingley say, "...just like her mother. Doing everything in her power to attach herself to rich gentlemen because she is not handsome enough to tempt men of consequence."

Mrs. Hurst giggled. "Poor Darcy! For his own daughter to embarrass him like that..."

Abigail did not wait to hear more. She hurriedly escaped, brushing hot, angry tears away.

Chapter Seven - The Man Himself

Posted on Friday, 22 March 2002

Jonathan gazed at the stars from the balcony overlooking the garden, unaware that his mother did the same thing almost thirty-five years before. For it was on a starry spring night, during one of Pemberley's balls, that Angelica and Darcy fell in love. There was, however, no more trace of that love, and Jonathan remained ignorant of what had transpired many years ago. Nonetheless, his mind was engaged in the past-his past, his memory of what happened on one starry spring night so much like this one.

"Mama," seven-year old Jonathan said, as he gazed into the heavens, "do I have a father?"

Angelica looked at him and smiled sadly. "Yes," she said. "But he is gone now. Your father died many years ago, long before you were born."

"What did he look like?" asked Jonathan, curiously.

"He looked just like you. Very handsome."

"Did you love him?" he asked, turning to face his mother. She looked like she was about to cry.

"Love is a complicated thing, Jonathan," she said, leaving him a little confused.

"Do you love me?" he asked again, hoping this time the answer would not be as vague.

Angelica gave him another one of those sad smiles. "You ask too many questions. It is time you went to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a big day for you."

That ended their little conversation. The next day, Jonathan St. Vincent was sent to one of England's finest boarding schools, where he stayed until he was sixteen. His mother wrote him once a year, during his birthday, but visited him only once every two years.

Jonathan's reminiscences were interrupted by the entrance of another person. It was none other than Abigail Darcy. She looked quite agitated and did not notice him, for he was standing in the darker portion of the balcony. He wanted to make his presence known to her immediately, but thought the better of it and decided to observe her for a few more minutes.

The moon illuminated her upturned face as she dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and looked forlornly into the night sky. He thought she had the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. He remembered the embarrassing scene that happened to them moments earlier, and correctly guessed that it was partly, if not wholly, to blame for her troubles. Feeling a little guilty for engaging in such an inappropriate activity, he decided to let her know he was there.

"Miss Darcy," he said, softly, trying not to startle her.

It did not work, however, for she jumped and whirled around, quite frightened. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Mr. St. Vincent, I did not know..." She looked at him, a little puzzled. "How did you..." Then it dawned on her that he had been standing there, watching her without her knowledge or permission. Suddenly, she felt ashamed that he had seen her display of immaturity and lack of poise over something Mrs. Gable and Caroline had said and done.

"I am sorry, I did not want to startle you," he said, apologetically.

"Well, you did," she said crossly, annoyed at his invasion of her privacy. "I would appreciate it if you would let me know the next time you feel like hiding in the shadows, Mr. St. Vincent." Jonathan looked slightly embarrassed, and Abigail softened a little. "Are you not enjoying the party?" she asked, a little concerned. Even if she was not enjoying herself, she did not want any of her guests to feel the same way.

"Oh, I am," he lied, not wanting to offend Abigail. Truth be told, he hated it. He seemed to be under everyone's scrutiny and he felt very uncomfortable. "I just needed some air."

"It can be a little crowded," she said sympathetically. "Mr. St. Vincent, I must apologize for what happened a while ago..." She blushed.

"Please," Jonathan said, "it was not your fault at all."

She turned to face the ballroom, her back leaning on the railings. From her position, she could see Christopher and Victoria exchanging smiles and conversing animatedly, oblivious to others. Abigail felt a twinge of envy. Both of them were so lucky have found each other, while she, she had no one-except perhaps Mr. Borden.

Jonathan glanced at the couple she was watching and said, with no small degree of sarcasm, "True love, huh?"

"Yes," she said, wistfully. "Lucky, are they not?"

"Lucky?" he laughed. "No, no, they are most unfortunate, believe me."

Abigail looked surprised. "You do not believe in love?"

"Love is for fools, Miss Darcy," he stated confidently. "I do not think there is even such a thing. People always mistake some other emotion for love, but is almost always never love. Lust, insecurity, immaturity, a bad stomach, or some other thing."

"Perhaps it is because you have never been in love, Mr. St. Vincent," she said coldly, disturbed by what he said.

"And I take it you have?" his asked, amusement in his voice.

"Well ... no ... but that does not mean it does not exist," Abigail insisted, her dislike growing for the gentleman.

"Well, you can believe what you want if it will make you feel better," he said patronizingly, which annoyed Abigail even more. "You are the type who will marry for love, I am sure."

"And what if I am?" she asked, defiantly.

"Nothing. Just that you may never be able to marry if it is love you seek."

This statement struck a nerve with Abigail, because at the moment, it seemed like the truth. She had almost given up ever marrying, that much was true. But she could not bring herself to believe that what her mother and father, her Aunt Jane and Uncle Bingley, or Christopher and Victoria had were all based on a lie. No, she may not be lucky enough to find love, but she was not going to turn out like Caroline Bingley, a bitter spinster. Besides, she hated being contradicted, especially by a stranger. What right did he have? No gentleman, aside from her father and brother, ever contradicted her.

"If that is so, then so be it," she said, stubbornly.

"That is a pity," was all he said.

Not to be dismissed easily, Abigail pursued the subject matter. "And I suppose you approve of marrying for convenience?"

"It is the reality, Miss Darcy. People marry for money, status, fame, and revenge but hardly ever for love. People enter matrimony to escape something or to gain something. Either way, it is all the same, is it not?"

"That is rather self-serving," said Abigail, quite appalled. "To marry without regard to love or happiness! Not everybody is like that."

Jonathan smiled at her as if she were a little girl who did not know any better. "People live for themselves, Miss Darcy. That is the cold, hard truth."

Abigail, feeling she could not take his company any longer, excused herself and left with no very cordial feelings for the gentleman. Jonathan watched her leave. He felt sorry for her-a rich, sheltered girl with no idea about the real world. He shook his head at her naiveté and returned once more to his thoughts.

"How come you never talk about Father?" demanded Jonathan during one of Angelica's visits. He was already twelve.

"Because there is nothing to talk about," said Angelica.

"You never loved him, did you? Just like you never loved me. If only he was here..."

Angelica lost her temper. "How dare you talk to your mother like that! It is true I never loved your father, but then he never loved me, too. And this has nothing to do with you. In fact, we did not plan..." Angelica clamped her mouth shut.

"To have me?" Jonathan finished her sentence. "Then this has everything to do with me, Mother. Are you saying that I was mistake?" His eyes had turned watery and his lips trembled.

Angelica looked away and did not answer.

"It is true, then. A mistake," he repeated, disbelievingly. "I am a mistake..."

Jonathan composed himself. He had been gone far too long. It was time to rejoin the party.

Chapter Eight - Anthony and Bernadette

Posted on Friday, 22 March 2002

The moment Bernadette entered the ballroom, Anthony knew in his heart that he was going to ask her for the first two dances. Why? The reason eluded him at the moment due to his inability to concentrate on anything else except on the stunning lady that had appeared. In the back of his mind, however, he knew it was not her mere beauty that caused him to suddenly find dancing an agreeable activity, for there were many beautiful ladies in the room. But there was something about her that he could not quite explain. He decided to think about it later. For now, he had to make sure that he was the first gentleman to stand up with her.

He made his way across the room toward Bernadette, who was talking to Abigail, and felt every lady's eyes on him. This was not surprising, for Anthony Darcy, possessing his father's good looks and his mother's lively spirit, was one of Derbyshire's most illustrious personages. Combined with his intelligence, skill, and twelve thousand a year (a most admirable virtue), he had become one of the county's most sought after bachelors, much to his dismay. Many speculations have been made as to who would become Mrs. Anthony Darcy, but he dismissed them all as ridiculous. He was immune to the charms of the opposite sex, and regarded them more with curiosity than genuine affection. That is, until now.

"Good evening, ladies. You both look very well tonight," he said, complimenting both women, though his eyes were on Bernadette. She was dressed in a pale green gown that brought out her eyes; her hair was upswept in a becoming fashion. For many years, Bernadette was a clumsy, boisterous girl with unruly orange-red hair plaited into braids. She used to get Abigail and Victoria into various scrapes. Fortunately, she also got them out unscathed (well, almost) with her numerous schemes and devices. Everything started to change, however, when she turned sixteen, and now that she was one and twenty, there was no trace of the girl she used to be. Gone were the scrawny limbs and unbecoming features. Gone were the boyish manners and haughty behavior.

They have been replaced with a lithe figure that was both light and pleasing, and manners that were marked with confidence and poise. There was still much of her former liveliness, however, for her countenance was bright and exciting.

"Good evening, sir," said Bernadette. Both ladies curtsied, but Abigail gave her friend a sly smile and she blushed. Anthony was about to ask her for the first dance, when Jonathan entered the ballroom. He saw the expression on Bernadette's face and he knew that she liked what she saw. In fact, he felt quite downhearted when she said that she thought him handsome. Fortunately, Abigail found him only tolerable and he agreed quite vigorously. When the music for the first dance started, he hastily asked for her hand and was duly rewarded.

"I must say, Anth-I mean, Mr. Darcy," teased Bernadette while they were dancing, "that you have very much improved your skill in dancing. Perhaps you have learned a thing or two in Cambridge after all."

Anthony colored for he knew she was alluding to the disastrous dance they had during the spring ball six years before. He had inherited his father's dislike for dancing and did not take the time to practice the different steps. Thus, when the dancing commenced, he tried his best to stand aloofly by himself, enviously watching his friends and cousins glide effortlessly on the ballroom floor. Unfortunately, men were scarce and Elizabeth, seeing that Bernadette had no partner, ordered Anthony to stand up with her. He complied (for Elizabeth gave him a stern look), and what transpired afterwards gave him enough humiliation to last him two lifetimes. Not only did he step on Bernadette's toes, but he also moved in the wrong direction several times and his partner had to yell, "Other way, Mr. Darcy!" quite a few times. He was so embarrassed and flustered that after the last mishap, he rammed into another gentleman and made him lose his balance. Everything was a blur after that. When he had recovered, however, he found half the men and women strewn across the dancing floor. Bernadette was looking down at him, blushing furiously and laughing very hard. In fact, everyone was, except for his father who had a horrified look on his face. From then on, he resolved to practice dancing more, but promised himself never to ask Bernadette for a dance, ever again.

He managed to keep his promise. Until now. But then, there was no trace of the awkward adolescent in the gentleman that now moved smoothly across the room with dignity. He smiled at Bernadette, and remarked, "I thank you for your compliment, Miss Raines, but I must say that you are as graceful as ever."

It was Bernadette's turn to blush this time. "Thank you," she replied, wondering at Anthony's amiability towards her. Anthony used to be her most detested enemy for he teased her mercilessly and was quite obnoxious to her in every way. After he was sent away to Cambridge, she rejoiced at her good fortune, and when he came back for good, they only regarded each other with polite indifference. But everything was changing.

"I do not think I ever apologized for the last dance that we had, Miss Raines."

"Oh, that." Bernadette laughed. "I hope it is not a habit of yours to apologize six years after you have committed an offense."

"No, indeed. It is only because I never before had the courage to apologize for that particular one that I do it now," said Anthony, shamefacedly.

"I accept your apology for I am certain it will never happen again. Though, I daresay, you have many more apologies to make for offenses that have been committed longer than six years ago."

Anthony looked at her, quite puzzled. "Such as?"

"Oh, a variety of things," replied Bernadette, "such as pulling my hair for the first twelve years of my life, hiding behind the trees then jumping out and scaring me half to death every time I visited Pemberley, putting a frog on top of my head when I was nine, throwing me into the lake when I was ten..."

Anthony chuckled. "My faults, according to these calculations, are heavy indeed!" said Anthony with a naughty spark in his eyes. "However, I have not yet decided whether I am truly remorseful for those things."

"What a cruel person you are!" exclaimed Bernadette in mock disgust. "That is very unkind of you, Mr. Darcy."

"Well, then, I will apologize, if only to get back into your good graces," said Anthony, looking at her so intently that she blushed.

After they went down the line in silence, Anthony said, "Will you allow me, or do I ask too much, to call on you tomorrow?"

Bernadette looked a little surprised, but pleased. "Yes," she said, shyly, "I would like that very much."

This response produced such joy in Anthony that he had never felt before, and it showed in his countenance. Bernadette, pleased with his reaction, glowed becomingly. As Anthony had also solicited the second dance with Bernadette, they enjoyed each other's company until the second dance ended. After that, Anthony escorted her to the refreshment table.

As part of the host's family, Anthony felt obliged to stand up with most of the ladies in the room, and he did his duty obediently, though somewhat unwillingly. First of all, he did not care much for dancing, and second, if he were to dance, he would much rather do it with Bernadette. Unfortunately, he would not be able to have her as a partner for the rest of the evening, for it was inappropriate to dance more than two dances with the same lady.

After two obligatory dances, Anthony decided to take some refreshments for he was exhausted from his exertions. He searched the crowd for Bernadette and when he found her, she was in the middle of accepting a dance with Jonathan, who had disappeared for some time and then reappeared out of nowhere.

He felt a twinge of jealousy as he witnessed Bernadette and Jonathan exchange smiles.

"I wish he never came," a voice from behind him said.

Anthony turned and saw Abigail looking furiously at Jonathan. "Whatever did he do to make you dislike him?" asked Anthony, hoping for some reason to dislike their new neighbor as well.

"He is disagreeable, is all."

"Was he impolite or offensive? Inappropriate in his behavior towards you?"

"No, not at all. I do not care for his opinions, however."

Anthony smiled in spite of himself. As much as he wanted to vex himself against Jonathan, reason would not allow him to do so. "Abigail, you cannot hate him for having opinions other than yours. Indeed, the world would be a bore if everybody thought the same of everything."

"I do not like it when you are reasonable, Anthony. I do not like it at all. I understand what you are saying, but a woman has instincts that a man does not have. There is something almost-" Abigail took a deep breath, "almost sinister about him."

"You have a wild imagination, dear sister."

"Think as you please, but do not tell me I did not warn you when he steals Bernadette from you." Abigail walked off, displeased.

Anthony looked once more in Bernadette's direction just in time to see her laugh at something Jonathan said. He then decided that Abigail was right and chose to dislike Jonathan St. Vincent. Though he felt miserable, thoughts of his impending visit to the Raines estate the next morning consoled him enough to get through the night.

Chapter Nine - Without a Past

Posted on Monday, 25 March 2002

Jonathan sipped his tea slowly as he thoughtfully stared out his bedroom's open window, which afforded him a good view of Pemberley. Two days had passed since the spring ball was held and the whole place had once more returned to its serene state. The early morning rays of the sun touched the great house turning it gold. He marveled at the grandeur of Pemberley House. It seemed so solid, so proud and sure of itself. So unlike me, he thought bitterly.

He sighed deeply, his thoughts turning to the Darcys. From what he had gathered, the family had come from a long and proud history of wealth and prestige. He wondered how many generations of Darcys had come and gone at Pemberley, how many brave men and beautiful women had walked its stately halls, each with a story to tell. And what stories they would be! Stories of a legendary grandfather who was once a king's knight, perhaps, or of a distant cousin who was a fearless traveler, or maybe of an aunt who was a duchess or even a princess. Tales of valor and honor, of tragic love and undying devotion, of exciting travels and thrilling adventures-passed from generation to generation. Oh, how he envied them! He imagined what it would be like to walk along its hallowed halls, gazing at portraits of old, knowing who they were, knowing who he was...

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. And he, who was he? Jonathan St. Vincent, a man with no history, a man without a past. He had no story to tell. He barely knew his mother; he never knew his father. His father...

"I cannot believe you would do such a thing!" exclaimed Angelica, scolding Jonathan, now fourteen years old, for getting into mischief. "To be called in by your headmaster for such offensive behavior is humiliating. Have you no sense of shame? I had to travel all the way here for this!"

Jonathan met her mother's angry gaze with defiance. "An irony is it not? The only time you would come to visit me is when I have done something wrong."

"Do not get smart with me young man," snapped Angelica.

"Father would have come to visit me often if he were alive."

"Your father! Your father did not even know you existed when he was alive!" No sooner than the words left Angelica's mouth did she regret it. "I am sorry," she said remorsefully.

Pain filled Jonathan's eyes. "That is not true," he whispered hoarsely. "That simply is not true."

All through the years, even after his mother told him that his father had died before he was born, Jonathan thought his father knew about him. He had imagined James St. Vincent waiting for him to come out into the world, feeling his wife's belly and waiting for him to kick, telling him how he would teach him how to ride and fence and swim. He pictured his parents choosing a name for him-the most beautiful name they could think of. In his mind, his father would say, "Jonathan. If it is a boy, and I am sure it is, let us name him Jonathan for it means 'gracious gift of God' and that is what he is to us."

"But, oh God, why?" Jonathan whispered, angrily. "You have taken away my father, and now you have taken away my hope." To find out that he was an accident was disappointing, but to learn that his father never even knew about him was devastating. He saw his imagined past crumble into a heap with nothing left in its place. Now he was trying to pick up the pieces and reconstruct his story, knowing full well that it would be vastly different from the one he had once created in his dreams.

Jonathan finished off his tea and headed downstairs to the breakfast room. On the way down, he passed by his phlegmatic butler, who offered to take his cup down for him. He gave him the cup and thanked him.

"By the way, Mr. Edwards," Jonathan said, before going back up the stairs, "Will you tell Mr. Miller to come up to my study. I have a few things to ask him."

The butler looked surprised, one of the rare occasions he did. He quickly recovered, however. "I am sorry, sir, but Mr. Miller has left."

"Left?" asked Jonathan, confused.

"Yes, sir. He has gone to visit his relatives in Bath for a fortnight. He said that he had already asked your permission, sir, and that you know all about it."

Suddenly, Jonathan remembered. "Oh, yes, of course. I had forgotten. Never mind then." He was a little disappointed, but since he had waited twenty-five years for this, what did another two weeks matter? Then he had an idea. By now, Mr. Edwards had already gone down the stairs and was almost at the bottom step when Jonathan called, "By the way, Mr. Edwards, do you by any chance know whose portraits are those that hang in the gallery?"

"Why, yes, sir."

Jonathan was delighted. "Excellent. Could you please come up to the gallery as soon as you can? Thank you." He turned and went directly to the gallery. He walked slowly down the walls of imposing portraits and stopped once more at the picture of the beautiful woman with an alluring smile.

"Mother," he said, softly, "I have come for your secrets." He knew the woman was Angelica, for the painting was exactly how he had imagined his mother when she was younger. But there was something different about the painting. Her eyes were softer, almost kind. And her smile. She looked almost-almost happy.

Perhaps at one point in her life, his mother was indeed happy. He had never seen her so, but then he rarely saw her. He also knew little of her past for she refused to talk about it. She was a mystery, as much as his father was. One thing he knew for sure, she will not remain a mystery to him, and neither will his father.

"I am going to Netherfield, Mother," Jonathan announced to Angelica a month before.

"Netherfield? That is impossible. You cannot stay there," she said.

"I am determined. You cannot stop me."

"Netherfield has been let. We cannot ask the family renting it to move. An agreement has been signed," Angelica informed him confidently.

"Well, then, you leave me no choice. I am going to Ambercombie Manor," replied Jonathan, resolutely.

"You are not," said Angelica, firmly. "I forbid it. Ambercombie Manor is mine and I forbid you to trespass into my property."

"Your property!" exclaimed Jonathan. "Mother, Ambercombie was yours. It is now mine. Lady Witherspoon's will said that as soon as I reached the age of five and twenty, the estate becomes mine."

Angelica turned white. "No, Jonathan," she pleaded, "I beg you, do not go."

"Are you afraid I will find out who you really are?"

"I am your mother and you will do as I say."

Jonathan sighed. "I am tired of this. Moving around the continent with no place to call home. I want to settle down. Have a real place to live. Perhaps, someday, have a family. Is that so bad? Or does the thought of me becoming happy disgust you?"

Angelica shook her head. "You mistake me, Jonathan. You do not understand."

"Well, then explain to me, Mother! What are you so afraid of?" Frustration edged his voice.

"There is no use explaining. You will not be persuaded. Go, if you please."

After wrapping up all his business affairs, Jonathan rode to Ambercombie Manor, carrying the letter he insisted she write to show that he was indeed the real master of Ambercombie.

"Ehem," a voice interrupted Jonathan's thoughts. It was Mr. Edwards. "I have come as you asked, sir."

"Oh, Mr. Edwards. Thank you very much for obliging me. How long have you been here at Ambercombie, if you do not mind me asking?"

"Almost twenty years, sir. Mr. Miller hired me right after Lady Witherspoon died."

"You have never met her then? What happened to the one before you?"

"No, sir, I have never met her. The butler before me left when she died."

"But you know who all these people are?" asked Jonathan, pointing the long wall of paintings.

"Only by name, sir. Mr. Miller taught me. Sometimes visitors ask who they are, thinking there might be one or two famous people who lived here. It is better to be able to answer them correctly."

"Very well, then. I know this is a strange request, but as master of this estate, I would like to know them as well. Will you oblige me and tell me who they all are?"

"Of course, sir. That, sir," said the butler, pointing to the first portrait on the wall, "is Lord Ambercombie, the very first master of the estate." A grave, dignified man looked at them severely. He had long curly hair and no mustache, as was the fashion of his times. Beside him was a portrait of a beautiful woman with brown hair and gentle eyes, holding a fan in front of her ample bosom. "Beside him is Lady Ambercombie, of course."

And so they went down the line with Mr. Edwards giving a brief background of each personality. They went through many Lords and Ladies, a Duke and a Duchess, two Earls, four people with no titles, and a Baron. Jonathan became increasingly worried as they passed each portrait. Then they came to a small pipsqueak of a man, with a tiny face like a rat and a mustache like whiskers. He was Lord Witherspoon. Beside him, of course, was the daunting Lady Witherspoon. Poor Lord Witherspoon, Jonathan thought. They went through four more paintings of untitled personages and, to Jonathan's consternation, finally came to the end of the line with the picture of Angelica St. Vincent nee Devane.

"Where is my father's portrait?" he asked Mr. Edwards.

"Your father, sir?" repeated the butler, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. James St. Vincent. Should he not be here? After all he married my mother."

"I am afraid, sir, that he has no portrait in the house that I know of."

Jonathan was extremely disappointed; his hopes of seeing what his father looked like were dashed. "Thank you for your help, Mr. Edwards. You may go now." The butler bowed and left. Jonathan looked up at the painting of his mother and said, "You win again, Mother, for now."

He decided to take a walk to clear his head. He went outside and headed for the hills behind his estate.

Chapter Ten - A Second Encounter

Posted on Monday, 25 March 2002

Abigail was lonely. Two days had passed since the spring ball and she could not help but feel disheartened with the departure of her guests. Christopher was still staying at Pemberley for a few more days, but it was unlikely that she would see much of him. In fact, it meant that Victoria would not be available until he left. The rest of the Bingleys were already gone, including Caroline Bingley (the only guest whom Abigail was delighted to part with) and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. Bingley and Jane had even persuaded Elizabeth and Darcy to stay with them for a few days and both of them acquiesced, anxious to get away for a while. Anthony had taken to calling on Bernadette everyday, preventing her from visiting Pemberley. Thus, she was all alone, except perhaps for the occasional company of the Stewarts who invited her every night to dinner. For the greater part of the day, however, she was left to her own devices.

On this particular morning, she found herself quite at a loss on how to entertain herself. She tried reading, a favorite pastime, but for some reason, could not concentrate. She started to write some letters, but kept on making mistakes and soon the paper she was writing on was filled with blots and scratches. She played on the pianoforte, but kept blundering through the notes and soon gave up in frustration. She decided to paint, but immediately spilled paint on her gown and lost her inspiration. She took up needlepoint, but stabbed her finger deeply and could not go on for she would certainly bleed on the cloth. After exhausting all methods of entertainment, she decided to take a walk, thinking that if she stumbled and broke her head, the day would end perfectly.

Behind Pemberley was a series of hills that bordered the south end of the estate and continued on to delimit Ambercombie as well. There was one particular hill, however, that rose exactly in between Pemberley and Ambercombie Manor such that half of it was on Darcy's property and the other half was on St. Vincent's. This hill afforded such a spectacular view of both estates that Abigail claimed it for her own, dubbing it Pembercombie Hill. It was towards this hill that she now walked, for it was her place of retreat whenever she felt troubled or sad. Many times, she would sit on the log on top of the hill and read a book, or paint, or simply let her mind wander.

When she reached the top of Pembercombie Hill, however, she was surprised to find Jonathan there, sitting on her log, on her hill. His back was towards her for he was sitting with one leg on each side of the log that lay perpendicular to the estate borderline. He was facing Ambercombie, and she had approached from Pemberley's side. He did not see her, so she decided to go away quietly and not disturb him. Unfortunately, she stepped on a twig and it snapped sharply.

Jonathan turned around quickly and saw her leaving. "Miss Darcy," he called, "surely you are not leaving without saying hello."

Abigail stopped in her tracks, turned around, and regarded him warily. "Hello," she said coolly.

"I see you have found my special spot."

His special spot! "Actually, you have found mine," she said, meeting his gaze.

"Oh, I am sorry. I did not know this hill was taken. I discovered it while I was taking a walk. I am sure you will not mind if I share it with you, then, for there is enough for two." Jonathan pulled one of his feet to the other side of the log such that he now had a good view of both estates.

Abigail shrugged. "Half of the hill is yours, anyway. I shall not disturb you any longer. Forgive the intrusion." She turned around and started to walk once more.

"Miss Darcy! Please do not let me drive you away from your spot. Let me leave instead." Jonathan stood up.

Abigail stopped walking and regarded him thoughtfully. "No, do not leave. I would feel guilty if you did for I know that I had disturbed your solitude."

"And I would feel guilty if you left. Besides, I was feeling rather lonely. I would like it very much if you kept me company." Jonathan sat down at the end of the log on Ambercombie's side.

Abigail hesitated for a moment.

"I assure you, Miss Darcy, I do not bite."

"I am not afraid of you, Mr. St. Vincent, but do you not think this is inappropriate?"

"It could be, I suppose, but it is broad daylight and we are in full view of anyone who wishes to take notice of us. I could always call my butler, though, so he can stand and watch us, if you want."

Abigail frowned at his sarcasm and had a good mind to leave, but she had nothing left to do and wanted very much to regain claim of her hill, or at least part of it. "Oh, all right, then, but you might regret it."

Jonathan smiled while Abigail sat down on her end of the log. "I am not afraid of you, either, Miss Darcy."

An uncomfortable silence soon descended on them. Instead of finding peace and quiet, both of them had become uneasy.

"Do you come here often?" asked Jonathan, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes. It is a good place to think."

Another long silence reigned.

"How are the two pairs of lovebirds? Are they making you feel left out?"

Abigail looked at him in astonishment. "H-how did you know? You must be very perceptive."

Yes, I know how it feels to be left out, Jonathan wanted to say, but instead said, "No, I do not think so. It is very simple, really. You and I have observed Mr. Christopher Bingley and Miss Victoria Stewart together, and your brother glared at me the whole time I was dancing with Miss Bernadette Raines. He need not have worried, for Miss Raines admires him greatly."

Abigail looked away, feeling a little guilty for insinuating that he was going to steal Bernadette from Anthony. "I see."

"What do you know of Ambercombie?" Jonathan asked suddenly.

Once again, Abigail was surprised. "I beg your pardon, what do you mean? I should be the one asking you that question. You are the master, are you not?"

Jonathan looked a little sheepish. "Well, I, uh, I am new to the neighborhood and this is the first time I have visited the place."

"Many people have been wondering about that."

"I just never had the opportunity," said Jonathan, reluctant to talk about his personal life. He steered the conversation back to Ambercombie. "You would probably know more about Ambercombie than I would."

"I do not know much about it," replied Abigail, remembering the many times she, Victoria, and Bernadette had tried to sneak into the manor, when they were young, to hunt for treasure or find the dragon that lived there. Their efforts were, of course, thwarted by Darcy and, sometimes, by Mr. Miller. At the moment, she fought the urge to ask Jonathan if there was indeed treasure in his manor or if the dragon was guarding it. "Perhaps you could ask my father. I believe he knew your mother."

Jonathan stiffened slightly at the mention of Angelica, but he also became curious. "Your father knew my mother? When? Did they grow up together? Were they well acquainted?"

Abigail laughed. "You ask a lot a questions, Mr. St. Vincent. I have no answers, however. You had best ask my father when he comes back in a fortnight. In any case, why do you not ask your mother, instead?" At this, Abigail thought she saw pain in his eyes, but in a blink it was gone and in its place was the usual cold, impassive expression. For some reason, this made Abigail feel that there was something more to his easy manners and cool exterior and she was not sure if she wanted to find out.

"Perhaps someday, I will," he said tonelessly.

Although she had resolved not to take an interest in Jonathan, Abigail's former curiosity about him was aroused. There was so much the whole community did not know about him, and here was her opportunity to ask questions. So she did. "Will your mother come and visit you soon?"

"No, not for some time."

Abigail refrained from asking him about his father, for she knew he had already died. "You have no other relatives?"

"None that I am acquainted with." It was the truth. He had one very vague recollection of his grandfather. He was nearly six years old when Angelica took him to see the old man. The only thing he could remember about the incident was that his grandfather called him James. He died a few months later. Before he died, however, he sold his business and divided the money among his three children. But since James was already dead, his share was willed to Jonathan, including Netherfield and the townhouse in London. Jonathan's grandmother died a year later. After he had left boarding school, Jonathan tried to find both his aunts, but they had already married and changed their name. He never found any other St. Vincent that was connected with his father.

Abigail fell silent for she noticed that her companion was not inclined to give her any information about himself. She was not inclined to volunteer any information about herself either and so left Jonathan to find a topic that would be suitable to both him and her.

"How is your friend, Mr. Borden?" asked Jonathan, guiding the conversation away from himself. "I had the opportunity of meeting him at the ball and he seems to admire you very much."

Abigail grimaced. "How unfortunate for him."

"He seems to be a very well-informed man," said Jonathan, the amusement evident in his voice. "He has spoken much of you. You and spiders-not that there is any similarity, of course."

"How very kind of him to mention me in the same breath as spiders." Abigail shuddered involuntarily.

"He says you adore the little creatures."

"He fancies too much."

"He is an eligible bachelor," said Jonathan.

"He is wealthy enough, I suppose, but wealth is not the only consideration in marriage."

"Ah, I have almost forgotten. You believe in love and will only marry for it."

"I know your views on the matter, Mr. St. Vincent, but let me defend myself. A great part of a woman's happiness depends on her choice of a husband. Aside from gowns, laces, and bonnets, marriage is the only thing of consequence where some of us actually have a choice. Other women are not so fortunate. I suppose I should be grateful that I am one of those who can afford to have a choice, though I wish all women did."

Jonathan looked at her seriously. "And what if you never find love?"

"I can also afford to be a spinster and that will suit me just as well."

Jonathan smiled. He had seldom seen a woman who would speak as decisively and stubbornly as Abigail Darcy. He was just about to tell her so, when he saw a gentleman walking towards them. He seemed to be exhausted, for he trudged heavily up the hill, laboring each footstep. It was Mr. Borden.

"Miss Darcy!" he panted. "I have been looking for you. Your housekeeper told me that I might find you here." He eyed Jonathan jealously. He was obviously displeased to find Abigail with him.

"Mr. St. Vincent and I happened upon the same spot," said Abigail, wishing she could sprint downhill and leave Jonathan to deal with Mr. Borden.

"I see," said Mr. Borden coldly, acknowledging Jonathan with a nod. He wiped the sweat on his forehead with a handkerchief. "I would be honored to escort you back to Pemberley, Miss Darcy."

Abigail looked to Jonathan for help, but he did not offer any, and she was forced to accept Mr. Borden's offer. After excusing themselves, she and Mr. Borden strolled slowly back to Pemberley (for Mr. Borden was overcome with fatigue), leaving Jonathan behind.

Chapter Eleven - The First Proposal

Posted on Monday, 25 March 2002

Abigail Darcy led the weary Mr. Borden into the drawing room and invited him to sit, seeing that he certainly needed a rest. Mr. Borden accepted gratefully for his exertion had left him breathless. The only time he engaged in such stimulating exercise was in the pursuit of butterflies, an activity he had now abandoned for the quest of a different kind of butterfly, who, to his dismay, required the same effort.

Abigail ordered some tea from one of the servants and seated herself on the settee across Mr. Borden. She watched him take his handkerchief once more, wipe his forehead hastily, and quickly pocket the soiled cloth. He straightened his crooked cravat and cleared his throat as if he were about to deliver a lecture.

"Miss Darcy," he addressed her ceremoniously, "for many years I have been faced with a predicament of enormous magnitude. I have endeavored to find a woman who is virtuous, kindhearted, frugal, and refined. Most important of all, however, I have searched for a lady who shares the same passions as I do. Indeed, it is most difficult to find a woman of like mind, a soul mate, a kindred spirit, a partner, who possesses a deep understanding of my interests and passions."

Mr. Borden paused for a moment to regain his composure from his emotional speech. Abigail sat uncomfortably, trying not to cringe with every word he said. She had shown disinterest from the very beginning of their acquaintance, but Mr. Borden seemed oblivious to her indifference toward him. Her only consolation was that he would one day propose to her, and that she would be able to explicitly tell him that she had no romantic attachment to him whatsoever. That day had arrived, but she felt dreadful for she knew that what she was about to say to him would cause him great pain. She was full of sympathy for him, but her pity was not enough for her to accept him. For both their sakes, Abigail decided to stop Mr. Borden before he could complete his proposal.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but I must ask you not to..."

"I must say, Miss Darcy," Mr. Borden continued enthusiastically, as if Abigail had not spoken, "that from the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have singled you out as the woman with whom-"

A servant entered and delivered the tea Abigail had requested. Mr. Borden, annoyed at the interruption, frowned at the young maid, who quickly poured him a cup of tea. She poured another cup for Abigail, who thanked her and said that she would call her if they needed anything more. The servant bowed and left the room immediately.

Mr. Borden cleared his throat again before Abigail could speak. "As I was saying, I have singled you out as the woman with whom-"

"Mr. Borden," interrupted Abigail, "pray do not continue for I have no-"

"I understand, Miss Darcy, that between kindred spirits it is unnecessary for words to be spoken. I am sure you are already aware of my intentions, but decorum obliges me to make explicit what we both already know."

"I am aware of your intentions, sir," said Abigail, who was by now very frustrated, "and it is because of this that I ask you not to continue. You are a respectable man and I would like to spare you unnecessary pain."

Mr. Borden mistook her words. Both his hands trembled with joy, forcing him to put down his cup of tea. "I feel no pain in expressing myself to you, though some men have difficulty in articulating their feelings to their beloved. Indeed it is a pleasure to put into words the depth of my emotions for you. My dear Abigail, I have chosen you as the woman with whom I am willing to spend the rest of my days with. Thus, I ask you to accept my proposal and become my wife." Mr. Borden's eyes were shining with ardor, his hands clasped in delight. He was a picture of happiness and satisfaction.

Across from him, Abigail's eyes wavered with trepidation as set down her own cup and wrung her hands repeatedly. She knew she would hurt him indescribably, but it was inevitable. "Mr. Borden," she said with a quavering voice. "I am afraid you have misinterpreted my statement. It gives me no pleasure to inform you that I cannot accept your proposal. I am truly sorry for the anguish this may cause you, but it cannot be helped."

The astonishment on Mr. Borden's face reflected the shock he felt. He turned a ghastly white. He stood up abruptly, but felt weak and sat down again. "W-what? I-I do not understand. W-what are you saying?" he stammered agitatedly.

"Oh, Mr. Borden, you must forgive me, but I truly cannot be your wife. I am not any of the things you seek for in a partner. If I accept you, you will be disappointed and we will both be unhappy."

Mr. Borden gained back some composure. "I understand that you must be nervous and afraid of marriage, but you must not worry. It is common to feel unworthy of one's husband to be."

"No, oh, no. I am afraid my decision is not because of that. I sincerely do not share your passions and interests in life. I would hate to deceive you, sir. My interests are quite different from yours."

"But what of entomology? The study of science and life? The expansion of the human mind beyond its world to the world of other creatures! Is this not a noble aspiration? Do you not desire the same thing?"

Abigail shook her head. "The expansion of the human mind is indeed a noble aspiration. But there are many ways to achieve it. Yours is through the study of insects, and mine-mine is through other ways. I do not want you to marry me merely because you think I share your love of insects, for I do not. As much as entomology interests me, I do not possess equal passion for it as you do. I am so sorry."

"You do not like insects?" he asked disbelievingly.

"I am afraid not, sir."

Mr. Borden got up and paced the room, deep in thought. He was very troubled and did not speak for a few long minutes. Abigail watched him anxiously as he walked to and fro and after following him with her eyes for a while, she felt dizzy.

"This is very serious, indeed," Mr. Borden muttered. "Yes, very serious, indeed." He sat down, stood up, and then sat down, only to stand up again. He started to pace once more. In a moment of desperation, Abigail almost threw herself at him and consented to marry him if only to stop him from walking back and forth. Finally he sat down, and remained seated. "If you are in earnest, I admire your honesty. I confess I would have been happier had you shared my interests, but you have other virtues that are admirable. But let me assuage your fears. I still love you despite the flaw you have mentioned, and I am sure in time I can persuade you to take a more avid interest in my affairs. I am still prepared to take you as my wife." This he declared with great confidence.

"I am afraid, Mr. Borden," Abigail said, carefully, "that I still cannot give you my consent. I do not feel the same for you as you feel for me."

"Whatever do you mean?" demanded Mr. Borden, more confused than shocked.

"I cannot think of a better way to say this, so I shall say this directly. I respect you, but I do not love you. I cannot marry you, sir. It would be a great disservice to you."

This time, Mr. Borden turned red. "But my situation in life, Miss Darcy, is quite equal with yours! I am a very suitable husband, I assure you. I am perfectly capable of making you happy. Surely you cannot mean what you say. Why, it is unthinkable!"

"I am well aware of that," said Abigail with quiet force. Now that she thought the worst was over, she could act more calmly. "I am sure that you will be able to procure the good opinion of other women more worthy than I."

"Your father will not agree. I will talk to him when he arrives. I am sure he is a reasonable man."

"Please do not trouble yourself. My father will not consent to anything that I do not agree with. Your efforts will be fruitless."

Mr. Borden glared at her. "I now see what you are about Miss Darcy. You delight in giving pain to gentlemen like me who have fallen under your charms. Do not think that I do not know how many men you have refused. Some day, you will fall victim to your own schemes. You will regret this, I promise you."

It was now Abigail's turn to be astonished at the vehemence of his words. She was grieved and shocked. "Why, Mr. Borden!" she exclaimed. "Your accusations are ill-founded. I do not seek to hurt anyone, but I believe that to spare you of the pain now would only cause much greater pain for both of us in the future."

"You will change your mind about me," he stated. "When all the men in Derbyshire have known your true character, no one will ask for your hand. Then you will wish that you have accepted my offer."

Abigail was so surprised at his declaration that she could not speak. She stared at him in disbelief. How could he accuse her so! The only reason she could think of was that he was in great pain, and if this was his only way of responding to it, then so be it. She would forgive him, for he certainly was not himself.

"Good day, Miss Darcy." He gave her one last offended look and walked briskly out the room.

For a long time after Mr. Borden's departure, Abigail did not move from where she was seated. She was so stunned by his accusation that it took her a full half hour to recover. There was something about his manner that disturbed her. She did not know if it was the hurt in his eyes or the anger in his voice, but it made her quite uneasy.

When she had recovered, her first thought was to visit Victoria and inform her of what happened. She quickly ran from Pemberley to the Bondeville estate. The housekeeper let her in immediately for she was a frequent visitor. Abigail walked briskly through the hall and bumped into Georgiana.

"Oh, Aunt Georgiana! I am sorry. I did not see you coming," said Abigail.

Georgiana noticed her agitation. "What is the matter? Are you unwell?"

"No, I am fine. There is nothing the matter with me. Is Victoria in, by any chance?"

"She is out on a walk with Christopher."

Abigail leaned on the wall behind her, disappointment showing in her face.

"Abigail, truly you look very ill. Is there nothing I can offer for your present relief?" asked Georgiana, quite concerned.

"Oh, Aunt Georgiana!" she cried, flinging her hands around Georgiana's neck. "I have just had a terrible, terrible day!"

Georgiana led her to the sitting room and gave her a glass of wine. When Abigail calmed down, she related all that had happened with Mr. Borden. Georgiana tried her best to soothe her. "There, there, Abigail. I am sure he did not mean it. It is very hard for men to take rejection of any kind."

"You are probably right," said Abigail, after a while. "I am making a fuss out of nothing. I feel rather silly."

"No, it is perfectly normal. Such an experience can be truly vexing. Now I must ask you to keep me company until we are called to dinner. Christopher and Victoria should be back very soon."

Abigail gratefully accepted her aunt's invitation, and soon the unfortunate events of the day were forgotten.

Continued In Next Section