Beginning, Section II

Editors's Note: This story can also be found in Forthcoming Engagements Web

Chapter One

Posted on Sunday, 26 March 2000

Fitzwilliam Darcy turned for a last glimpse of Pemberley, watching until the bend in the road neatly slipped it from sight. With a sigh and twinge of regret, he settled down more comfortably in his seat.

Though the recent illness of his father made him reluctant to leave home, his concerned family had encouraged him to spend a few weeks in London. They quietly agreed that Darcy needed a change; the shock of nearly losing his beloved father and the necessity of having to acquire more of his elder's duties had aged the young man. When invitations to various social events filtered in by post, his family welcomed the opportunity, feeling that just such a trip would benefit him.

And so he found himself on the way to the train station. Darcy wished he could remain at Pemberley, but in his heart, he knew his absence was best. A recent conversation with his sister replayed in his head.

"It's your duty," she teased. "You'll disappoint all those young ladies." He merely glared at her; she sobered. "You must go. You're practically ill yourself and you're making Father worse. He worries about you incessantly and he won't improve until he knows that you have."

The car rolled to a stop, breaking his reverie. Darcy slowly got out as the chauffeur extracted luggage from the trunk.

"Safe journey, sir."

"Thank you, Graves. Good-bye."

Darcy searched the train for an empty compartment, ignoring the numerous young women whispering and staring in his wake. A tall and athletic twenty-four, his good looks made him the frequent uneasy object of many a feminine affection--a seemingly hereditary condition dating back to the original Fitzwilliam Darcy. With his handsome dark eyes and chestnut hair slicked back according to current fashion, Darcy strikingly resembled his ancestral namesake. He had often gazed upon the portraits of his great-great grandfather and his wife, wondering if he would ever fall as devastatingly in love as they had. The courtship and marriage of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet was a well-known and charming part of family lore and had become his idea of true love. Would he ever find something that pure and beautiful within the tangled complexities of London society? With a slight frown, Darcy sighed and opened his newspaper as the train pulled away from the platform and began to pick up speed.

Although his friends had written that they would meet him at the station, they were nowhere in sight as Darcy stepped off the train. Puzzled, he looked about vainly until he heard a commotion further down the platform.

"There he is!"

"Fitz!"

"Where?"

"There! See?"

"Darcy!"

Five impeccably dressed bodies rushed over and threatened to engulf him in excited handshakes, friendly backslaps, and constant chatter.

"Sorry we're late--"

"--We would've been here sooner--"

"--If it wasn't for old Clair."

"It's not my fault."

"You insisted that Fitz got off on the other platform!"

Darcy grinned wryly. "Nice to see you fellows again, too." Laughter ensued and then the voices resumed their cacophony.

"Dry up, you two."

"Don't mind them--they're just cranky--"

"--Because all of the girls know you're back in town."

"Come on, let's get Darcy out of here."

"Julian, bring the motor round."

The six young men laughed and talked their way through the station. Many turned to observe the spectacle of youth playing itself out before them, finding themselves drawn in spite of their best efforts.

"What handsome young men!" exclaimed one matron.

"The Darcy set," a mother pointed out urgently.

"Only the six most eligible bachelors in England--after the Prince of Wales, of course," commented another.

"I see high spirits are the fashion," harrumphed an elderly man in a contradictorily amiable tone.

"Oh, I hope we meet often during the season," thought a debutante, a funny little tremor in her heart. Her younger brother gazed in awe, imagining himself just as nonchalant and lively when he was grown-up with long pants and going to train stations to meet friends.

A young American recently introduced into fashionable society eyed the whirlwind and the reactions it excited. She turned to a young aristocrat next to her and asked her question.

Her friend looked up from a train schedule with a slightly bored expression. It vanished immediately. "The Darcy set!" she cried. The American met this exclamation with an inquiring look, so the Londoner patiently continued. "The cream of society. A circle of six: the Marquess of Derby, Viscount Riverfield, Julian Eaton-Fox, Claudio Strohem-Moss, Peregrine Carlyle, and Clarincarde Meredith. Six fortunes, three titles, a handful of estates, a few priceless collections, and, most importantly, not a wedding ring between the lot. Every man wants to be them and every woman wants to be with them."

"Even you?"

"Naturally. But I've just gotten engaged to Reggie, so rotten luck for me." A train arrived and they rushed to meet the disparaged fiancé.

On the opposite end of the station, the six piled into a motorcar. Unlike poor Reggie, they were hardly oblivious to people's comments. "There's gossip and then there's Darcy set gossip," Claud once crossly remarked after finding yet another picture of himself in the paper. Indeed, columnists actively sought out their perfect mix of youth, fortune, looks, and personality.

The only child of the ninth Earl of Newcastle, Killian Finlay was Darcy's second cousin and closest friend. Nearly inseparable since childhood, they had together faced Eton, Cambridge, war, and society. The press had bestowed upon Killian the title of "golden boy" as much for his many successes as for looks. Slender with shining golden-brown hair and laughing hazel eyes, he had the self-assured yet modest manner of a man who did everything well but preferred to let his accomplishments speak for him. To his chagrin and his friends' amusement, the name stuck, but Killian endured it and the teasing with his usual equanimity.

At a young age, Julian Eaton-Fox made his first speech before Parliament. Unfortunately, a malefactor interrupted the proceedings by abducting several MPs, forcing the junior politician to spend the remainder of the session chasing the dog around the nursery in an effort to retrieve his toy soldiers. This inauspicious beginning did nothing to deter Julian's taste for politics. At Eton, he was nicknamed "P.M." after announcing that he aspired to the prime ministership. After learning that his titled birthright made him ineligible for the position, Julian sighed and awaited the day he could sit in the House of Lords as Earl of Aylesbury.

Shakespeare was the making of Claudio Strohem-Moss. Literary critic Berowne Strohem-Moss and author Rosaline Sedon christened their children Titania, Claudio, and Ophelia and their estates Navarre and Illyria. Here Claud grew up, developing his athletic skills on the shores and his intellectual gifts with priceless family volumes. Our own Shakespearean hero, his parents said proudly. Certainly he looked the part. Time on the game fields had lightened already blond hair, burnished fair skin, and given him an athlete's spare but strong form. Claud always laughingly dismissed the praise, preferring compliments about his flourishing writing career.

Young women sighed over the romantic figure Peregrine Carlyle cut in society. In addition to the requisite mellifluous name, comely face, and indefinable allure, he possessed artistic talent and a seaside Scottish castle. They imagined him painting by candlelight to the sound of crashing waves--an idea so thrilling that they besieged him with requests for portrait sittings. This amused Perry, who worked in small yet delightful well-lit studios at his London and Scotland homes. Though he privately regaled his friends with these appeals, he publicly refused them in his typical kindly manner--so kindly that the pleas continued unabated.

Even without the lustre of riches upon him, the handsome and charismatic Clarincarde Meredith would have been popular in society. However, he stood to inherit the famed Clarincarde fortune from his mother Mabel, a fact so widely discussed that Clair often remarked that his middle name was "Fortune." Though he seemed unaffected by his destiny as "the wealthiest commoner in the Commonwealth," friends suspected that his aversion to marriage had less to do with loyalty to bachelor life and more with his delight in eluding mercenary traps of wedlock. In any case, Clair continued to enjoy the merry life of a socially desired single man.

Conversation flowed as Julian expertly guided the car to their favorite club, where their young appetites planned to do justice to an excellent lunch.

"How does it feel to be twenty-five?" Darcy asked, cheerfully elbowing Killian.

The latter grinned. "You'll have to ask Julian and his three months' experience. I've only had a few hours to try out my new adult understanding."

"Adult understanding!" howled Perry. "Will thy mature lordship now retire from society with thy dressing-gown and slippers?"

"I can see the headlines now," Claud added. "'Golden Boy's Rays Set: Viscount Riverfield Turns Fallow.'"

"Save the mourning bands, chaps," broke in Killian, laughing.

"Until you marry and desert us," finished Clair. "Or until Julian does, I should say." He glanced meaningfully at his friend. "Affianced yet, my boy?"

Julian squirmed slightly. "No."

Darcy tried a different tack. "How is the lovely Serena?"

"Fine." Perhaps driving occupied all of Julian's concentration.

"She'll be at Ciro's," said Killian. "I invited her for Julian."

"But don't propose to her tonight, lad," advised Perry gravely. "It would be rather a slight to Killian; it is his birthday."

The car slowed as Julian reached the club. As he cut the engine, he turned and asked, "Does Thursday suit you lot?" He flashed a grin, then proceeded towards the entrance of the club without further explanation. His friends looked at each other in surprise and sprinted after him, shouting inquiries.

Chapter Two

Posted on Wednesday, 29 March 2000

Forthcoming Marriages

The Hon. J.T. Eaton-Fox and Miss S.E. Ayrshire.
The engagement is announced between the Honourable Julian Trevor Eaton-Fox, M.C., only child of Viscount and Viscountess Aston of Aylesbury, and Serena Emilie, daughter of Lord and Lady Edward Ayrshire of 2, Eaton-place.

"Well, there goes our circle." Clair passed the Times to Darcy with a mock sigh and the hint of a mischievous grin. "Julian the married man and whatnot."

Claud bounded into Darcy's library after Everett, the butler, announced him. "Why the long face, Meredith?" He noticed the open court page. "Oh, I see. Thus goes another--yet our first--to the world."

"Here's something to cheer you up," Darcy said, sliding an envelope to Clair. "An engagement; forgive the word play."

"I wonder what sort of trite drivel the columnists will invent," Claud mused. "'Julian Out-Eaton-Foxes the Competition: Announces Engagement to Serena Ayrshire,' I shouldn't wonder." They laughed.

"'Lord and Lady Edward Ayrshire'--yes, yes--'your presence'--right-- 'celebration of betrothal'--I see--'Serena and the Hon. Julian'--title, naturally-- 'Friday.'" Clair put down the letter and smiled. "An invite makes everything better. I'll cheese the melodrama and even promise to wish them joy."

The gleaming black and chrome motor pulled up to the home of the Ayrshire family. Darcy stepped out of the car after Killian, taking in the cheerful atmosphere before him. They grinned and went up the stone steps into the house.

The footmen took their coats and hats in the mirrored entryway where they quickly scrutinized themselves. "Handsome enough now?" a teasing voice asked as Darcy adjusted his white tie and evening clothes. Perry grinned, closely followed by Claud and Clair.

"Ready to face the enemy?" whispered Killian as the group gathered at the top of the red-carpeted staircase for the receiving line. A chorus of soft groans arose as he indicated a cluster of hopeful-looking matrons strategically positioned near the staircase. The eager ears of the mothers pricked up as a footman clearly enumerated the names of the Darcy set:

"Mr. Clarincarde Meredith, Mr. Peregrine Carlyle, Mr. Claudio Strohem-Moss, Lord Riverfield, Lord Derby."

They dispensed congratulations and handshakes liberally throughout the line: thanking Lord and Lady Edward for their hospitality, answering inquiries about their health from Lord and Lady Aston, and chatting with Julian and Serena, who promised to follow into the celebration. And, with that, the five descended into the festivities.

Numerous elegant couples traced the steps of a lively waltz on the shining marble floor, while others deep in conversation lined the room. The group surveyed their surroundings as they eased into the crowd.

Relieved from receiving line duties, the betrothed soon appeared with a small group in tow. Darcy felt his heart pause in cold astonishment. For among them shone a face he knew well, a face from the past: the face of Elizabeth Bennet. In confusion, he wondered if this was how his ancestor had felt that fateful day his love came to Pemberley.

Serena smiled. "May I introduce Noel Katherine Percy, Lady Kristin Klosson, and Elizabeth Clifton to you fine gentlemen? I suspect we'll spend a great deal of time together in the future--say, July?" A spellbound Darcy did not hear the laughter. Elizabeth! Of course her name should be Elizabeth, he thought dizzily to himself.

"Since we're introducing the members of the wedding party," laughed Julian in response, "I present Claudio Strohem-Moss, Lord Riverfield, Lord Derby, Clarincarde Meredith, and Peregrine Carlyle."

Though Darcy gave and received acknowledgment, the tumult of his mind severely impaired rational thought. Do something, he urged himself, fumbling with ideas. Serena unwittingly helped him.

"Dearest, we're to display our dancing skills right now," she said, leading Julian away at a signal from her parents.

Silently blessing Serena, Darcy heard himself ask in a voice that belied his nervousness, "Miss Clifton, would you care to dance?" She rewarded him with an acceptance and a smile, following him into a fox trot.

Watching them, Clair remarked, "Did you hear the crash?"

"Which?" Perry's forehead furrowed.

"The one when Fitz fell for her."

Unaware of the gossip generated by his actions, Darcy focused on his partner, scarcely believing his luck. It seemed unreal to take her hand and draw her close to him for a few moments. Suddenly realizing that a silence blanketed them, he struggled for a topic.

"Are you enjoying London this season, Miss Clifton?" he finally inquired.

Elizabeth smiled. "Yes, though perhaps not so much as the country."

"Though London has its advantages, I have greater appreciation for the country also. Where in the country do you live?"

"At Courtenay, my father's estate in Warwick."

"Warwick? Lovely area."

"Yes. Stratford is particularly picturesque in the spring and summer," Elizabeth replied wistfully. "But I shall not mind forgoing its charm quite as much, now that Serena's wedding awaits."

"Indeed. I suspect it will engage us."

"Yes, I suppose it shall," she replied.

They fell silent, regarding each other as they danced.

Chapter Three

Posted on Friday, 7 April 2000

Elizabeth gave her dark bobbed hair a shake and straightened the pleats of her skirt. She threw the windows open, pausing a moment to bathe her face in the fresh spring air and warm sunshine. Her heart felt as light as her step as she went down to the breakfast room.

The sight of her great-aunt, wielding a simultaneous attack on the society columns and her breakfast, slightly dampened her mood. Elizabeth suppressed a groan and served herself as quietly as possible, hoping to avoid any discussion regarding last night's revels.

Unfortunately, this was not to be. Bursting with pride, her aunt read aloud, "'The handsome Lord Derby enjoyed the company of Miss Elizabeth Clifton, dancing at length with this popular young lady.'"

The previously silenced groan escaped. Why can't the newspapers just leave me alone? she thought crossly. She hated having her affairs published for London to discuss as if she was a thoroughbred at the races.

Alberta Morris sighed happily. "I knew your friendship with Serena Ayrshire would benefit you someday. Why, she's put you in the very midst of the Darcy set! And to have gotten the attention of Fitzwilliam Darcy! You do well to try to catch him." She reached for the Burke's Peerage that always accompanied her newspaper reading and frantically flipped through it.

Catch him! The very idea! "Aunt Alberta, I am not--"

"Here, my dear. Such distinction!" Mrs. Morris slammed the book down before Elizabeth.

DERBYSHIRE.
The 3rd Duke of Derbyshire (Christopher George Darcy), Marquess of Derby, K.G.; educ. Eton and Camb.; b. 4 Nov. 1873; s. his father as 3rd Duke 1908; m. 7 Jan. 1900, • Katharine, only dau. of James Davison (b. 9 Aug. 1873), and has issue
1) FITZWILLIAM JAMES GEORGE, Marquess of Derby; educ. Eton and Camb.; served in the Great War (1917-18); b. 19 Oct. 1900.
2) Fiona Honoria Anne, b. 23 July 1903, m. 10 June 1922 • Charles Alexander Bingley (b. 25 June 1899), D.F.C, elder son of Alexander Bingley of Netherfield Park, Herts., and has issue
• Stella Katharine Rosemary, b. 9 July 1923.
Lineage-The family of Darcy is descended from Pharamond, who is commonly reported to have been the founder of the French monarchy...
GEORGE DARCY, educ. Camb.; b. 1759, m. 1784, Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, 2nd dau. of 3rd Earl of Matlock (b. 1763, d. 1797); and had issue
1) FITZWILLIAM (Sir).
2) Georgiana, b. 1797; m. 1817, John Henry, Viscount Treadgold, afterwards 3rd Earl of Daventry and had issue. (See Daventry.)
Mr. George Darcy d. 1808. His son,
SIR FITZWILLIAM DARCY, educ. Camb.; b. 4 Aug. 1785; m. Dec. 1813, Elizabeth, 2nd dau. of Edward Bennet (b. 9 Nov. 1792, d. 1860), of Longbourn House, Longbourn, Herts., and had issue
1) FITZWILLIAM CHARLES; 1st Duke.
2) Elizabeth Jane, b. 1816, m. 1837, James William, 19th Earl of Ormonde, and d. 1881, leaving issue. (See Ormonde.)
3) Bennet Edward, b. 1818, d. 1818.
Sir Fitzwilliam Darcy d. 1850. His only surviving son,
FITZWILLIAM CHARLES, 1st Duke of Derbyshire; educ. Eton and Camb.; b. 1815; m. 1838, Christiana, only dau. of William Stephen Stanton, and had issue
1) Georgiana Christiana, b. 1839, m. 1858, Wilcox Delvigne and d. 1865, having had issue.
2) Anne Elizabeth, b. 1842, m. 1862, Baron Tighe of March, and had issue. (See Tighe.)
3) CHARLES STANTON BENNET; 2nd Duke.
His Grace d. 1874 and was s. by his only son,
CHARLES STANTON BENNET, 2nd Duke of Derbyshire; educ. Eton and Camb.; b. 1845; m. 1872, Honoria, dau. of Christopher Greville-Knox, and had issue,
1. George Fitzwilliam, Marquess of Derby; b. 1872, d. 1873.
2. CHRISTOPHER GEORGE; 3rd and present Duke.
3. Jane Honoria, b. 1875, m. 1895, Hugh Halifax Merrion, and had issue
• Edward Hugh Darcy, b. 1897.
His Grace d. 1908 and was s. by his only surv. son.
Creation-Duke of Derbyshire and Marquess of Derby, in England 1860.
Seat-Pemberley House, in Derbyshire.

Elizabeth removed the book from her battered breakfast. "Please, aunt. I do not care to know the marquess' pedigree." You old social climber, she added spitefully to herself as she left the room.

"And that's game," shouted Killian, tossing his wooden racquet up in the air and neatly catching it. "Race you chaps down to the teahouse!" Four white-clad men sped towards the gate of the tennis court, pushing and shoving each other. They collapsed in a heap on the Wimbledon grass, but two figures recovered and ran towards the finish.

"Won again!" crowed Darcy, raising his racquet in triumph.

Killian, close behind, laughed and pointed a finger at the vanquished. "How does it feel to have lost twice today, gentlemen?"

Claud tossed a towel at him. "You're hilarious, Riverfield."

"If you and Fitz hadn't pushed us down," protested Julian, grinning.

"So you're both going to fetch tea, then?" retorted Darcy. Julian theatrically heaved a sigh, as Claud mockingly bowed with the towel over his arm. They scampered away, snickering.

Silence prevailed as Darcy dropped into a chair and Killian stretched out on the lawn. Though close enough friends to feel comfortable in mutual silence, Killian sensed a difference in Darcy's reticence. Shading his eyes from the sun, he glanced over at his friend.

"Fitz, is there something wrong? Your father...?"

"Father's fine."

"Excellent." He paused thoughtfully. "It's that girl, isn't it?"

More of a statement than a question, Darcy thought. I should have known that Killian would notice. A well of emotion broke his sudden shyness and his feelings poured out. "I've never felt like this--never," he concluded.

"Well, of course not. You've never been properly in love before."

"Neither have you," rejoined Darcy.

"Not seriously; not until--." But Killian stopped himself. After all, this conversation was not about him. Those ideas, fresh and still aborning, were better shared another time.

Darcy saved him the trouble. "Does she look like someone to you?"

Killian thought hard for a moment. "I hadn't really considered it, but now that you mention it, I've a crazy idea that she looks like that portrait at Pemberley--"

"--Of my great-great grandmother, Elizabeth. So you see it, too."

"People say you resemble her husband, so perhaps this relationship is fated to happen." He laughed.

"Perhaps." Darcy frowned. "What if she's just a social climber? You know as well as I do how a lot of these debutantes are."

"As we have daily proof," said Killian dryly. "But, in all seriousness, given what we've seen of her, I don't think she'll turn out a title-chaser."

Darcy smiled at his best friend. "Thanks. And now I think we'd better end this conversation as I see our tea." They watched, amused, as Claud and Julian struggled with a large tray. Setting their burden down, the relieved pair flopped into chairs.

"No service?" Darcy asked innocently. Killian snapped his fingers impetuously. Julian and Claud exchanged a look. A scuffle ensued. Darcy upset a bucket of water left by a gardener over Claud, who knocked him into some nearby bushes. Julian attempted to tackle the laughing Killian, promptly stepped into the forgotten vessel and fell, taking his victim down with him.

The sound of a throat clearing stopped them cold. Julian, flushing, inclined his head. "Good afternoon, Serena, Lady Kristin, Miss Clifton, Miss Percy."

"Hello, dearest." Serena fought an urge to smile at the sight before her. With water and foliage dripping from his person, Claud resembled a newly irrigated plant. Darcy, carefully picking himself out of the hedge, had grass and twigs intermingled in his wildly spiky hair and sticking to his damp clothes. Foot encased in the bucket, Julian grasped Killian's shoeless leg. Both sprawled on the ground, tennis whites no longer so. Four faces glowed an interesting shade of crimson.

Stammering, Julian finally broke the silence. "Darling, I didn't expect to see you--I mean, I didn't think--rather, what are you doing here?" He freed his foot from the pail.

Raising her eyebrows, Serena replied matter-of-factly, "Playing tennis. I might ask you the same." Gazing at the dashing and debonair young men turned disheveled and guilty schoolboys, she began to giggle. Her companions joined her and, after a moment, the men did also.

The rest of the afternoon rapidly passed in a jolly fashion. Mixed doubles followed tea, with Darcy, much to his secret delight, partnering Elizabeth. If only life was as simple as tennis, he mused, noting the rosy flush of his partner's cheeks, the fine beads of perspiration misting her forehead, and how well she became her jaunty tennis clothes.

The match ended in favor of Darcy/Clifton over Finlay/Klosson, 7-5, 6-4. Elizabeth joyfully rushed up to her partner the moment they gained match point, taking his arm excitedly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, releasing it quickly. "Goodness, what was that?"

Darcy felt disbelieving, but he had to say it. "A spark."

She echoed it quietly. "A spark."

"Yes. I felt it, didn't you?"

"Well, yes. I did. I wonder what caused it?" she said lightly, face conscious with conjecture.

Chapter Four

Posted on Friday, 14 April 2000

"I see the mails yielded up the prized invite of the season for you also," said Perry, indicating an elegant engraved envelope lying on a table in the front hall.

Darcy smiled as he put on his coat. "Now it's official."

"I say, don't tell the P.M., but," Perry crept confidentially closer, "what exactly do ushers do?"

His friend laughed. "Come on, I'll tell you on the way."

The other four were ranged around Clair's usual table at the Embassy, engrossed in conversation and highballs. Clair jumped up and gestured excitedly as Darcy and Perry approached.

"Here's the chaps we want," he exclaimed above the noise, sprinkling cigarette ash haphazardly. "Tell me, wasn't our prefect at Eton named Noble? Son of an earl, went on to Oxford."

Darcy nodded as he took a glass from a waiter's proffered tray. "He wasn't a very good one, according to the masters."

"Only because he didn't cane us juniors much," said Claud dryly. "We thought he was an all right chap."

Lighting a cigarette, Perry made a face. "Why are we discussing old prefects?"

"Can't a man reminisce about his schooldays on his birthday?" replied Clair with pretended pompous solemnity.

"Only if he's old and doddering," chortled Perry, narrowly eluding a grinning lunge.

Julian laughed. "Clair thinks one of Serena's bridesmaids might be Courtland Noble's sister."

"What's her name?"

"Christian Noble. She's an old schoolmate of Serena's."

"Well, I don't care if she's Noble's sister, as long as no one is related to that absolute rotter of a prefect--what was his name? The one Noble replaced?" asked Killian.

Claud shuddered. "Fortunately for us. Thank god he got sent down. Pinched a fiver from the Latin master, I think."

"I always burned his toast. 'Finlay, you may be a viscount, but you make rotten toast,' he used to say. I used to pocket my slice at breakfast and keep it in case of emergency." He raised his glass with a grin. "Which is why I salute tuck boxes; they kept this growing boy from starving."

In the midst of reminisces over the contents of their respective boxes, a large group arrived, properly beginning Clair's birthday celebration. Those so inclined quickly betook themselves off to dance while others happily caroused at the tables where Clair held court.

As had become common during the various social events of the past month, Darcy partnered Elizabeth Clifton. Gossip columnists eagerly reported every interaction between the marquess and the young debutante, noting their developing relationship. As usual, Darcy thought to himself, they were fifty percent correct. The attraction seemed only on his side. He had analyzed their every meeting, looking for a certain sign of her affection in a glance, a smile, a word, a touch. But to no avail--she seemed to regard him as little more than a friend. Darcy sighed unwittingly.

Concern immediately registered on Elizabeth's brow. "Are you unwell, Lord Derby?"

"No. I feel quite well." He paused. "Miss Clifton, several of us are stopping for the weekend at my family's estate in Derbyshire. Would you care to join us?"

"Certainly." She smiled and inquired conversationally, "What is the name of the estate?"

Darcy smiled proudly. "Pemberley. It is called Pemberley."

Chapter Five

Posted on Sunday, 23 April 2000

The golden rays of the rising sun broke gently over the majestic grounds of Pemberley, imparting it with an ethereal glow. A young man busily trundling a bicycle from a shed paused to drink in the picturesque vista before him. The elegant brown stone of the columned home complemented the lush green verdure and the vivid blue lake and sky. Yet the Derbyshire countryside called; Fitzwilliam Darcy quickly mounted his bicycle and rapidly pedaled away over the crunching gravel.

Reaching the earthen road, he passed the juncture that afforded a glimpse of Pemberley. As the car had approached it yesterday, conversation yielded to silent awe. Though Killian and Claud had visited previously, none of the ladies had ever beheld Pemberley.

"Oh, how perfectly lovely!" gasped Kristin.

"I've never seen anything so splendid," Kate added breathlessly.

Darcy looked towards the one whose opinion mattered most. Elizabeth sat quite still, silent and wide-eyed. The curl of hair blown against her burnished cheek, those dark orbs framed by long lashes, her slightly parted rosy lips--he took it all in within half a minute, but could not read her expression. His heart went into paroxysms of nerves.

"How do you like the house, Miss Clifton?" inquired Darcy gently.

Elizabeth's smile slowly blossomed. "Very well." She paused, unable to take her eyes from the view. "I've never seen a place so happily situated. I like it very well indeed."

"You approve of it, then?" he followed up hastily. Much seemed to ride on this one answer.

"I do." Turning to face him, she flushed under the intensity of his gaze. Quickly, she returned her attention to the window. "I do."

From under crisp white rose-scented sheets, Elizabeth looked towards the large window of her room. Between the curtains, she could just make out the beginnings of a delightful Derbyshire morning. I could spend my entire life here, she thought before laughing sheepishly at the implication.

Like most of London society, Elizabeth knew of Darcy's feelings for her. The match was generally considered a done deal, though many a single young lady and gentleman hoped otherwise. Her aunt confidently predicted a proposal soon, perhaps during this very weekend. Elizabeth sighed as she contemplated this unwanted possibility.

Though she enjoyed his company a great deal, her feelings extended no further. She delighted in his conversation and personality, but could conjure up only the friendliest of emotions for him. A proposal would dramatically alter their relationship: a "yes" coupled with an explanation of her true feelings would render her no better than the title-chasers she detested; a "no" would hurt him and sever their friendship.

Elizabeth wanted nothing to change. She hoped to find that rare and perfect love that had gladdened the hearts of many but had left hers as yet untouched. Darcy deserved to find it also, but not with her. His family clearly knew the blessings of a well-matched pair; they had long drunk deeply from the fount of happiness.

The greetings between the Darcys had been of the warmest and most loving nature, enacted amid the open car, swarming servants, collected luggage, and beautiful grounds. The returning son leaped delightedly into the controlled chaos.

"Mother!" Darcy cried, kissing Lady Derbyshire's cheek and embracing Lord Derbyshire. "Father, you look tip-top." He impishly turned to his younger sister. "Well, well, well, Mrs. Bingley, I didn't expect you here. And with Charles, no less! Did you bring the daughter, too?"

His sister dropped a mock deferential curtsy. "Yes, Lord Derby, because she hasn't seen her uncle in a shamelessly long time."

"Perhaps if her parents would visit more often?"

"Oh, you!" She affectionately hugged him. "Bachelors always forget that married couples don't have as much time as they do."

"Fiona, my dear, married couples forget that bachelors don't have as much time, with no wife to work for them. Right, Charles?"

Charles grinned. "Fitz, you'll never find a wife with that logic."

Darcy laughed. "Of course you know Killian and Claud. May I present Miss Katherine Percy, Lady Kristin Klosson, and Miss Elizabeth Clifton." Each curtsied in turn. "My parents, Lord and Lady Derbyshire; my sister, Lady Fiona; and her husband, Mr. Charles Bingley." The women exchanged pleasantries as Lady Derbyshire led them into the house. Accompanying the convalescent Duke, Darcy and his friends followed at a slower pace.

"I hope you left your friends in good health?" Christopher Darcy said.

"Tolerably so, yes," replied his son. He explained to Charles, "Julian is engaged to Serena Ayrshire, so he remained to discuss wedding plans."

"And the triplets arrived from Oxford for Clair's birthday," chimed in Killian.

Charles frowned in confusion. "The triplets?"

"Clair's identical younger brothers: Nigel, Cecil, and Basil," said Claud.

"Identical triplets!"

"Yes, and they certainly use it to their advantage. Mischievous fellows."

Killian grinned. "Not so different than their elder brother."

"And Perry?" asked Lord Derbyshire.

The three immediately sobered. "Perry went home," Darcy said softly. "It's the anniversary of his brother's death. Raymond was killed ten years ago today in action."

The Duke nodded. "Yes, I remember. Quite a few of his company taken. And Ray only twenty--such a tragic loss for Constance and Raymond. They were devastated when they discovered that Perry had secretly enlisted. As were the rest of us when all of you did." Darcy put a comforting hand on his father's arm and gently changed the subject.

As he entered the drawing room, Darcy saw Fiona glance at a small portrait of their great-great grandmother and then towards Elizabeth. His mother surreptitiously did the same as she portioned out the tea.

Fiona handed him a cup. He took a sip and smiled with amusement.

The shops had just begun their usual bustle as Darcy rode through Lambton. The shopkeepers shouted greetings as he passed, for they had known him since childhood. Like generations of Darcys before him, he had gone there almost everyday in the horse chestnut season to collect specimens for games or to buy penny candy for his boyish sweet tooth. He stopped at the inn for a drink of well water before turning towards Pemberley in body and thought.

As they had departed to dress for dinner, Fiona took his arm as the family followed the guests from the drawing room. "Miss Clifton is lovely," she remarked in a casual undertone as they headed for the staircase.

"Just like the portrait," Darcy whispered back. He grinned at her surprise. "I saw you look at it. More than once."

"Catching me out as always." She smiled. "Well, you must admit the amazing resemblance, Fitz. Surely she's a relation?"

"No, not at all. I've looked for an explanation, but it seems little more than coincidence."

"Fate, perhaps?" she said as they approached her door. Darcy shrugged and headed down the hall to his own room.

"Fitzwilliam, dear," called his mother as she and his father reached the head of the staircase. "Your father and I have been talking with Charles." Katharine Derbyshire lowered her voice. "Have you noticed the startling resemblance..." With an amused sigh, he smiled and attended to his parents as they proceeded into that wing of the house.

Darcy shook his head at the memory as he cycled slowly up the hill, the most arduous part of the trip. He grinned, remembering himself at half this age on the same path. Refusing to dismount to push his bicycle uphill, he fruitlessly pedaled, rolling backwards into the surrounding foliage. After an hour, he finally managed it, only to lose control of the brakes, sending him into the pond on the other side. The wiry twelve-year-old that emerged dripping and clutching his weed-draped bicycle determinedly spent the rest of the summer trying to conquer the hill.

And now the twenty-four-year-old Darcy paused at the top, surveying Pemberley contentedly. An idea suddenly formed in his head. He checked his watch: two and a half-hours before breakfast. He flew down the hill.

Her longing to explore could no longer resist the beautiful morning. Elizabeth quickly dressed and slipped out into the courtyard, pausing momentarily in the gateway to absorb the grounds. Just as enchanting as Courtenay, she decided, smiling at the thought of her home.

As she walked onto the footpath, Elizabeth felt a most unusual sensation pull at her heart: a twinge of nostalgia, a familiarity with Pemberley. What nonsense! I must want Courtenay dreadfully. Yet the inexplicable sense of belonging persisted in washing over her, despite her attempts to dismiss the feeling.

She knew, from something the housekeeper mentioned, that an Elizabeth had once presided over the house.

"This is your room, Miss Clifton," Mrs. Pickens had said. "It was once the sitting room of Lady Darcy--Miss Elizabeth Bennet, that was. And now we let another Elizabeth have use of it." She laughed kindly.

Strolling around the garden, Elizabeth considered the position of "mistress of Pemberley." Was it enough to tempt her into marriage with Darcy? The estate coupled with one of the most illustrious titles in England should make the answer obvious, at least according to her aunt. How many girls would jump at a chance to win the heir to the Duke of Derbyshire? Scores upon scores--heiresses and working girls, aristocrats and commoners--yet not her. The Marquess of Derby could give Miss Clifton wealth and consequence, but Elizabeth could not give Fitzwilliam Darcy the one item he lacked: her heart.

But why the continued wrestling over the question? If she intended to refuse, why the ongoing turmoil? Why did certain remarks echo and cast doubt on her decision? Fiona had merrily remarked at dinner that "the Darcys always marry for love." Having never before swayed from her resolutions, Elizabeth could not understand her vacillations. She groaned aloud in frustration.

"Miss Clifton, are you all right?" called a voice.

She looked up, surprised. Striding through the buttercups with his bicycle was Fitzwilliam Darcy. His disarrayed clothes were damp and his dark hair glistened with beads of water. Inexplicably, Elizabeth suddenly felt a trifle light-headed and her knees grew weak.

"Yes," she managed. "Lord Derby, are you all right? You appear to have fallen into the lake."

He laughed. "Not at all. I had a moment, so I went for a swim after riding down to Lambton." He paused. "Why are you out so early?"

"I-I went for a walk."

"And did you enjoy it?" he asked, smiling.

"Quite well, yes," she said faintly, acutely conscious of his presence. He suddenly caught her arm.

"Miss Clifton! You are unwell. I insist that you go inside. Please." Darcy took her arm and they entered the house together.

"Perhaps, Miss Clifton," Lady Derbyshire suggested, peering anxiously across the breakfast table, "you ought to rest this morning."

Elizabeth's fork arrested in midair. "Oh no, I couldn't possibly spoil your plans."

"I absolutely insist, my dear. If you feel lightheaded, we don't want you to faint."

"But we intended go into Lambton this morning," protested Elizabeth weakly. "I should hate for everyone to give up the trip because of me."

The Duchess calmly poured herself more coffee. "Nonsense. They can still go, if you do not mind staying behind with the Duke and myself."

Darcy cleared his throat. "I can stay. I've already gone into town this morning. Fi can do full justice to Lambton." He grinned teasingly.

"Just as well," said his sister. "Stella would enjoy a ride. Charles, too."

"I am at the mercy of the Bingley women." Charles laughed as he rose. "I'll go see if she's ready." Fiona trailed after him. The rest of the party dispersed soon after.

Elizabeth retired to the Pemberley library. She selected a volume and moved towards the sunny window-seat overlooking the garden. As she opened to the first page, a loud barking from outside startled her. Puzzled, she looked onto the path below.

A pair of dogs happily chased a laughing Darcy as he cycled around in a circle. Something about the scene--the bounding animals, the joy and vitality of the cavorting young man--held her attention irresistibly, causing a tender smile to creep onto her face. Her hands loosened their hold on the book and it slid to the ground, shattering her concentration with the ensuing explosion. At that moment Elizabeth noticed Fiona, smiling affectionately at her brother.

"There's no one like him in the world," she said.

"He is an excellent fellow," Elizabeth managed. She stooped to pick up the book, hiding the sudden blush of discovery.

"Indeed. An ideal elder brother," replied Mrs. Bingley, still gazing out the window. "It's lovely to see him so. He hasn't been the same since Father's illness or the war, for that matter." She frowned absently.

"Fitz only served the last few months, but it changed him. He wasn't old enough to enlist--only seventeen--but he thought it his duty to go. All six of them joined up and returned...well, they weren't the same boys who had left. But thank god they returned."

Fiona suddenly roused herself. "I'm dreadfully sorry. I didn't mean to go on in that manner. I meant to ask if you wanted anything from town." Elizabeth declined and then Fiona left.

Alone, she turned her eyes to the garden where the men entertained Stella Bingley. Elizabeth smiled as Darcy tossed his niece high in the air, setting her giggling. Stella threw her arms about her uncle's neck and gave him a hearty kiss before her father carried her away, followed by Killian and Claud. Lord Derbyshire clipped the dogs to their leads and went off to feed them, leaving a lone figure on his bicycle. A pensive look briefly crossed Darcy's face before he rode away.

Elizabeth rested her head against the windowsill, mind busy with Fiona's words and conscious of new ideas. Dare I--? A knock startled her from her preoccupation. Darcy put his dark head round the door.

"There you are, Miss Clifton," he said triumphantly. "Would you care for a tour of the house?"

"And here's the portrait gallery," Darcy announced cheerfully. Elizabeth gazed in mingled awe and wonder at the canvases lining the narrow room. Her companion gestured to the closest painting--an elegant family grouping.

"The most recent addition to these hallowed halls. A few months ago, my parents, my sister and her family, and myself posed. My parents did this one at the same time. I sat this one a year ago." He pointed out a portrait of a stately couple in peer's robes, casually glossing over his own. Elizabeth let her eyes linger on the smiling visage hanging above her before transferring her attention to the living original. Unaware, he continued.

"Fiona and I at sixteen and eighteen. Again at six and eight." He laughed. "My parents at the time of their marriage. They met at Killian's parents' wedding. Mother played maid of honor because she introduced Evelyn to her cousin James. Father was best man, since he had known James since Eton. And the rest is history."

"Father with his sister Jane. And with their parents. My grandparents in their peer's robes. Grandfather inherited the title a year after Father's birth. Here he is during his engagement." He indicated a solemn dark-haired young man standing behind a seated blond girl; a small placard on the frame read "Charles Darcy, Marquess of Derby, and Honoria Greville-Knox, 1872."

Darcy looked up at a large portrait. "Grandfather, his elder sisters Georgiana and Anne, and his parents. Official portrait of the first Duke and Duchess of Derbyshire. The wedding portrait of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Christiana Stanton."

They moved to a series of children. "Great-grandfather with his younger sister Elizabeth. And with their cousins, the Treadgolds. And here with their other cousins, the Bingleys--Charles's ancestors."

Elizabeth tilted her head to one side. "How funny that the children are either all fair or all dark."

"It is, isn't it? Georgiana Darcy and Jane Bennet and their husbands, Lord Daventry and Charles Bingley, were all as fair as their brother and sister were dark. You can see for yourself." He guided her to the next.

"Georgiana and her elder brother Fitzwilliam at five and seventeen. The following year with their cousins, Richard and James Fitzwilliam. Richard inherited the earldom of Matlock and died heirless soon after, so it fell to James. He was a colonel in the army and, from all accounts, a ladies' man. His great-great grandson James takes after him. He's not married yet." Elizabeth laughed. Darcy smiled.

"Portrait of Georgiana done for her sixteenth birthday. Fitzwilliam at twenty-eight."

"Why, you look just like him!" she exclaimed. He raised an eyebrow.

"Come now, my hair and manner of dress aren't that antiquated," he said with mock seriousness, grinning before sobering quickly.

"My great-great grandparents, Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet," Darcy said softly as Elizabeth looked right into...her own face. She started visibly and caught her breath. Impossible...yet...several mysteries were suddenly solved: the odd looks from his family, the housekeeper's remarks, the frantic whisperings of the servants. Thoughts whirled violently in her mind as she tried to understand her uncanny resemblance to this woman from the past and the peculiar pull of Pemberley on her heart.

Darcy could not look at her. "It's the family romance. He defied his aunt's objections and she the prejudices of class status to marry--barriers rendered inconsequential by their love for each other." He glanced at her, his voice full of feeling. The words of a passionate lover madly rushed to his lips, but he crushed them with the reason of a rational man. In their place, he said quietly, "The others have returned. Lunch will be served soon. Miss Clifton?" He indicated the door, through which a stunned Elizabeth quickly exited. Pausing in the doorway, Darcy gazed at the happy couples on the walls one by one, ending on his great-great grandparents. Cursing his self-doubt, he withdrew. Only his eyes betrayed signs of inner torment.

Chapter Six

Posted on Sunday, 30 April 2000

Darcy checked his pocket watch as he opened the club door. He stopped briefly to confer with the porter before entering the lounge. Claud and Julian sat at a table, one engrossed with a philosophical monograph while the other wrote a letter. Clair wandered, menu in hand. Perry arrived a minute later.

"Where's Killian?" asked Darcy. Julian indicated the terrace where they could just glimpse the top of a golden-brown head moving to and fro behind a screen of bushes. Wisps of blue cigarette smoke curled into the air.

"But he doesn't smoke." Puzzled, Darcy went to the terrace door. "Killian!"

The head paused and poked around the bushes anxiously, blinking large hazel eyes. "Oh, hello. I didn't know you fellows had arrived." Killian emerged, an air of distraction replacing his usual aplomb. He sat down, gazing at a spot on the wall above Claud's head. Puzzled, Claud looked behind him, but saw nothing.

"Ash on your sleeve," Perry pointed out.

Absently, Killian brushed it off. "Thank you." His friends exchanged glances. Clair began to pull out his cigarette case, thought better of it, and returned it to his pocket. He cleared his throat.

"What time shall I come round for you blokes this afternoon?"

"Oh, you needn't pick me up," said Killian.

Darcy looked at him. "Aren't you coming? We're stopping at Riverfield--your house--for the weekend."

"Yes, but I have an important engagement this afternoon. I'll meet you at the station." Abruptly Killian stood. "Shall we lunch?" The others followed, bewildered.

"Come on, Finlay, if you'd just let us have this game, then we could stop playing," laughed Julian to Killian, poised to serve on the other side of the net. Claud, ever the athlete, bristled at this.

"Don't listen to him," he said. "Three games and the match is ours."

Darcy smirked. "What about blood? Will that tempt you to give us the game? We are second cousins."

"Dash it, can't a chap serve?" the frustrated Killian bellowed. "Ad in." The ball sailed into the service box, creating a neat divot in the lawn.

"Ace," said Killian jubilantly.

"Game," said Darcy glumly.

"Our game," said Claud with relish.

"Eight-all," said Julian with a sigh. He brightened. "Won't tea be ready soon? Let's take a break."

Claud looked shocked at the very idea. "It's not an odd game."

Added his partner, "You and Fitz just don't want to lose."

"Nonsense," Darcy said. He tried a different tack. "Clair and Perry have been done for ages. They're waiting." Claud and Killian said nothing. Finally, Julian looked at Darcy.

"Fine. We'll play it out," he conceded. "Come on, Fitz. I'm serving."

The next two games went quickly and the match finally ended with Strohem-Moss/Finlay prevailing over Eaton-Fox/Darcy, 6-4, 4-6, 10-8. They paused at the net to shake hands.

"We let you win, so we could have tea," Julian needled gleefully.

"I see why you're 'the Honourable Julian Eaton-Fox,'" said Claud sarcastically. Rumpling his friend's brown hair and neatly dodging a racquet swipe, he fled with Julian in hot pursuit. Not to be outdone, Darcy and Killian followed, elbowing each other in their haste to appease their exercise-sharpened appetites.

Upon reaching the Riverfield gardens, they found Claud and Julian lobbing tennis balls at each other while Perry and Clair lounged on the grass.

"Here's our host!" Perry rose and frowned at the squabblers. "Oh, cheese it, you two. Clair and I are the ones meant to argue all the time and look at how beautifully we're behaving."

"Julian Trevor Eaton-Fox and Claudio Lysander Sebastian Strohem-Moss, I command you to sit down now," intoned Clair in a sepulchral voice.

"Yes, Headmaster Meredith," they mocked in unison and sat down. Killian signaled to the butler to lay tea, quietly giving directions as the others chattered away.

When the servants had departed, he said casually, "I suppose you fellows want to know why I couldn't go with you to the train station yesterday." The others nodded. "I had to see Gray after luncheon."

Perry interrupted as he investigated a pot of strawberry jam. "Gray?"

With feigned formality, Killian said, "Sir Charles Thomas Gray, KC, solicitor to the Finlay family."

"Great Scott," exclaimed Clair, "what have you done, naughty boy?"

A pleased smile spread over the naughty boy's face. "Nothing worse than proposing. You see, I'm engaged to Kristin."

Pandemonium erupted. Killian merely extracted a finger of toast from the rack as surprise broke like waves against his customary poise.

"Why, you devil--"

"--where--"

"--no, when--"

"--good lord, Finlay--"

"--shock a chap, why don't you!"

Finally, the guilty party laughed. "All right. It went a bit like this. Thursday afternoon, I drove her to the train station since she hopped up to Reading for the weekend. We were standing on the platform, waiting for her train, and I suddenly found myself blurting 'will you marry me.'"

"Quite a slip of the tongue," reflected Claud.

Perry groaned. "I missed the one time he lost his composure."

Clair wiped his mouth meditatively. "I can't believe that the one time he does, he proposes to a girl."

"Well, it won't happen again," said Killian firmly.

"It ought not," replied Darcy. "Kristin's not going to like it if you propose to women every time you lose your head."

"Anyway," continued Killian above the snickers, "I was quite mortified, but she laughed and said 'yes, I'd be delighted.'" He smiled shyly. "So I saw Gray about financial arrangements. Fathers consider that sort of thing when they give consent, don't they, Julian?"

"Lord Edward never asked. I suppose one could say because, as an old family friend, he already knew the contents of the Eaton-Fox coffers. Merely an arbitrary detail; I knew he wouldn't refuse."

"Spoken like a true modern man." The newly betrothed grinned. "I speak to Lord Reading next Thursday, after he returns to London. I was nervous about it yesterday, which is why I acted a perfect bore at the club. I felt better after visiting Gray."

"Well, congratulations, old egg," said Clair cheerfully, tucking into a slice of Battenberg cake. "But, hark, I sense the crumbling of our circle."

"Nonsense. You still have Fitz and Claud and me," replied Perry.

"Fitz and Claud are not long for the bachelor set, I suspect. You, however...in Wales, they say peregrines always bother ravens--or brans, as they call them. As you are a Peregrine and I a Bran, I am assured of your constant company, am I not?" chortled his friend.

"What?" Perry cried in pretended fury. "I challenge you to a duel!" He jumped out of his chair, pointing his wooden racquet at Clair's head.

Julian saw a chance for revenge. "Peregrine Ross Aubrey Carlyle and Clarincarde Bran Meredith, I command you to sit down now." They ignored him and ran off, giggling as they thrust and parried gleefully around the table.

Claud polished off the last of his scone with a sparkle in his eye. "So much for behaving beautifully."

Killian and Julian laughed, but Darcy was lost to his own thoughts. He envied the ever-present self-assurance of his best friend. A mere fraction would have stood me in the Pemberley gallery; I might have been the engaged one. "Fitz is not long for the bachelor set." If only I was as certain.

Chapter Seven

Posted on Sunday, 7 May 2000

"Remind me again, Clair," said Darcy, "why I came to Royal Ascot."

His friend smiled. "Where else do you get to wear a dark morning coat and top hat on the most sweltering day of the twelve month?"

"Right. It's penance for the rest of the year." Both men laughed.

"Really, Fitz, if you don't enjoy it, why did you come?"

"Because you dragged me here."

"All I said was, 'Fitz, do you want to come to Ascot tomorrow?' and you--yes, you, Fitzwilliam Darcy--agreed. The only whips and chains I see here are on the horses, old boy."

"All right." Darcy grinned. "I promise to behave better tonight."

"You ought to, sir; it's Claud's birthday. Capital enjoyment."

"Well, make the most of it, my dear Clarincarde. There will be no more of that until October, when Perry and I finally reach the quarter-century mark."

"You're forgetting a pair of impending nuptials. I suppose you saw yesterday's Times." Clair whisked a folded sheet from his pocket and flourished it. They gazed at it momentarily.

Forthcoming Marriages

The Viscount Riverfield and Lady K.C. Klosson.
The engagement is announced between Killian Edmond Finlay, the Viscount Riverfield, only child of the Earl and Countess of Newcastle, and Lady Kristin Corisande Klosson, only daughter of the Earl and Countess of Reading.

Clair returned it to his pocket. "Very interesting, I thought."

"Inspiring, even?" asked his companion impishly. Clair opened his mouth to reply and then abruptly straightened and sobered, as did Darcy. They bowed together.

"Your Royal Highness."

Smiling, the Duke of York shook their hands. "None of that. It's 'Bertie' with you fellows. How d'ye do, Fitz? Clair?" He paused, peering around them. "Where is Killian? I understand he is to be congratulated."

"One can't believe everything in the papers, but this, I'm afraid, is true," laughed Clair. "Our dear boy is bespoke."

"But," said Darcy, frowning at the unrepentant Clair, "Lady Kristin is a wonderful girl, so we shan't mind. Is the Duchess here?"

"Yes. Elizabeth is with my mother in the Royal Box."

"Splendid. Any of your stable racing today, Bertie?"

The Duke nodded proudly. "Two, actually. Dead Chuffed in the second race and Selkie in the fourth. The races are going to begin soon, so I ought to return." They bowed as the Duke took his leave.

Darcy gazed after him thoughtfully. "Quite a changed fellow from Cambridge. Even his stutter is practically gone."

"The love of a good woman, I suppose," answered Clair absently. "Speaking of Elizabeths and forthcoming marriages, when do we congratulate you?" When no answer seemed pending, he tried again gently. "Something's wrong, isn't it? I haven't heard a word about Pemberley and I haven't seen Elizabeth lately. I had laid in an especially nice champagne to celebrate what seemed certain, but Killian stole a march on you."

Darcy kept his eyes on the horses gathering at the end of the track. After a silence of what Clair roughly estimated as an eternity, he finally said, "I'm not engaged, if that's what you mean."

"I figured not. I'm sorry, Darcy."

"Whatever for? I didn't even ask her."

Clair's top-hatted head jerked upward and his eyes widened. "Hold on while I pick up my teeth. But I--we all thought--"

"No. I didn't."

A few incoherent words came from Clair before he managed to sputter, "It's not your parents, is it?"

This struck Darcy as funny. "Hardly. I just didn't--feel sure of myself."

"Rather, you didn't feel certain of her." Darcy nodded curtly.

Clair made no response and turned his eyes toward the horse race. Only when it had ended did he finally speak. "Fitz, if this was anyone else, I would tell them to move on and forget about her. But I've seen you together, so I can't and won't. In my twenty-five years, I've never met two people more perfect for each other than Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Clifton. I can't put my finger on why exactly--it's just a feeling. Killian and Julian and Claud and Perry sense it, too. So do the columnists. I know that's funny, but why else do they keep writing about you two? Surely a million Londoners can't be wrong," he laughed.

"I know she feels something for you. Maybe she doesn't realize it herself yet, but she will in time. The signs are there: she doesn't keep company with any other fellows, though God knows that she could have half a dozen dates in a second; and you two are drawn together at every meeting. I think she'd say 'yes' if you gave her an opportunity."

Darcy mulled this over for a minute. "I hope so, but I want to be sure."

"Well, of course. No one likes rejection. But you have to take that chance. You're in the running, but you have to put yourself out there. Look at Bertie; he proposed to Elizabeth three times before she accepted him over all her other suitors. And he isn't exactly the extrovert of the royal family. You don't have to take my advice, but--"

"No, no," Darcy interjected. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

His friend grinned. "Bet you never thought I had it in me."

"I ought to tell the papers: 'C.B. Meredith Has Serious Moment: Gives Advice.'"

"Yes, well, that was my one serious moment of the year. Blast! Now I've none for Julian's wedding. Or Killian's, for that matter."

"I'd better not marry, after all," teased Darcy. "You won't have enough serious moments to last three ceremonies."

"If you come out engaged by the end of this weekend at Courtenay, you can bet that I'll be serious. Half a nest left, with Claud primed to take flight." Clair shook his head sorrowfully and then smiled. "Start of the second race. We're meant to watch for Bertie's horse."

"Dead Chuffed, I believe."

"Right. Now we shut up and watch."

"Right." Darcy watched as Clair tried unsuccessfully to settle his features into a mask of propriety. Whereupon the two gentlemen fell over each other and giggled like irrepressible schoolboys.

"Had you really no idea?" laughed Elizabeth.

Darcy shook his head. "It was a great shock."

He looked at the newly engaged couple, standing near a window of the ballroom. Kristin's hand flashed a spark of diamond fire, placed there only days before by Killian himself. Her eyes shone with a brilliance greater than the platinum ring as they met the eyes of her lover; feeling intrusive, Darcy turned away from the tableau.

"You, apparently, realized before us," he said.

She smiled. "Well, I caught them kissing. That rather gave the game away."

"Yes, I suppose that would." He chuckled. "We had nothing like that, not a sign that Killian intended to marry. Of course, he didn't, either." Darcy explained about the spontaneous proposal. Elizabeth giggled.

"Kristin has always had a great fondness for trains and train stations," she said. "'There's something romantic about them,' she used to say."

"I suppose Killian planned it, after all." They laughed together.

Kate breathlessly rushed over, her blue eyes bright with delight. "Come on, you two; do your duty and raise a glass to Claud."

Elizabeth quickly followed Kate. With a smile and a toast, Darcy joined the crowd in wishing Claud many happy returns on this, his twenty-fifth birthday.

Chapter Eight

Posted on Sunday, 21 May 2000

All was quiet at the ivy-festooned country house; at least an hour and a quarter before breakfast, Darcy gauged. The trip had taken less time than anticipated, so he found himself at Courtenay early. He decided to take a quick turn about the garden to stretch his restless legs before going inside.

A previous engagement had prevented Darcy from traveling with the Cliftons' party, though he would have easily foregone the dull affair in favor of Honeybourne. As promised, he arrived in time for breakfast on Saturday.

Rounding a corner of the house, he heard faint rustling. Without warning, something smashed down upon him.

For a minute, everything went black. His body was pinned down and his head--how the blighter hurt! A disembodied voice drilled painfully into his consciousness. "Oh--Lord Derby."

Darcy felt a weight lift from his body. Something anxiously touched his face and gently shook him. The voice continued. "Lord Derby? Are you all right?"

One eyelid gingerly shuttered open and then the other. He muttered crossly, "Do stop. Stop shouting. My head hurts--when you shout."

"Right. Sorry. Sorry. But I'm not shouting," the voice said in a far less painful timbre.

"I say," he stammered, focusing on the speaker kneeling over him. "Miss Clifton." He tried to sit up.

Elizabeth forced him down. "Don't."

"What happened?" he demanded, propping himself up on his elbows.

"Lay down, please. I'll get the doctor."

"Hold on a tick," Darcy ordered. "I don't need a doctor. My head hurts no end and I have no idea what happened, but otherwise I feel fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Just what is the meaning of this?"

She helped him sit up. "Something fell on you." He waited. After a slight hesitation, Elizabeth continued softly, blushing, "I did."

Darcy blinked. Maybe I'm more injured than I thought.

"See that open window? I used to climb out and scramble down that tree as a child. On a lark, I thought I would do it again, but I didn't realize anyone was there when I jumped out. I am extraordinarily sorry; I can't apologize enough for my behavior."

Good God, he thought, rubbing his head. She looked mortified. His irritability melted and he began to laugh. Alarmed, Elizabeth drew back.

"Lord Derby?" she asked tentatively. "Perhaps we ought to send for the doctor." She moved to stand up.

"Don't trouble yourself," he managed between laughs, grasping her hand to prevent her from leaving. "I've had worse at school. Why, once Claud and I tried to climb a waterpipe at Eton and he slipped and fell on me."

She frowned with concern. "We have an excellent doctor."

"No, I just need to walk around a bit. Shall we take a turn about the Courtenay gardens?"

"You're not angry?"

Darcy shook his head. "Show me your home. Isn't that why I came from town? Or was it to have young ladies throw themselves at my head?"

"Doubtless you could have had that in London," she jested dryly as they rose and proceeded into the garden.

Her great-aunt's presence made the weekend fraught with peril. Already it had caused distress. Having finished dressing for dinner early, Elizabeth had gone down to the library to pass the time and found Killian perusing a book on the table with some amusement. As he flicked a page with his elegant fingers, she saw, to her horror:

NEWCASTLE
The 9th Earl of Newcastle (James Keswick Finlay), Viscount Riverfield, Baron Finlay of Avonmora Castle, K.G.; educ. Eton and Camb.; b. 22 Feb. 1873; s. his father as 9th Earl, 1903; m. 16 June 1899, • Evelyn Clara, dau. of Sir Edmond Bendrix, and has issue
1. KILLIAN EDMOND, Viscount Riverfield; educ. Eton and Camb.; served in the Great War (1917-18); b. 29 Mar. 1900.
Lineage-The family of Finlay is descended from Feredach the Just, an ancient Irish king...
JAMES THOMAS, 8th Earl of Newcastle; educ. Eton and Camb.; b. 1831, m. 1871, Rosalind Maia, dau. of Thomas Davison, and had issue
1. JAMES KESWICK, 9th and present Earl.
2. Thomas Tresham; educ. Eton and Camb.; b. 24 Dec. 1875, m. 1906 • Una, dau. of Patrick Rafferty, and had issue
• Sophia Mary Rafferty; b. 2 Oct. 1909.
His Lordship d. 1903 and was s. by his elder son.
Creation-Baron Finlay of Avonmora Castle, in Ireland 1718. Earl of Newcastle and Viscount Riverfield, in England 1725.
Seat-Riverfield, in Newcastle, co. Stafford; Avonmora Castle, in Castlerea, co. Roscommon.

It was Burke's Peerage, left open to "Newcastle." Elizabeth crimsoned to the roots with apology. Killian calmly interrupted. "Do you know, I couldn't remember the date of my cousin's birthday and it's driven me mad for days?" He indicated Sophia Finlay's name and smiled. "And here I find it. Quite a weight off my mind."

Though grateful for Killian's tact, Elizabeth did not wish to repeat the situation. She knew her aunt had marked certain pages of the book for easy reference--Reading for Kristin, Pershore for Christian--and she suspected that Aylesbury, Newcastle, and Derbyshire awaited. Before retiring that night, Elizabeth had taken the precaution of dropping Burke's into the umbrella stand in the hall. However, the book was only part of the problem.

Sweeping into the sunny breakfast room with Darcy, Elizabeth said the first of a series of prayers throughout the day: Please let Aunt Alberta mind herself.

"Good morning, everyone," she said cheerfully, holding out a bunch of flowers to her mother. "Some 'mums for Mums."

As laughter from the old family joke settled, she turned to Darcy. "Lord Derby, may I present my great-aunt Morris, my brother Nicholas and his wife Nora, and my parents. Of course you know Lord Riverfield and Kristin. Mama, Papa, Nick, Nora, Aunt Alberta...Lord Derby."

Mr. Clifton rose to shake Darcy's hand. "A great pleasure, Lord Derby."

"The pleasure is all mine, sir."

Mrs. Clifton smiled kindly and nodded at the chair beside her. "Please, Lord Derby, do sit down."

Mrs. Morris, greedily sizing Darcy up, interrupted. "Yes, let his lordship sit, Jennie, instead of chatting all day. Surely his long trip has made him hungry."

Seating herself between Killian and Nick, Elizabeth and the latter exchanged looks. None knew better of Alberta Morris's diligent social climbing than her family. The presence of a marquess, a viscount, and an earl's daughter put her--as the Cliftons termed it--over the moon.

Hardly had Darcy taken the chair between Mrs. Clifton and Mrs. Morris before the latter began her officious attentions. Elizabeth tensed; Nick gently put a hand over hers. Killian, who had borne them the previous night as the sole titled male of the party, looked sympathetic.

"I hope you did not find the journey from London unpleasant, my lord," said Mrs. Clifton conversationally.

Darcy smiled. "No, not at all, ma'am. An empty train and delightful views, among other advantages, made it worthwhile."

Mrs. Morris jumped in. "But we must thank you, sir, for your kindness in coming here instead of Wimbledon. I myself am partial to lawn tennis but I would only give it up for a weekend at Courtenay. But I do not suppose that all people think the same way."

"I daresay Lord Derby will have his tennis," smiled Elizabeth, "for we have any number of players here: Nick, Nora, Kristin, Lord Riverfield, myself. And of course, you, aunt." Her nieces and nephew hid smirks; having tried to make up a four with their aunt before, they knew that she would gladly give up tennis for anything.

Aunt Alberta paled slightly. "You would not want an old woman, even one who appreciates the game as I do. No, I will observe and applaud the excellent playing of our guests." She simpered at first Killian, then Kristin, before returning to Darcy. "Your father, does he care for tennis...?"

Elizabeth did not hear the rest of the sentence, preferring to remain deaf to her aunt's conversation for the remainder of the meal.

"If there's one blessing about her, it's that we aren't related by blood," snapped Elizabeth as she fastened her gown.

Her sister-in-law smiled. "A remark I hope you shall never make about me."

"Oh, Nora, you know I could never say that about you." Elizabeth dropped into a chair. "You don't make yourself perfectly ridiculous."

"I hope not. You would avoid my company otherwise."

"I wish I could avoid aunt's. Do you know what she said to Kristin this afternoon?" Nora shook her head. "That she had made a good catch with Lord Riverfield, but that I had made an even greater one with Lord Derby. Impertinence! I wonder that Kristin did not strike her down at that instant!"

"You can ask her why not yourself," broke in a cheerful voice which preceded its owner into the room.

"Oh, Kristin, I apologize about aunt," began Elizabeth anxiously.

Smiling, Kristin bent to place her cool cheek against her friend's. "Dear Elizabeth, don't concern yourself."

"But it was a dreadful remark."

"Easily ignored. And besides, I have made a good match and neither Killian nor I care who knows it." She laughed. "Don't think of it. Apart from a few remarks, I thought Alberta behaved herself rather well today."

"I suppose Lord Derby and Lord Riverfield shocked her into decorum. Or what passes for decorum for her," Nora added as an afterthought.

"I don't think she'll be much of a problem tonight, then. Just wait until Julian and Serena arrive," Kristin teased. "That should help out a bit. Is Chrissie coming?"

"Yes, she returned from Italy several days ago, but is determined to come."

"Wonderful. The season hasn't seemed the same without her."

"Let us not forget the daughter of an earl who is also granddaughter of the premiere marquess in England and who is engaged to a viscount who is heir to an earldom," put in Elizabeth impishly.

"How could we have neglected your presence, Lady Kristin, descendant of the aristocratic Ealing de Courcys?" Nora executed a mock curtsey. "I humbly beg your forgiveness, your ladyship."

Kristin regally bent her dark head in acknowledgement and then crumpled into laughter. "An excellent reenactment of my first meeting with Mrs. Morris."

Nora giggled, but Elizabeth sighed at the memory. For an entire week previous, Mrs. Morris had studied the pages on Reading and the marquisette of Newport, so as to be able to discourse freely upon Kristin's relations. Her niece had spent the visit trying to keep the two apart.

"I rather like chatting with her," declared Kristin satirically. "It keeps me informed about my family. Today I learned that my brother will marry."

Elizabeth looked surprised. "Kingsley? To whom?"

"Lady Julia Clarissant, the daughter of family friends. We hadn't seen them in years until they visited Cirencester several weeks ago. Kingers has paid her court ever since. Wonderful girl."

"So another betrothal for the Klosson family," said Nora.

"No, merely conjecture."

"On aunt's part," said Elizabeth bitterly.

Kristin put her arm around her friend's shoulder. "No, on everyone's. Even King's, I should think, at this point."

"Oh, aunt is so horrible!" Elizabeth burst out.

Nora knelt before her. "But Kristin understands. We all do, darling."

"And, really, she wasn't particularly bad today," added Kristin.

"I know."

"Why should it bother you so much, then?" asked Nora gently. Elizabeth drooped and said nothing.

Finally Kristin said, "It's the others, isn't it?"

"No--yes--maybe--I hardly know."

The two women looked at each other over Elizabeth's lowered head with the same glimmer of recognition. Nora nodded slightly, her grey eyes confidential. Kristin waited a moment before speaking.

"Dear Elizabeth, don't worry about Mrs. Morris. We all understand; none of us will have less respect for you because of her. Everyone here is your...friend," she said, leaving a certain relationship unspoken.

If Elizabeth felt the inference as it dangled enticingly in the air, she made no sign. She merely smiled and pressed her friend's hand in gratitude with a little laugh. "You really ought to finish dressing."

Nora gave a hopeful little wink as Kristin slipped out, quietly occupied in her own thoughts. As she reached the threshold of her room, a door far down the long hall opened. Her spine shivered thrillingly as she caught a glimpse of Killian, exquisite, she thought, in evening clothes.

"The tide's turned," she whispered as he drew her close.

Standing before the hall mirror half an hour later, Elizabeth trifled tensely with her gown. Sleeve, hem, neckline--her fingers floated over them all in time with the tumult of her mind. She loved dances, especially those given by her parents, yet she felt a certain uneasiness about tonight's revels.

Nora and Kristin thought her worries concerned Aunt Alberta's behavior, but that remained secondary to Darcy. She almost wished that he hadn't come. While she had seen him with intentional infrequency since Pemberley, Elizabeth had not forgotten the portrait hanging in the gallery. It haunted her with strange persistence, resisting any attempts at finding meaning and reminding her of some mortifying thoughts.

A new chapter had begun to open for Elizabeth at Pemberley. Darcy's lightheartedness, Fiona's words, and the irresistible atmosphere of the estate had together wrought such a change in her heart. But the gallery had abruptly snatched her back from the edge of love, replacing the awakening emotion with cold reality. Society had been wrong: Darcy looked at her, not with love, but with curiosity. She remembered the quietness of his voice when he spoke of the portrait; it seemed to explain kindly that her uncanny resemblance to his ancestor was the foundation of his friendly--not loving--interest in her. That he had found it necessary to tactfully explain this embarrassed her, searing her cheeks scarlet. She, who prided herself on her understanding, had believed the gossip and had naïvely fallen for the marquess. And Darcy had caught her on it. As a result, she avoided him as much as possible, behaving with calculated friendliness when they did meet. Mentally, she added another prayer to the day's coterie: Please, aunt, don't say anything that would make him think that I would marry him.

Kristin appeared beside her, her smile breaking into the frame. "'Doubtless the most beautiful girls of their year,'" she quoted laughingly as Elizabeth put an arm about her shoulders. "You do look beautiful tonight, Lizzy."

"As do you. Wherever did you get that marvelous gown?" Elizabeth looked approvingly at her friend's simple frock of embroidered silver tissue.

"A wonderful seamstress in Reading; she makes dresses better than any London shop. But your gown is nothing to sneeze at, either. It's lovely."

"And a perfect complement to yours," laughed Elizabeth, gazing down at the gold embellished chiffon overdress of her own gown. "We always plan these things well."

"That's why we're best friends," teased Kristin. Arm-in-arm, they ran down the stairs to the drawing room in anticipation of the dinner guests.

At precisely the stroke of six, the butler led in Claud with Kate on his arm, followed several minutes later by Serena, Julian, Clair, and Perry. Elizabeth introduced them one by one to her family. Nick claimed her attention for a moment, fortunately sparing her from watching her aunt hover over the young men.

"How do you do, Mr. Meredith?" she purred as her niece turned away.

"Spiffing, thank you," replied Clair nonchalantly. Leaning closer with his most killing grin, he lowered his voice. "And the millions are, too."

Perry stifled a snicker. Julian coughed explosively. Killian joined in with a loud clearing of his throat. Claud pointedly stared at his shoes, a small smile twitching his lips. Mrs. Morris fawned, unaware of anything untoward. Darcy bowed hurriedly and dragged the gleeful Clair away.

"What on earth made you say that?" he demanded as the other four quietly indulged their laughter.

"Well, that's what she really wanted to know, isn't it?" Clair's green eyes glimmered wickedly in his mock penitent face. "Come on, you saw the pound signs in her eyes. She was thinking 'two million on coming of age.'"

"That's what I think every time I see you," laughed Perry.

"Really?" asked Julian innocently. "I just see a pile of quid."

"You and all women," sighed Clair, with unexpected wistfulness.

Turning to Claud, Killian peaceably changed the subject. "You just came from the Percivals' house, didn't you? How are they?"

"Most entertaining. Kenneth labeled everything 'bung-o': ice cream, trains, the new football--even I, I was bung-o. Titania and Iain don't know where he picked it up, but I have a feeling Ophelia's young swain played a part." Claud laughed. "In any case, the visit went excellent well; I was delighted to see the nephew and Kate quite enjoyed meeting the family."

A faint smile on his face, Clair looked at his friend and then over at Miss Percy ebulliently chatting with Nora. "Kate?"

"Yes," Claud replied nonchalantly, calmly adjusting his shirt cuffs. "She accompanied Ophelia and myself to Stratford."

"Did she, really," said Perry, with humorous raised eyebrow.

Claud arched his own eyebrow in reply. "Yes, really."

Julian hummed a few bars of the wedding march. The announcement of dinner and the subsequent scramble for escorts prevented Claud from answering, much to his relief.

"Oh, thank you for coming. It's delightful to see you once again," said Elizabeth graciously for at least the hundredth time in the course of her receiving line duties. She looked longingly at the activity below her before repeating her thanks and delight to the next guest. Then she noticed whose hand she held. "Why, Chrissie!"

Lady Christian Noble curtseyed as she laughingly whispered, "As you see, here to rescue you from the line." She turned to Mrs. Clifton winningly. "May I beg Elizabeth's company, dear madam? I haven't seen her in so long."

No one could resist Chrissie, least of all the kindly Jennifer Clifton. Off they went down the stairs into the grand ballroom in deep conversation.

"Kristin wrote me about her engagement to Lord Riverfield," said Chrissie. "Serena and Julian I expected, but Kristin took me unawares. I chose the wrong season to go abroad. I evidently missed quite a bit."

Elizabeth smiled as they approached their special group. "Not at all. But we missed you." The girls exclaimed brightly over their returning friend before Elizabeth introduced her to the Darcy set.

Chrissie smiled, nodded, curtseyed, and exchanged pleasantries until facing Clair. She gazed at him quizzically yet levelly for a moment. "Mr. Meredith, I admit that I've always wanted to meet you."

Clair looked intrigued yet wary. "Really, Lady Christian?"

"Yes, I wanted to see the man said to light his cigarettes with fivers."

"Oh, but that's a fiction," said Clair sedately before his eyes flashed roguishly. "I only use pound notes for that. I use fivers as roll-ups."

Everyone laughed, including Chrissie. "A touch, a touch, I do confess," she replied. "Elizabeth, rescue me before I lose my foil." Smiling, she indicated Mrs. Clifton, who signaled to her daughter to open the ball with the first dance.

As Darcy claimed the hand he had requested hours before, he noted with dismay the distant look on Elizabeth's face. The expression appeared whenever he happened to encounter her and always provoked his bewilderment. What had happened? They had gotten along famously after a brief acquaintance and then something had changed. On the rare occasions when they met, her behavior seemed forced and lacking in the jolly camaraderie of before. Though he could date the difference from the weekend at Pemberley, Darcy found the idea incomprehensible. Nothing could go wrong at Pemberley. He wondered if there was another fellow for whom this all-important first dance was intended. He felt his jaw tighten as they made their way to the center of the room.

Elizabeth's throat constricted at the sounds of approbation from the guests. Their murmurs sounded loudly in her ears before echoing into nothingness: handsome couple...excellent match...well favored...deeply in love. She glanced at Darcy, whose face displayed a taut line of tension as he glanced around the room. If he didn't want all this talk, he shouldn't have asked for the first dance. She suddenly stiffened with a stinging thought. Perhaps he doesn't want to be here at all. Then why even ask me to dance? Mind occupied with this conundrum, Elizabeth let her partner lead her before the guests.

In the gathering silence of the room and of their own making, they positioned themselves on the glistening floor. In that wisp of time between hush and dance, the musicians tantalizingly held their fingers over their instruments, the guests quivered in eager anticipation, and Darcy and Elizabeth waited for their cue. As each endeavored to glimpse the other while avoiding detection, their eyes suddenly met. Neither dared to look away; indeed, they could not. With defenses shattered into forgotten shards of anger and misunderstanding, they fell fathoms deep into a well of emotion generated from that single glance. Maintaining that bond of mutual intensity until the final step, they found themselves breathless with wonder as the applause swelled round them and broke their gaze. Acknowledging the appreciation, Darcy and Elizabeth found themselves absorbed into the crowd as their friends quickly surrounded them. They shared a last look as other partners carried them off for their reserved dances.

"Do you find it a touch warm in here, Nick dear?" whispered Mrs. Morris innocently as she clapped. Her nephew merely shook his head and turned away as his mouth quirked into a grin. Nora looked at him quizzically before breaking into a smile of her own.

"Are you making fun of aunt?" she asked in teasing reproach.

"I, make fun? Shocking." Nick shone with the archness that she loved. "She makes the fun herself, I just laugh." And he demonstrated as he took her off to dance.

After a series of partners, Darcy quietly withdrew from the mild ballroom. The fresh air felt good on his heated skin as he entered the coolness of the terrace. He discovered Elizabeth alone, searching the night sky. She turned at the sound of his step.

"Lord Derby."

"Miss Clifton." He bowed slightly as he came up next to her. "A lovely night."

"Particularly the stars."

"You would rather watch the skies than dance?" he teased gently.

"I enjoy both, yet one can't deny one's inheritance," replied Elizabeth with a smile, falling into the prior patterns of their discourse. "I come from a family of stargazers, you know. It's tied into all the momentous events of our lives. Papa proposed to Mama during an evening stroll with a telescope. Nick returned from the war on a beautiful moonlit night."

"And you?"

"My mother saw a falling star and I arrived shortly thereafter that same evening. 'But then there was a star danced, and under that was I born,'" she quoted with a laugh. "So they named me 'Elizabeth Celestia.'"

"It's a beautiful name," he returned.

"Well, 'Elizabeth' runs in your family." The words materialized before she thought, forcing a blush in her cheeks. "Doesn't it?" she finished lamely.

"Yes. Some of the finest women our family has had the honor to know have had that name," Darcy answered quietly, almost shyly. Elizabeth looked up at him and saw that which she had doubted earlier. A tingle played up-and-down her spine and accelerated her heart.

"Miss Clifton," he began. A certainty coursed through him; he knew the time was right. He moved closer and took her hand. "Elizabeth."

Just then a crash sounded, followed by the tinkle of glass and a voice, in an all too familiar loud whisper.

"Never mind the mess, girl. Go."

"But, Mrs. Morris, ma'am, I ought to clean up the glass."

"I dropped it, I'll clean it up. Miss Clifton is about to receive a proposal and I can't hear it over the broom and dustpan. Now leave." Footsteps and the scrape of a door opening and closing completed the scene.

Both knew the moment had disappeared. Darcy smiled sadly and turned away. "Shall we go in, Miss Clifton?" He offered her his arm, which she somberly took and they proceeded back into the festivities.

Continued In Next Section