Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Nine

Posted on Friday, 8 March 2002

The following day, Elizabeth received two letters in the post. One from Mrs. Collins and the other from Mrs. Bingley. She and Fitzwilliam were together in the drawing room when they were delivered, and she anxiously opened Charlotte's letter first. When she laughed aloud, he looked up from his book at her.

"The Collins' have had their baby." she explained happily,"A girl...and you will not guess what they have named it."

He shook his head, but before she could tell him, he said with a smile, "Catherine."

She nodded, " I suppose if they should have another, the poor thing shall be Anne."

"I have no doubt of it." He replied, amusement in his voice.

She went on to open Jane's letter then, and cried out upon the news contained therein. "The Bingleys are expecting a child!" She continued reading excitedly, "In September! Oh, I am so glad for Jane..." She was quiet while she scanned the rest of the letter, but upon glancing up, saw that he was watching her carefully.

Surprised by his attention, she asked,"What is it, Fitzwilliam? Is something wrong?"

He returned to his book, saying, "No...not at all." But she continued to look puzzled until he finally acknowledged, "I was only wondering if you..." As he appeared reluctant to finish his thought, it dawned on her as to what he was supposing.

At length, she reminded him softly, "Remember, my love, we buried that particular dragon. I do not believe he shall be resurrected, no matter how many children my friends might have among them." And, even if it should concern me, she added to herself, I would not burden you, my darling Fitzwilliam.

Then, as though they both required reassuring, she said aloud, "I believe it shall happen just as it should."

March turned into April, and slowly, the welcoming warmth of spring took over the countryside. Elizabeth was delighted when she could return to her walks outdoors once again. With every new sign of the season, she seemed to gain energy, and she found herself exploring more and more of the estate. Occasionally, her husband would accompany her, enjoying her enchantment when they would discover a section long unvisited.

Once, they found a stone foundation to a building which had apparently burned to the ground; It's blackened chimney, the only part still standing. As they walked through the charred and fallen ruins, she wondered who had built it, who had lived there, and where had they gone? Some of her questions he could answer, but others would leave him at a loss.

He was a little surprised that he could not recollect the stories attached to their finds. He knew he had probably asked the same questions as a boy, but the answers given as explanations eluded him. She did not seem to mind him not knowing; it allowed her to fill in the blanks as she pleased. Undoubtedly, her favorite part of these outings with him was that, away from the house, he could be as unhibited as he liked. There was no one to judge him, and he was not obligated to maintain the reserve he used around the servants, and even to some extent, his sister. He would appear younger, laugh more often, and even stop to kiss and tease her as they walked. She enjoyed this side of him immensely, and vowed to herself to invite him along as much as possible in future.

One day as they were leisurely making their way back, they were surprised to see a gentleman walking out to meet them. It took Elizabeth several minutes before she recognized the figure, and then she cried out in delight, "Why...it is Father!" She broke into a run to meet him, her husband momentarily forgotten in her excitement.

Mr. Bennet stayed a fortnight at Pemberley. He had given no reason for his visit and did not seem to think he needed one. He did appear, however, to be the perfect guest; as he spent most of his time in the library, did not put extra demands on the servants, and was outwardly pleased with all he saw. Elizabeth was very happy to see him, spending many hours in his company as she used to do, while engaged in prolonged discussions on the foolishness of friends and relations.

For his part, Mr. Bennet applied a prodigious amount of time in discreet observation of his daughter and her husband.

One day, after Elizabeth had shown him, somewhat self-consciously, the new portrait now hanging in the gallery, he asked, "It is what you anticipated, Lizzy?"

She knew he was not referring to the painting.

"If I anticipated this happy exhilaration, then, yes, Father," she replied with the warmest of smiles.

"I am pleased for you then...he appears to like you well enough."

"My letter did not ease your concerns?" She teased, linking her arm through his as they strolled leisurely past the many generations of Darcys.

He snorted. "Your letter told me little other than I should mind my own business...I suppose I had yet considered your welfare my business."

"And I would not have you feel otherwise," she assented, "But, you were being somewhat unfair, were you not?"

"To whom?" He had the grace to look surprised then, causing her to laugh.

"Oh, Father," her voice lowered as she tried to put into words what she was feeling. "You cannot know what he is. He respects my opinions, tolerates my stubborn insolence...yes, you remember..."

As he smiled in recollection, she continued carefully, "He admits when he is wrong, expecting from me the same, yet he does not bear me ill will, and, when we disagree, which we have done more often than I care to admit, he is perfectly willing to make amends before I."

"These are admirable traits, Lizzy. Surely he must have some faults, however."

She knew he was teasing her, but, rather than the response he had expected, she said seriously, "He has one."

"Yes?"

"He truly loves me...a critical affliction for a proud man, and one, I think, he may regret at times."

"Why should he regret such an unselfish sensibility, Lizzy, so long as it is mutual?"

"Because," and her voice caught just a little, "It is the one element of his character which is easily wounded, and I have acquired the unfortunate capacity to do just that."

"It is said that love is a two-edged sword...Is he suffering to a greater degree than any other man?" He enquired of her philosophically.

"Perhaps not," she admitted, "But to me, any is far too much."

"Then, my dear, you deserve one another," he stated, coaxing her from her somber mood, while benignly returning the smile which now lit her face.

Her father's fears for her now apparently put to rest, Elizabeth hoped he might warm in aspect to her husband, but although the two treated one another with a guarded courtesy, neither appeared to wish anything further to develop.

One morning, while out on one of her solitary walks, she stopped to rest upon a bench beside the stream, her thoughts far from where she was, when she heard her husband's step behind her.

"Elizabeth," he requested in low voice, "Do you wish to be alone?"

Turning to smile at him, she replied, "Not if you would care to join me."

He sat beside her then, watching the water bubbling over the rocks in its path for some time before he spoke, at last.

"I have always enjoyed this place...it is very serene."

"Yes," she agreed, "At times it can be quite soothing."

"Elizabeth," he asked suddenly, not in the mood for idle talk, "Are you...have you been feeling well?"

"I suppose so," she looked surprised, "Why do you ask me that?"

"You are different lately," was his somber reply, "I must assume, then, of it being caused by your father's visit."

"How have I changed? Not towards you, surely."

"Not really," he paused, then amended, "Some, perhaps...you have distanced yourself from me of late."

"Have I?" Thinking back on her own manner within the past several weeks, she conceded that, yes, he might be feeling a bit neglected. For, even when she was with him, she had been easily distracted, her mind on other matters.

Unwilling to speak too soon of her suspicions, yet aware that it might be the only argument in her own defense, she said at last, "Fitzwilliam, it is not because of Father's visit I have been diverted."

"No?" He sounded doubtful.

She paused before speaking again, while thinking to herself, it is so very peaceful here. Spring flowers were already in bloom between stones along the river's brink, and nearly every tree was now in full leaf. I shall, she mused, remember this moment for as long as I live. I only hope it shall remain pleasant even after I have said what I must.

He had fallen into a pensive silence as well, but his countenance proved to be less peaceful than her own.

Sensing his growing uneasiness, she took a deep breath , and at last, told him, her voice soft, "Fitzwilliam, my love,...I am with child."

She wished then as she watched his reaction, that she could paint his likeness upon that fleeting moment of sudden understanding. His eyes, widening slightly, were focused on the rushing water, and she might have wondered if he had even heard her except for the fact that his back had straightened noticably, and he appeared to have ceased breathing.

As if needing to temper his initial response, he asked carefully, "Are you certain, Elizabeth?"

Placing her hand over his, she smiled as she reassured him, "I am...quite certain."

Turning to gaze at her then, his expression had become rather disconcerted.

"You are well?" His voice was a mixture of concern and bewilderment.

"I am fine. Other than in the morning, of course."

Not discerning her reference, he repeated, "The morning?"

She laughed a bit ruefully, "I must confess that, upon awakening, I am often...unsettled."

"Oh." After a moment, he added, "I hate to admit my ignorance, Elizabeth, but this is a condition I know little of."

"I would hardly expect you to, " she said warmly, "But, realize that it is all quite new to me as well."

"Your," he paused, embarrassed, "Your appearance has not altered, as such."

"No," she agreed. Then in a move which succeeded in startling her husband even further, she took his hand gently into hers and laid it against the slight swelling of her stomach. "I have no doubt of it being very much so, and soon, I believe."

His eyes raised from where their hands remained pressed, one atop the other, to her face, his expression softening as he studied her. Bending his head until their lips met, he established, in the most obvious of terms, his delight upon the discovery of her news.

As his hands moved about her waist, and the kiss deepened correspondingly, she slid her own arms around his shoulders in heady response.

Sometime later, he asked, "Do you know when?"

"Perhaps December...I am not so certain on that aspect of it," she replied, still being held resolutely in his arms. Leaning away from him in order to see his face, she smoothed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, inquiring, "Will that be time enough, do you think?"

"For...?" He appeared to be puzzled by her rather obscure question.

"To prepare ourselves?"

Comprehending her meaning at last, he nodded in assurance, "It shall be time enough."

"Has this, then, justified the recent disparity of my conduct?" She asked, laying her cheek comfortably against his shoulder once more.

"It explains much, as a matter of fact," was his bemused reply, his lips in her hair, "Does anyone else know?"

"If you mean my father, then, no. I should, however, be astonished if our chambermaid has not guessed...other then that, my love, you are the first and only."

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome...Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes, my dearest, darling Elizabeth."

Pleased, and yet feeling a bit shy by the lavishness of his endearments, she asked, "Shall you like being a father, do you think?"

"I like it extremely well, so far, " he replied readily "In fact, I must say that it has been incredibly simple. I do not understand the reluctance of some in having children, if this is all there is to it."

"You know very well," she reproved him while suppressing the urge to laugh, "That this is not all there is to it."

"I do know," he said then, suddenly becoming both tender and serious, "And, although the very idea of the whole process alarms me exceedingly, it compels me to treasure you all the more."

"You are all that is dear, Fitzwilliam Darcy," she fondly declared then, while smoothing his lapels, "And I expect, that in spite of the nonsense you profess, you shall, in fact, be an excellent father."

She did tell her father that evening after dinner. Georgiana and Fitzwilliam, heads together on the opposite side of the music room, were discussing several piano scores recently purchased, while Mr. Bennet had only just settled himself into a chair, supplied with a well-thumbed book and a glass of port.

"Papa," she said, an endearment reserved for emotional moments alone. "Papa, I wish to speak with you, if I may." She felt suddenly nervous, although she could not have explained why, exactly.

He glanced up at her request, "Yes, Lizzy, what is it?"

"She sat on the edge of the little footstool facing him; an arrangement recalled from her girlhood.

"Lizzy," he smiled, "You look just as if you did after breaking the hallway looking glass...do you remember?"

Smiling ruefully in return, she replied, "I remember being broken hearted because I had disappointed you...a most difficult lesson for a nine-year-old who desired to keep her father's good opinion above all things."

"Yes, well...what have you broken now?" He was teasing her in an attempt to alleviate her pensive mood.

"Father," she met his eyes, smiled, caught her breath, then blurted, "I am...I am expecting a child."

He did not appear to be surprised, and, in fact, looked as if he had been anticipating this announcement. Still, he took his spectacles off, giving him an odd owlish appearance, wiped them on his coat tail, and replaced them carefully before replying, "I am most pleased for you, my child. When is the happy occasion to occur?"

"Before Christmas," she said then, glad to have the difficult task completed.

"Ah,...and Mr. Darcy, is he gratified?"

"He is..." she paused, smiling at the recollection of the afternoon's diversions, which was all the response Mr. Bennet required.

He interrupted her thoughts when he remarked, "Mrs. Bennet shall, in all likelihood, be beside herself."

"Yes," Elizabeth concurred, imagining her mother's reaction, and grateful that she would not be there to witness it.

Georgiana, too, proved to be ecstatic, when told their news, although on the surface, her emotions were not what one might consider, exuberant. In fact, a smile, a sigh, and a warmer-than-usual embrace for the both of them were her only observable reactions.

Later, after Elizabeth had tactfully left brother and sister alone, she said, "And so, there shall be another generation of Darcys. Fitzwilliam, I know you must be pleased."

He smiled to himself at her understatement, answering, "Pleased is an apt, although hardly adequate word, Georgiana. I am...much more than pleased."

"No doubt Elizabeth is overjoyed," Georgiana continued in a tone more solemn than her words would warrant, "I believe she shall be a wonderful mother."

"I am certain of it," he agreed, watching his sister in amusement. "And you, Georgiana, shall be an aunt. What have you to say of that?"

She looked a bit surprised, as though the idea were a new one. Then, "I suppose...I am glad. I am afraid I have not had much contact with babies, however."

"Don't worry, Georgiana," he assured her. "You will learn," adding under his breath, "I believe we all shall."

Chapter Ten

The Darcys had been invited to a social tea at a neighboring estate, Greenmont, a few miles west of Pemberley. The family, a Mr. and Mrs. Covington, were somewhat older than they, their children being grown and moved away, but the Darcys had known them for many years. As her husband felt Elizabeth should meet some of the local gentry, he had been pleased upon receiving the invitation.

It had been nearly three weeks since Elizabeth had announced her pregnancy. Mr. Bennet left them with much good-will, to return to Longbourne and break the good news to his wife, "hoping", as he told his second-eldest, "To survive the ordeal of so much happiness."

She was glad that her father had timed his departure when he had, as now her condition was making itself more prominent with each passing day. Besides experiencing severe nausea upon awakening, to the point where it would be several minutes before she could rise, she imagined her waist growing, at what she believed to be, an alarming rate, as well as her moods becoming more emotional. Her husband said little as she pointed out these most trying vexations, for other than the morning sickness, he saw minimal physical alteration in her as yet.

What he did notice was how she appeared to be blossoming before his very eyes. What once had been attractive was now voluptuous, the light within her eyes now shown luminously, the tint of her lips and cheeks had never been more enticing. He supposed it was proof, yet again, of the Lord above possessing a rather odd sense of humour. Here they were, about to enter an extended period of forced abstinence, while his wife was unwittingly attaining the very essence of womanhood, along with everything about that circumstance which had been intended, since the beginning of time, to attract the male of the species. It was maddening, and more than that, it was requiring him to take longer and more frequent solitary rides away from her physical presence, just to recover his composure. It was with great relief then, that he accepted the Covingtons' invitation, as a welcomed distraction for both of them.

A casual friend of the hosts, Mr. Roger Jeffries, stood back and watched as the guests arrived, with an interest which was more than idle curiosity. A journalist for a political newspaper in London, he was always alert to new faces among the social contacts he courted. He had his personal causes: worker's rights, the troubling situations in France and America, and the never ending battle to rid Britain of the travesties committed against it's poorer classes. He observed the Darcys, upon their arrival, attentively. Mr. Darcy, he had understood, seemed to be apolitical, never having publicly declared his stance on any issue one way or the other. His sister, Miss Darcy, he dismissed, for though she was sweet and charming in appearance, she apparently did not hold any influence over her brother. His wife, however, could be another story. He studied her for quite a while, trying to determine if she might be of any help to him. She was beautiful, no doubt of that, but there was something else about her. She spoke with more beforethought and intelligence then most of the other women of his acquaintance, and her wit was becoming well known. They had been mingling for over an hour, when he saw his chance to talk to her alone. She had moved away to a divan set by the wall, a glass of water in her hand. She looked a bit flushed, but he attributed it to the warmth of the day, and the number of people milling about the room.

As he approached her, he bowed in greeting, "Mrs. Darcy, I hope you do not mind my being so bold as to join you. We were introduced earlier by Mrs. Covington," then to refresh her memory, "Mr. Jeffries, friend of the family."

"Oh, yes." She smiled at him, and as he indicated the chair opposite her, nodded her permission for him to be seated.

"I trust you are liking Derbyshire?" he asked her to begin the conversation.

"Yes, very much." she answered, but he knew by her expression that she did not expect him to discuss the countryside.

"Mrs. Darcy," he decided that he may as well be frank,"Do you spend much time in London?"

"Not really," was her answer, "We prefer the country."

"Are you aware of the oppression of the workers there and in every industry in England?"

"I have heard some about it." she said in a noncommittal tone, then, amused, "Mr. Jeffries are we to have a political discussion?"

He smiled apologetically. Apparently she could be as candid as he. "I would not wish to spoil your enjoyment of the afternoon with such...What I would like to know is, has your husband ever expressed a concern for such matters?"

It occured to her then what he was after, "Ah...my husband. I am afraid you would have to apply to him on his views."

"Well," he pressed on, "Has he ever expressed an interest in politics? Of being in a position of influence, I mean."

"Sir," she said with a wry smile, "If you wish to question him regarding these concerns, I am sure his answers would be far more accurate than any which I might provide. But I must warn you, if it involves more time spent in town, he will not be agreeable."

She stood to leave him then, and he rose and bowed, feeling slightly frustrated at her evasiveness. He watched her join Miss Darcy and several other ladies, and thought to himself, apply to her husband, yes, I believe I shall. But the chance eluded him that day, for she had caught Mr. Darcy's eye across the room, sending that gentleman some sort of signal of it being time to leave, and he, consequently, was saying his farewells to their hosts. Then, the three of them departed, leaving Mr. Jeffries unfulfilled in acquiring that which he had dearly hoped to accomplish.

To return the social call, Mr. Covington rode to Pemberley the following day. His visit served a twofold purpose. One, to catch up on sorely missed discussions with Mr. Darcy, for he was fond of the younger man in a paternal sort of way, and two, to invite Mr., Mrs., and Miss Darcy, to a more intimate dinner party one week hence.

He was greeted at the front gate by two large hounds primarily used for hunting, and well trained because of it. As he enjoyed the sport very much himself, he dismounted then and there, to walk to the house escorted by the joyful pair. He was happily spared the temporary awkwardness of having to be announced, when Mr. Darcy, himself, came around the side of the house, walkingstick in hand. Although that gentleman was surprised to see him, he did not appear to be unpleasantly so, and invited Mr. Covington to walk out with him, as the dogs were in serious need of some exercise.

"I shall have to step lively to keep up with you, Darcy," was his dubious reply.

"These dogs do less actual running, than they do stopping to inspect every shrub on the place," Darcy assured him, and without further debate, they set off together, the hounds racing around them in excited anticipation. Mr. Covington suspected that the exercise was not so much for the dogs' sake as for their master's, as Darcy was wearing an expression of restlessness, hard to overlook.

"I was sent over to invite you, your wife, and sister to dinner, next Tuesday. Please accept, Darcy, or I am afraid Mrs. Covington shall only send me back, this very afternoon yet, with some other amusement with which to tempt you."

Darcy smiled as he swept the stick through the high grass before him, "Then, tell your wife we shall gladly accept. I would not wish to cause you discord in your marriage."

"Speaking of which," Covington queried, so long as the subject had been introduced, "How are you liking your present situation?"

The younger man glanced at his companion in a bemused sort of way, "If marriage is an obligation, I can think of no other, with which I would choose to be so."

"She is a beautiful woman," Covington complimented him, "And appears to be quite intelligent."

"She is that."

"One of the reasons," Covington confided then, "That Mrs. Covington has set this dinner party is to become better acquainted with Mrs. Darcy. Do you mind?"

"No, not at all," was the reply, "I am pleased and flattered, and I am certain Mrs. Darcy shall feel the same."

"Where did the two of you happen to meet?"

"Her family home is in Hertfordshire. I only chanced to be in that part of the country with Charles Bingley, who was renting a property near there."

"Ah yes, Bingley," the older gentleman nodded, "I had heard he is also recently married."

"Yes, to my wife's sister, as a matter of fact."

"Oh? Interesting..." Mr. Covington appeared to be genuinely surprised by this last. Then, "Are they much alike? For I would not suppose your own and Bingley's interests, or tastes for that matter, to be similar."

He smiled ruefully, "No, they are quite different. Mrs. Bingley is much...quieter, less outgoing than is Mrs. Darcy."

"But in appearance, do they not resemble one another?"

"Not at all. Mrs. Darcy is dark, while her sister is fair. Mrs. Bingley is what you might call,

"a classic Grecian beauty", my wife, on the other hand...," but there he hesitated, uncertain of how exactly to describe her. Her allure had not been immediately apparent to himself, but, over time he could not recall ever thinking her plain or unattractive.

"She is a classic English beauty," Mr. Covington finished gallantly.

"Yes," he agreed decidedly, "She is."

"And, of course, she is a good companion to Miss Darcy."

"They get on well."

Mr. Covington stopped in his tracks to stare, somewhat baffled, at his companion.

"Then, pray tell me, Darcy," said he as the other turned to look back at him, wondering why he had come to a standstill so suddenly."Why do you give the impression of a caged tiger?"

Darcy, disconcerted by Covington's candor, peered distractedly after the dogs while he attempted to think of a reply. "I...was not aware," he began, his brow knitted, while reminding himself that the Covingtons were, indeed, very trusted and valued neighbors. His own father had benevolently taken the young Andrew Covington under his wing when he was but Darcy's age, and a newlywed besides, and now, no doubt, a certain obligation to return the favour was in order.

But Covington interrupted his musings impatiently, "You might despise me for prying, Darcy, but I know an unhappy man when I see him, and you are that man."

As silence greeted this pronouncement, the older gentleman continued resolutely, "When I call upon a sound, young bridegroom, and instead of rapture I sense dissatisfaction, I must presume something is awry. Now, tell me I am mistaken, sir, and I shall gladly make immediate amends."

"You are mistaken," came the reply, "I am not dissatisfied. In fact, far from it."

"You have yet to convince me. Does it, perchance, have something to do with your wife's condition?"

"She...how could you know of that?" His astonishment was apparent.

"Mrs Covington surmised it...women always seem to know these things. I cannot begin to explain the phenomenon. At any rate, she was correct?"

"It shall be no secret for long, I am sure," Darcy admitted, "Yes, she was correct. Elizabeth...my wife, is expecting, come December."

"And you have mixed feelings of the whole business?"

"Not about the child," he professed quickly, "I am honestly quite content with that aspect of it."

"Then, what is troubling you? Has she become a shrew overnight, or some other similarly unforeseen transformation?"

"No, nothing like that," he contradicted, "The problem, it seems, is within myself."

His listener, watching the younger man's face flush to a decidedly scarlet-tinged hue, began to comprehend his current dilemma.

Both were silent for some moments, then slowly Covington resumed walking, deep in thought. Darcy, whistling for the long-ago vanished hounds, soon followed, his eyes still focused upon the ground before him as a result of his lingering embarrassment.

Eventually Covington suggested casually. "You know, Darcy, there is a simple solution to your problem contrived by men plagued with the very same quandary, oh, centuries ago."

After some time, Darcy inquired with little enthusiasm, "Yes?"

"A mistress, man!" Covington exclaimed in exasperation, as if any imbecile would have comprehended it long before this.

Darcy stood very still for an endless moment, his expression frozen. Then, without a word he strode past his companion to abruptly walk back toward the house. Meanwhile, Covington, a half-smile upon his face, casually began to stroll along after him.

When next he saw him, Darcy was standing inside the gate, his face grim. "I realize," he said icily, "That you and my father were close friends, for at this moment it is the only consideration preventing me from breaking your neck."

"Darcy," the older gentleman interrupted, calmly, "You are upset with me?"

"In a word, yes."

"You feel insulted? Outraged?"

A cold silence was his answer.

"Good," Covington smiled, "I had hoped for just such a reaction. Now, go back to your pretty wife and behave as a husband should. Good day to you." But, before he had taken two steps, he paused, met Darcy's eyes affably, and added, "By the by, Darcy, My wife and I were blessed with four sound children, even after we had chosen to largely ignore the conventional wisdom of the day." With that, he left him to fetch his horse from the waiting stableboy, calling back, "Do not forget about the dinner next Tuesday. We shall be looking forward to a most gratifying evening."

Watching Mr. Covington leave from their bedroom window, Elizabeth wondered idly why he had not come in for some refreshment, then she returned to the letter she was writing in response to Jane's.

Dearest Jane, I am now among the most contented of women, as I am sure you can affirm yourself, what with awaiting your own child as well. I wish you were here with me now, for there is so much I do not yet understand, and I long for your counsel.

Such as, she thought morosely, why her husband might be avoiding her company these days. Could his reaction be typical? Or, had she become so difficult to live with already? For, if so, this would be a very long, very trying pregnancy.

How has Mother taken the news? I have heard little from Longbourne since Father's departure, and, of course, Mary and Kitty do not write.

Reading her words over, she had to admit they did sound rather ill tempered, but this was to Jane, and who else would understand better than she? She turned, upon hearing someone at the door, to see Fitzwilliam standing on the threshhold looking...uncertain, cautious?

Managing a smile, she asked, "Was that Mr. Covington I saw leaving just now? You should have invited him in for tea."

"Elizabeth," he said, his voice as confused as his countenance, "I..."

Whatever he was attempting to say, was not coming out as intended, for he abruptly stopped himself.

"Fitzwilliam, what is it? Is something wrong?" She rose from her chair, her hand coming to rest unconsciously upon her stomach. The action, an involuntary response on her part, only caused him further struggle, while she, following the line of his vision, felt herself blushing under his scrutiny.

Turning to gaze out of the window, her thoughts were now in turmoil. Did he think her no longer attractive? Was that the problem? For, if so, there would be little she could do about it.

This gave way to some irritation. What did he expect? It was all very simple for a man to say he wanted children, and to enjoy the pleasures of conceiving those children, but when it came down to it, who had to endure the actual aches and inconveniences which were therefore required to complete the task?

So involved in her silent reproaches, she did not hear him cross the room to where she stood, until his arms encircled her from behind, and she felt his lips in her hair.

Leaning back against him without conscious thought, her anger deserted her as rapidly as it had appeared, her heart, meanwhile, began it's long-familiar habit of beating with unruly irregularity at his nearness.

"Elizabeth, my love," he breathed, "How I have missed you."

"But...," she heard herself reminding him in a much calmer manner than what she was feeling, "I have gone nowhere."

"No, but I appear to have done just that. Can you forgive me?"

"If I knew what you are speaking of, I might be inclined to do so. As it is..." her voice trailed off as his lips found the nape of her neck, and his fingers the buttons of her gown. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "Fitzwilliam."

"Yes," he replied.

"Lock the door."

The first week of July brought a missive from Mr. Bennet informing Elizabeth that Mrs. Bennet had been beside herself since hearing of her second daughter's condition, and longed to see her "dear Lizzy" again. What this meant, of course, was that the family was on it's way to Pemberley, and planned on arriving in a mere day or two.As this was the one situation Elizabeth had been dreading, she resolved to convey the news to her husband with little or no agitation, and much dignity and poise.

He took it rather well, considering the lack of notice, as well as the company involved, saying only, "I hope they shall enjoy their stay."

"I hope," she rejoined, "I shall survive their stay."

They arrived on the same Tuesday as the Darcys were scheduled to dine with the Covingtons, causing Fitzwilliam to immediately send a messenger to Greenmont with their apologies, as soon as the carriage was sighted coming up Pemberley's drive.

Mary and Kitty, although happy to see their sister, appeared to be more impressed with the estate, which Georgiana offered to show them as soon as they were settled. Mrs. Bennet, apparently on her best behavior, kissed her second daughter in greeting, and merely nodded pleasantly to her son-in-law. Expecting much worse, Elizabeth, was both relieved and encouraged by this improvement in her mother's manner.

Mr. Bennet, meanwhile, greeted them with the familiarity of one who had only recently left, and was clearly satisfied with the change in his favorite since then. "Lizzy, you're looking wonderful." he told her as he studied her face, to which she answered, smiling, "Thank you, Father. I am feeling quite well."

Then, shaking Fitzwilliam's hand in as warm a manner as she had ever witnessed, a gesture which pleased, as well as encouraged her greatly, he stood apart from the rest of the entourage.

After admiring the opulent rooms and furnishings shown to them, Mrs. Bennet added to Elizabeth's good spirits when she announced that she was extremely wearied from the journey, and required some time to rest.

At dinner that evening, Mrs. Bennet was purposely seated away from Mr. Darcy, as much for his comfort, as her own. The plan appeared to divert any immediate conflict, although once or twice when Mrs. Bennet's voice became loud with emotion, Elizabeth could tell that he was was taking great pains to appear unaffected.

After dinner, Mary and Georgiana both played, but although invited by her father, Elizabeth declined, promising him that she would so favour him another time, when she was not so fatigued.

As she lay in bed that night, she said in some wonder, "Did we really make it through the evening without something going wrong?"

Fitzwilliam, beside her, and nearly asleep, said, "Perhaps it will not be so bad as you expected."

"Perhaps," she replied, hardly daring to hope.

But it was not to last. After the first few days in his company, Mrs. Bennet stopped being intimidated by Mr. Darcy, and began to revert to her old habits. One day at luncheon, she announced to all at the table that she had received a letter from Lydia only last week, and ended with, "I believe Mr. Wickham is doing well by her."

Elizabeth froze, not even daring to look at Fitzwilliam, but from her seat could see Georgiana's expression of shock and dismay.

Oh, Good Lord, she thought, I forgot to tell Mama not to mention him here. Not that it would probably have done her any good, she could not break her husband's confidence of Wickham's past dealings, and her mother was unlikely to be convinced of his weak character, even if she could.

As soon as she found her voice, she hurridly asked, "Mama, have you spoken to Jane lately?"

But her mother was not to be dissuaded from one of her favorite topics, "I do so wish the Wickhams would settle near Longbourne." she continued blithely, "For I do miss Lydia so, and I am sure she would wish to be near her family."

Elizabeth tried to convey to Mr. Bennet her desire to either make her mother stop talking, or to change the subject as quickly as possible.

He appeared to understand, interrupting his wife with, "Mrs. Bennett, have you told Lizzy yet about the Collins' coming to call not two weeks ago?"

His attempt was more successful than Elizabeth's, and as Mrs. Bennett began her narrative of the visit, complete with her opinion of the child's looks and character, she breathed a sigh of relief. As her eyes met Fitzwilliam's, however, her relief faded rapidly. His concern for his sister was evident, and Georgiana, although recovering enough that her colour had returned, kept her eyes fixed upon her plate.

Elizabeth escaped as soon as she could, fleeing outdoors in an effort to put the regrettable episode behind her. She found a bench far and away from the house and settled herself upon it dejectedly.

Now what? She thought, Fitzwilliam will probably not speak to me again, and poor Georgiana...oh, what must she be feeling? Her thoughts gave her no peace, and restlessly, she started walking again, a pastime preferable to sitting still.

Her mind, alas, would not be distracted, the demons within her beginning their taunts once again. Why had her mother come to Pemberley only to destroy her happiness? Why had she ever believed that all would be well? Suddenly stopping abruptly, she looked about in confusion. Somehow she had walked away from the well-traveled paths, and was now in an area which she did not recognize.

Oh, wonderful, she thought, now I shall have to find my way back, and I have no idea where back is. She tried to get her bearings by the sun, but it was late enough in the afternoon to be blocked by trees. Well, I may as well keep walking...no one shall ever find me here. Turning in the direction she presumed to be correct, then taking a deep breath, she pressed on, attempting to spot some landmark; a tree, a bench, anything familiar, but each step only seemed to take her further into unknown surroundings.

I do not understand, she mused. I am certain that I have seen all of Pemberley, yet I cannot recall this section at all. Beginning to weary, her fear, that if she stopped, she would be truly lost, kept her moving almost steadily. Finally, she was forced to rest. Sitting on the ground (which was damp from lack of direct sunlight), she leaned against an oak tree and sighed.

Well, Elizabeth, she thought, you have done it now. It would serve you right if you were never found, and were left out here alone. These gloomy images were soon crowded out by another, one that she could not ignore...the child within her. I have to find my way back for this baby. Not yet ready to panic, she was hopeful that she only needed to get her bearings. Purposefully, she stood, and started off in a new and different direction. While she walked, she tried to keep her thoughts positive; I am not truly lost, Pemberley is a large place, but it must end sometime.

She came to a clearing, and studied the woods around her carefully. Were there any paths or even broken branches to give her a clue? Was there anything to suggest someone had been there recently? A bit discouraged, she had to admit that there were not. Doggedly she set out again, determined to find her way back to the house before anybody felt the need to send out a rescue party.

"This is mortifying," she spoke out loud. After all, there was obviously no one around to hear her. She might as well keep her spirits up in whatever way she could. "I cannot believe I could do something so foolish."

The sound of her own voice did seem to make her feel better, so she continued, "I do not think that something like this has ever happened to me before...I suppose it could be an adventure, if I were in the mood for one...which I am not." She must have gone on that way for another half-mile before she thought she heard something. Abruptly she stopped. Was it someone calling? Or was she imagining it. Standing silently, she listened harder than she had ever felt the need to before.

Nothing. Only silence met her ears. Deafening silence.

At last, she sank down to the ground in defeat. Fighting back the tears, which would appear in spite of her efforts, she sighed hopelessly, "Oh, Fitzwilliam, why are you not here?"

Chapter Eleven

Posted on Tuesday, 12 March 2002, at 11:21 a.m.

After that disaster of a meal, Fitzwilliam had retreated to his study, very out of sorts, and wishing only to be left alone. He did have some work to do, so at least he had a plausible explanation for avoiding their guests. Keeping himself occupied for the majority of the afternoon, he did not realize the time until he heard a quiet knock on the door, after which Georgiana entered hesitantly.

He stood, expecting her to wish to discuss what had happened at lunch, but she surprised him instead when she inquired, "Fitzwilliam, do you know where Elizabeth might be? We have been searching for her, wondering if she were going to join us for tea."

Waiting for him to provide, no doubt, some helpful information, she stood expectantly, but as he really had no idea, he could only reply, "I have not seen her...I have been in here all afternoon."

"Well, perhaps she is still out walking...Kitty thought she saw her leave after luncheon. It is only that," she continued, a bit puzzled, "If she had gone for a walk, she is usually returned by now."

Her eyes met his quizzically, but seeing little concern there, she hastened to dismiss her own, "Well, I am sure we shall see her home very soon."

Quietly, she left then, closing the door behind her, as he attempted to resume his work.

He had lost his concentration, however, and, without intending to, began to ponder his wife's whereabouts. She had probably gone off to be alone as he had...to brood over the events of that day, or to just get away from the household. That, he could easily understand, but to be so late? It was not like her to be thoughtless, and considering it, he felt quite positive that she would, indeed, return before too much longer.

Even after coming to this decision, though, he still could not get her out of his mind.

Finally, giving up any attempt to work, he went out into the hallway, asking the first servant in his sight, "Has Mrs. Darcy returned yet?"

Upon receiving a negative answer, the first hint of concern entered his thoughts. As he strode down the stairs to go out of doors, he glanced through a window, noticing dusk was beginning to fall, and already the shadows had lengthened considerably.

Studying the hillsides and trails where she frequently roamed, he saw nothing, but began to walk in that direction, with the hope that he might happen upon her, seemingly, by accident.

Following the path which led to the river, a favourite of hers, he still believed he would meet her coming home.

Perhaps she had only stopped to rest, he considered, and had lost track of the time.

But, without warning, other thoughts were now beginning to crowd out his better judgement ...worrisome, bothersome thoughts. What if something had happened to her?

He quickened his pace, as no Elizabeth appeared to ease the anxiety now threatening to overtake his logic. Reaching the river, he scanned the area around him, but all was quiet. Even the water seemed to have slowed it's unending rushing, it's motion now only a tranquil flow in the thickening darkness.

Turning back then, he lengthened his stride as he neared the house.

Noticing a stablehand crossing the courtyard before him, he called, "Have you noticed Mrs Darcy's return?"

"No, sir," the young man answered, "And I know they are still waiting on her inside, for Miss Georgiana has just asked me the same."

It was the very answer which he had dreaded hearing, but it forced him to make a decision, and without further delay, he ordered, "Fetch some torches and four or five men...we need to find her tonight!"

The servant did not tarry, but left immediately, returning in good time with all which he had been instructed to provide.

Taking a torch himself, Fitzwilliam instructed the group, "Search everywhere, anyplace that you have noticed her walking. Return here in an hour to report in."

Then, he headed back up towards the lake, adjusting his sight to the darkness outside of the circumference of light emitted by his torch.

As he walked, occasionally breaking into a run, he tried to keep his imagination in check.

After searching in all the places they had ever walked to, he returned to the courtyard, but, not one of the men reporting could tell him anything of use.

One of them, a groom, said, "Sir, it is too dark to search any more tonight...we will have to wait until morning."

Realizing the sense in this, he allowed them to disperse, even as he knew that he, himself could not stop, as yet.

The idea of going into the house, while not knowing where she was, seemed unthinkable, and after mentally noting the places already searched, he headed to a lesser traveled part of the estate. Veering off of the path, he kept his eyes focused onto the ground, holding his torch high in order to receive the brightest illumination from it's flame. Occasionally, he would spot some unexpected movement, which in the end, would prove to be only a rabbit or a deer.

Eventually, he lost track of time, yet the rising of the moon aided him somewhat, at least in the open areas, where it's glow illuminated the landscape eerily.

He was compelled to slow down as fatigue set in, his movements becoming more laboured and awkward, and when he tried calling her name, his voice echoed back to him off of the rocks and trees, the emptiness of it a bit unnerving.

She awoke suddenly. The moon had risen, casting dense shadows around her, and giving the shrubs and trees odd new shapes. Apparently, she had dozed off while leaning against a fallen tree trunk, her muscles now protesting as she changed her position.

What time is it, I wonder, she thought, rubbing the feeling back into her arms. But then, she realized, that until dawn appeared, it was no use even speculating on it. For, she could not leave this place. She had no idea where she would end up, and the darkness amid the trees was far more foreboding then where she was right now. Leaning back against the trunk once more, she resigned herself to her situation. She would renew her efforts as soon as it was light enough, and perhaps, with any luck, she would find her way back.

The dampness had succeeded in chilling her through, she felt sore and generally uncomfortable, and she longed for a hot bath, however, none of this prevented her eyelids from wanting to close, and slowly, her head fell forward as she, again, slept.

He settled himself upon a large and mossy rock to rest. He could not see his watch, so did not know how long he had been searching for her.

Perhaps, he thought with some small hope, she has returned to the house while I have been gone. Yet...what if she hadn't? His optimism was beginning to fail him.

There was just too many places to look, too many places to be lost. Having never really considered it in just this way before, it made him feel rather helpless. His torch had almost burned itself out, and if not for the moonlight, he, quite probably would be somewhat disoriented as well.

Where have I not looked? He asked himself for the hundrenth time, but fatigue was clouding his mind, and he was finding it difficult to concentrate. Knowing that he could not rest until he found something, anything, which would provide some clue to her whereabouts, he had no intention of abandoning his search anytime soon.

Realizing that his torch was nearly out, however, he stood, and almost aimlessly, wandered into an unrecognizable patch of trees which rose up in intimidating shadows before him.

What did he have to lose, after all, he was not meeting with success anywhere else.

After a quarter-mile of pushing through thickly tangled branches and underbrush, he came into a small clearing, yet even with the brightness of the moonlight he could pick out few details.

Something had awakened her. What had it been? Her stomach knotted into a tight ball as she conjectured on, which wild beasts might be hunting in these woods during the nighttime hours. Listening carefully, too tense to even breathe, she sat perfectly still. Her knees were drawn up under her chin, while every hair felt as though it was standing on end. After remaining that way for several moments, she finally began to relax.

She must have been dreaming, she decided, and was just closing her eyes again, when she heard...someone speaking? Mumbling really, as no intelligible words could be established. As weary as she was, it even took her a moment to realize the import of this discovery. She lifted her head, then, to peer out into the darkness. The moon had dropped below the trees, making it almost impossible to recognize anything beyond the thicket all around her, but she could listen.

Which she did, with every part and pore of her body, and more acutely then she had ever undertaken of anything in her life.

While she listened, she did not speak. Partly, because of a bit of residual fear of the unknown, and partly because she was wary of startling whomever it might be.

The sound seemed to be moving nearer. A man, very hoarse, but speaking to himself, she concluded, as she did not hear any answering response. His voice was low with fatigue, breaking occasionally, and, interspersing it, the rustle of brush, as well as sticks snapping underfoot as he walked.

Now, she could make out occasional words, her heart lifting at the realization, for, he was speaking as if to her.

"...Elizabeth, how could you do this to me? Have I not loved you well enough? It is no use...no use at all. She is gone from me, and I shall have nothing left...Elizabeth, come back...where are you, my love, my Lizzy? Is it not enough that I have loved you so completely? Now you have torn out my heart...Elizabeth, please..."

"Fitzwilliam," she opened her mouth, but when she said his name aloud, it was more of a sob than the shout intended. His rambling (for that was what it seemed) halted abruptly at the sound of his own name.

"Elizabeth? Where are you?" He called, or, attempted to call, as there was little left of his own voice, and what was heard was altogether raspy and weak.

"I am here," she offered, finding it impossible to rise as her legs were quite stiff and unresponsive.

It was not much, yet it was enough, for, after nearly tripping over her, he dropped down onto the ground beside where she sat, and pulled her hungrily into his arms.

"You shall be the death of me," was all he said, holding her so tightly that whatever had been chilled before was now quickly warmed.

The sunlight shining in his eyes succeeded in waking him. It took him several moments to remember where he was and why, but he recollected it soon enough as he realized that Elizabeth was still curled up against him, sound asleep. He shifted his position, and she stirred, but did not awaken.

As the sun was just appearing over the treetops, he reasoned that it must be about 8:00, and that the search party would have been resumed, at least two hours earlier.

"Elizabeth," he said as he attempted to move his back away from the trunk, "We must return to the house."

He heard her sigh as she regained consciousness, and she sat up slowly, stretching her arms behind her. "Oh, Fitzwilliam," she said in a drowsy voice, "How far must we walk back? How far did I come?"

"Further than I can tell from here," he answered, instinctively drawing her back into his arms.

Smiling up at him from her place against his chest, her eyes still bleary with sleep, she murmured, "I am very glad you found me, Fitzwilliam."

"As am I. I feared you had finally left me."

"Not intentionally," she admitted, "I did not plan on losing my way...Are you upset with me?"

"Should I be?"

"Well, if nothing else, I have caused great inconvenience to the household, I am sure...And you must have been out the whole of the evening searching for me."

"As you surely would have expected me to do."

"As I have said, I did not intend on becoming lost, so I harbored no expectations."

"None at all? Elizabeth," he peered down into her face, "Did you, at least, trust me enough to discover you at last?"

"Well, I had...hoped, of course...but when there is nothing around except trees and darkness, hope becomes rather insignificant."

"That much I can understand," he agreed, kissing her forehead tenderly. "I do not know what I would have done if...I had not found you."

"You may take the credit, then, for your success," she smiled to herself, "If you had not been speaking aloud, I might not have awakened, and you would, most likely, have passed me without realizing it."

"That is what caught your attention?" He appeared to be a bit embarrassed by her disclosure.

"I do not mind," she replied, tracing his stubbled cheek softly with her finger, "It is somewhat reassuring for a woman to hear of her own worth, especially when her husband is oblivious to the fact that he is revealing it."

"Frankly, I cannot recall what it was I said," he confessed.

"It is immaterial as to what was spoken exactly, the point is, you were saying it to me."

"And I, no doubt, meant every word...even though I was disoriented from lack of sleep, as well as the desperation which I was feeling at the time."

"It was that very desperation which spoke to me so articulately...do you know that you called me Lizzy?"

"Did I?"

He was about to inquire what else he had said, when the hollow thud of horse hooves could be heard from a short distance behind them. Both turned around to see who was approaching, until from a stand of trees emerged two riders, their mounts kept to a careful, though uneven pace. Fitzwilliam recognized them immediately as two stablehands, one, merely a lad of fourteen. At seeing the master and mistress sitting upon the ground, apparently unhurt, his face lit joyfully.

"Sir!" he cried out, "Sir, Misses, you are well!"

At this pronouncement, the other rider, an older, yet still only twenty or so, young man, slid off of his horse, a chestnut mare, and throwing the reins to his companion, strode toward the two of them eagerly. "Mr. Darcy! Thank God you found her, sir!"

Fitzwilliam, by now, had risen, albeit stiffly, offering his hand then, to aid to his wife, as she, too, compelled her legs to support her.

"Yes, thank you," Fitzwilliam replied, his voice still not recovered from the strain put upon it during the night, causing him to sound very gruff, "Foster, is it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, Foster, if you will loan us your horse, we shall see you back at the house."

"Sir, it is your horse."

"Well, in that case, I trust your friend..."

"Foster, also, sir. I am called Dan," the boy supplied, who had been listening to their exchange while still seated on his mount.

"He is my younger brother," explained Foster the elder, at this remark.

"At any rate," Fitzwilliam continued, allowing a brief smile to cross his face, "I trust that you and Dan, can come to an agreement on what to do with the other."

"Yes, sir," acknowledged his listener affably. Then, "Shall I sound the call, sir?"

"Wait until we are away," he was told, "Then go ahead, if you will."

With that he mounted the chestnut, and offered his hand for Elizabeth to join him. Between Fitzwilliam holding onto her wrist firmly, and Foster helping her to situate the stirrup, she was soon seated before her husband, his left arm wrapped securely around her waist while the other held onto the reins.

No sooner were they out of the thicket, then they heard Foster's call of exultation behind them, "Found! They are found!" and his brother's echoing, "Found!"

Their progress was painstakingly slow, as Fitzwilliam did not know how horseback riding might affect a woman of "delicate" condition, and, both of them were yet so fatigued that simply remaining upright was their primary purpose at present.

As they drew nearer the house, activity increased around them. Men and boys of all ages and physical build emerged from wooded cover and copse upon hearing of the lost, indeed, being found, and began forming a sort of procession behind the riders.

"So much for being inconspicuous," Elizabeth commented ruefully, once she realized the spectacle they must be presenting to any onlookers watching from the anticipative household.

"To remain inconspicuous, one should behave accordingly, " her husband reminded her, the closest he had come thus far to a rebuke.

Their entrance to the house was no less obvious. Her father and Georgiana were waiting in the foyer, their faces, a mixture of anxiety and relief.

Mr. Bennet, after kissing Elizabeth's cheek, said only, "I am glad you are well, my child." Then, he stepped back so Georgiana could welcome them home, as well. To Fitzwilliam, he merely nodded and smiled, as in most such times of high emotion, he found it extremely difficult to put his thoughts into words.

Georgiana embraced them both, saying to her brother, "I knew you would find her, Fitzwilliam." All the while, she graciously ignored their less-than-auspicious appearance.

As they moved to go upstairs, Mr. Bennet cleared his throat, saying, "Ah, Lizzy. After you have recovered somewhat, you might wish to call upon your mother in her room." The look he gave her was both warning and condolence, for Mrs. Bennet's nerves had been distressed continuously for the past fourteen hours, a fact she had professed to any within earshot.

After a very hot, very long bath, Elizabeth felt more herself, although still somewhat out of sorts from lack of sleep and food. Deciding to forego eating until after facing her mother, however, she went directly, upon donning fresh clothes, to Mrs. Bennet's chamber.

She found her lying upon a lounge, a cold compress over her eyes, and a dutiful servant obediently massaging her wrists with toilet water.

At Elizabeth's entrance, she cried out, "Lizzy! You are not eaten by wolves!"

After nodding permission for the chambermaid to quit them, Elizabeth replied,"No, ma'am," while restraining a resigned smile

"Oh, thank God, thank Heavens! Lizzy," she scolded then, "You have treated your poor father and I very ill! How can you be so ungrateful as to go off without a thought or consideration to anyone? It is totally insupportable! Why, I would not blame Mr. Darcy if he annulled your marriage for such thoughtlessness!"

"Mother," Elizabeth interrupted in an attempt to calm her, "Mr. Darcy will not divorce me over something of so little consequence."

"Little consequence? How can you say such things? The poor man was out all night searching for you, and you call it little? Oh, this too much! My poor nerves!"

"Mama," she tried again, "Mr. Darcy is not upset with me."

"If he is not, it is because he is a saint! And what of your father? Have you no pity for him? You, who have always been his favorite?"

"Father recognizes it as the unfortunate mischance it was, and is only happy that I am safe."

"So he says, but I saw him otherwise...oh, all right, Miss Lizzy. You are just very lucky that you did not do some harm to that baby!"

"Mother." Elizabeth was quickly losing her willingness to suffer any more such disparaging comments, and spoke sharply as a result, "I am fine, this child is fine. We are all fine. Now if you would excuse me, I feel a headache coming on." Leaving her mother to continue her bemoaning alone, she stepped out into the hallway and took a deep breath.

It had not been a total falsehood, she did feel a pain beginning just behind her temples. By the time she had reached her room, her whole head throbbed as though it might split in two, and, as she turned the door handle to enter, she felt herself suddenly and inexplicably falling into a deep, black void.

She awoke sometime later, the room in darkness save for one candle burning on her dressing table. Starting, as the recollection of her collapse returned to her, she wondered agonizingly if she had lost this child too, only this time, through her own foolishness. Laying her hand upon her stomach, she said a small prayer; Please, not this one as well, all the while aware that she might already be too late.

The sound of movement by the window startled her, as she had assumed she was alone.

"Elizabeth, are you awake?"

It was Fitzwilliam, his voice so gentle, she knew that it must be so. She had suffered yet another miscarriage. The tears began to flow of their own accord then, and she could not have stopped them if she had wished to.

He was beside her in a moment, his arms holding her against him.

"How you must despise me," she managed between sobs.

"Why should I do such a thing?" He inquired in a soothing voice.

"Because I have..." but she could not finish, a new wave of grief washing over her.

"Elizabeth," he spoke softly into her ear, "You are my wife, the mother of my child. I could not despise you."

"Mother of your...," slowly, she comprehended his words,"I am with child, still? I did not...?"

"Yes, my love. The doctor has been and gone. He declared the both of you quite sound, so long as you do not run off and become lost again."

"But, I thought, I mean I fainted, and I supposed it was because..."

"You are very tired, and quite hungry, although you may not have sense enough to know it just now. You are to remain in bed for at least a day or two and mend, and even after that, you are to stay indoors for a minimum of two weeks."

"But," she began, not wishing to become an invalid, nor to be treated as such.

"Elizabeth, " he interrupted in his firmest voice, "You shall do everything as you are instructed, for," and here, he took the sting from his words as he kissed her tenderly, "I shall not lose you again."

The next week proved to be the most trying of her life. She was allowed to do nothing but sit, and sew or read. If she wanted for anything, someone was there to fetch it for her. She could not take two steps without a servant or family member wishing to assist.

After that first week, the ever-watchful attention subsided a little, but she was still waited upon hand and foot, a situation she found frustrating and even somewhat irritating. When the doctor called to check on her progress, she begged him to moderate his edict, for she truly felt like a prisoner in her current circumstances.

"All right, Mrs. Darcy," he relented, after listening to her protest, "You are of a strong mind, I can see. I will allow you to walk, to exercise all you like, with one condition."

"What is that?" She asked suspiciously, for he appeared less then reliable as he made the offer.

"You must remain within the walls of this house."

"I cannot go out...at all?"

"For, at the very least, another full week. Do not entreat me, Mrs Darcy, I am adamant. You shall remain inside of Pemberley until I give you leave to do otherwise. I would not have you run the risk of another accident while alone."

Seeing his resolution, she agreed reluctantly, "But I may get up and move around, at least?"

"So long as you do not overdo, and, as I said, remain indoors."

Chapter Twelve

This was how she came to make an interesting, and even, somewhat amazing, discovery.

One day, as she was taking herself on a tour through some of the unused portions of the house, she happened upon a room containing a cradle and a child's small bed. The wallpaper, faded and worn, had begun to peel off, showing the boards underneath. A bookshelf standing against one wall, held a collection of very old and yellowed volumes of children's stories and schoolbooks. The nursery, she decided, but why so far from the occupied wing of the house? Unless this part had also been in use. Perhaps some past generation of Darcys had needed the space for a large family. She wondered into the adjourning room where a single bed and a desk were the only furnishings to be seen. For the governess, probably, or later, a tutor. Apparently anything personal had been long removed, and as she absent-mindedly opened the drawers, she was not surprised to find them empty. A single child's drawing, ripped around the edges, and color faded, was lying on the floor just under the bed, not quite hidden. She picked it up, studying it for a signature of some sort, but, if there had been a name on it, it had been torn off. She continued to the next room and found a long table, scratched and worn, that undoubtedly had held many books and lessons. There were no chairs, probably taken to be used elsewhere, but as she peered at the tabletop, she could make out scratches spelling out names; David was one, maybe Robert, a Melanie, and in one corner, a tiny James. James?

Was this Fitzwilliam's father then? Or was he just one of many? She found herself intrigued by all that she had discovered. If it were his father, then what had happened to all of his siblings? Her husband had certainly never mentioned them. No uncles or aunts were brought up when he told her of his family. Perhaps their likenesses would be somewhere in the house. Children were often painted, and as they grew up, their portraits would be replaced with new ones. She decided then that this would be an interesting diversion for her. After all, she had nothing else to claim her time, and soon, she knew, her activities would be severely limited because of her increasing size. She gave one final glance around the room, in case she had missed something, but nothing else was apparent, and so, promising herself that she would research the matter further, she left.

There was no time the next day to work on the problem, for her family was preparing to return to Longbourne, and she felt that she really ought to spend their last days at Pemberley with them. This, she thought later, must then be her atonement for every silly act which she had committed in her life.

For, her mother, who was enjoying alternate bouts of weeping and light-headedness due to her nerves, revelled in the extra attentions from the servants, Mary, aware of their visit drawing to a close in a short time, used every waking moment at the piano-forte, Kitty and Georgiana, who had become very close in the past fortnight, now spent the majority of their time whispering together while excluding anyone else present from their conversation, and Mr. Bennet was certain to be found in the library at any and all hours, employing his final days among it's countless volumes.

Even with all of this, she was busy writing notes to be delivered to all of her acquaintances in Hertfordshire upon the family's return. Although she was looking forward to the peace which had been lacking since their arrival, she also knew that she would miss them, as well. For, despite all of their faults, they were still her family, and in an odd way, they had made the house feel lived in. So, it was with mixed feelings that she saw them off, Kitty waving out of the carriage window and calling to Georgiana to "Write, please, and don't leave anything out!"

Watching as they disappeared from view, she returned to the house with her husband and sister-in-law, hopeful that some routine, as well as time for herself and her marriage, might be had, once again, at Pemberley.

It was a full week before she could return to the old nursery and it's connecting rooms in the East Wing. She had thought about them often, but had not sought to have her questions answered by her husband. Somehow, she wanted to figure out this mystery on her own. She had studied the portraits in all the rooms where they were hung, but there were very few of children, and none of those connected to the names scratched into the tabletop. She had memorized them by repeating them over in her head; David, Robert, Melanie, James.

There was, of course, the likeness of Fitzwilliam's father in the gallery, but whether this was the same James, it was too soon to tell. Upon returning to the schoolroom one afternoon, she discovered something more. As she was bending down to study the markings on the tablelegs, she happened to glance underneath the top, and noticed an object wedged under a bracket. It was a small book. She pulled it out, loosening some of the worn binding in the process, which flaked off and fell onto the floor in little pieces. Inside the cover, in a childish scrawl was written;

Melanie Elizabeth Darcy

July 17, 1764

She felt a small chill upon reading the name, but, she reminded herself, it is not uncommon...many people are named Elizabeth. It did form a kind of bond, however, with the former owner of this book.

She flipped through the pages, noticing that although faded, the writing was still legible. About halfway through, it ended abruptly, the pages left blank. She slipped the book into the pocket of her dress to read later, and went back into the nursery itself. She had a feeling that she was missing something, that some feature was not right.

She studied the wallpaper carefully, and then she realized what had seemed odd. The surface of the wall itself was not smooth. Halfway up, the outline of a door stood out behind it. Not a door like the others, but much shorter, as if to a cupboard or a child's closet. She took hold of a strip of wallpaper that hung down and pulled on it. It tore easily all the way down to the mopboard. She continued until she had uncovered the door completely, and wallpaper lay in pieces on the floor. There was no knob or handle, only an empty keyhole. She bent down to see if it would open willingly, placing her fingers under the bottom frame which stuck out just a bit from warping, but it did not give to her efforts. What would work? She wondered, something small and thin to fit around the edges..perhaps a table knife.

She decided to bring one up with her after lunch, but, as she was unsure whether the household would approve of her prying, she would have to be less than forthright. Meanwhile, she wondered if there might not be a key that would open the door. She looked at the bookshelf and the two door frames thoughtfully. The door frames, perhaps...but what could she stand on?

She would not be able to reach the top without some assistance, she knew, so the child's bed seemed the likely item to be used. She dragged it over so that it stood directly under one of the doors, and stood upon it gingerly. It held her weight, but creaked ominously, so she stayed towards the center as she reached up to feel the top of the frame.

The dust was thick under her fingertips, and she had to brush some of it off just to feel the wood underneath, causing it to fall like snow into her hair and eyes. She did not find anything to her purpose, so she stepped off of the bed, and pulled it to the other doorway. As she straightened, she felt a pain shoot up her back, and she had to remind herself that she needed to be careful, not to overdo. After stepping onto the bed again, she checked that frame, and was rewarded when she felt something lying there. She took it down, but her triumph was short-lived, as this key was much too small to fit into the door. It appeared, instead, to belong to a diary, perhaps, or a jewelry box.

She became aware that she had been here for quite a while, and it was probably time for lunch. Hurridly, she moved the bed back to it's place, and went to her room to wash off the dust from her face and hands. She met Fitzwilliam in the hallway on his way out.

"Oh, Elizabeth," he said, "There you are..." He noticed her appearance just then, his voice registering his surprise, "Where have you been?"

"I have only been over to the East Wing... in the old nursery.I am afraid it was rather dusty."

He appeared amused rather then disapproving, but said only, "Well, be careful, Elizabeth. I would not want you to take any chances."

She smiled at him innocently, "Don't worry, Fitzwilliam, I am very careful."

After lunch, she found a bench outside and took out the book still in her pocket. As she did, she remembered the knife. I shall get it tonight, she told herself, and opened somewhat impatiently to the first page. She began reading, remembering to allow for a child's misspellings. It began:

Today is my tenth birthday and this journal is my present from Papa. He told me to keep all of my thoughts in it, and someday when I am a lady, I can read it and remember what I was feeling. David was nice and gave me some ribbons to match my new dress, but horrid Robert only gave me an empty cacoon that he found out in the grove. He told me that there was a butterfly in it, but I looked and there wasn't. He is so mean sometimes.

I will tell about my family now. My papa is Fitzwilliam and Mama is Laura. She is very beautiful with shiny brown hair and eyes. I have three brothers. David is the oldest. He is thirteen, and when he is not being bossy, he is very nice to me, and helps me with my lessons. Robert is eleven, almost twelve, and likes to play tricks on people. Once, he put ink in my little doll tea kettle and he hides my things all of the time. James is the youngest, but we all call him Jamie. He is only five and has pretty yellow curls that everyone fusses over. I wish that I had curly hair, but Mama has to roll it up in rags to make it so, and it is very hard to sleep that way. Papa says that someday I will look like her, so maybe there is hope for me.

Elizabeth smiled as she read this, picturing the girl who had penned these words so earnestly.

At dinner that evening, Georgiana said to her, "Elizabeth, Fitzwilliam tells me you have found the old nursery...please be careful, won't you? As she appeared to be genuinly concerned, Elizabeth hastened to reassure her, but she continued in her quiet voice, "I never liked it there. It was so lonely...so empty somehow...it always frightened me."

Elizabeth looked at her husband, "Did it affect you this way also?" He smiled slightly, "No, but I admit that we did not go there much. My father did not like it, though he never said why, so in deference to him, we explored other places instead."

She thought for a moment, then asked, "How old would he be? Your father, I mean."

He looked a bit surprised at her question, but replied, "I believe he would be almost five and fifty."

She had one question answered, at least. He was the James from the journal and the tabletop. Melanie Darcy's youngest brother. She thought she knew what he would say to her next question, but she asked him anyway."Did your father have brothers and sisters?"

"No." He gave her a puzzled look,"Why are you asking these questions, Elizabeth?"

"No reason really." She answered vaguely, then,"I was just thinking about this house and the people who lived here...I... wondered."

Her answer seemed to satisfy him, for the conversation turned to other subjects, and she was left to her own thoughts. She knew that she could not tell him yet...until she was certain. She had to know what happened to those children, and why he and Georgiana seemed to know nothing about it.

The next morning, as soon as she was able, Elizabeth returned to the nursery. She had smuggled a table knife from breakfast, feeling rather foolish, but was unwilling to explain to the others why she wanted it.

Sitting down in front of the little door, she tried to slide the edge of the knife along the perimeter. She soon discovered, however, that not only was it locked, but that the wood had warped over the years, making the space around it vary from nonexistant to much too wide for the blade. Perhaps if the lock itself is rusted, I can break it, she thought, and so she began to scrape the knife against the bolt, hoping to wear it away through the friction created. After a half-an-hour of this, and, in the meantime, getting rather tired, she decided to rest while reading some more of the journal. She had brought it with her that morning from it's hiding place in her dressing table, and now opened it carefully to the page where she had left off the day before. There were a few days lapsed between Melanie's writing, apparently, as this was headed:

July 20, 1764

Mr. Thomas allowed us to go outside today to study ants (ugh) , and Robert tried to put some in his pocket. I had to laugh because he got the strangest look on his face when they did not stay put, and began to crawl up his legs. David is going to go away to school next month, and Mama has taken him to the tailor quite a lot lately. He says he does not care for it, but I wish that I could go away to school and get new clothes. Robert said that only boys get to go to school. That does not seem fair, somehow. I will speak to Papa and see if he is right.

July 28, 1764

I have not written anything for a few days I know, but I hate to always be writing the same thing, and nothing new seems to happen around here. I helped James copy some of his letters today, and he did very well, though he did not want to practice at all. Robert was complaining that his throat hurt him, but since he is always playing pranks, no one has believed him yet. I think it serves him right. I think he has hidden one of my dolls and will not tell me where she is. If she is hurt, I shall never forgive him.

She had underlined "never" several times to emphasize her strong emotion, causing Elizabeth to smile in understanding. She turned the page to read the next date:

August 2, 1764

Robert has been sick for several days. His skin is very red and he cannot talk because his throat is swollen up. Mama has told us to, absolutely NOT go near him. Papa is going to fetch the doctor now, so I guess he is really sick after all.

This is later. Papa came back with the doctor, who said that Robert has Scarlet Fever. When he said it, Mama started to cry, and Papa did not look too good either. I guess this means that I will not find my doll for a while. The doctor told us that David and me and even Jamie cannot go out of the house because we are cont conta that we might spread it to other children. I do not like being stuck indoors all of the time. I hope he is better soon.

August 3,1764

David is in bed now. He has sores all over him that he says itches something awful. Mama has been in the boys' room almost all day long and, I think all night, too. She is not looking so pretty since they got sick. I think she is too tired to care how she looks. Papa has been trying to pay extra attention to Jamie and me, but I can tell he wants to be with Mama.

Elizabeth, deep into her reading, did not hear Fitzwilliam calling her name at first. When she became aware of it, she realized that his voice was coming closer, and she quickly slipped the book in between two others on the shelf. She felt a bit frustrated, feeling that the interruption could not have come at a more inopportune time, but she managed to look innocent when he appeared in the doorway. She thought, too late, of the little door, now cleared of the wallpaper which had kept it hidden.

But he did not even seem to notice it, instead he looked only at her and said, "Elizabeth, I think you are spending too much time in here. Come out for a walk with me."

He held out his hand so invitingly that she took it and went with him, but her thoughts were still on the journal and it's contents.

Scarlet Fever.

The mere mention of the word could evoke dread. It almost always meant a death sentence when diagnosed, and her heart went out to the family in the journal. Surely, this did not mean that Melanie, too, would get it. Though It would explain some of the mystery surrounding the children, but why erase all of their memories? And, she wondered, how did James come to be spared?

They walked out to the pond, Elizabeth deep in thought, so that when he spoke her name, she almost jumped.

A bit bewildered by her reaction, he asked, "What is the matter? You are acting very strangely."

She did not answer immediately, trying to decide whether or not to tell him. She felt very close to discovering what had happened, and she feared that he might not approve. After all, it was his family, and if they had seen fit to bury the past, what right did she have to unearth it? But she did so want to know the rest of the story. She decided to wait before she said anything...a few more days could not hurt.

So she said only, "I'm sorry...I suppose I am just a little jumpy today...it must be the baby." There, that was a convenient excuse. She quickly asked forgiveness to the child she was carrying for using him or her so shamelessly. Fitzwilliam did not look convinced, but neither did he press the matter, and she concentrated on making a better effort of paying attention to him for the remainder of their walk.

A woman was weeping, inconsolable, brokenhearted, as if she could not be comforted. The sound became louder and more intense until Elizabeth was awakened by it.

She sat up in bed, bathed in sweat. Her heart was beating rapidly, her ears listening, but the sobbing had ceased. Only an almost deafening silence. Had she dreamed it? Her eyes scanned the room trying to locate where it might have originated, but in the darkness she detected no movement, no grieving woman. No one. It must have been a dream.

She laid back against her pillow once again, and concentrated on calming herself. Her heartbeat was still loud in her ears, but her breathing was slowly returning to normal. Fitzwilliam slept undisturbed beside her, apparently he had heard nothing, so she must have dreamed it. Yet it had been so real, so close, so distressing. She lay wide awake for quite a while, not wanting to return to the dream, that now she could not forget. She knew that it was connected to her activities of late. She could not doubt that the woman she thought she heard was Laura Darcy, weeping for her children.

As she lay and thought about it all, she began to wonder if she was being wise, pursuing this now, now when she was expecting her own child. Was it too much? Would she be sorry? She had almost decided to abandon her search, but a single thought occurred to her. If she did, and these children remained as never having been, then what had they lived for? What was the purpose in the tragedy of their deaths? They had been alive for a short while, so their very existance ought to mean something. They had made a definite difference in their parent's lives, and now, indirectly, they were making it in her own.

No, she thought, I must finish this...I have to. Having finally decided this, she should have returned to sleep in a short amount of time, but as it was, the sky was beginning to lighten when she finally drifted off.

The next afternoon, she succeeded in prying open the little door. Having chipped away quite a bit of wood from around the keyhole, she at last, felt it give way to her efforts, and it creaked open slowly. It took her a moment to realize her own success, followed by a swift prayer that, whatever was there, it would help her to complete this puzzle at last.

Cautiously, she opened it wide enough so that the light from the room would spill onto whatever was contained within. Judging by how far inside the light illuminated, she thought the space was perhaps four or five feet deep. She could dimly see the shapes of two trunks and what appeared to be assorted toys piled carelessly atop each other.

But what arrested her attention was a thin gold box, a delicate pink ribbon tied around it, lying just inside of the door. A box which, at one time, had very likely contained candy. Carefully, she reached in and picked it up. Blowing off the thin layer of dust which covered it, she untied the ribbon, her hands shaking so that she could hardly lift off the lid.

As the cover fell away, and she breathlessly gazed upon the box's contents, she felt a pang in her heart. There, nestled in a remnant of blue velveteen, were three miniatures of children, two boys and a girl. She held them up one-by-one and studied them. There were no names to identify them, but she required none.

David, dark locks, serious expression, who helped his little sister with her lessons.

Robert, the mischievious one, always in trouble, just a trace of a grin on his face.

And, Melanie, her dark hair which would not curl naturally, her blue eyes looking back at Elizabeth soberly.

Now there were images to go with the names. but it gave no satisfaction. She felt, more than ever, her heart to be breaking.

Taken away, so very young, these three...how had their mother bourne such pain? She had not realized she was crying until a tear fell upon the miniature of Melanie still in her hand.

Had their parents, harboring so much grief that they could not even bear to be reminded, hidden this all away? And never spoken of them again?

This was the part she could not understand. As these thoughts went around in her mind, she remembered the journal. Picking it up off of the bookshelf, where she had so hastily hidden it only the day before, she opened the little book, almost reluctantly, and began reading.

August 5, 1764

Robert is gone from us. Papa said he is with the angels. I can hardly believe that he is not here anymore to torment me and take my things. But there is so much that I do not understand. Mama is in her room and will not come out, and Grandmama has come to stay. I am a little afraid of Grandmama. She seems like she does not care for little girls. Papa says she does, but she keeps it in her heart. David is still sick, and does not even know me anymore. I snuck into his room yesterday and he kept calling me Lenora, who is our cousin in London. It frightened me so much that I ran away to hide in the closet under the stairs, where I used to go when I was little and afraid. Now that I am a big girl I have not had to, but seeing David like that made me want to hide away one more time. I do not like this being afraid, but I do not understand anything anymore.

Elizabeth looked through teary eyes at the miniature of Robert. So he was the first to go. With a heavy heart, she read on:

August 7, 1764

Poor David is gone to be with Robert. There is only Jamie and me to help Papa and Mama be happy again. Jamie does not understand and runs through the house calling their names. Then Mama begins crying all over again.I found my doll that Robert had hidden. He had put it in the very back of the toy closet. I was happy to have found her, but I think I would be happier to have David and Robert back with us.

August 9, 1764

Mama told me to stay in bed today. My head hurts awfully and I feel all hot. I would like a glass of water, but I do not want to sound like a baby, so I will not ask. Grandmama has taken Jamie to her house in London until I am well. Mama looks so sad all the time, I want to hug her to make her happy again. This pen is getting hard to hold, so I will write later.

There was only one more entry:

August 10, 1764

I am so very tired, I can hardly hold my pen to write,so I probably won't very much today. My skin itches all the time, but if I scratch, then it hurts awfully. When I cry, my tears are hot and then my eyes hurt too. Mama stays by me always now, and if I am awake and she does not know it, I will see her crying. I am so tired that I cannot write anymore. Maybe I will write more tomorrow.

The little book lay open on the floor where it had slid off of her lap. Her face had fallen forward into her hands, her tears flowing, as she shook with silent sobs. Even though she had known how it would end, she had not been prepared for this pain inside of her. She had not been aware of Fitzwilliam coming into the room. Of his eyes taking in the scene of his wife sitting on the little bed, weeping as if her heart were broken, surrounded by objects wholly unfamiliar to him. She only knew, when he was suddenly beside her, and had gathered her in his arms to hold her consolingly.

His eyes fell upon the gold box sitting open beside her, and he saw the faces on the miniatures, faces he did not recognize, but resembled...who? His mind was a blank. Elizabeth, at last, calm enough to speak, said in a broken voice, "They all died, Fitzwilliam. They lost them...only one was spared."

"Whom?" He wished desperately to know what she was talking of,"Who died, Elizabeth?"

For answer, she picked up the journal and handed it to him. He looked puzzled, but opened the cover to see the name inside. He read it still uncomprending, glanced at her, and then read it again.

Speaking haltingly, she tried to explain ,"I found it hidden in the schoolroom...the room with the long table. She is...was your father's sister." He was silent, not really seeing the page before him, thinking about her words. Finally, he said, "I don't understand any of this."

She picked up the box of miniatures and held each one up in turn, "David, Robert," her voice caught, "and Melanie. They were the ones who died. The only child remaining was your father." Continuing, she attempted to speak calmly,"I do not know if this is something you will thank me for...maybe you shall hate me instead...I found the book and began to search. Something in me had to know all of it. Their parents, your grandparents, must have suffered unimaginably...they locked everything away which would remind them later."

Indicating the toy closet standing open, "I...felt as if they wanted to be found at last." Her voice trailed away as he still had not said anything, nor even acted as if he heard her. "Fitzwilliam?" She said uncertainly, "Do you understand?"

Waiting until he finally asked, somewhat bewildered, "But why...why should you wish to know any of this?"

"I began reading her journal...Melanie's, and something in it seemed to speak to me personally. I had to know what had happened to her." She paused, "Did you never notice the names scratched into the tabletop?"

"Tabletop?"

"The table in the room beyond. I supposed it was where they had their lessons. Their names are on it...all of them. The only one I recognized was James, and then I was not certain if it was your father...Did you not wonder why this part of the house was left alone? Or why this door was papered over? They wished to bury it all..." She had to stop as she was in danger of tearing up again. Looking at his face, she attempted to see what he was thinking, but she could not. Give him time, she told herself, he needs time to think about it. She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder while he considered all that she had told him.

He was still confused, but was beginning to comprehend.

Can it be true? He asked himself, but how could they? How could they pretend that they had not existed? Never been? And why had his father never told him? Granted, he had been very young, but to not remember? The secret, of course would have been buried with him...none of the present servants would have been here at that time. No one would have ever known, but for her, his wife.

Returning to the present, he spoke as if he were thinking aloud, "And what did you gain from this, Elizabeth?"

His question surprised her, and she had to consider for a minute before answering, "I am not sure yet...I think it has made your grandparents more than just portraits in the gallery, I feel as if I knew them... knew what they felt." She sighed again, and continued, "But beyond even that, I believe that these children deserve to be remembered...do you understand, Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes," he said, at last, "Yes, I do." He gazed at the miniatures, "How did they die, then?"

"Scarlet Fever." She had to swallow as she said it.

He sighed, "And my father?"

"Apparently, your great-grandmother took him away to London before he could become infected."

He was quiet, then, "Elizabeth," His voice was low,"I believe I need to think about all of this for a while...away from this room...will you come with me?"

Their eyes met, "Yes," she answered him, "Yes...of course."

Continued In Next Section