Section I, Next Section

Posted on Monday, 28 August 2000

It is true, this story is based on the song. It takes place after Darcy's first proposal to Elizabeth. It's my take on what might have happened a century or so later if Darcy had had access to the immortal words of the Great Parroted One. This is my first post anywhere ever. I do hope you enjoy. -Amber

Fitzwilliam Darcy hadn't shaved in days, possibly weeks. He'd just been sitting in the lounge chair, throwing back the Red Stripes and Coronas with little abandon. He'd has a tough spring. He was trying for an improvement for the summer, but so far he'd not done much more than spent every moment at least somewhat inebriated.

He sat in the same lounge chair everyday, facing the waves as the broke onto the earth like a blanket of bubbled glass. He stared intently at the horizon as though he was seeing things there that angered him. But it wasn't the horizon, it was what lay beyond it. Himself.

It was late July. It had been four months since he had proposed to Elizabeth. He couldn't believe how much of a fool he had been for thinking she might accept him. They had never gotten along, but he never thought that she hated him so passionately. Of course, she would hate him. He had steered his friend, Charles Bingley, from pursuing her sister, Jane. And she had alleged charges against him that he had mistreated "precious" George Wickham.

He had been able to refute the rumours put to him about Wickham, but there was no way his honest nature could challenge the verity of breaking Jane and Charles apart. He had admitted his folly and felt his heart fall when he saw the hurt, anger, and hatred on Elizabeth Bennet's beautiful face. He knew he loved her, but until that moment he never realized how much.

To know that he had caused such pain to her made him want to die. She immediately sought revenge and achieved it. She looked through him. And she refused his proposal. With a single word, a word that, admittedly, Darcy rarely heard in his life, Elizabeth Bennet had destroyed any hope of happiness he had ever had.

He had left the house quickly. Just turned around, too stunned to even reply, and walked out of the house to his waiting car. He drove the seven minutes and fifty-seven seconds back to his aunt's house, where he had been staying. He counted every second of the trip home, glancing back in the mirror to see if perhaps she was following him to hurt him more. He stormed into the house, miraculously going from hurt and heartbroken to anger-filled now that he was on his own ground.

How dare she accuse him of atrocities against George Wickham. The name itself filled him with venom. Wickham? Wickham had hurt his beloved sister. He had destroyed her basic belief that all people were good. She had gone from soft and caring to someone much colder and aloof. Darcy couldn't bear to see his sister turn into what he had been not so very long ago.

Before Elizabeth.

So, he had taken refuge where his former life couldn't touch him. He had heard a song shortly after his life fell completely apart. It had a tropical flavor to it, a song about a man who sits on the beach in lethargy while all those around him blame a woman. In the end, the man has nobody to blame for his state than himself. Before Darcy knew what he was doing he was on a plane to a tiny island in the Caribbean. If he couldn't make his life better with Elizabeth, he would at least get a tan. The plan seemed so logical at the time.

He'd been here on this beach everyday since, trying to reconcile himself to his fate. He thought about her constantly though. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to return to England. It was an island after all. He was convinced that even an island that big wasn't large enough for the both of them.

Georgiana was still there. He called her every week to check on her and to see how Charles was. They were the two people who meant the most to after Elizabeth. He didn't want to lose them because he'd lost himself. His last conversation with Georgiana had been short. Her voice was brittle, like a paper-thin sheet of glass.

"Nothing, Will, that I care to talk about," she replied when he asked her what was wrong.

"Geor-"

"I said nothing."

With that she hung up the telephone. He knew from experience that the receiver had been slammed back into the cradle. It's what he would've done and Georgiana Darcy was very much like her brother when she was angry.

He'd almost flown home after that conversation. But he didn't. His guilt over his behaviour to Elizabeth and her family, over the way he'd told her he loved her, over letting his sister down, and breaking his best friend's heart had kept him a prisoner in paradise.

Darcy looked down at his Red Stripe and tossed back the last swallow from the bottle. The sun was setting like a shiny copper penny beneath the gentle curve of the horizon. He made himself think he could hear it hiss as boiling gas met cool, blue water. Another day was efficiently wasted in his perfect purgatory.

It was amazing to Darcy that he could demolish that contents of five bottles of beer and never even stumble as he got up to retreat to his hotel room. He had never been a heavy drinker, but he wasn't a raving madman when he was drunk.

Sometimes he liked to believe that he'd been drunk when he proposed to her. It would be so much easier to explain why she was so revolted at the prospect of marrying him. He was too pragmatic to believe that, though. She refused him because she loathed him.

"Mr. Darcy, sir?"

He flicked his dark eyes up, not moving his head. The waitress stood there with a telephone in her hand. They all knew him at this point, but he wasn't sure of her name. Elizabeth would've scolded him for thinking a person of lesser station wasn't worth him learning her name.

"Thank you. I'm sorry. I don't remember your name." He tried to smile at her, but he felt like a fool so he stopped.

"Virginia, sir, but most call me Gin."

How appropriate for a barmaid, he thought. "Thank you, Gin."

She smiled then walked away. Her smile was like Elizabeth's.

"Darcy," he said, watching Virginia as she served drinks to an older couple. She flashed that brilliant smile again and he felt his heart ache. God, he missed her. Even if she hated him, he could be content if he could just look at her.

"Will? It's Georgie."

"Georgiana? What's wrong?" In his alarm, he bolted straight up in the chair. She had never once called him during his exile.

"Nothing. Not really."

Darcy's dark eyes narrowed in confusion. "What's going on?"

"I miss you. Pemberley is so big. I've never realized how big it was before."

Darcy suffered being away from Georgiana acutely. They had only each other, but after Wickham she had pushed him away. She seemed to lose her trust in everybody close to her after that. It pained him to see her hurt so much, so he never confided in her about Elizabeth knowing that she would make his distress her own. He wouldn't give her that extra weight for anything in the world.

"It is big. I used to miss you terribly when you were at school." He smiled at the memory of their happier days. "I would wander into your room just to remind myself that somebody else lived there with me.'

"Oh, Will," she cried.

"Georgiana, why don't you come here?" He asked it before he realized he was actually speaking.

"I couldn't." He heard her take a deep breath. "I know about Elizabeth, Will. I can't believe you didn't trust me enough to tell me yourself."

"Charles, right?" Darcy asked. He wanted to be angry at his friend but he found that he couldn't. It was one thing to humiliate yourself in front of a friend, but to be disgraced in front of a sister who admired you was quite another. However, he just felt relief because he didn't have to keep giving excuses that extended his summer vacation. "I do trust you. I just didn't want you to think poorly of me."

"Think poorly of you? If anything I think poorly of Miss Bennet. You're the kindest, most caring man I know. If she can't see that then she doesn't deserve you."

Georgiana had no way of knowing the particulars of the proposal. He hadn't told Charles and he wasn't going to tell her. He would just as soon let her live in blissful ignorance regarding the traits he possessed that turned Elizabeth's regard for him into dislike. There was only so much of her innocence left. He wouldn't be the one to rob her of it. Besides, if he didn't admit them to Georgiana he could forget that those faults had cost him dearly, right?

"Georgiana, perhaps she thought she was justified in her opinion of me. I cannot fault her for how she feels."

"Oh, God, Will, do you still love her?"

He couldn't answer. It would admit defeat if he said yes, but wasn't this trip where he drank and stared all day an admittance of defeat? He knew in his heart that it was. Darcy was still in love with Elizabeth. He knew that he would never be rid of her. She had told him no. She didn't care that he was vastly wealthy or that he was handsome. She didn't care that she would improve her station and never have to work again. He could give her status, money, and prestige. Elizabeth hadn't wanted any of those.

He knew from that singular word that she wanted to marry for love regardless of her mother's prodding. And, somehow, when she refused him, it made him love her even more. It killed him.

The silence spoke volumes to Georgiana. Darcy's pain over the telephone line was nearly tangible like hearts had been crushed all over the world and were making their way to her through her brother's voice over a tiny bit of technology. The time and space between them was weeping for all the lovers who never were. She remembered what that pain felt like.

"Jesus, Will, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No."

She thought for a moment.

"You're not wearing those loud shirts are you? I can't imagine you in a shirt that has brightly colored parrots on it." She forced a laugh, hoping that it would make them both feel better.

"Actually, this one is covered with kelly green palm leaves."

Georgiana groaned. "You have never worn anything other than Brooks Brothers all your life. Take a photo for me so that I may enlarge it into a poster."

"Not on your life, sister dear. I'm on vacation."

"I suppose you're wearing a straw hat too." She laughed again, genuinely.

"I own one, but it isn't on my head."

"Oh, Will. Come home soon?"

"Probably. I don't know how much more I can wallow."

"I love you, Will."

"And I you, Georgiana."

He stood as he clicked off the telephone. Virginia was nowhere to be seen so he picked up his straw hat, his empty beer bottle, and tucked the telephone under his arm to return it to the bar. He looked out to the darkened horizon, thinking that he should go home soon. It was time he took care of his sister and put his own pain aside.

"Evenin', Mr. Darcy," said the bartender.

At least he remembered the barkeep's name. He'd grown quite fond of the crusty old man. "Good evening, Rick."

"Talk to yer sista, I take it?" Rick asked.

"Yes, I did," he replied as he thought how four months had changed his demeanor so radically. He never would've had a conversation with a barkeep four months ago, let alone one about his sister. "She's doing well."

"Good ta hear. Good ta hear."

Darcy said goodnight to him. He had drinking and staring planned for the next day. It required much rest. He was just walking to the stairs of the platform on which the outdoor bar was placed when he heard laughter. Uproarious, jingling laughter that would have lifted the roof from its rafters had there been a roof to lift. Laughter that Fitzwilliam Darcy had heard before.

He spun back to the sound and there before him sat Elizabeth Bennet.

Chapter 2

Elizabeth sat there with a man and another woman. He couldn't see the woman's face, but he recognized her voice. Jane Bennet's hair glowed in the light of the paper lamps that hung around the perimeter to the tavern on the beach.

The man's hand covered Elizabeth's in a familiar way that Darcy wasn't entirely comfortable with. His hair looked black from the light. It was probably a very dark brown and it fell over his forehead in a foppish manner. Darcy could tell that his eyes were pale, but he couldn't make out their color. His nose was a little too long with a hint of a hook at the end. All in all, he looked like he'd just been thrown together with parts that had been lying about. Of course, Darcy wasn't ready to admit that the man was handsome, although he wasn't quite the monster Darcy deemed him. Just sizing up the competition.

He'd never seen the man touching his Elizabeth. He felt the overwhelming urge to rip the man's arm off.

He shook his head. She isn't mine and never was, he fought to remind himself. But she looked beautiful. Her brown eyes danced with joy as her smile caused that crinkle between her eyes that he so loved. Her skin, pale and perfect as a sheet of fine paper, shone smooth. Somewhere inside his mind he'd dreamed of this moment. Dreamt of her looking at him like that in the air of a perfect night.

Suddenly, he wasn't sure what to do. He remembered that he didn't look much like himself. There was a beard, albeit a haphazard one, forming on his chin and his lean body was darkened by the sun's warm rays during his beer/stare sessions in the chair. He did not want her to see him like this. He wasn't presentable to anybody but the fellow beach bums that were lying about. He'd bought the loud shirts and the shorts so that he wouldn't be conspicuous. If nobody noticed him, nobody would bother him. He didn't think that, regardless of how he looked, Fitzwilliam Darcy was a man to be noticed. He was, in fact, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. Whether he was in full beach bum regalia or not.

"Mr. Darcy?" Virginia asked, appearing out of nowhere. She stood to his left so that both her and the table were in his line of vision.

"Yes, Gin?" He tried to keep his voice level, but he could hear the impatience lying just underneath. He wanted to leave as quickly as possible when something occurred to him. It popped into his head like a sudden summer storm. The lightening flashed in his mind, illuminating an idea.

"Rick wanted me to give you your hat. You left it on the bar."

He took the hat from her. Before she could walk away, he grabbed her arm and turned them both around so that his back was to the table and she was facing it.

"Gin, could you do me a very important favor?"

"Of course, sir."

"I need information. Find out everything you possibly can about the people at the table behind me. I want to know where they are staying, how long," he paused for a moment, stealing a glance at the table. At her. "I want to know who that man is."

"Of course, sir," Virginia casually glanced around Darcy's shoulder, as he was at least a foot taller, maybe more. She spied the new customers, as she hadn't yet served them. They must have gotten their drinks at the bar.

"And take them over a round of drinks, but don't tell them who sent them. Above all, don't tell them who sent the drinks. I must not be found out. Are we agreed?"

Virginia's shoulders shook in a silent laugh as a conspiratorial smirk spread over her lips. She winked a bluish eye at him. "You got it, Mr. D."

It was the first time she hadn't called him sir. It was also the first time in his life he'd ever laughed at an epithet. He offered her a hand to shake on the deal. She brought her hand up and, for a moment, Darcy was horrified she might spit on it. Instead she wiped it on her crisp, white apron. She slipped her smooth, coffee-and-creme colored hand into his and shook it once.

"Want a beer for the road, sir? You look a little flushed."

Darcy shook his head. "I better go before I'm recognized. Have a goodnight, Gin."

"Mr. Darcy, sir?" She almost whispered it. He turned to look back at her. "It's the brunette, isn't it? She's exactly who I pictured you staring at."

He smiled at her and, placing the hat on his head, he touched the brim in acknowledgment. He turned again to go to his room. He walked along the stone path, his eyes adjusting to the dim light of the torches that lined the way. The night was balmy. The wind was coming off the water thick and heavy with a coming storm. It energized him, steeled him against what he knew he must do.

If he would have to fight to win her, he wouldn't hesitate.

She was here, on his island. It had to be fate. She had picked this place out of every possible destination on the globe. She had ended up here, where he had come to forget about her. Granted, Darcy wasn't doing a bang-up job at the forgetting part. He didn't want to forget her. She had meant too much to him to just forget. So he dwelt on her thinking of her every moment whether he was awake or asleep or in between. In the back of his mind, he knew his obsession for her was probably going to be his undoing. It was, then so be it.

He knew what every tiny movement of her face meant from her eyebrow crooking to her lips pursing. He knew how her voice would tremble with anger or joy. He knew that she would hide her mouth behind a teacup if she wanted to say something imprudent. He had watched her, loved her from afar for so long, that everything she did was second nature to him now.

This was fate giving him a second chance. He allowed himself to do what he hadn't done since that devastating day in April. Darcy allowed himself a moment, however brief, to hope.

"It's her, Pop," Virginia told Rick. Virginia doubted very much that Darcy realized that she was Rick's daughter. She didn't bother to tell him; he seemed to have much more on his mind than her familial relationships. She liked him. He never spoke a cross word to her, even though she thought him capable. One of her girlfriends was a maid in Darcy's hotel and told Virginia that the day after he arrived he had "raised hell about the bed sheets." She wasn't sure if she believed the story or not. Helen was prone to exaggerate.

Virginia pushed a hand through her dark hair. When she was sixteen, talent agents looking for runway models had approached her because of her "exotic" look. Her black hair had a slight tinge of dark red to it. Her eyes were pale grey-blue that sometimes showed a hint of aqua-green. Her skin was the color of coffee with a lot of creme. Her face was long and narrow and looked as if it had been sculpted by one of the greats. Genetics had been quite good to her, but Virginia never allowed herself to get caught up in her looks. She was the daughter of a bartender and an African immigrant. She never forgot her place. Besides, the runway shows were very far away from home and she had to take care of her father now that her mother was gone.

"Who're ya talkin' 'bout, Ginny?" Rick asked. He looked again at his daughter, thinking how lucky she was to look like her ma. They had always been a funny looking pair, Rick and Imiah. He was short and round and red-nosed; she had been tall and sleek and elegant. They had surprised everybody (including him) when they married, but Rick never once questioned Imiah's love for him. Some things were just meant to be.

"Darcy's girl. She's sitting at the table there with that man and woman. The brunette."

Rick followed his daughter's gaze. "Oh, she's a mite purty thing, tain't she?"

"Yes, Pop, she is. But you don't go saying anything to her. Give me another round of what they're drinking and put it on Darcy's tab."

"Oh, bein' sly, is he?" There was a twinkle in his eye that Virginia couldn't miss.

"Pop," she warned. "Just give me the drinks."

Rick made up a daiquiri and placed a beer and a glass of wine on Virginia's tray. She sauntered over to the table and gave them her best smile, which was dazzling.

"My name's Gin. If you kids need anything tonight, you just give me a holler, all right?" She passed the drinks around the table. "Where do you kids hail from?"

"England," the man said. "I'm Benjamin Reynold-Smythe."

"Oh, Lord, you sound so pretentious when you say that, Ben," the brunette said. "Elizabeth Bennet. Pleased to meet you, Gin. This is my sister, Jane."

"Glad to make your acquaintance," Virginia replied, eyeing Elizabeth subtlety. She would never tell Darcy, of course, but she approved.

Benjamin pulled at his wallet to take care of the tab. Virginia waved his money away.

"No, sir. These drinks are compliments of one of our regulars. He wanted to welcome you to our little corner of the world. It isn't much, but it's home."

Jane looked at Elizabeth. "Who might it be? We should ask him over to sit with us."

"No, ma'am. He's already retired for the evening. He said for you to have a toast on him."

With that Virginia smiled again and left them to their drinks.

"You know, Lizzy," Benjamin said. "Her smile reminds me of yours."

Posted on Friday, 1 September 2000

Darcy thought it prudent to remain incognito for at least one more day. He kept the beard, which seemed more full than he remembered, and pulled the straw fedora with its creamy band into place on top of his dark curls. To this disguise he added the only sunglasses he was able to find on short notice: plastic orange day-glos with mirrored lenses. If they recognized him, it wouldn't matter. He would die from abject humiliation anyway.

He went to the tavern on the beach. It was around noon and Rick was already there, sitting at the bar, reading, of all things, the Wall Street Journal. Darcy looked at him quizzically.

"I knows what yer thinkin'. I'm backward ta the wurst dagree. How can I understand this," Rick said without looking up.

"Quite the contrary, Rick. I was thinking that it doesn't really surprise me at all. Things rarely surprise me anymore."

Rick ignored the self-pitying remark and continued on. "Well, I want to make sure Gin is taken care of when I kicks tha' buckitt. She's all I got, ya know."

Darcy's forehead wrinkled in shock. "You're married to Gin?"

A deep, bellowing laugh erupted from Rick's belly and exploded into the air. "I got tha' same look when Gin's ma was alive. People neva could undastand why tha' lady married the likes of me."

Darcy was silent for a moment. Realization crept over him. "She's your daughter."

"Now ya got it, boy." Rick slapped his hand on the shiny wooden top of the bar, a grin spreading over his semi-toothless puss. "She's me pride and joy, tha' gurl is."

"She's a beautiful girl. Must take after her mother," Darcy said, smiling mischievously. For a moment, he couldn't believe he'd said such a thing, but when he saw Rick chuckle with surprised amusement, he knew he hadn't offended him.

"Your gurl shows up and ya gets a sense of 'umor," Rick muttered. "Saw 'er last night. She's a purty thing."

"That she is. Have you seen her today?"

Darcy couldn't fault Virginia for pointing Elizabeth out. He would have showed her off himself if he could have. And, since Rick was her father, he supposed that could be the exception to the rules of their agreement.

"Nope," he said, his pirate accent falling out of his mouth like a prisoner on the gangplank. "Gin'll be 'ere in a few minutes. I think she wurkin' on that plot ya'll gots goin'."

Darcy ordered his first Red Stripe of the day. Until he saw Virginia he thought it would be best not to alter his routine in any way. If he ventured out onto the island he ran the risk of being found out and exposure wouldn't do just yet. He had not decided his status in the game, if indeed he had a status. And he wouldn't know that until he talked to Virginia.

He took a deep breath, picked up the bottle, and headed for the lounge chair. The chair was oddly situated. That was why he picked it. It wasn't hard for Virginia to get to so that she could serve him, but it was out of the way and faced the coast full on. There was a line of palm trees to the right side of the chair and the large expanse of sand that made up the beach to the left. The bar sat behind the lounge chair about twenty feet. It was always quiet here during this part of the day. Tourists (and Darcy did no longer think of himself as a Tourist) never came to the beach this early. There was shopping to do on the bigger island to the north and an extended breakfast bar that served as the first party of the day.

So this had been his sanctuary. Nobody except Virginia had even bothered to registered that this chair existed on the island.

Until today.

Darcy caught sight of the lounge chair as he made his way down the front steps of the tavern on the beach. There was already somebody in his seat. Elizabeth.

He drew a sharp breath, startled. He thought of the movie "Casablanca" suddenly. Of all the lounge chairs in all the world she chose to sit in mine.

She turned toward the sound of his breath before he could move to safety. He vaguely remembered that he didn't look much like the Fitzwilliam Darcy that she would've remembered, but the fact remained, he was still Fitzwilliam Darcy. She put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun as she looked up at him. Her smile was warm and welcoming.

She didn't recognize him.

"Hello, there," she called.

Too polite to just walk away, Darcy nodded in acknowledgment. He couldn't say a word. He didn't trust himself to speak lest he tell her that he was a boorish oaf who was so very sorry and begged forgiveness indefinitely, That wouldn't do. Flustered, he took a huge gulp of his beer.

"Breakfast of champions." Elizabeth laughed and it sounded like music to his ears. He smiled sheepishly.

"I've been here since daybreak. I've never seen the ocean look like that before. It was on fire as the sun it from the east. It was incredible," she added, glancing back at the coast. The waves were gentle today and the sun glowed a pale, shimmering orange.

Typical Elizabeth, enthralled at simple, natural beauty.

He nodded briefly. His heart was pounding like mad inside his chest. It was getting harder to breathe, but he couldn't make himself leave her. Not yet.

"Not a very verbal person, are you?"

He took a few steps forward so that he stood in front of her. He had no control over himself at that moment. He just wanted to look at her. He wanted to put the image in his mind away and stare at the real thing for just a few seconds. After so many months of looking at her in his mind's eye, he had her there before him with the sun staring down on her from above, fighting him to gaze at her, to bask in the radiance that she gave off. It was a rare woman indeed who could outshine the sun.

"My name is Elizabeth. Do you have a name?"

He nodded, but pointed to his throat. He choked out a hoarse whisper, hoping to God, Allah, and Buddha that it sounded genuine. "Bill."

"Oh, I see. It quite literally hurts to talk." She picked up a towel and handed it to him. He stood, holding it for several minutes trying to understand what she wanted him to do with it. She giggled as she made a grand sweeping gesture with her hand on the sand next to her. "Have a seat, Bill. We'll spend a few minutes watching the waves."

At that moment, Darcy saw Gin standing at the tavern's railing, waving to him frantically. She glanced down at his chair, saw Elizabeth, and began to gesture even more rapidly. He politely handed the towel back to Elizabeth, took another sip of his beer, and pointed the diver's watch on his right wrist.

"Appointment," he croaked. Hearing his voice crack, he wondered briefly if he weren't in the wrong business. He hated actors though.

"Well, then, Bill. You must visit me again. This view is spectacular. I will probably take up permanent residence here. Tell everybody to forward my mail to this chair." She grinned at him.

He wanted nothing more than to stay there forever but Virginia ran up to him. "Mr. D., we need to talk."

He allowed her to drag him off, leaving Elizabeth to admire the view and Mr. D.'s attractive backside.

"What were you doing?" Virginia asked him when they were a safe distance from Miss Elizabeth Bennet. "You could've gotten caught."

"She didn't recognize me. I stood right in front of her and she had no idea who I was."

Virginia tentatively touched Darcy's shoulder. She didn't want him risking himself so early on. If this had been painful enough to leave his friends, his family, and his home surely he was on uneven ground now. She knew from the moment she met him that he was aching from the inside out. She had never been in love exactly. Not the kind of love that drove you to the other side of the planet when it didn't work out anyway. He was different than other people that came to this place. He was kind when he obviously didn't have to be; the very rich could afford to give offense wherever they went. Many times Virginia had had to put up with those offenses because the very rich also thought she was very stupid. Mr. Darcy had never treated her badly for being a barmaid and for that he'd earned her respect.

He looked at her hand on his shoulder. She was so thoughtful, this girl. Sometimes he'd wondered if there were any good people left at all when he saw so much misery. Very rarely did anybody come along who restored his faith in humanity even a tiny bit. He reached up and took her small hand in his own. Without thinking, he bent forward, kissed her cheek, smiling at the look in her eyes.

"I'll be careful, Gin, I promise. I thank you for being concerned. In a way, you remind me of my sister," he said softly. She did indeed remind him of the way Georgiana was before she'd been hurt so badly.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy. I'll take that as a compliment."

The moment between them passed with a look of understanding that they were no longer just co-conspirators, but friends. Virginia took a deep breath, leading him to sit down at a nearby table.

She had spent all morning talking to people all over the island about the new British trio. They were staying at the Magpie Inn, not the Tally daGah where Darcy was, but across the street. Most everybody she talked to seemed quite impressed with the group as a whole, but some of the local merchants doubted that Benjamin Reynolds-Smythe was as wealthy as he presented himself to be. Elizabeth had laid down plastic whenever he picked something up.

"So he's using her?" Darcy asked, more to himself than Virginia.

"I don't know, Mr. D. He offered to pay for drinks last night."

"Anything else?" It was a loaded question. He had to ask it, but he wasn't actually prepared for the answer.

Virginia tried to soften the blow as much as possible. She spoke softly. "Jane Bennet has her own room."

Darcy's hands clenched reflexively into tight fists and his face paled beneath the beard. Virginia watched him, thinking he might erupt in tormented rage or burst into tears. As she stared, she saw something amazing happen. His fingers slowly unfurled, his skin returned to its normal color, and he took a deep breath. As he let it out, Virginia almost saw his resolve of the situation.

"I am going to need your help, Gin. Who's the best barber on the island?"

Chapter IV

Elizabeth couldn't believe what she was seeing. She had just awoke from a very long nap in that incredibly comfortable lounge chair. Her body seemed to be made to fit it to a t and she had nestled into a comfortable slumber unlike any she'd had since Benjamin had appeared.

He was restless at night.

She felt herself refreshed after her peaceful dreams. Pulling herself, unwillingly, out of the chair, Elizabeth thought to cut through the tavern on the beach. Get a drink and go dress for, oh, what meal would be served now? Oh, yes. Dinner.

Elizabeth felt only a little guilty at having wasted an entire day in a lounge chair. She was on holiday, after all.

But now, at the small flight of three steps, she stood completely flabbergasted by what she saw in the dusky haze of the sunset.

Darcy.

He was following behind the barmaid closely as she cleaned tables dirtied by the happy hour crowd. He was carrying a large grey plastic tote on one hip, gently placing glasses inside as the girl wiped up water rings and pretzel crumbs. Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, busboy.

Elizabeth noticed how different he looked. His dark curls had been lightened ever so slightly by the tropical rays of the Caribbean sunlight, making her wonder how long he'd been here. Indeed, she had not seen him since that day when-

She stopped herself, not wanting to relive those horrible moments. She'd been so angry at him, been so purposefully cruel, but she had still noticed the hurt that had filled his dark eyes. Elizabeth didn't want to believe that she had it in her power to hurt another person so badly with such little abandon.

He caught her attention again, bringing her back from recalling that dark day. He had a very light beard on his face and there was a slight film of perspiration on his brow. She noticed that the sleeves of his startling white shirt were rolled up, revealing tanned, muscular arms and that he was wearing a half-apron double-tied around his waist, covering his khaki shorts.

She almost jumped with surprise when he laughed at something the barmaid said. She felt a pang of something inside her when she realized that it was the first time she had every seen Darcy laugh at anything.

They walked over to the bar. Darcy slid the heavy tote onto the bar with the ease of a man who had worked all his life, although she was sure he never had. He took a step behind the bar to begin cleaning the glasses.

"Oh, no, Mr. D. You get away from there!" The beautiful girl cried, laughing. Her laugh hung in the air like music. "Shoo!"

"Is your daughter always this bossy?" Darcy asked, throwing a glance at the old bartender.

Elizabeth didn't remember the old man's name. Actually, she couldn't remember much at that moment. Surely, this had to be a joke. Her Mr. Darcy would never be seen in a place like this, never mind talk with them. And in such a manner. Half the time he wasn't comfortable in his own skin; how could he be so easy and jovial here?

"Yah," the old man snorted. He spat over the railing.

"Mr. D.!" She placed her hands on her hips. "Do not make me come after you."

Elizabeth caught the name the girl used suddenly. Mr. D.? Surely not. She thought about it for a moment. Indignation rose up through her like steam in a pressure cooker. It had been him on the beach. Spying on her.

She stalked up the steps as Darcy came from behind the bar at Virginia's request. Elizabeth stopped right in front of him.

The smile faded from his face. His breath caught.

The whole beach seemed to stop moving. Everything was suddenly quiet. Elizabeth and Darcy were the only two people in the world.

She wanted to be mad at him. Indeed, her very core was boiling hot, but her voice would not cooperate. After so many months of occasionally wondering what had happened to her unexpected suitor, Elizabeth finally had her answer. And it wasn't the one she wanted.

"Why didn't you tell me who you were this morning?" She asked. She was shocked that her own voice could betray her so readily. To her own ears she sounded hurt and surprised at the same time.

He was dumbfounded until he realized that she'd heard Virginia. He stared into those chocolate brown pools, seeing her confusion at finding him on the other side of the world quite by accident.

"I hadn't the words," he whispered, longing to touch her cheek. He smiled softly, then the smile broadened into a grin. "Besides I was most definitely not looking my best. Island chic is not up to par with my London tailor."

Elizabeth was astounded at his joke.

"You are very different from the last time I saw-"

There was a shadow that passed over his already dark features, bringing back the Mr. Darcy she knew if only for a moment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean...." She couldn't say another word so she let the sentence fall away. She looked down at the floor, embarrassed by the mess this conversation had become.

"I know," he replied. "I will see you again."

Elizabeth looked up at him quickly. Surely, he wouldn't disappear again because of her. She tried to keep her voice steady. No hint of panic. "You're leaving?"

Darcy glanced at his watch. "Gin's dinner break is in ten minutes. She has to eat before the night crowd begins to gather."

Elizabeth's eyes slid over to the elegant Virginia, who was drying glasses and trying for all the world to look like she was minding her own business.

"Oh," Elizabeth said softly. "Well, I suppose I should move along also. Jane is here, you know."

"I do. This is a small island. Word travels quickly," he added. Elizabeth caught his unspoken insinuation about Benjamin. Instead of being indignant, she was a bit ashamed.

"It was good to see you again, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth put a hand forward to shake his.

"Mr. Darcy," she breathed as he took her hand and placed a feather soft kiss upon the back of it.

He turned from her, offered his elbow to Virginia, and they strode away.

Elizabeth suffered quietly until her goosebumps went away.

A short while later, Elizabeth sat staring at Jane's reflection in the mirror of the vanity table in the hotel room adjoining her own.

"Lizzy," calm and collected Jane began. "Do you think that Mr. Darcy is seeing Gin?"

Elizabeth's shrugged, her shoulders sagging as gravity claimed them on their descent. Her spirit wasn't far behind and she wasn't exactly ready to admit why.

"I suppose I expected him to lock himself away and pine the loss of me forever," she said, trying hard to sounding mocking and wistful. "But he has every right to move on."

"As you have done," Jane pointed out. "I dare say our Mr. Reynolds-Smythe quite adores you."

Jane smiled her easy smile, but it wasn't the same. Ever since Charles Bingley had disappeared Jane Bennet's smiles had not held the same light. Elizabeth tried her hardest to remember who had caused Jane's smiles to fade.

"I must agree with you." Elizabeth's eyes took on their old spark. "And isn't it wonderful to be adored?"

Jane chuckled. "Lizzy, shouldn't you get ready for dinner?"

She looked at the clock. Time had been displaced for her since she'd stepped off the plane. It was even more so now that she had slept an entire day away. She precisely twelve minutes to get ready and meet Benjamin for dinner.

"Damn!" Elizabeth muttered. She flew up off the corner of Jane's bed, nearly pitching herself head first through the door that joined their rooms.

"I don't think Ben will leave the island if you're late!"

In response Jane heard the rattle of the closet door as it banged into the wall. She shook her head as her beloved sister raced around in her room, readying herself for a dinner with a man who was amiable enough, but was no Mr. Darcy.

While it was true that Jane looked for goodness in all people, it was also true that she held very few people in the highest regard. She was kind to everybody as a general rule, but she was cautious around them.

Which was her whole reason for being here. She knew Elizabeth had been worried about her since Charles had taken his leave and she was grateful for her sister's attentions, but Jane was not quite the china doll that everybody assumed her to be. Jane had depths that even she was unaware of. She was brilliant, shrewd, and a fine observationist.

Jane knew long before Elizabeth (and she suspected to some extent Mr. Darcy) that Darcy was in love. She knew Elizabeth and Darcy were perfect for one another, but everything had been against them at the time. Franny Bennet's scheming to get her daughters into wealthy marriages would embarrass Mr. Darcy. He would look the fool marrying the daughter of a known golddigger. Elizabeth's own unfounded prejudice against the man had also not helped matters at all.

Sighing, Jane brushed a gold curl from her face.

She didn't entirely trust Benjamin either. It was true that he moved in the crowd of well-to-do young Londoners. It was rumoured that he had taken the Prince of Wales to his first strip club.

Benjamin, however, did seem to cease unseemly behaviour after he met Elizabeth. He'd called on her often at the flat the sisters shared near Notting Hill. He'd romanced her like a dashing hero in a novel.

But none of it was Elizabeth.

Mr. Darcy had made more of an impression on her sister than she was willing to admit to herself. Jane saw it all. She watched her the first few days after Darcy's proposal. She saw how her anger melted like ice in a cup on a hot summer day. Jane noticed the waiting look on Elizabeth's face when the telephone rang or the doorbell chimed.

Elizabeth wanted Mr. Darcy to return. But he hadn't.

And now Jane knew why.

Because, while Benjamin may have adored Elizabeth's body and small but useful bank account, Fitzwilliam Darcy loved Elizabeth's essence. He'd loved her enough to let her go.

Jane heard the door in Elizabeth's room slam. She waited a few moments, grabbed her light shawl, and went in search of Mr. Darcy.

Part V

Elizabeth and Benjamin were sitting at a quiet corner table where the only light that illuminated their table came from the soft glow of well placed white candles. Benjamin had arranged everything about the dinner, down to the very last strawberry that topped the small china dishes of vanilla ice cream. It was Elizabeth's favorite dessert.

She was utterly breathtaking. Benjamin loved to walk into a room with a gorgeous woman on his arm; the kind of woman people stopped talking to each other to look at. Of course, Benjamin had been out with dozens of models, a few he even managed to bed before that royal snot had gotten to them. The Prince and Benjamin had a rivalry which the likes of England hadn't seen in years. If it had been a few centuries earlier, Benjamin might have died for treason so fierce was the competition for women and gaming. But as it stood, Benjamin contented himself knowing that he had beat the Prince to Elizabeth.

Yellow the color of fresh butter brought out every highlight in Elizabeth's dark curls. Her skin radiated in the pale light. Her sun-dress was that perfect shade of yellow, the neck scooped out and the half inch straps accenting her beautifully shaped shoulders.

For Benjamin Reynolds-Smythe, Elizabeth was a trophy beyond any prize he had ever imagined. He wasn't in love with her for he had never had the inclination to love anybody but himself and he did that exceedingly well. He'd had many women, but none with the integrity of dear Elizabeth. She had been a hard won prize.

"We'll have dinner then perhaps we could visit that quaint little pub on the beach." Benjamin sipped his cognac. "I thought it would be lovely."

Elizabeth blinked at him. "You don't want to go somewhere else?"

"You enjoyed it last night. I thought we'd make it our special place. When we return here in the future, we'll have this table and a moment on the beach. What else could I ask for?"

She tried to smile.

Benjamin took her hand. "Besides, I have something planned for you."

"Well, then, who am I to disappoint you?" She asked, weakly.

He flashed a grin so bright that he could have supplied London with power for weeks. "That's my girl."

Benjamin barely noticed that she only managed to push the food around on her fine china plate. His carefully planned meal had gone to waste.

"Mr. Darcy," Jane said.

She felt like she had walked every bloody inch of the island and was frustrated to find him at a pizza stand not a fourth of a mile from the tavern on the beach. He and Virginia were sitting on a bench near the stand, laughing, when Jane appeared. Smells of melted cheese and sausage floated through the air to her nostrils. Her head filled with the tantalizing aromas and she suddenly wished she'd eaten before her trek.

Darcy stood. Ever gallant, he bobbed his head to her in a miniature bow. "Would you like a seat, Miss Bennet?"

Jane shook her head. "Please, don't let me interrupt your meal."

She took a quick look at the barmaid. She was an exquisite woman. Indeed, Jane couldn't recall ever seeing a woman so stunning before. Still, she didn't seem Darcy's type. Not that Jane could predict who Darcy would find on the rebound, but she wasn't satisfied that it would be a barmaid on an island in the middle of nowhere.

"You've met Gin?" Darcy asked, resuming his seat to finish a slice of pizza with everything, including anchovies. Jane noticed and lost her appetite.

"We met last night. It's good to see you again, Miss-" Jane trailed off, realizing that she didn't know Virginia's last name.

"Blackchurch. Virginia Blackchurch, but, please, call me Gin." Her smile was warm and pleasant.

Jane wanted to like her.

"How long have you been on the island, Darcy?" Jane asked, her voice sounding a little more harsh than she meant for it to. She didn't have time to waste being coy. If she were going to get rid of Benjamin, she had to do so now.

"Since April," was Darcy's stiff reply. He cast a glance at Virginia. They were friends, but he wasn't willing to share this with her. She didn't need to know why Elizabeth had cast him away. Part of him was scared of what she would think, the other part just didn't want to think about it.

Virginia smiled at him, nodding her head. Dabbing elegantly at the corner of her mouth with a paper napkin, she stood and threw the crust of her pizza away. She looked at Jane, aqua eyes meeting blue head on.

"I know that this is none of my business, ma'am, but he's been miserable since that day he got here. Please, don't be too hard on him," she pleaded. "We both know he's a good man. Your sister is a very lucky woman."

Jane let out a breath, not realizing that she'd been holding it. They weren't together. Darcy still belonged to Elizabeth. She held out her hand, grabbing Virginia's firmly. She said simply, "Yes."

They exchanged a look, which Darcy didn't see. Jane Bennet and Virginia Blackchurch understood each other. They were playing the same position on different teams which shouldn't have been different teams at all. They both cared about these people, knew that they were meant to be together, realized that they were allies. Jane nodded to Virginia. Virginia leaned into Jane. She whispered in her ear then walked away toward the tavern. Jane smiled.

She sat down next to Darcy.

"Elizabeth would never tell you, but she missed you after you left."

"Do not jest, Miss Bennet. The situation is grave enough," Darcy muttered bitterly. Darcy kept his face straight ahead but slid his eyes in her direction. Had Elizabeth told her of his involvement in Bingley's desertion? If she had, then why was Jane Bennet here, trying to help him now. If indeed she was there to help.

"Oh, Lord, Darcy! We have known each other for a long enough time now that you may call me Jane! It isn't as if propriety commands that you to be so formal," Jane cried.

He turned his face to her. Shock, hurt, and something she didn't have a name for filled his face. His dark eyes were wounded.

"What did I say?" She asked, concerned.

"You sounded exactly like Elizabeth the day she refused me. She called me arrogant and proud. She implied that I was a relic of a bygone age. Your voice had the same tone," he added so softly that she had to strain to hear him.

Her empathy for him grew in that moment. She remembered her mission.

"I don't trust Benjamin, Darcy," Jane began. "He treats Lizzy like a queen, but there's something not quite right about him. I think he wants the money that she has. When Papa died he left each of us 20,000 pounds. Lizzy invested most of hers. It has turned into a small fortune that she plans to use for retirement, you know, thinking ahead and all that. It's all Lizzy has."

"I knew it," Darcy hissed. "Damn."

"She pays for most everything," Jane muttered. "I'm all for equal rights but the key word there is equal. Ben is from a good family with connections. I don't understand why he would use Lizzy like this."

"Reynolds-Smythe is an old name, nearly as old as Darcy, but the money's been gone at least two generations."

"No!" Jane nearly yelped. She didn't want to believe it, even if she didn't trust him, but there it was. "It isn't so."

"I'd heard the occasional story. We do not exactly move in the same circles. He seeks out privileged women, lets them use the prestige of his name while he uses their bank accounts. It's all a hairy business at best."

Anger filled Jane's sky blue eyes. How could a person be so blatantly cruel? It was callous and calculating and baffling even to Jane's shrewd mind.

"But Lizzy isn't with him for his name," she whispered.

"I know," was Darcy's reply. He thought about how his name had not granted him any rights with her either. "It isn't Elizabeth's nature to do something for the glory of it. She wouldn't take pleasure in something so petty as an old, prestigious name."

Jane swung to face him on the bench. "You still love her."

He shrugged.

"Darcy?"

"I cannot stop loving her, Jane."

She bit her lip to keep the sudden tears at bay. Looking at him, she knew there was only one thing left to be done.

"Darcy, help me save Elizabeth."

He closed his eyes and sat so very still for such a long time that Jane was very nearly sure he might have died. His face started to fill with emotion: exhaustion, anger, pain, longing. They all radiated from him like thick heat rising from pavement in the middle of summer. The air actually seemed to shimmer with his torment. Suddenly, Jane understood why Elizabeth was so afraid to allow herself to love him. His need was so great, his passion so intense, his hunger so raw that the woman who was the brunt of it would be swallowed whole. Love and desire that white-hot had to be terrifying to a control-monger like Elizabeth. Loving Darcy would send her into a tailspin.

But he deserved to be loved. And Elizabeth was the only woman in the world who could love him the way he needed to be loved.

"Help me," Jane pleaded. "She needs you now."

"She never needed me, Jane."

"She needs you now," she repeated, emphatically.

He opened his eyes. They were shiny with unshed tears.

"I don't know how I can help you, but, for Elizabeth, I'd give my soul."

Jane threw her arms around his neck, her body wracked with heavy sobs of relief. Things were finally going to be made right.

Chapter VI

Darcy replaced the telephone in its cradle, feeling that he had done something good. Something that would be good for one person he cared for. After his conversation with Jane Bennet he could think of only one thing; a woman that devoted to her sister, a woman that intelligent deserved to pursue her own path without his righteous indignation.

He had spoken with his cousin, Richard Andrew Fitzwilliam, briefly. Drew, as most of the family called him to distinguish him from his father, was to bring Charles Bingley to the tiny island regardless of what Charles said.

Charles Bingley hated to fly.

"How in the hell am I supposed to get him there if I can't get him on a plane, Will?" Drew demanded. He wasn't happy with his mission impossible.

"I would suggest drugging him," was Darcy's staid reply. Drew couldn't tell if it was a joke or not.

"You propose I kidnap Charles and you won't tell me why. I don't like this at all."

"The less you know the better but it will be well worth it, Drew. Trust me."

He did. He trusted his cousin implicitly. They had grown up together, had shared distaste for the same relatives, chased some of the same girls, and had gotten into to trouble as English lads were prone to do. Through it all, Drew Fitzwilliam and William Darcy had remained thick as thieves.

"I will be there within the next three days, Will. I'll call you once I've gotten Charles on the plane."

"Good luck," Darcy had said, knowing Drew would need it.

Darcy sat in his hotel suite, thinking about how he was going to help Jane. He'd agreed to save Elizabeth from Benjamin and he would. He couldn't stand the thought of that snake breathing the same air as her. He wouldn't let his mind elaborate any further. Murder was, unfortunately, still illegal in many parts of the world.

Jane had told him that Benjamin had planned an elaborate evening for Elizabeth. She wasn't aware of any of the particulars, but she knew at some point they would be at the beach. Jane had a feeling that Benjamin might propose that they take a leap forward in their relationship. She didn't think Benjamin would mention marriage, but he might convince Elizabeth to move in with him.

"I thought about calling Mum," Jane had said, "before we found you here. She'd never stand for merely living together. Mum wants those vows."

"I recall," Darcy muttered.

"Oh, but you weren't there when Mary and Alastair were living together. Mum had a rather crude saying and she used to end every conversation with Mary by saying it."

Darcy hadn't been able to help himself. "Pray, enlighten me."

A smirk played over Jane's fair features. "No band on the hand, no playing in the sand."

They had looked at one another then burst out laughing.

Now he closed his eyes at the thought of Franny Bennet saying such a base thing. The woman was by no means pious, but she wasn't a woman who seemed particularly carnal. If she weren't the mother of five daughters, it would have surprised him that she possessed any libido at all.

Looking at himself in the mirror, Darcy ran a hand over his chin. He wanted to shave the beard completely but then would have been left with a rather obvious difference in the coloring of the skin on his face. In a way, he looked rather wild. He liked it.

He went to his closet and pulled out a pale beige linen suit. It would have to do. The weather outside was still too warm for anything heavier. He put on a fresh white shirt, the suit, brown loafers. No tie. He mulled over adding the straw fedora. He put it on his head then checked himself in the mirror.

He chuckled. "I look like a villain in a James Bond movie."

He was still laughing as he tossed the hat on the bed and walked out into the night air.

Benjamin's hand held Elizabeth's firmly as they walked along the beach. The moon hung overhead like a gaudy Christmas ornament. It looked ugly to Elizabeth. She was trapped in paradise and everything looked ugly to her just then, including the handsome face of Benjamin Reynolds-Smythe.

He had talked all during dinner, mostly telling her stories of the young, rich Londoners that he went about with. Boring stories of boring people that Elizabeth could care less about. He tossed in the occasional compliment and did not notice that she said nary a word. She smiled. She nodded. She was sure that she might have even laughed at the appropriate times. He did not stop talking so she remained confident that she was being a good girlfriend.

Her mind had been otherwise engaged. She had been meditating on the great sorrow her heart felt upon the occasion of looking into a pair of fine dark eyes. With all her might she tried not to think of him; his eyes or any other feature which may have drawn her notice. Not his dark curls or his strong arms. Not the way his lips curled when he smiled for that girl. But her mind was persistent, flooding her head with images of him since they had met at Sir William's Christmas party to that moment his lips had touched her hand. While her mind tortured her, her heart tugged at her soul. Her conscience, encouraged by her heart, pelted her with the things she had said when he proposed. Horrible, cruel things that nobody ever deserved to hear put to their person.

He, along with her torturous mind, tugging heart, and pelting conscience, had followed her and Benjamin to the beach. Not in body, but in spirit. She felt him here more than any place else on the island. He had idled away many hours here. Because of how she had hurt him. Of that much Elizabeth was sure.

"Lizzy?"

She stopped because someone had said her name. Elizabeth shook herself from her blanket of thought and let her gaze fall in the direction of the speaker.

Ah, yes. Benjamin.

Benjamin had no idea, of course, that Elizabeth was using him, but in a far less sinister way than he was using her. He was the Rebound Guy as Jane would've said, the guy to buffer a girl into the world of bars and singledom after a long relationship, the transitional man after a major break up. He was, although slimy and untrustworthy, fun. He was someone that Elizabeth knew she would never be permanently attached to. He was a momentary diversion because Darcy was the permanent diversion.

Oh, good Lord! Please tell me it isn't so! Elizabeth thought frantically. It was too late. She couldn't take it back now. I love him.

"Lizzy!" Benjamin repeated. His patience was growing short.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ben. This place has my mind wandering," Elizabeth said absently, in shock from her sudden revelation. She gave him a smile and hoped that it didn't look too conciliatory.

"Well, come back to me," he whispered. He took a step closer to her then brought her hand to his lips. They were moist and spongy compared to Darcy's. "I want to talk to you."

Haven't you been doing that all night? She thought.

"I have never met a woman like you before, Lizzy. I've met beautiful women who didn't have much upstairs and plain women who were brilliant. You're the first I've come across with both."

"Thank you," she whispered. She didn't like the sound of this. How do you stand on the beach with a man, under the moon and stars, who is confessing himself when you just realized that you have been in love with another man since the beginning of time? Elizabeth didn't have an answer. Indeed, she wasn't sure there was one. All she wanted at that moment was to be far away from Benjamin and near Darcy.

"I feel so lucky to have found you. All my life I have wandered from one place to another looking for someone to love me. I've searched for beauty and light. You, Elizabeth, are what I have found." He brought his eyes up to meet hers. He put his best sincere face on. It was the face that once convinced an elderly lady (a matron who was a friend of the Queen's, a member of a group that everybody referred to as the "Old Guard") to leave him a goodly portion of her vast estate. It was the face that had promised undying love to a rather plain but titled distant cousin of the Prince. The face that had launched thousands of pounds of debt and heartache.

"Ben-" Elizabeth began. He put a finger to her lips to silence her. For one horrible moment Elizabeth was afraid that he would kiss her. She couldn't kiss him now.

"I adore you. You're strong and smart and sexy. I am amazed by you."

"Ben," she interjected again. "We've only known each other a short while. How can you speak so assuredly of my character?"

"Because we understand each other. We're more alike than you realize, Lizzy."

"How?" Her tone was challenging. He was presuming more about her than she was willing to allow. She knew most decidedly that she and Ben were nothing alike.

"We," he stammered for a moment, trying to find a common ground to work from. "We both like vanilla ice cream with strawberries."

She looked away from him as her eyes rolled in a gesture of irritated pity. She had no idea how he had gotten it into his head that this was her favorite dessert. It was good, but it was by no means her favorite.

"Will you marry me, Elizabeth?"

The question surprised her by its suddenness. Surely, he had not proposed to her. Even she didn't merit enough grace and personality to bear two proposals of marriage in less than a half-year.

"Ben?"

"You heard me. Elizabeth Reynolds-Smythe. It sounds magical, does it not, Lizzy?"

"What the hell are you talking about? I am not interested in your name in the least! Benjamin, I am sorry, but I must decline. I do not wish to cause you any pain, but I cannot marry you."

His eyes narrowed. He couldn't believe his ears. This girl, this poor wench surely had not just refused him. He had the name and the connections and, if it had not been for his worthless great-uncle, he would have had the money.

"But I am perfect for you, Lizzy."

"No, Ben, you aren't."

"You don't know what you're saying. We belong together, Elizabeth."

She took a deep breath, trying to control her temper. She could tell he was boiling just beneath the surface and she wanted to leave. The both of them being angry would not do either of them any good. They couldn't face this rationally right now. She was too jumbled with her emotions. Darcy was pounding in her head. She just wanted to find him.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, her cheek was stinging with pain. She felt the pain explode into her jaw and nighttime colors begin to run like watercolors on a canvas. She blinked at Benjamin just as his open palm slipped to his side.

Just as quickly as he hit her, a fist connected with Benjamin's cheek hard enough to hear bone shatter. The fist smashed into the side of his jaw again and she knew that if she followed the beige sleeve up the would see Darcy's shoulder and if she followed the curve of his shoulder she would be staring at his face.

He was glaring at Benjamin with such fury and hatred that Elizabeth almost did not recognize him. She saw the satisfaction as she heard Benjamin's body crumble to the sand beneath her feet. But when he looked at her it was as if Benjamin Reynolds-Smythe hadn't existed at all.

"Are you all right?" He asked, tenderly touching her throbbing cheek.

"Fine. I think I just need some ice."

He started to take a step back to retrieve it for her but she caught his hand. It was soft and firm in her fingers and she wondered at herself for taking so long to realize how she felt. How could she have been such a dolt?

"Wait, Darcy."

They stood there, under the moonlight, which suddenly seemed glorious to Elizabeth, for nothing less than eternity. They stared at one another, neither of them knowing what to say. Indeed, neither of them were quite sure if there was anything they could say. Anything that could make the past disappear or erase the time that had lapsed between them.

"I should get that ice," he said finally. "Please, come with me in case Mr. Reynolds-Smythe comes to."

"I think you hit him hard enough. I don't believe he'll awaken until the latter part of next week."

"He deserved it," Darcy said archly.

"He did," Elizabeth agreed. "Are you just going to leave him there?"

"I was actually thinking of pushing him closer to the water. High tide is an amazing thing on this beach," he added.

Elizabeth would have laughed, but a pain shot through her head when she tried. She swooned and he caught her.

"Miss Bennet," he said, holding her by the elbow, his arm around her waist.

"Jesus, Bill, call me Lizzy."

Darcy blinked at her, confused. "Bill?"

"He didn't hit me that hard and he didn't hit you at all. So how can your memory be so bad? Isn't that the so called fake name you gave me just this morning here on this very beach?"

She could see the amusement in his eyes although his face was stern. "Nobody has ever called me that in my life."

Elizabeth touched his cheek softly, her smile not near its full glory, but a softer, fainter version. This was right. Bill and Lizzy. This was perfect. She couldn't stop herself as she pushed herself up on tip-toe to brush his lips with hers.

"Now you've met someone who has," she replied, her lips close to his ear. She pulled back, but never made it out of his arms. They stood on the beach, under an endless black sky, holding on lest they awaken from a dream.

Posted on Sunday, 8 October 2000

"We should talk," Elizabeth murmured.

Darcy's arms tightened around her. He didn't want to wake up from this dream. This couldn't be real. He couldn't let himself believe that she had brushed her lips against his so tenderly and sweetly. She felt so warm, so real within his arms. He had no desire to go back to the life where she would never be his. He would choose to sleep forever if she was his in this dream-life.

"Darcy?"

Grudgingly, he opened his eyes. It wasn't a dream. He was standing on his beach with Elizabeth in his arms. The scent of lavender lingered on the air. It was the smell that always brought her to him in his mind's eye. It reminded him every detail of that spring day when they had walked in the gardens at Rosings. That day he'd decided that the devil be d___ned, he would ask her to marry him regardless of the consequences it may bring. He realized that that it hadn't been the gardens at Rosings that had smelled so sweetly of lavender. It had been her.

"What perfume are you wearing?" He asked, breathing her in deep.

"Not a perfume. Scented soap that Mary sells in the shop," she replied. She drew back from him to look into his eyes. The moonlight caught them making them glint like pieces of obsidian in the night. "We should talk."

"Why must we analyze this? Can't we just be?" He knew what her answer would be. She was always more interested in the why and the how than in leaving well enough alone.

"I don't want to analyze anything. I just want to talk about what has hap-" She bit her lip sheepishly as she realized he was right. "All right. Fine. I want to analyze it."

"Lizzy, I am madly in love with you. Analyze this." With that he pressed his lips to her before she could utter another examining word.

Her heart threatened to fall into her curled toes at the sheer pleasure his lips produced in her chest, 'nee her whole body. She had no say in her finger's decision to curl into his hair or her body's choice to lean into him. Indeed, her lack of control was such that if he had asked her to shave her head and dye her body blue she would merely have inquired as to when.

He pulled away, the taste of her finally realized. His senses had been filled with her now. The sight of her had filled his head again and again while her laughter sang songs in his ears. The smell of lavender and, finally tonight, touching and tasting. It was a moment so pure of emotion and so overwhelming that all he could do was touch her swelling cheek.

She flinched.

"I forgot about the ice," said he, quietly. Anger and guilt tormented him. How could he have let him hurt her?

"I forgot about the cheek," she replied. She took his hand from her face to hold it in her own. "Let's go."

"My suite. It has a private entrance. Nobody will ask any questions. At least tonight."

"Is this a trick to take advantage of me in my vulnerable state?" Elizabeth asked. Her voice had a playful tone, her eyes sparkled.

"I should be so lucky." His voice grew husky as it spoke into her hair.

They strolled up the beach leisurely as if nothing monumental at all had happened. As if they had always been lovers, even friends. As if there had never been a harsh word spoken between them or anger sparked in one by the other. It was as if time had folded to bridge the gap between the past and the present to bring them together.

In cases such as these, however, a good memory in unpardonable.

Virginia had seen what had happened on the beach. Or, at the very least, part of what occurred therefore concluding the rest. What she had seen for sure was Benjamin, lying twisted grotesquely in the sand, as Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet stood entangled above him.

She had smiled and walked slowly back to the tavern on the beach. She saw the other Miss Bennet, who sat in front of her father, engaging him in a conversation that he seemed enchanted by. More accurately, enchanted by the beguiling creature before him.

"Pop," said Virginia casually as she made her way to his side. "Don't go scaring off civilized customers. We have a reputation as a decent watering hole, you know."

She winked at him only to get a scowl in return. He couldn't fool her. Virginia Blackchurch was her father's pride and joy. This was an undeniable fact.

"Good evening, Miss Bennet. I hope my father has behaved himself."

"Miss Blackchurch, indeed. Mr. Blackchurch was quite honourable."

"Oh, 'nuff of this proper surname poppycock. You're Gin. You're Jane. Me name is Rick." He growled the last word then spat to the side.

"Pop! We have company!"

"She ain't compn'y. She paid fer 'dat drink."

Gin let out a sigh, rolling her eyes. Jane stifled a giggle.

"Come, Jane. Pop has to lock the cabinets and then we can go home. I want to talk with you."

Rick grumbled as he washed up Jane's glass, put it away, and wiped up the bar one last time. He made a final check of everything. Glasses, dishes were all placed in a large, unmovable armoire that sat behind the bar. He placed a key in the lock to send the deadbolt home. He repeated the gesture in the lock of the thick oak cabinet where the liquor was stored.

Rick left nothing to chance, although crime had never been a problem. He and Virginia lived across the street in a lovely little house. It wasn't even a quarter of a mile away. The gates on the platform were high and he locked those also. He felt secure leaving it every night.

Virginia absently watched her father going about his nightly rituals. He was meticulous in his security measures and she loved him more for it.

"Gin?"

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry. I just want to make sure he's all right."

They waited as the crusty old man moved up to them. The three walked in silence across the yard where public picnic tables sat all the way to the road. It was nearly three in the morning, but the street in this party paradise was deserted.

Jane swallowed a yawn.

Virginia saw her father into the house then reappeared on the stoop.

"I saw them on the beach," she informed Jane. "They were holding each other."

"And what of Ben?"

"Lying cold in the sand."

Jane couldn't help the smile that overtook her lips. A sigh of relief escaped. Her sister had finally made the choice to allow herself to be happy. It was the most sound decision Elizabeth had made in months.

"Thank you, Gin. I hope this works out."

"I have every confidence that it will. They were meant for each other."

The other woman nodded. "No two people belong together more."

The women shook hands. It was late and time to head to bed.

Benjamin woke up, sand grinding into his busted cheek. He would find the bloody bloke that had laid this on him. But first, his thoughts were of Elizabeth and how to best take revenge on her. He was battered, bloody, and broken.

She would not get away with this.

Chapter 8, Part 1

He had not wanted to let her out of his sight long enough to allow her the liberty to retrieve some of her own clothing. It had slipped over the edge. His control over himself was lost. His desire to be near her was all-consuming. However, he hid it all nicely under a thin veil of being concerned for her safety.

He had told her he loved her, but this time it was different than before. When he'd proposed, she had not wanted to hear how ardently he admired her. Now, Elizabeth loved him in return. Just the idea of that made him dizzy.

"You could come to my room with me," she suggested. "I would dearly love to get out of this dress."

Darcy ignored the comment he could have made in favor of something entirely more chaste. "Let's get the swelling down on that cheek before we expose you to ridicule."

Elizabeth bit her lip to stifle a laugh. "Oh, dear. I am quite used to ridicule. Have you forgotten who my mother is?"

He groaned.

Her cheek looked as though a flower were blooming on it; a red rosebud lying against milky white. Every time he caught a glance of it he became more angry. What kind of man hit a woman? What kind of coward used violence to solve anything?

"Don't get stoic on me," Elizabeth said, softly. "Tell me when you first fell in love with me."

"Lizzy, really."

"I'm serious, William. When?"

He mulled it over. She had definitely intrigued him from the first night he'd met her at Sir William's Christmas Party. He'd tried to beg off but Charles had made him keep his promise. He had threatened to tell Georgiana that Darcy had locked himself away from the world to await her arrival home for the holiday. It had worked because Darcy had rather faced a roomful of complete strangers than a worried, nagging younger sister.

However, Darcy had behaved poorly that first night of their acquaintance. He'd brushed Charles off when he'd suggested that Darcy ask Elizabeth Bennet to dance. Darcy remarked that Jane Bennet was the only pretty girl and Charles had monopolized her all night.

"I can't be tempted to dance, Charles, with young ladies who are slighted by other men."

Charles had rolled his eyes and let Darcy to himself. It was only after the insult was hurled that he realized Elizabeth Bennet was in earshot. She'd excused herself from conversation with her sister, Mary, and Alastair to talk with Sir William's daughter, Charlotte Lucas.

He'd felt himself shrink very small indeed as they'd looked at him and giggled. It had only been an excuse to rally against being social but he'd managed to bungle it.

Elizabeth saw that she wasn't going to get her answer anytime soon. She wanted to convince him that this was absolutely real by offering some sort of proof of that singular moment. She wanted the same of him.

"I believe that I first fell in love with you-" she began. "Actually, I am quite sure it was that day in the garden at Rosings. We'd never had a real conversation before that day. Not just you and I."

She stopped him for a moment, turning her head to look at him. Her eyes met his and held them.

"I was in love with you the day you asked me to marry you. And I am so ashamed of what I said to you. I don't deserve this second chance."

He shook his head. "What did you say to me that wasn't true? I was embarrassed by my feelings for you. I was arrogant to think you would accept me because of my money or my name. I offered you no real reason to think that marrying me would make you happy. Not to mention my horrid treatment of Jane."

Elizabeth swallowed the lumo that sprang into her throat. "How will I ever face her again?"

"Did you tell her?" Darcy asked. He knew full well that his whole world hinged on this one question.

"I could never have done that. Jane was your biggest fan."

"I cannot apologize enough, Lizzy. I can only try to make things right."

"What do you mean by that?"

"It's a surprise," he whispered. When she opened her mouth to demand an answer he kissed the question away.

"You cannot do that every time you want to shut me up," she replied, her lips still against his.

It was utter bliss as he kissed her again.

Elizabeth examined herself in the mirror. She could've looked better, but, at least, it wasn't worse.

Darcy had given her an undershirt and a pair of drawstring flannel pajama bottoms. He had ignored her pointed look of doubt when he'd handed the pants over to her. For some reason Elizabeth couldn't get enough of watching Darcy squirm. The undershirt was a bit baggy. She was swimming in what seemed to be bloody yards of green and grey flannel fabric. Beggars, though, could not be choosers.

She stepped out of the bathroom into the enormous suite that Fitzwilliam Darcy had called home since he had run away from her.

It was large but cozy. Done in all pale cremes and beiges the rooms seemed to radiate warmth. The bedroom furniture was cherrywood that had a deep red finish. She sighed at the grandeur of the room compared to the one she'd shared with Benjamin.

She shuddered at the thought of him. Absently, Elizabeth touched her cheek.

Darcy was sitting on the nearest corner of the massive four post bed. He was armed with an icepack. The bedclothes were turned down in such a precise manner that she looked around to see if there were any servants in the room. When she realized that Darcy had never done anything less than precise in his life she felt foolish.

"Lie down," he ordered.

Elizabeth's first reaction was to argue with him because she'd never taken kindly to being directed. As a child, Elizabeth Bennet had been the bane of her mother's existence. She knew that he was only trying to help. He wanted to take away the reminder that only a short lifetime ago another man had been allowed to touch her. She wanted him to erase that memory too.

"Yes, sir!" She tried to give him a grin as she slid dutifully between the softest linen sheets she'd ever felt. The dull throb in her cheek kept it from being anything more than a paler shade of brilliant. She ran her fingers over the fine material to appreciate the delicacy of it. "I must admit I think these sheets are too good for me."

He returned her smile. "They are good enough for you. Nothing is."

"William," she whispered. Her gaze fell to her lap as a girlish blush heated her cheeks. She wasn't used to blatant flattery. Or, at least, sincere blatant flattery. Elizabeth concentrated on situating herself in the bed. When she was done she leaned into the mountain of pillows behind her.

Gingerly, Darcy put the icepack to Elizabeth's injury. She flinched but allowed him to hold it against the warm flesh. It had always fascinated her as a child when she would touch a bruise or a cut that was on the mend. It was always warmer than any other flesh on her body. Once she'd skinned her knee climbing a tree. It hadn't hurt too much, but Elizabeth was young and any sight of blood frightened her. Her father had cleaned the wound and kissed it. She'd asked why wounds were always hot.

Her father kissed her damaged knee again, smiled, and said: "Because the kiss lets the wound know you are loved. When you are loved, you are warm. When you are warm, dear girl, you are well."

Elizabeth smiled at the memory of her dear father.

While he held the ice to her cheek she reached out to put her fingers to his face. The brushed the short beard. She was surprised that she hadn't noticed it before.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this. You look dangerous."

"Do I?" There was a smirk on his face that she found utterly charming.

"If you keep the beard you must walk around looking that smug all the time."

"And if I shave the beard my face will be two different colors."

She giggled.

"You should get some sleep," he told her.

"Who can sleep?"

They sat in silence for awhile more; Darcy adjusting the icepack, Elizabeth holding his free hand. Finally, he lifted the pack away. The swelling was nearly gone but there was a bruise. It looked to be a wretched shiner.

"Try to get some rest now, Lizzy."

"May I have a goodnight kiss?"

He bent, gently placing a soft kiss on her forehead.

"That's all?"

"If I kiss you the way I want to kiss you I will never leave this room." His voice was low and slightly desperate.

She swallowed a surprised 'oh.' Instead, her eyes followed his lean form to the door. He turned to look at her when he reached it.

"I have loved you since the moment I saw you."

The door closed as he hurried out of the room. Blissfully happy, Elizabeth settled into a beautifully dream-filled sleep.

Chapter 9

Darcy sat quietly on the couch in the living room of his suite. He tried to finish the Elizabeth Hand novel he'd been reading for the last couple of weeks, but to no avail. His mind wandered to the woman sleeping in his bed. The woman he'd loved for so long who loved him back. So much had happened in such a short time Darcy's head was spinning.

The telephone's shrill rang cut through the night silence like the blade of a sword. He quickly grabbed the receiver for fear that it would wake Elizabeth. He punched a button with his thumb, tucking the earpiece to his shoulder.

"Darcy!"

"Hello, Old Man!"

"Drew! How's the mission?"

"The Old Boy is on the plane and sleeping like a baby."

"You really drugged him?" Darcy was sure that Drew would realize he'd been joking.

"You might say that. I challenged his manhood. Apparently, our Bingley can no longer swill as much brandy as he did during our days at Cambridge. Bloody sad state if you ask me!"

"Good job, Old Chap."

Since college the three had maintained stodgy British epithets for one another. At the time it was an amusing game; a torrid tale of misspent youth and the like. Darcy, because of his stern, stand-offish nature had been given Old Man while Drew answered to Old Chap. Charles, because of his eternal youth, had resigned himself rather doggedly to Old Boy. It amused Darcy, when he thought about it, how well the names suited them. Then and now.

"How are things with you?" Drew asked. His voice took on a more serious tone. Conversations with Georgiana kept him abreast of Darcy's dark mood.

"Never better, Old Chap. Things have never been better. I look forward to seeing you."

Drew couldn't help but be surprised that Darcy's spirits were suddenly much improved. "To what do we owe the thanks now that your better humor has returned?"

"You shall see for yourself when you arrive. Speaking of, when will that be?"

"Well, I waited a few hours to call. Wanted to make sure our Old Boy didn't parachute out of the plane. I assume we'll land once to refuel and, provided I can keep Charles drunk enough, we should be there by mid to late afternoon tomorrow."

"Very good. I'll look forward to seeing you soon. But try to keep Charles from any more liquor. I don't want to present him with a hangover."

Before Drew could ask any questions about who Charles was to be presented to Darcy clicked the telephone off. Soon Jane would be reunited with Charles and his conscience would be clear. He wanted that not only for himself but for Elizabeth. Now that things were clear between them he wanted nothing to insinuate trouble between them again. He was desperate for smooth sailing from here on out.

To exhausted by everything that had occurred in the last few days, Darcy could no longer even attempt to concentrate on his book. He marked his page, put it on the coffee table, and snapped the light off.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

Benjamin slid his key card into the slot lock, letting himself into his and Elizabeth's room. It was dark. The door that joined their room with Jane's was closed. Briefly, he wondered if either door in the adjoining threshold was locked.

Elizabeth wasn't in their bed. She was probably in Jane's room whining about the little tap he'd given her. Not that she didn't deserve it. H__l, she deserved worse.

It didn't matter, though. By the time Elizabeth realized the mistake she made by refusing a man of his connections and status, he'd have moved on. Moved on and ruined any hope of her finding somebody from the aristocracy to take her on. Her reputation would be utterly tarnished. Not to mention, her bank account would be drained.

Benjamin went to the closet, pulled a shoebox down from the shelf, and opened it. Inside was a small locked strongbox where Elizabeth kept all the money and important papers she'd brought with her. She had the key, but that was of no consequence. He grabbed a small metal nail file. After a few moments of working upon the lock it gave with a satisfying pop. Benjamin Reynolds-Smythe, a son of a distinguished but broke English family, committed larceny and never even batted a blood matted eyelash.

He took the traveler's checks, the small amount of cash, and Elizabeth's checkbook. He had friends in high places that owed him favours. He would be able to access moneys in her accounts. He thought for a moment about destroying her passport. He would take no delight, though, if she could not return home to find herself completely destitute. Out of revenge, the mangled Benjamin Reynolds-Smythe left Elizabeth that much. Her passport and her plane ticket. He claimed everything else for his own.

Despite the constant dull throbbing in his head, he managed to throw some of his clothes in his smallest bag. He would've taken Elizabeth's jewelry, but she'd brought nothing of value with her.

He stepped into the bathroom, cleaned himself up as best he could, and examined himself. He wasn't sure if his jaw was broken, but was positive that his nose was. But he could pay no mind to that now. He had to get off the island before Elizabeth came back.

Glancing around the room to see if he'd missed anything that was worth something (personally or financially) to Elizabeth, he picked up his bag.

Benjamin disappeared into the night.

Continued In Next Section