Posted on Thursday, 20 July 2000, at 4 : 35 a.m.

Mr. Darcy never slept at night. He would set himself to bed, lay still for many hours or else sit up and read, but the truth is, he never slept. This did not disturb his host, as his odd night habits were nothing if not subtle; and in the morning, to those he was fond of, he could be personable enough to make one believe he had just come out of a good rest. The young man must have aged years this way in appearance, but nonetheless, many still found him handsome (though somewhat irritable, perhaps).

The hall outside Mr. Darcy's room was seldom interrupted with footsteps, and when it was, Darcy put an end to his candle flame. Tonight there was no time for this, as he was exceedingly paranoid that whatever intruder there be in the corridor would insist upon coming into his rooms. Darcy lay flat, book collapsed on his chest, hands set on the book, flickering light betraying no clue of the man's wakefulness. Ah, it was as he had suspected; the door opened.

The footsteps were soft, dainty. The voice was husky.

"Master Darcy?"

He was still.

"Master Darcy, I say?"

His eyes tremored, betraying a change in his forged sleep-cycle.

The door shut with a slight sound, and the intruder came closer.

"Mr. Darcy?"

His eyes flickered open.

"Elizabeth!"

He shot up, mortified to be seen in his nightgown. No matter, she was in hers -- yes, she was indeed in hers.

"Woman...? Why, what hour is this?" he cried.

"A very late hour, indeed," she replied sorrowfully.

"Is there trouble?" Darcy hesitated in his bed, deciding it was improper to receive -- while in full health -- the woman he had sworn a pure, earnest love to weeks before, while in his position. He stood quickly after donning his robe but did not stray from beside the dressing table.

"You look as though you have walked here -- indeed, how have you come at such an hour?" he demanded.

"Do not mistake me, Sir, I ran -- but I do regret it now, for you look in most dour want of sleep."

"Miss Bennet, do not believe it. I seldom sleep."

She hesitated, suddenly uncertain. "I should go. Do forgive me."

"No!" Darcy quieted himself. "No, I am curious as to why you have come at all. Do explain yourself."

"I... I beg your pardon? `Do explain yourself'? Indeed, do I look like a servant who has just been in a bout of mischief?"

"What?"

"`Do explain yourself!' Indeed, I can imagine many a woman plainly entering these chambers with more unexplainable purposes in mind, and how would you go about questioning them? It would make for quite an awkward moment."

Mr. Darcy's eyes widened -- with shock, indignity, and, he had to admit, a little hope. "Miss Bennet, are your reasons so unexplainable?"

"Indeed not, Mr. Darcy!"

"Why, then...." He could not think how to continue, and half wondered if he were dreaming.

"Do forgive me, Mr. Darcy, this vexation..." All anger diminishing, Miss Elizabeth began to cry, and such desperate, heart-broken tears that Mr. Darcy could not help but embrace her awkwardly as the tantrum subsided.

"It has been a most trying day," she managed at last. "But I do come with purpose, and now I will explain myself. I have come to apologise."

"Indeed? With such urgency, madame?"

"Yes, Mr. Darcy, I do have it on my mind and myself, I do not expect to sleep this evening. Later, perhaps, I will relate to you why I come with such urgency, but for now, if you will indulge me with a patient ear, I must be heard."

"Of course, Miss Bennet. Do, take a seat -- if you will, I mean."

"Do you remember the first ball at the Lucas's? I wish to apologize because, upon hearing you refer to me as untempting and plain --"

Mr. Darcy shuddered with a thousand embarrassments,

"-- I referred to you as an over-rated, pompous fop with no hope of sustaining company of any quality (with exception to Bingley, whom Jane had already taken a liking to and whom I assumed only tolerated you out of pity)."

"Indeed?"

"Yes, and I needs must apologize to you for it. And also to express my regret at the Netherfield Ball, when we danced together (after my repeated turning down of your offer), I could be heard to remark that you were of little consequence to society as a whole, and your removal from the dance floor would only prove a relief to the respectable ladies of England, their tender feet and, more specifically, delicate toes."

Mr. Darcy made a noise.

"Again, forgive me. And whilst staying at the Collins's --"

"Yes, the proposal. I forgive you whatever unkind word, or words, you may have said of me. I save you the trouble of repeating them."

"Oh, but that was not my purpose. You see, after your proposal, I was so disgusted with men as a breed that I joined Mrs. Collins in a sort of cleansing bonfire ritual -- not pagan, but quite exhilarating -- in the heart of the Lady de Borough's woods on her estate. I must assure that I put no hex upon you, but wanted to apologise for any damage done by the fire."

"Oh."

"And for judging you on matters I knew little about," she concluded, alluding to Wickham.

"Thank you, indeed, Miss Bennet."

"I do beg your forgiveness on such a multitude of offenses, Mr. Darcy."

He sighed. "And you do have my forgiveness, Miss Bennet."

A knock came upon the door, and Mr. Darcy, whose nerves were already quite tattered, was reluctant to admit the young male servant who came with urgent purpose.

A bow. "Master Darcy, there is a young woman here..." No doubt the boy felt somewhat belittled by the stern expression on the master's haggard visage.

"Yes, boy, I know. It is much too late to announce her now," Darcy replied shortly.

The man looked past Darcy in to Miss Elizabeth. "No, Sir, I meant another, of relation to your companion."

"Oh? Has she been admitted?"

"No, because of the late hour she declined admittance, but warns of your guest's delicate condition."

Mr. Darcy turned and studied Elizabeth. Quietly, he walked to her and gazed down curiously. "Miss Bennet...this boy says you are in a delicate condition?"

Elizabeth glared at the servant, whom she took to be a steward. "I -- no, upon my word!"

A severe gaze was turned on the boy. "Indeed, this assumption is most condescending to the lady." He closed the door impatiently. Turning to Elizabeth, he was at a loss.

"What brought upon such suspicion?" she whispered.

"I know not, Miss Bennet, but I apologise for the insult."

"Thank you, Sir, it is indeed a night for them."

"Insults, Miss Bennet?"

"Apologies."

Darcy nodded. "And I do wonder at what brought them on."

"Excuse me, Sir?"

"Observing pride is observing the basest of human nature, ma'am. I do wonder what caused you to swallow yours."

"I have come to believe that all men experience emotional cycles that ultimately bring about a kind of emotional maturity, involving some remorse for past wrongdoings, so that peace can at last be made between characters."

"And do you say you have come to yours, Miss Bennet?"

There was another knock at the door, the servant-boy repeating his presentation.

"Boy, what is your purpose?" Darcy all but bellowed.

"To say, Sir, that the young woman caller has identified herself as a younger Miss Bennet and the delicate condition she refers to is impending death."

Mr. Darcy was stricken. "Whose?"

"Your guest's, Sir."

"Kitty!" Elizabeth spouted in a whisper.

The eyes of both men turned to her.

"Do tell her I will be along shortly and that none of this is to be related to Ma-ma," Elizabeth demanded of the servant. "No, tell Miss Bennet not to wait on me, but make sure she is shown out." Into his hand she discreetly pressed paper money. "Please, Sir."

He bowed. "Your servant, madame." He took his leave.

Elizabeth closed the door without thought. "She will be the death of me..."

Readers, you must understand that all this occurred at three o'clock in the morning and that all the drama previously portrayed was done as quietly as possible -- no louder than a stage whisper at any point. But our Mr. Darcy is about to break that record.

At first, it seemed his confusion and lack of speech echoed off the walls.

Then he said, restrained, "She will not be the death of you, evidently!" and buried his fist in the wall.

"Mr. Darcy!" The woman's eyes grew wide as she darted away, (because he had hit only a foot away from where she stood) and any maternal part of her nature or soul turned to the bloody fist while the matured, feminine part of her turned disgustedly to the wincing face. She wrapped her hands about his erupting fist, which would not be still.

"Mr. Darcy, do control yourself!" she whispered very loudly. "Miss Bennet mentioned my delicate condition and that you did not believe for a second; but impending death is a truth to you!"

Darcy hesitated. His eyes were once again hopeful. "Is it not a truth, then?"

"Well...I do not so much favor the word `impending,' but rather `predicted' suits the description--"

Mr. Darcy, it has been said, was an extremely handsome man, and generally thought so in spite of haggardness; but at this moment his face was so contorted in monstrous expression that even Miss Bennet, a willing companion, had to shudder.

"You were quite incorrect about your theory of emotional cycles, then," he spat. Pulling his fist away from her he strode toward the wash-basin.

"Mr. Darcy, it is indeed folly to smash one's fist into the casement when he has only just heard a piece of gossip; worse still to judge me without knowing the issue in all its entirety."

He all but ignored her as he turned the water red with his injured hand.

"Please, go," he asked harshly.

"Let me have but a moment--"

"Go!" His voice cracked so that it rather frightened her, but she merely sighed.

Without a word, she opened the door, hesitated, and closed it once again without moving.

Many things became evident to Elizabeth as she became the silent doorman -- one, that Mr. Darcy was never a man of impulse, and his sudden aggression towards the wall was a rarity never to be repeated; two, that he was exceedingly ashamed of his behavior before her; three, that his wound was rather severe.

As she stood waiting for something, anything, an action on Mr. Darcy's part, Elizabeth did wonder at how Mr. Bingley could sleep through such a noise as the impact of Mr. Darcy to the wall. It made her think more of Darcy's vague hints at never sleeping.

And as she listened, dear God, he was weeping.

It brought Elizabeth to a suffocating confusion of sobs and restraint, because it was evident the man did not cry for his abused extremity. The shaking washstand did make noise, but no more than Elizabeth. Darcy turned sharply on her. She met his gaze impetuously.

Foolish pride shone through Mr. Darcy once again. He straightened up as though water was not clearly being expelled from his eyes, and he cocked his head.

"Mr. Darcy, do not think me disrespectful at my blatant disobeying of your wishes; know only that I have not the luxury to quit you until the matter is resolved."

He blinked. "Indeed." He straightened his form as best he could and, in a tone that would be no more casual if he were commenting on the day, asked, "What is the cause of your condition?"

"A mass of the brain. A mass I know not what of." Thoughtlessly Elizabeth took a step towards him. "Do believe it, Sir, that they have allowed me but two days remaining and so I have not the time to quit rooms at fancy when matters remain amiss."

Darcy turned from her.

"You have clause to discredit my professions; but a mass of the brain does not progress with insanity and I am in full possession of my senses, Sir."

"It is good you decided to tell me, then! And who is this doctor who so diagnosed you? Was he some country quack, a charletan, the imposter of a physician?"

"Indeed, Sir, there was more than one,."

He sighed. She said, "You may observe that I came here a bit less reserved; and I had hoped that with less time for me to spare, we would have no inhibitions."

"In complying, let me point out that I do not often battle the wall."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh. "Yes, just as I do not often come to mens' rooms in the wee hours of the morning."

"Why did you come?"

She started. "You have implied that you would have wanted to know immediately."

"Yes, Miss Bennet -- you know what I would have expected, but what do you?"

She stopped and looked thoughtfully at the relics about the room. After a moment, she stated, "I do not know. I think I remembered a time once, when you sat with me, like a dear friend, through a rather traumatic experience. When you left, I thought it was to be final, that you would have nothing else to do with me or my relations. But there has been this hope growing in me that..." she sighed. "I hardly know. I will state my reason here, however. I had come planning to release all pride within me; this is a leisure to the dying, that you can pursue the last hours of your life without false conceit. And I hardly know whether your leaving me that day was out of complete discharge of your affections, or out of pride. But as my feelings have undergone so material a change since that faithful evening at the Collins's, I mean to disregard shame -- on my part -- to know."

She managed to look at him, all self-possession, for her, gone. Darcy had long since pulled from her and sunk to the foot of his bed where he sat cradling his face in his hands, the injury restrained by a white cloth.

"Miss Bennet," he said, gathering his strength, "I must say I had left that day in hopes of releasing you completely. Please know I hold you in the highest regard, but my affections toward you have been altered by time."

She made a noise meant to express acceptance, but which came out very unsettled. Darcy refused to look at her. Elizabeth had meant in every way for the man to accept her, relieved in her sudden change of heart, accepting her apologies. The chance of rejection had been evident, but her stupid confidence and faith in the probable had not allowed it much credence.

"Please believe it," he continued in the same vein, though his averted eyes and trembling lip betrayed the fact that he was lying.

All at once, Miss Bennet could not exit the room nor remain where she was standing, and the two opposing motions kept her anchored to her current position on the rug. She could not see that Mr. Darcy was crying again.

Understand, reader, that Mr. Darcy had not slept in a very long time; at present, all he could think to do was sleep. Not a restful sleep. Not a sleep intended to restore him to vivacity or pleasantness. He merely wanted to be unconscious. Drunkenness, for instance, was an attractive prospect to him.

A horrid sensation of self-pity overtook Eliza Bennet and she held to the wall, Mr. Darcy looking up alarmedly. Regaining her poise, the woman turned and looked him straight in the eye.

"No, Mr. Darcy, I do not accept that without objection." She took a slow, steady step towards him. "I feel I was deceived by you."

Mr. Darcy stared blankly at her.

She stood many feet away, but Elizabeth stopped and leaned in closer to him. "`You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.' Indeed! How could I but forget those words? They have stuck in memory all too long. However, you seem to have forgotten them. How long has it been since your proposition? Less than a twelvemonth? Men struggle for years over unrequited love! Yours could not have been more than a passing fancy, to be forgotten in much less than one year!"

She shuddered from the force of her accusation. Then she resumed.

"`My affections toward you have been altered by time...' Indeed. I must say that your affections could not have been very strong to begin with. I am not a flighty woman to be toyed with, I am not unconstant, nor do I take anyone's sentiments lightly. I do not with full conscience undermine the opinions of others. So do not tell me, Mr. Darcy, that you loved me once and do no more!"

Her rage had reached a peak that allowed Miss Bennet to kick over the washstand.

"Miss Bennet!" Darcy leapt up.

"You do confuse me, Mr. Darcy, for you are too varied. One moment you are all sympathy, knocking out walls in remorse. The next you are cool and swear you could do without me." Elizabeth scuffed at a slipper that lay on the floor. "I think," she consented, "that I have said what I mean to say. I will from here on deny that you ever admired me, because your sentiments make me feel a whore."

Darcy was silent, not for pride, but for shock.

It should be advised, one would suppose, that for the most effective speech, the deliverer would then exit to let such strong words leave their mark. But as Miss Elizabeth could not afford to take such leaves at fancy, she found an over-powering urge to stay, much to her own disgrace.

"You are dying, then?" Darcy's voice was muffled.

"Yes."

"How do you face it so easily?"

Elizabeth was suddenly exhausted. "I do not face it, I suppose. I tell it to so many it becomes fact and it is almost impersonal."

Darcy looked up angrily. "It is your own death!"

"So I am told."

"You may be able to say it easily, but you cannot expect others to accept it as such!"

"Am I so inconsiderate?" she replied lightly. "Do excuse me, Sir."

"You toy with me, madame."

"Indeed?"

"You deny me once and then come to me at the eleventh hour, when you are most desperate."

He rose and wiped off his forehead, which was heavily incased in perspiration. He began to pace with loose footing.

"You rejected me once, and when you will have no life left to live, you want to leave behind one that could have been great."

Elizabeth was taken aback.

"Is that how you see it?"

"How I see it?" he questioned softly. "How I see it!" The room echoed with each odd inflection in his voice. He stood and sighed, eyes fixed on the high ceiling of his chamber. He continued softly, in a voice waded with anger and sadness, to describe in detail the life he had envisioned sharing with Miss Bennet; and he outlined these images in such a poetic and lyrical fashion, that Elizabeth found herself blinking to be reassured that it was Darcy who spoke.

"Do you know what I always saw?" Elizabeth began after a moment, her voice equally unsteady but likewise determined. Her description was single and domestic, an image of Darcy cradling "his first and sole heir, more precious and loved to him than anything."

"Except its mother."

"You see?" Elizabeth said. "We are not so different, you and I."

"We argue as though we are," he whispered.

"We argue as though we have been married all this time," she answered wryly.

He embraced her suddenly and for a long minute.

"A woman cannot go back on her word," Elizabeth said, eyes fluttering, in the moment that followed. "I could not very well tell you my mind was changed. But I longed to."

She sighed, and a silence ensued that lasted for many minutes.

"I was in the wrong," she said quickly, pressed tightly against him. "It would not have been a sole heir. We would have filled Pemberley with children."

The laugh that began in Darcy's throat quickly turned to a groan, accompanied by a grimace of the face. It was impossible for him to completely forget his injury. Lightly grasping his bloodied fist in her two lily-white hands, Elizabeth's eyes grew wide as she hushed him. There was a commotion in the courtyard below.

"Miss Bennet!" Charles Bingley cried outside, stumbling out-of-doors with a robe that was inside out, a nightcap that was awry, and slippers that were mismatched.

"Does he call me?" Elizabeth wondered from her view upstairs. A form -- much like her own -- emerged from the shadows of the front walk, as though in reply to her query.

Below, the elder Miss Bennet sported an equally dishelved appearance to that of her host. Bingley caught her at her elbows and stared sympathetically into her urgent face. Heads close together in secrecy, the miserable woman couldn't manage any coherent words for her confidante.

"I...I came..." she began breathlessly. She, like Elizabeth, had all but run the miles that separated Netherfield from Longbourne.

"What is it, my dear Miss Bennet?"

"I apologize...that..."

"--it is so late in the night, my lovely Miss Bennet? Do not be ill at ease!"

"I...I had no choice..."

"--but to rush to Netherfield?"

She nodded. "I realized..."

"Do tell me of your realization!" Bingley caught himself and decided that he ought to sit the hysterical woman down, but found that he himself was not calm enough. He urged her head against his shoulder and she wept. Finally, she managed, "You are so wonderful!"

"You...you realized that I am wonderful?"

She bore a look of utmost confusion -- understandable for one her state -- then, nearly choking, added, "I'm not able to say it--"

"I think I understand, my love."

How her heart managed not to stop -- but beat all the faster! -- Jane could not comprehend. "You understand?"

"I feel the same in regard to you -- if not more! If you have wondered at my silence all these months, there you have it. Look no further for explanation than your own loss of how to express the bond between us, for you do love me, as I do you?"

Jane forgot her sister's troubles and took several moments to comprehend Bingley's words before responding with an emphatic, "Yes!" Then, "--assuming you love me well?"

"Yes! More than well! --dearly!"

"Then yes, my dear Mr. Bingley."

"Charles, my amiable Jane," he gently corrected.

"Charles?"

"Jane!" he replied warmly.

"Charles?" She blushed. "Why is there a light in that upstairs window?"

"Oh, that's merely Darcy -- he stays up far into the night."

With a sudden sweep of his good hand, Darcy closed the drapes in front of him.

"We must do something about this," Elizabeth said upon taking Darcy's wounded hand. She glanced about the room in search of bandage-material; finding nothing inexpensive enough to rip, she resorted to her own robe.

"Miss Bennet!"

"Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy -- and do not object, for this robe will be of little use to me."

"I find your words too morbid."

"Hold still."

Darcy stared at her. "Well?"

"Well?" "Did you not just see what happened? Did you not observe that -- interlude -- between Jane and Bingley?"

"I did, yes."

"And you're not surprised?"

"Not in the least. To me, it was a mere question of time." She finished dressing the wound with a swift tying of the bandages.

"Well, are you not offended --" Darcy said, blushing, "that they so callously forgot us?"

"Darcy, are you disappointed?"

Darcy smiled quickly; Elizabeth, suddenly fatigued, paled quickly.

"Miss Bennet -- your illness!" He caught her at her elbows.

"Nay, not my illness -- another, lifelong, affliction."

Within the moment the door was opened to reveal a composed Lydia.

Posted on Friday, 15 September 2000

"Lizzie, what is the meaning of this?" she cried in mock indignation.

"I might ask you the same -- have you any idea what time of night it is?" Elizabeth whispered, stepping forward to grip her sister's shoulders.

"Well, I am not the one standing inside a strange man's bedchamber, so it really matters very little."

"While I thank you for your concern," Elizabeth returned, "I think it's quite enough to have two of my sisters come inquire after me. Kitty has gone and Jane will be up shortly."

"The world is coming to an end, I daresay! Nobody cares for sleep anymore." Most of her speech was directed at Darcy. "Ah, but Lizzie, I must tell you as a married woman, I have found that sleep is the most important commodity in one's life...well, you know what I mean! Oh, and what has been done here?" Lydia searched Elizabeth's face. "Has he hurt himself? He does appear to be bleeding."

"Madame, no, though I thank you for your concern," he choked.

"It was a battle-wound, I'm afraid," explained Elizabeth quickly, "come back to >haunt him."

"Speaking of battle, my dear Lizzie," Lydia interjected, "have you heard? The officers will very soon be stationed away, abroad, it is rumored! and where will that leave me? Alone, without my Wickie!"

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it, but I'm sure you'll manage--"

"Manage? Will I, Lizzie? Have you any idea what an officer makes?"

"No --" Elizabeth blushed profusely.

"Well, do you, Mr. Darcy?"

"Lydia!" Elizabeth cried.

"Lydia!" Jane repeated. She stood in the doorway, beside a Bingley that all but hid his wide grin. "Why, how are you here so late in the night?"

Lydia pouted. "You mean so early in the morning? Why is everyone else out and about?"

"I had to inquire after Miss Bennet," Bingley said quickly.

"Yes, and I -- had to see to Elizabeth," Jane managed.

"This is my chamber," Darcy stated simply.

"I...excuse me..." Elizabeth clutched at a chair nearby and slowly sank to the floor.

"She's fainted!" Jane gasped.

Darcy let out a cry as he gathered her up in his arms; turning to Jane, he asked, "It isn't....!?" with more than a hint of fear in his voice.

"What, is she passing out intoxicated again?" Lydia laughed.

"Lydia, what is your meaning?" cried Jane. "I needn't remind you of Lizzy's condition!"

"What, drunkenness?"

"Impending death, Mrs. Wickham!" Darcy spat.

"I'd hardly call it that..." she replied, sitting herself in a chair nearby.

"Lydia," Jane began, taking her sister by the hand, "perhaps you forget, but Elizabeth has been more than a bit ill lately..."

"Vomiting, you mean?"

"Lydia!"

"Well, headaches, then? Is that what you speak of?"

"Lydia, please!"

"Then I only remember her twisted nerves. She needed something to calm her."

A hush fell over the room; even Darcy paused in his attempts to revive Elizabeth.

Lydia glanced about the room. "What? It was a simple concoction that George knew from his days on service in India."

"India indeed!" Darcy spat, while Jane said, "A simple concoction? Why--" pacing in uncertainty, she suddenly sank beside her young sister and gazed at her earnestly. "The terrible headaches? The complete alteration in Elizabeth's behavior?"

"Lord, I know! But it goes away."

"So, to state it in terms more blunt," Jane continued, "Lizzie's condition was completely misinterpreted by the doctor?"

"Well Jane, it was an Indian remedy--"

"Lydia!" Jane, Bingley, and Darcy cried in unison.

Elizabeth, blinking, was aroused by the room's commotion; Darcy smiled kindly.

"Do you hear?" he whispered. "You live!"

"I am to live?" she asked wanly. Her once-placid face betrayed instability. She hardly knew whether to be sick or faint away again in embarrassment; she did both.

Two weeks later.

"Elizabeth, I asked you if you'd quite regained your appetite?"

"Yes, I thank you, Kitty."

"Are you sure you're well?" her sister continued.

"Yes, Kitty; why?"

"For one, you've ripped out that stitch four times. For another, who is E.D.? You've embroidered that person three handkerchiefs at least."

Elizabeth smiled as Darcy approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire her work, said in a whisper, "Go to your father, he wants you in the library."

Elizabeth managed a meek smile at Kitty and, with a few meager words of advice about stitching, was gone directly.

He was walking about the room, looking grave and anxious. "Lizzy," said he, before she had hardly shut the door behind her, "what are you doing? Are you out of your senses, to be accepting this man? Have you not always hated him?"

What followed was a complete tirade against Darcy's character; Mr. Bennet concluded in saying that riches would hardly sustain his daughter's happiness.

"I love him," she replied. "Indeed he has no improper pride. He is perfectly amiable. You do not know what he really is; then pray do not pain me by speaking of him in such terms." She gazed intensely, beseechingly at her father.

Mr. Bennet looked back at her in sympathy. He spoke, "No."

The silence that followed was long and void of any reason or support for Mr. Bennet's statement. He looked out the window casually; Elizabeth passed the silent time by averting her eyes in discomfort. Finally she managed, "No, Papa?"

"No."

"I might ask you why."

"I cannot, in good conscience, give you away to this man. He is arrogant. He is proud. He has not the faintest inkling of what it means to love; oh, he did put up a good case, that he did. A good actor, that man! But you cannot think that sort of amusement will last very long. You would be put up to an unequal marriage, and you could scarcely escape discredit and misery."

"Actor? why, you make it sound as though..." she began; and then, "No indeed?"

"No, Lizzy. I think not."

"Papa, I needn't outline for you the material advantage of this match -- I know that. It is of as little consequence to you as it is to me. So you must know that my only inducement to marry -- and to accept Mr. Darcy specifically -- is affection!"

"All the same I hardly think you've thought it over."

She sputtered, "You do not respect my judgment of character, then?"

"Ah, Lizzie, I honor your judgment -- you alone predicted Lydia's fall! But you've not been yourself lately. Your sickness has altered your judgment somewhat. No, Lizzie, you know not what you are about."

Indeed Elizabeth was not herself; she hardly knew what to do. "Have you said this to Mr. Darcy?"

"I did. He left the room quite distracted."

Once again, Elizabeth could neither stay nor go. "And what am I to do with myself, Papa?" she cried.

"What are you to do with yourself? Why, what a question, my dear girl! You are to do as you've done -- occupy your days with intelligence and pursuit of fine pastimes and distractions. Depend upon it, you will find yourself all the happier."

"I meant in regard to Mr. Darcy, the man who swears he loves me. What am I to say to him?"

"Say nothing. Rest up for a few days, my dear -- everything will present itself more clearly then. I daresay you will think no more of Mr. Darcy once you are well."

Elizabeth sighed; she felt too strained and exhausted to put a valid case up to her father. She opened the door to go.

"Oh, and one more thing, Lizzie."

She sighed. "Yes, Papa."

"Who is that old woman sitting in the corridor? She has been there nearly a fortnight."

Elizabeth looked. "Oh, that is Lady Catherine de Burgh, Father. She swore she would stay until I gave my word never to enter into engagement with her nephew, the Mr. Darcy with you whom you met."

"Oh I see. Well I suppose she shall be very pleased upon hearing that she may finally leave with such an assurance."

"She stays, Papa!" Elizabeth shut the door behind her. "Are you sure there is nothing I can offer that would increase your comfort, Lady Catherine?" she asked absently.

"Yes, you can offer me a promise--"

"Oh, that business again. I would hardly worry over it, Madame."

"What is your meaning?" the woman asked hopefully, eyeing her nephew down the corridor.

"Darcy!" Elizabeth whispered, hurrying toward him. Composing herself, she said, "Allow me to see you out."

The expression Darcy bore was that of quiet reservation; had he not reacted in so warm a manner to the sight of Elizabeth, he would have appeared to her the same man she had first met so many months ago.

"I must say I am fond of your father, Elizabeth," he said. "He is a clever man."

"He thought as much of you, Darcy, but please -- be not alarmed. Whatever his doubts, I know I will `bring him round.'"

"I should not want you to be put out."

"Darcy, please --"

"Indeed, I have handled a rejection from you with grace; your father's rejection shall prove easier to bear." His attempt at a joke turned sour.

Her father suddenly emerged from the library. "Elizabeth! ah, there you are." Mr. Bennet nodded coldly. "Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth, I am having quite a time at this - see here, they're Hibbard's letters to Heloise. But I cannot make out this verb here - perhaps an old form? I thought you might recognize the origin, with the genius you have in the French language."

Elizabeth nodded, perusing the page her father held out to her. "Who were they again?" she questioned. In mock innocence she continued, "Ah, yes -- one of the greatest couples of literary history, is that not so? And was there not some conflict between them -- Heloise's father objected to the match?"

Mr. Bennet replied, "Yes, and more so, took grave actions to prevent further contact between the two; I believe measures were taken that would be unfit to speak of in a lady's company."

Darcy coughed.

"Yes, well," Mr. Bennet continued deliberately, "take a look at this when you have a moment; no need to inconvenience you. Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth nodded sadly; she had once again turned pale -- an ongoing effect of Lydia's home remedy -- and saw Mr. Darcy to the carriage.

"It is hardly fair, you know," she said bitterly. "Lydia nearly ruins us, and ends up marrying the man of her choice -- through your generous intervention, I needn't add! -- yet when I wish to become engaged to a more than respectable, honest man, my sanity is questioned!"

"Elizabeth, you needn't work yourself up to such a state," Darcy pleaded. "Besides," he continued softly, "if you...or I...were to..."

Elizabeth's eyes widened.

"...Well, there you have it. Another delay for us."

"Darcy?"

"I will not say it."

Elizabeth smiled. "And I will not have it. Our marriage will not take place in the aftermath of scandal."

"Imagine a marriage without scandal." His tone betrayed deep irritation. "You would endure the well-wishing of your relations, and I mine. I would endure the smite of my dear aunt Lady de Burgh, and her blatant absence from the ceremony. There would be countless Cousin Collinses coming to call and sending in congratulations...this is, of course, in the month or two that precludes the actual wedding."

"I can scarce think of a suitable alternative."

"Imagine, then, a simple elopement. This evening."

Elizabeth was silent. "A strikingly similar arrangement to that of the Wickham's," she said resentfully.

"I assure you, Miss Bennet, that in this case, the groom goes much more willing to the alter."

"Well," Elizabeth replied, blushing, "as our courtship has consisted of heated arguments and my late-night travels to your room, I suppose an elopement would only be fitting."

Mr. Bennet retreated from his place at the window. "Play something more jaunty for me, Mary -- I am in the highest of spirits."

Mrs. Bennet, who was just at that moment passing through the sitting room and would continue to exit it once her point had been made, snapped, "I suppose that turning away Lizzie's suitors puts you in such a humor?"

"Turning them away? Has she not met our Mr. Darcy, Jane?" He turned to his troubled daughter who sat, book in hand, beside the fireplace. "He is one of the better fellows come to ask after Lizzie. A man in my position could hardly deter him."

"Then you underestimate Lizzie's power of perseverance. Your opinion means the world to her," Jane protested

Mr. Bennet made a short, "Pphhff!" sound and smiled out the window momentarily; he turned back to her.

"Ah, dear Jane -- why should you put yourself in distress? I bestowed my blessing on your fellow."

"And I thank you, Papa. However, my happiness is not complete without Elizabeth's."

"A fine sister you are, then! and I would not worry so about your happiness being whole."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, Papa?"

"I mean I have put Elizabeth at ease. I have saved her from a Bennet wedding or, more to the point, I have saved her from the preparations of a Bennet wedding. Let me ask you, where is Elizabeth now?"

"Out seeing Mr. Darcy to his carriage."

"And speaking with him for an hour at least? Mr. Darcy, the man of few words?"

Jane colored momentarily.

"Put yourself at ease, Jane, and forgive me if you will. I am afraid that I will do less for you, for I intend to hold an entire wedding celebration in your honor, with Bennets and Bennet relations from every corner of the Isles in attendance."

His musings were interrupted by the re-entrance of Mrs. Bennet who exclaimed -- to no one in particular -- "And to think! What fine carriages at the wedding, and how fashionably our Lizzie would have been married!"

"And could I give our Lizzie away to a man who would only ask once?" Mr. Bennet teased jovially, with a subtle wink at Jane.

The End.