- Chapter One –

May 1809

Elizabeth Bennet wasn't alarmed when she was told to remain in the dining room with that obsequious toad – she was incensed. She'd been having a delightful moment up until that point – she'd even managed to finish Cecilia on her walk to Oakham Mount just as the world was beginning to wake up. Her mistake, she would lament later, was her oversight in not bringing some of Hill's freshly baked scones to ward off her hunger. If she had she wouldn't have been forced to break her fast with her family and consequently her mother wouldn't have told her to remain behind to hear the man's addresses.

She'd suffered more than her fair share of vexations at the hands of the odious man – who had been delighting the Bennet family with his constant presence for nigh on three weeks. It was in an effort, he had said, to become acquainted with the estate that would one day become his. Not only was it a presumptuous notion, as a third cousin twice removed a closer male relative may still yet be found, but her father was also the picture of health with a stamina to rival men half his age.

To begin with, while a chore, Elizabeth and her four sisters would spend evenings in the parson's company listening with rapturous attention as he read from Fordyce's Sermons. They would soon find out that he was the paragon of good advice on just how women should act, dress, and the ways of a pleasing a husband. The advice was of course given to the parson by his benefactor Lady Catherine de Burgh, who had condescended to give such advice unsolicited one October evening.

Elizabeth often wondered what the man's reaction would be if he ever found out that when he was sermonising, she was reading Tom Jones – a book that was not only unsuitable for an unmarried woman her age but one that the parson had disparaged on several occasions.

Mr Collins, a parson of a mere four and twenty, was a squat man who barely stood an inch taller that Elizabeth – she had reached the height of five foot one and promptly ceased to grow. Combined with his receding hairline, ruddy face, and rounded stomach the man wasn't exactly an attractive prospect to any young woman.

Not only had he come to size up his admittedly pitiful inheritance, her father had told her, he had also arrived with the express intent of securing a marriage. At first, he had settled his attentions on the oldest Bennet sister Jane – an incomparable beauty who was all that was lovely – before being dissuaded from his suit by Mrs Bennet in favour of Elizabeth instead.

No reason was given as to why Jane suddenly became unavailable to the man. She had no suitors nor was she engaged, but Elizabeth instinctually knew that Jane (though she would never admit it) would be incandescently happy at the turn of events.

It then became Elizabeth's sole purpose to put the man off as much as humanly possible. While she would concede that he was a perfectly nice man, she knew the role of a clergyman's wife wasn't for her.

Nothing she did, however, seemed to work. She even accidently spilt a cup of scalding hot tea on his lap which elicited a shriek so piercing that it was a wonder the windows in the parlour didn't shatter.

It seemed not matter what she did, Mr Collins was ready and waiting with some sort of compliment. When she wore her hair in unflattering ways, it seemed to spend the ridiculous little man on a spiel about her virtue and lack of vanity. The days she wore shapeless frocks that hid her lithe figure to perfection, he simply called her the "epitome of modesty". Even when she had rubbed herself down with a leaf she knew would cause her a hideous rash, he praised her for being a pillar of the community for continuing to do her charitable activities. He was fixated on her and there was nought she could to dissuade him otherwise.

She had no other choice than to dissuade him, to make him see that they would be so very unsuited to each other. His beady little eyes watched her with rapt attention as she begged her mother fervently to stay and as soon as the door closed, leaving her alone with the man for the first time, Mr Collins made no effort to hide his obvious appreciation for her.

Elizabeth sighed deeply as she turned to face the man and had to hold back a shudder of revulsion as his watery blue eyes scanned her form slowly as he licked his too thin lips slowly.

"Mr Collins…" She began, thinking that she may have been able to throw him off before he began.

"My dear Miss Elizabeth," he cut her off. "You can be rest assured that in asking for your mother to stay doesn't do you any disservice, if anything, it just adds your other perfections. It is your modesty that attracts me to you and had there been not some unwillingness on your part you would have been far less amiable in my eyes. No need to fear me, dear Miss Elizabeth, for I have secured permission from your mother for this address. You can hardly doubt the reason for my particular attentions to you for they have been far too marked for them to be mistaken. You must know my dear that from almost the first moment I entered the house, I sought you out as the companion for my future life – for your modesty, decorum, and beauty are second to none. Oh, I am running away with my feelings so I think it would be advisable for me to state the reasons for my eagerness to be wed."

The idea of Mr Collins, with his passionless nature and perfect composure, being run away with his feelings made Elizabeth so near laughing she couldn't use his short pause to attempt to stop him, and he continued:

"My reasons for marrying are, first, that I think it a right thing for every clergyman in circumstances such as mine to set the example of matrimony in his parish. Secondly, I am greatly convinced that it will add to my own happiness for who would not want a pretty and obedient wife? And thirdly; which is perhaps the most important reason, is that is the particular advice and recommendation of my patroness. Twice, twice, she has condescended to give me her unsolicited opinion on this subject; and it was on the very Saturday night before I left Hunsford, as she was directing Mrs Jenkinson to rearrange Miss de Bourgh's footstool and reading through the next day's sermon, that she said; "Mr Collins, you must marry. A clergyman such as yourself simply must marry! Choose properly, choose a gentlewoman for my sake; and for your own. Let her be an active, useful sort of person, not be bought up high but able to make a small income go a good way. This is my advice. Find such a woman as soon as you can, bring her to Hunsford and I will visit her." Allow me to observe fair cousin, that I suppose the notice and kindness of Lady Catherine de Bourgh to be the most powerful of my many connections and it would do you a great service to know her better. You will find her manner beyond what words could describe; and your wit and vivacity I think must be acceptable to her, especially when tempered with the stunned awe that her presence and rank will without a doubt flair in you. Therefore, much of my general intention to marry has been outlined you must therefore be wondering why my attention was then directed to Longbourn instead of my own neighbourhood – where there are many amiable young women vying for my attention. But the fact remains, that being, as I am, to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who may live many years longer), I could not satisfy my conscious without resolving to choose a wife from amongst his daughters. This was to ensure that the loss to them would be as little as possible when the inevitable event occurs – which may not occur for many years yet. This has been my sole motive, my dear Elizabeth, and I flatter myself that it would not make me sink your esteem. And now nothing remains but to for me to assure you of the violence of my affection. I am indifferent to fortune and shall make no demand of a dowry on your father since I am well aware that it could not be met even if I did so. You can be assured on that note I shall remain silent and that no ungenerous words will pass my lips when we are wed."

It was imperative to stop his diatribe there. Never in her life had she ever been so insulted. His barbs were hidden well, that much was clear, but there was no way she could ever be chained to such a man for the rest of her life.

"You presume too much," she cried. "I haven't given you an answer yet so let me do so now so we will waste no more time. I thank you for the compliment you have paid me with your address but I must resolutely decline it."

"Ah… I am not unfamiliar with this game," replied Mr Collin, his sweaty hand reaching for hers. "It is usual for young ladies to reject the addresses of a man whom they secretly mean to accept when their hand is first applied for. A man may be refused several times before his address is accepted. I am therefore not disheartened by your words, and when I lead you to the altar we shall both laugh about this."

Pulling her hand away before he could snag it she replied; "When you lead me to the altar? Your sentiments are misplaced with me. I am not one of those young ladies who are so daring as to risk their happiness on the chance of being asked a second time. I do not play games Mr Collins, nor would I start now. I am perfectly serious in my refusal. You could not make me happy, and I am convinced that I am the last woman in the world that could make you so. And it is my firm belief that if your patroness Lady Catherine were to know me, she would find me most unsuited for the role of a clergyman's wife."

Mr Collins raked his eyes over Elizabeth's form once more, his gaze stopping at her breasts where her décolletage hinted at what lay beneath the blue muslin on her dress. He bit his bottom lip and shook his head before he spoke again.

"I cannot imagine that her ladyship would disapprove of you at all. And you can be assured that the next time I am honoured enough to be in her presence I will speak of you in the highest of terms, namely your modesty, economy, and various other amiable qualifications."

Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger and sighed deeply. She simply just couldn't understand why he wouldn't just accept her refusal. He could not truly believe they would be suited to each other. Her? Someone's little wife like that. Being told what to do, being at the mercy of a husband, it was not in her nature.

"Mr Collins, please. All praise will be unnecessary. You must believe what I say. I wish you very happy and very rich, and by refusing your hand I am doing all I can within my limited power to prevent you from being otherwise. Simply by making your offer consider your conscience absolved and know that you may take possession of Longbourn whenever my father passes without any self-reproach. This matter can now be considered settled."

She turned to leave the room and she would have had Mr Collins not addressed her further.

"When we speak of this subject next I hope to receive a more favourable answer than the one you have just given me. Be at ease my dear for I am not accusing you of cruelty at present because I know that it is the habit of young ladies to reject a man on first application and all you have done is encourage me further."

Elizabeth whipped around and stared at the little man before her, cheeks flushed with anger, her green eyes glaring almost venomously.

"Mr Collins," she said calmly, at odds with her tumultuous emotions. "You puzzle me. I have told you that I do not play games, but you seem to think that I am still doing so. If what I have said encourages you further, please tell me how I may rephrase my refusal so you receive it as such."

Mr Collins smiled smugly at her and Elizabeth found that she needed to restrain herself from wiping that smile from his face with a sharp crack on her hand against his cheek.

"My dear, your refusal is simply words. You cannot be serious in your refusal and these are my reasons for believing such. My suit is not unworthy for you to accept and my home and station are highly desirable. My connections are great and though my wealth is modest, it is by no means less desirable to a woman of your means. And despite your many attractions, my dear cousin, it is by no means certain that another offer may ever be made to you. Your dowry is almost non-existent that it is highly likely that it will undo the effects of your loveliness and qualifications. So, I, therefore, must conclude that you're not serious in your refusal of me. In years to come, I will attribute your rejection to your wish of increasing my affection for you through suspense."

"I must assure you, that I am not in the business of tormenting respectable men such as yourself. I thank you again for your address but for me to accept would be entirely impossible. I don't think I could speak any plainer."

"You are truly the most charming creature!" he cried. "I am sure that your excellent parents would not object to our match."

It took Elizabeth all she had in her not to throttle the gentleman, instead, she remained silent and immediately quit the room with the sole purpose of seeking out her father to put an end to this farce.

She knew where he would be holed up, of course, it was the same place he went every day in an attempt to separate himself from the gaggle of giggling females that were a constant presence in his home – his study.

Coincidently, it was also the only place her mother didn't frequent. In turning down Mr Collins she would attract her vitriol, but her father would soon set things to rights.

Knocking on the door quickly, indicating her need for sanctuary, she was invited in with an "enter" almost instantaneously. She opened the door and found her father hunched of his ledgers, his quill scribbling furiously.

Mr Bennet looked up when the door closed with a soft click and smiled broadly.

"Ah… Lizzy," he said. "What brings you here this morning?"

"Mr Collins," she didn't need to say anymore, the mere mention of the name would send any sane person to seek safe harbour.

Leaning back in his chair, Mr Bennet tapped his quill against is mouth in a thoughtful manner.

"I take it he has made you an offer," he said. "And I take it you refused him."

"Of course I refused him," Elizabeth took a seat on the old leather, wing-backed chair that faced her father across from his great desk. "Could you imagine it? Me. Mrs Elizabeth Collins. Urgh!"

"I'll let you in on a little secret," he mocked whispered with a boyish grin. "I had every intention to refuse him. You're too young to wed, despite what your mother says, you're only eighteen and you have scarce left Hertfordshire. And I'm hardly going to give you away to just any man, least of all Mr Collins."

"I know. But what am I to do? It's not as if opportunities to gallivant around the country often present themselves and you know how I long for adventure."

"Then I think I have just the thing for you. I was going to sit down with you and Jane this evening but in light of recent events I think this will improve your mood greatly," he paused. "I have received a letter from your uncle Gardiner."

Nothing piqued Elizabeth's interest quite like news from her aunt and uncle Gardiner. They always seemed to go off on a grand journey's and her aunt, in particular, was extremely dutiful in sending letters to her detailing every aspect of them.

"Oh?" She tried to sound disinterested, but she failed miserably much to the amusement of her father.

"Yes. They are going to Scotland to be reunited with some of your aunt's family. They are located near Inverness apparently," he drew out.

"How lovely."

"Yes, I agree it is," he paused. "And of course they have invited you and Jane to join them if you so wish it."

"Can I?" She asked with a bright smile already seeing rolling green hills in her mind's eye. "Can I please?"

"You know I could deny you nothing," he laughed. "How could I deny you the adventure you so crave? I daresay the timing couldn't be any better all things considered. There is no way Mr Collins could marry you if you're in Scotland."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say. It was truly the last thing she had been expecting when she had barged into her father's study. She had meant to apply to him to get Mr Collins to stay his hand. But this… This was infinitely better.

Scotland. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would ever be able to go there. The furthest from home she had ever been was London, which was only twenty miles or so. Even then, those trips afforded no room for her to explore the city, instead, she was forced to dressmakers, milliners, and spent more time in her aunt's drawing-room in Cheapside then walking through the famed Hyde Park.

"Oh papa," Elizabeth leapt from her chair and ran around the table to embrace her father. "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

Mr Bennet patted her back gently. "You are very welcome. But you must promise me one thing."

Elizabeth pulled back slightly. "Yes?"

"Promise me you'll have fun and return to us," he said with a cheeky grin.

"Of course! I doubt I will have much to time to mingle with Scottish society."

Elizabeth stepped away from him and instead of returning to her chair, she went to her father's small bookshelf.

"What will it be this week?" he called as she ran her nimble fingers over the spines. "Shakespeare? Voltaire? Chaucer?"

Elizabeth lay her hand on a familiar book. Its red cover was worn showing years of use. The book was a well-loved one, particularly by Elizabeth and she pulled it off the shelf with care.

"Burns," she replied as she fingered the gold lettering delicately. "I think I should get further acquainted with it before I set out on my journey."

"You've read it a thousand times," her father pointed out.

"And it warrants another," her smile impish, her excitement barely contained. "All the best things deserve more than one chance."

"That they do Lizzy. Now off with you before your mother comes. I suggest going for a nice long walk."

She could hardly contain her laughter and left the room with her book in hand, fully intending to situate herself in her favourite tree while she read the day away.

It was funny how life could change in a moment. Fitzwilliam Darcy Laird of Pemberley had never really thought about it until then. He wasn't generally one to sit around contemplating life's little intricacies, being the more practical sort he had not the time to waste on such notions.

But then again, he never thought he would be would be tearing through the countryside as if the devil himself were on his heels either. Securing his sister was, by far, the most important thing, the only thing on his mind.

He would kill her when he got his hands on her, absolutely kill her. Slowly, he thought with no small amount of pleasure, and very painfully for all the trouble she had caused. Never would he act upon such thoughts, in fact, it was far more likely he would embrace his sister and simply scold her for her actions.

His two most trusted companions journeyed with him. Darcy didn't expect to run into trouble on the roads and the further south they got, the safer it seemed to become.

They didn't worry about a carriage, instead choosing to set out on horseback when word of her disappearance had reached them. Of course, it was no coincidence that George Wickham just happened to be making his journey back to Edinburgh that very same day – though no one seemed to connect the two until it was too late.

Like her brother, Georgiana had chosen to make her own journey on horseback also - saddling her mare Sunny under the guise of going for a morning ride. When she didn't return by mid-afternoon the household instinctually knew something was wrong and when Darcy found out that she had left without so much as a groom as protection he was incensed. Anything could have happened to her.

There was no telling what a man looking for some quick money would do when the stumbled across an errant heiress. But it was Darcy's cousin, Richard that put his mind at ease, well at least as at ease at it could be at such a time, by telling him that is was likely she had just run off to join Wickham. While not ideal, Darcy was confident in the fact no harm would come to his sister in the man's care, he wanted the money too much.

It was a logical conclusion and instantly Darcy was in her rooms searching through any nook and cranny to try and deduce where she could have gone. He was just about to give up when he found a note tucked into the book she kept on her nightstand.

It read;

My Love,

How I ache to be parted from you and your smiles. Our fleeting days together I should treasure for all eternity. I know you can never be mine in truth and it pains me to write those words. Your brother will never allow a union between us, I am too lowly born but is there truly no hope for us? If you love me as you say you do meet me in the glen by the river – the one where we consummated our love wholly and truly. On the day I am to return to Edinburgh I will be there waiting if you do not show I will resign myself to the fact our love can never be. For I love you dear Georgiana that everything burns in me to make you my wife. Run away with me darling, then no one could deny our union.

- George

Upon reading such a letter, Darcy went through so many emotions he scarcely knew how to contain himself. In no universe did George Wickham hold any regard for his sister, if he had he wouldn't be bragging about his dalliance when in his cups.

No. What Wickham loved was Georgiana's substantial dowry and he could only hope that George was being fanciful with his words and he would find his sister uncompromised. There would be no redemption for her then.

Darcy found another letter soon after when he went to his rooms to dress before leaving. It was left in the middle of his bed, the stark white envelope contrasting against the rich burgundy of his covers. The letter was addressed simply to "Fitzwilliam" in her delicate hand.

Ripping it open without a moment's hesitation, he read;

Brother,

Since you are reading this letter you know that I have run away. It was not an easy choice for me to make, please know this. But I love him so, there are no words to describe how miserable I would be without him. You would never allow us to marry if we were to come to you which is why I have chosen to go with my George to be made his wife. There is nothing you could do to change my mind and I beg you to leave it be, for we love each other truly, deeply, and without reserve. We are to go wed at Gretna Green, then we will take up residence in Edinburgh. It is there you will be able to call upon us and settle the matter of my dowry.

- Georgiana

As mad as he was with his sister he did need to make a concession for her age. She was only sixteen and knew nothing of love outside of what she had read in novels. He knew he should have sheltered her more instead of offering her so much freedom, but there was nothing that could be done about that now. He just hoped he would reach her in time.

"Laird," Darcy's closest friend and confidant Charles Bingley called as came up alongside him. "We've been riding for hours, surely a rest is in order."

"We are close Bingley," he replied. "I can practically smell his greed from here."

"Aye," Colonel Fitzwilliam said as he too pulled his horse up alongside the other two gentlemen. "I wager the town is just over that rise. What are you going to do when we catch them?"

"Bring her home," he said. "And soundly thrash him for what he has done."

"I'll hold him down for you," the Colonel said with a sly grin.

"What if they are already wed?" Bingley couldn't help but ask. "What will you do then?"

"There is little that could be done other than trying to secure her dowry in such a way Wickham wouldn't be able to get his hands on it," Darcy replied.

Darcy could petition for an annulment, but he would have to confident in the fact the marriage hadn't been consummated. And knowing Wickham as he did, there would be little chance his sister would escape such a situation with her virtue intact.

"Knowing Wickham, he'll have taken rooms at an Inn with the most ill-repute and gone straight to a gaming hall," the Colonel supplied helpfully. "The Prancing Pony is where they'll be. I doubt they've made it to the church yet."

"We can only hope," Darcy replied. "How could she be so foolish?"

"I know you're blaming yourself cousin, but it will do you no good. She fooled us both and she will have to answer for herself when we find her," the Colonel said. "Bingley, I trust that this business will go no further than us."

"Darcy is like a brother to me, Georgiana a sister," Bingley said. "And I will always think of them as such meaning I will protect them as I protect my own."

"Aye, you're a good lad. We would never have invited you along if we thought otherwise," the Colonel said with great affection.

Charles Bingley was far from being a lad at two and twenty, but when it came to the Colonel he never seemed to be able to shake the moniker no matter how hard he tried. He was barely eight years younger than the man, but that didn't seem to matter in the slightest.

Having been childhood friends with Darcy, there were few that would question his loyalty to the man. Being four years younger than Darcy, Bingley looked to the man as one would look towards an older brother and Darcy was always there with sound advice when it was needed.

The group crested the rise and took in the town below for a moment before charging forward into Gretna Green. It was an old town situated in Dumfries and Galloway close to the border between Scotland and England. As such it was infamous was clandestine weddings, many couples crossing the border to take advantage of Scotland's more relaxed marriage laws.

They rode into town at a breakneck speed, only slowing when they came up on the Prancing Pony. There was nothing that stood out about the old grey stone building and perhaps that had been the intention when it had been built.

Sliding off his horse with a gentle thud, Darcy handed the reigns to one of the stable hands that had come to greet them and strode into the establishment with purpose. He didn't stop to check whether his two companions were with him, his mind solely focused on recovering his wayward sister.

He marched up the counter, the innkeeper stood behind the counter rearranging a row of keys that hung along the wall. She was an older woman, dressed simply in a serviceable woollen gown, and completely occupied by her task at hand.

"Good day," he said to capture the inn keeper's attention.

"Good day to you Sir," she turned around to face him. "Can I interest you in a room?"

"No thank you. I am looking for my sister," there was no point in skirting around the issue, time was really of the essence.

"Aye, a common enough thing, but we have many young ladies here Sir. You'll need to be more specific."

"Her name is Georgiana Darcy," he began. "She is about sixteen years old, blonde hair and about this tall," he raised his hand to his shoulder. "She would have been travelling with a man around my age."

The innkeeper rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"No, not ringing a bell," Darcy reached into the pocket of his coat a pulled out some coin and threw them onto the counter between them. "Oh… That Miss Darcy. Lovely girl she is."

"Which room is she in?"

"Now, we take the privacy of our guests very seriously here," she said as she pocketed the money.

Without hesitation, Darcy reached into his pocket once more, pulled out a few more coins and deposited them on the counter for her.

"The room number."

"Twenty-four. It's up the stairs to your right. She should still be there, I haven't seen her leave."

He nodded in thanks before running up the stairs, skipping every second step as he went. He barely acknowledged how run down the building was. But he knew for certain this wasn't a place his sister should be staying.

Darcy found her room easily. It was down the end of a particularly dingy hallway where the paint was peeling from the walls and the carpet was so stained one couldn't determine it's original colouring.

"Coming," he heard her call. "George, I missed you-" She pulled the door open, revealing not her lover but her brother standing before her. "Oh, Fitzwilliam it's you."

Darcy quirked a single eyebrow in askance. "Surely you can't be shocked."

"I… I wasn't expecting you so soon," she laughed breathlessly. "I thought you would be a few days at least."

He made a move to step into the room, "let's go in. You never know who's listening."

Georgiana stepped aside, allowing him in. He swept his eye of over the room critically. Various articles of clothing were strewn about, the bed was unmade, and the fire remained unlit.

"Brother, I know what you must be thinking…" She put her hands up and began to back away from him slowly.

"Do you?" He asked as he closed the door behind him. "Because I really don't think you do."

"Fitz…" Georgiana's voice trembled, he'd never spoken so harshly to her before.

"Don't," he commanded. "Just don't. How could you be so foolish? Did you not think?"

"I…" Her bottom lip trembled, tears welled in her eyes, and for the briefest of moments Darcy thought his resolve would break. But he needed to make her understand.

"Damataidh Georgie!" He cursed. "Do you have any idea of what could have happened to you? Any idea at all? It's bad enough that you ran away, but to run away with him? What possessed you?"

"I love him!" She cried, tears beginning to streak down her cheeks. "And I… We knew you would never approve."

"And you would be right. I would never have approved. Not yet at least."

"What?" She looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes in confusion.

Darcy sighed and took a moment to compose himself. "You are young. Too young to be thinking of marriage just yet. You aren't even out."

"I know I am young, but I am ready to be a wife," she argued, wiping her eyes with her handkerchief.

"What do you know of marriage, love, or children outside what you have read in your books?"

He was desperate to make her see, to make her understand that her actions would have repercussions. She was still a child herself, yet she was willing to throw everything away for such a licentious rake. It could not be borne.

"I know that love conquers all," she said confidently. "Nothing can stand in its way. Besides with my dowry we could buy a house in Edinburgh and live comfortably. He's to join the Militia you know, a true hero he'll be. And we'll have three perfect children; George, Anne, and Josephine. It will be everything I have ever dreamed of."

"I hardly think you could control the number nor sex of your future children," he replied drily. "And you are aware that your circumstances will not be as they are now, don't you?"

She nodded, "And I am ready for that. A modest home would suit me well."

"What would you know of a "modest home"? You grew up at Pemberley," he laughed bitterly.

"Why are you being so cruel?" She cried.

"Why are being so naïve? I know that you think you love him, but I don't know what you expect to happen. He does not love you, Georgiana, he loves your dowry and that alone," he took a deep breath before making the crushing blow. "He is engaged to another, a Miss Henrietta Tallow, she is a tanner's daughter."

"How…" She struggled to find the words to mask her shock.

"Do I know? Because he brags about it," Darcy paused. "I should have told you when I saw your affection for him grow. But I never thought, never conceived the notion you do something as foolish as run away with him. You are lucky I found your love note."

"What note?" Her voice quivered.

"The one tucked into Romeo and Juliet. Rather saccharine of you by the way."

"He loves me," her voice soft, betraying her doubt. "He wouldn't have gone with me if he was engaged to another. George is honourable."

"There is no honour in running away with a young woman the way he did," Darcy sighed. "He is a cad, a rogue, and a rake. Speaking of… The note I found, it implied that you and he… Did… Did he compromise you?" Georgiana shook her head. "And I take it you haven't wed considering he's nowhere to be found."

"No, he said he had some business in Ayr to attend to and that he would return in a few days and we would marry then."

"Thank God for small mercies. This is salvageable, you aren't completely ruined at least."

Darcy ran his hands over his face slowly and gazed at his young sister who looked just about to burst into tears once more. He was struck with just how young she looked, certainly not old enough to wed in any case.

Georgiana looked young for her age with her big blue eyes and round face. She was tall for her age but thin as a rail with no womanly curves. Awkward was the best way to describe her with her gangly limbs that she hadn't quite gotten used to yet. She would be a beauty one day, but she certainly hadn't blossomed yet.

"What are you going to do?" she asked quietly.

"It's really not a case of what I will do. It's a case of what you will do." She looked at him with confusion. "You're going to come with me to Netherfield and from there you will travel with Richard to Matlock until I send for you. Maybe under Aunt Honoria's gaze you won't be so inclined to run off."

"I want to go home," she whined. "I hate Matlock."

"Georgie," he said simply. "You're not really in a position to argue are you?"

"I…" she began. "I hate you. Take me home I've learnt my lesson."

He wasn't about to let her words hurt him. She'd been using that tactic since she was a child to get her own way, he didn't give in then and he certainly wasn't about to give in now.

"Georgie," he stepped forward. "I don't care if you hate me. I don't even care if you think I am the worst person on earth. But know this. You will go to Matlock and unless you want me to exile you there for eternity you will put thoughts of George Wickham from your mind."

"I don't care," she sulked. "You are already denying me the one thing I want most."

"And I am sure in time you will forgive me – maybe even thank me," he stopped not wanting to start yelling at her once more. "Now pack. Bingley and Richard are waiting downstairs."

AN: So, this is the result of one too many Highland romances and my over excited imagination. This is supposed to be a light-hearted and humorous story and I hope that shines through.

A lot of research has gone into this work and I hope it shows. I consulted multiple websites and a few books to find correct terms, words, and titles. But if I have anything wrong please let me know so I can fix it.

I will include a little Scottish Gaelic in this and I will try to be as accurate as possible. I have done extensive research on it, but I will not pretend to be an expert and I will provide translations in the author's notes. Again, if I have anything incorrect please tell me so I can fix it.

The geography may be a little off, but again I have endeavoured to be as accurate as possible.

In an effort to avoid anachronisms, all the books, poems, and songs mentioned will all have been written prior to 1809. For example; I would have Elizabeth reading poems by Robert Burns, not John Keats (he would have been 14 in 1809). I am not sure what was popular in the day, but I don't think Elizabeth would particularly care for that in any case.

I kept the proposal from the book pretty much the same, there is simply no messing with perfection.

Translations:

Damataidh = Dammit

Please review.