PROLOGUE

With great distaste, Fitzwilliam Darcy observed the tavern set in a covert corner on the street. Fitzwilliam fancied himself a gentleman in the highest regard and so he couldn't help his feelings at observing the building before him. First, it galled him to no end to see the dismal attempt at a signpost at the very head of the tavern. It read Fitzgerald's Tavern, he noted with a grimace. That there was a little of his name attached to this place of disrepute was the height of mortification for him and he couldn't wait to make his entrance, go about his business as quietly as the noisy place would permit and make his exit as quietly too.

Alas, his business at the tavern tonight would grant him no such reprieve. It was yet unknown how soon he would be able to conduct his business at the annoying location. And therein lain his second discomfiture within him; he had quite a long time to spend in the place and it wasn't so pleasing with him.

On a breath of a long suffering sigh, Fitzwilliam entered into the establishment and without glancing in any particular direction or anybody in the large room he found himself, took himself straight to the stairs behind the largest table in the room. For a moment, he fancied that eyes followed him as he made his progress. On a second thought however, he supposed that every new entry into the tavern would surely generate a great number of stares; especially one such as himself who stank of town in comparison to the undistinguished appearance of the country folks.

There, Fitzwilliam was right.

The country folks in the tavern momentarily halted their activities and took to staring at the gentleman in black coat, black pants and black hat. That his face was artfully hidden beneath the downward cover of his hat further added to his air of mystery and they wondered who he was. When they came to the realization that he had no caring for them one way or the other, they turned to mind their own business, sufficiently ignoring him the way he did them.

Fitzwilliam acknowledged to himself that he detested the countryside and its encumbrances- the people, the atmosphere, the establishments and landscape. Everything involved seemed all local to him who was used to a town life since childhood. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine what his friend Charles Bingley could have had on his addled mind when he leased Netherfield Park and swept them all- Fitzwilliam, Bingley's two sisters, his brother in law; the husband of the elder sister, and himself to this local place. Fitzwilliam found it a particular bother that he had to change his place of conducting his secret affairs to the lowly place that was Fitzgerald Tavern.

Upon entering, he found that everything in the tavern's main parlour was exactly as described to him- his instructions were clear and Fitzwilliam was one to follow such most conscientiously.

The stairs led up to rooms above the main room and Fitzwilliam did not deem to lay a guess about the activities that occurred in the rooms. He was very much familiar with such himself having sowed some wild oats in his younger years but he had come to view such activities as despicable and those that engaged in them in the same manner. He launched a feet into the air and on the first stair. Again, he didn't find it surprising that the stairs were rickety and creaked beneath his weight. Setting his mouth grimly, he proceeded to take himself off to the first room on the right above the rickety stairs. He knocked exactly once and pushed the door open. It creaked most annoyingly too.

The room was quite dark- thrown only in the light of a flickering candle set on a table in a corner though Fitzwilliam thought it was hardly necessary given that it was he who needed the privacy most. He could hear short but quiet breaths coming from the bed and he stopped.

He could hardly think of a reason for nerves, he thought for the short breaths could only be indicative of unease.

Seeing no other furniture in the room, he took his seat on the bed, clearing his throat loudly to indicate his readiness for the affair.

"You may come under the covers, my love."

The female voice so startled him that Fitzwilliam promptly sprang up like a frightened kitten and found himself on the floor of the room by his own making.

"What cunningness is this?" he said when he at last found his voice. "Where is Sir Fleming and who are you?"

There was a perceptible scrambling about on the bed which alerted Fitzwilliam's senses. Quickly, he took himself off to the table that held the candle and rushed with it to the bed.

The silhouette of a woman appeared before his eyes as she sprang up from the bed. The candle in his hand showed her face to him as he was sure she could not see his due to his low riding hat covering a good portion of his face. The first impression on Fitzwilliam's mind was that were he to meet this woman in any other place, he would take her for a well bred lady. Her face though not of such comeliness that would inspire great odes, was handsome enough to acquire a man's desire. By virtue of her presence in their present location, he could safely presume that she was no lady.

"Who are you?" she said as she stared down at him most accusingly. "Did Gregor send you in his stead, the rake?"

"I know nobody by that name," he answered derisively. "I am here to see someone else and just as surprised to see you here in the room where he ought to be!"

"Are you a visitor here, then?" the woman asked him in mild curiosity but he could glean the relief in her voice, and he wondered at it. It was almost as though she feared discovery. Her voice was genteel too and he wondered again at her status.

"Perhaps," he answered warily.

"Then you must have had the wrong room," she said in an air of urgency and proceeded to ask him which room he sought.

"Pardon me but I am certain I have the right room," he told her most disdainfully. "The first room by above the stairs was what I heard and I believe this here is it."

The woman dared to laugh at him. "This is not the first room on the right," she informed him in a demeaning voice. "If you but step out yourself, you would see that you are in the second room."

Short of calling her a liar, Fitzwilliam saw no other course but to retrace his steps to the door. He was certain that he had entered into the first room he saw on the right. He opened the door and stepped out, the candle still in his hand. Indeed, he saw that there was another room before the one into which he had entered. The stairs was facing towards the hallway and he had not noticed that there were two rooms behind; one to the left and another to the right. He was slightly mortified to have presented himself into such situation as he had met his accidental companion and knew no means by which he could tender an apology enough. However, her intention in such place was so obvious that he disdained to tender any apologies.

He turned to take himself off in the direction of his rightful destination but her voice stopped him,

"The candle if you please," said she.

He turned again, thrust the candle into the outstretched hand at the door and marched on to the first room by the right above the stairs. Just as he reached the door, a gentleman in coat and hat came up the stairs and went straight to the room he had erroneously entered. The man knocked once and proceeded inside. Fitzwilliam shook his head at the debauchery of the man and woman and knocked on the door as he did the first time.

In all likelihood, the man and woman involved in the act of immorality are married and as such, not wanting their affairs becoming public. Fitzwilliam found himself feeling a high sense of disgust for their shamelessness.

The thought of the couple's illicit affair soon left his mind as he found that he had come upon the right room at last. The room was brightly lit and the man he sought was seated at a table facing the door. He proceeded to face the order of the affair he had come to the tavern to attend.

If he had waited but a moment outside the door, he would have observed another young lady go into the room after the man. As he did not, he did not observe this peculiar arrangement. He was so engrossed in his affair with his companion that he was also blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the next room.