Meet Darcy's Daughter, Amy-Jane
This is the sequel to my P&P AU story Meet My Daughter, Amy Jane.
It will not make sense unless you've read my first story already.
Part 1: It Starts, Chapter 1
England, November 1819
Richard stood in the courtyard, only his slight swaying betraying the roil of emotions tearing him up inside. The drizzle continued to fall, as it had since yesterday. While he would not say he was pleased by it, Richard felt the dismal grey English weather was fitting for tonight's funeral. Richard drew comfort from the familiar confinement and rigidity of his regimentals as he stamped his feet and blew onto his hands to warm them on this cold and wet, late November night, as those around did the same. No one spoke, what was there to say?
The drizzle had added a shine to the deep black coat of the four horses and caused the hearse's silver accouchements to glisten in the lamp light, just as it made the black mourning feathers droop. The undertaker had made the arrangements well, within the limited time and finances available. The mutes, pages and mourners all ready to file out after the funeral procession. Of the funeral party itself, there were only a few following the hearse to the internment, the same number as had been here from the beginning. Fewer than Richard thought should have made the effort.
The horse's coats and everyone's breath, horses included, steamed as they made their way to the churchyard. It was somehow different at night, even though he had made the trip any number of times in happier days. While not that far, Richard took little notice of the route, eyes fixed on the hearse, walking as an automaton following the person in front that soldiers all learn to cope with long marches.
By the time Richard arrived at the grave, his awareness had been narrowing constantly. As the coffin was lowered into the dark, wet earth and the vicar droned the familiar, awful words of benediction, they were only half heard. Indeed Richard was only barely aware of others present at this final event of a loved ones' life. He thought it was funny how your whole world can contract to the point where he found himself focused on the way the engraver had inscribed the angel on the coffin's breastplate, his eyes gliding over the name itself, as if not reading it somehow allowed him to pretend this was not happening.
He still couldn't believe it now, no more now than his disbelief the moment Richard received the news. A few hastily scrawled lines, in poor penmanship, on a single sheet of paper, delivered by express rider very early one morning a week ago had completely altered his future and, in doing so, he was sure it had ruined his current happiness forever. His life would never be the same again.
How had it come to this? This thought unspoken, punctuated by the thud of the damp earth falling on wood, wormed into his brain and he could not dislodge it. It was as persistent as a toothache.
He could not shake the thought loose as the internment came to an end.
It stayed with him as, one by one, everyone else left, leaving him alone with his thoughts as the dirt continued to thud down as the grave was filled in. Not wanting to see the hole itself disappear, a finality that Richard was not prepared to accept, he did not linger, following the others soon after.
The lateness of the hour meant little was said once everyone was back inside. It was hushed inconsequential conversations while each finished a glass of brandy or whiskey before they all drifted off to bed, Richard included.
Richard sat up in bed, sleep having eluded him for what seemed like hours (but only an hour or so, if his watch was to be believed), his earlier thought still nagged for an answer.
How had it come to this?
Any other man, Richard was sure, would have counted it from the time he was shot by Wickham and nearly died. However, he had so often been faced with being wounded or killed it was only that it was in England by a civilian that was a surprise. Injury and death had been almost a constant companion since his taking part in the Battle of Rolica, way back, must been in '09, no '08, yes August 1808 against the French although in Portugal. Funny to remember that, as that was the first time he'd met and fought under Wellington, although he would still have been Sir Arthur Wellesley at the time.
Since then Richard had seen enough blood, death and destruction to last a hundred lifetimes. What stuck most, another thing he'd take to the grave, was the charnel house smell of death, during battle cut through with the acrid smell of gunpowder, which was all pervasive and lingered long after the frightful sights had gone.
No the proper place, if there had to be a place to say it started, was years later. June 1812 in fact.
It was when the British Army was camped at Salamanca, having captured it from the French and their puppet Spanish King. Richard had been there a few days, having brought replacements for the losses his regiment had taken during the siege and capture of Badajoz. He remembered being summoned by the Earl of Wellington (as Sir Wellesley was then known, having the Earldom confirmed on him by a grateful nation at the beginning of 1812).
That would be where Richard would consider was the time, if there ever was one, when all of his possible futures then became the ruined happiness of the past he looked back on now…
Spain, June 1812
Richard had been on the Peninsula for some time, but most of it marching with the new recruits, only arriving at his regiment's allocated area outside Salamanca a couple of days ago. Major Miles, who had effectively been in command of the regiment, and the other officers, had done a sterling job in his absence. Richard was still coming to terms with the changes a near year absence had wrought on the 38th Staffordshire Foot. In an attempt to catch up as quickly as possible he was sitting with the Major going over every detail when O'Connor subtly caught his attention, signalling it was urgent.
"Excuse me Major. What is it O'Connor?"
"An Ensign from the General, sir."
"Well, let him in."
The ensign entered and handed Richard a folded note. It read, "Colonel Fitzwilliam. Could you attend me at your earliest convenience. Wellesley."
Richard looked up. "We shall have to continue this later Major, General Wellesley wishes to speak with me. Maybe you can get details about the provisions shortfall ready for when I return?"
Major nodded as he stood and left. O'Connor fussed about tidying his Colonel's uniform while Richard reorganised the papers so he knew where he was when he returned.
"Leave off O'Connor. So, Ensign…?"
"Starkins, sir."
"So Ensign Starkins, lead off."
"This way, Sir."
Richard questioned Starkins on the way over but he knew nothing. It took some time to walk to the grand house that served as Earl Wellington's quarters. But once there, it was not long before Richard was ushered in to stand while Wellesley finished dealing with an Artillery Major. As the Major departed, Wellesley looked up, "Ah Colonel Fitzwilliam I presume?"
"Yes Lord General."
Wellesley got up and wandered over to a window that looked out at the army camp around Salamanca itself. "So you find the 38th in good stead?"
"Yes, yes I do. Major Miles and his fellow officers have done a commendable job in my absence."
"Ah good, good. A damnable thing that, getting shot during a robbery back in England. Raised eyebrows when we all heard of it. Not a deserter I hope."
"No my Lord, nothing of the sort. In the end, no real harm done, although I now know if it is going to be cold and wet the next day. Not that there is much chance of that here."
Wellesley gave a short laugh, "No I suppose not. Still, it gets damn cold in the winter. Hmm…" He paused, while still looking out the window. Richard thought it best just to wait and said nothing, realising he was following Darcy's lead doing this.
"So, Colonel, you feel Major Miles is up to the job?"
"Certainly sir."
"Good, good. I have to say I've had good reports from Leith and Greville about him." Richard knew Greville personally, as he was the commander of the brigade the 38th was attached to, but had only heard of Lieutenant General Leith, the division's commander, by reputation.
"That is pleasing to hear Sir, can I pass this on?"
"Certainly. He's a bit rash at times, but I prefer that to someone who is indecisive." Wellington paused looking out the window again. Without turning he addressed Richard again, "I understand you brought a good number of men with you to replace our losses."
"Yes Sir, the First Battalion of the 38th is nearly back to a full compliment."
Wellington returned to his desk, sitting down while saying, "Excellent. Did you have any trouble recruiting? Other regiments seem to."
Richard thought how to reply, before saying, "A little, General. However I was able to meet up with a number of Militia commanders and picked up a number of recruits that way, as well as several good young officers who wished to become regulars."
"So I have been led to understand. Hmm... Would Major Miles be able to incorporate them easily into the ranks?"
"I had the recruiting Sergeants drill them as we marched through Portugal and Spain. Reports are that this has worked well, the new men fitting in with little disruption."
"So the Major and his... your fellow officers are doing a good job of getting them battle ready?"
"I would say Sir, that they are battle ready now, other than the actual experience of facing the enemy, and that cannot be trained for."
"No, no... of course not. Good. Good." Wellington paused as he shuffled a few papers on his desk. Richard started to wonder what the point of his being there, but there was little he could do but wait until dismissed.
"So Colonel, in your opinion, Major Miles would be capable of being a regimental commander?"
Richard smiled, so here was the reason why he was invited, Wellington was considering a promotion for Miles. Richard did a quick calculation, of saying yes, and losing the very capable Miles to another regiment, leaving him with Collier, (who was not bad as such, but very officious) against saying no and making Wellington unhappy, as he obvious favoured the promotion, (and equally having Miles learning of it annoying him as well). Then Richard realised that was being incredibly selfish, Miles was capable of leading a regiment and he had to say so, let the chips fall as they may. "Of course General. He has more or less being doing it for the last 9 months or more. There is no one I'd rather had to look after my regiment than him."
Wellington seemed very pleased with this answer. "Ah, that makes things easier..." and bent to write a note.
Richard waited, puzzled, that answer was odd.
Now finished, Wellington looked up. "So Colonel, given your old regiment is in safe hands, would you consider a new duty?"
"Sorry, what?" What was this about his old regiment?
"New post Fitzwilliam, on my staff of course. But detached. What say you?"
"Are you offering me a promotion Sir?"
"Yes and no. You'll stay a Colonel, but you'll be one of my staff officers. So the same pay, but none of the obligations of a regimental commander on your time or pocket."
Ah, thought Richard now that properly explains the questions about Miles. It was a promising offer, but he was not quite sure, his men depended on him. "What would I be doing on the Staff, sir? You said it was a detached duty."
"Not ready to give up command yet, eh? Don't blame you. But what I need from you is vital to my success here in Spain, as much as... no, more than you leading a single regiment." Wellington again changed tack, "You know we've experienced grievous losses already?"
"Yes Sir. I had thought I'd enough for a full complement for both Battalions, but the Second is still under strength as I had to assign more of the new men to the First than I expected to."
"It's not just the battle losses Colonel, horrendous as they are, disease, accidents and desertions, damn it, and at times even attacks by local Spanish people, it's not just the French forces, whittling our force down to nothing."
"So I have heard General, the 38th alone lost more than a handful last week to guerrillas during one foraging expedition."
"So you see my problem, don't you Colonel. New blood. For us to defeat the French we require a steady stream of men."
"Yes we do." Richard could not help but agree with Wellington, but could not see how this related to him.
"And you, Colonel, have been more successful at getting them than anyone else. Did you know all the last few batches of replacements had only half the number you brought with you?'
"No Sir. No, I had no idea, Sir."
"Well it's true. So Fitzwilliam, what we desperately need is someone that is prepared to return to England and send as many replacements as possible. You fit the bill. To win this war, we need men, a lot of men, and I am certain you can find me more than any other, certainly more than doing nothing. I need you... We need you... England needs you. Hell, even the men need you to do this. Are you prepared to allow them to fight as under-strength regiments? We will be bringing Marmont to battle before long and those losses will need to be replaced, just as the French are reinforcing their own already."
Richard couldn't verify his level of success against others, but there was no reason to doubt his ultimate commander. It would be churlish to refuse, but he still worried about his men. But if there was anyone he could consider handing them over to, Miles would be the one. "Miles will definitely be replacing me, won't he Sir?"
"Yes Fitzwilliam. If you accept I'll promote him to Lieutenant Colonel and confirm his position as Commander of the 38th at the same time."
"In that case, I accept."
"Thank you Colonel. Welcome to my staff. I'll draw up the necessary notice for you and the Major tonight."
"Thank you, Sir." A cheeky thought snuck into Richard's head, "Any chance you could transfer Collier out at the same time?"
"I suppose I could, any preference to where?"
"Actually, he would be better suited for a role aiding the Commissary and, if it came with a promotion, I think he'd accept it with alacrity."
The rest of the time spent with Wellington involved learning more of what his ideas were for Richard once he returned to England. While not a promotion in rank, it certainly came with much greater influence, backed by the authority of Wellington himself. In essence, Richard was to be in charge of recruiting men and officers from the Militia throughout England and then look after their preparation for the regulars once they signed up.
London, 1812
As Richard stood on the London dock he'd left only a few weeks ago, he watched as O'Connor collected their gear, including the numerous gifts from the officers of the 38th (including a rather expensive one from Collier, who realised he owed his promotion to Richard's intervention, although thankfully didn't know why) and then something else he treasured more than any... all of those combined; a pewter tankard inscribed "Presented to Colonel Fitzwilliam by the men of the 3th Staffordshire Foot. An honour to serve under you." It had a distinct Spanish look, and he did wonder where it was liberated from, but that didn't matter, really.
It had taken a few days to ensure everything was squared away, but Miles' family was as wealthy, if not titled, as his own, and promised to continue to look after the men as Richard had. Given that he'd contributed even as a Major, Richard was happy knowing his men would continue to be cared for. After that it was a dusty return to Lisbon. As two men on horses they travelled much faster than they had accompanying the replacements marching the other way. The only delays were when the road, really just a track, ran along the side of a steep hill and they encountered wagons, filled with supplies going inland, or the wounded and dying going to Lisbon.
Once in Lisbon it took several days to force his way onto a ship, the magical 'Acting on orders from Wellington', which had worked like a charm the whole journey there, held little truck with the Navy, who were happy to transport him and O'Connor, but not their horses. But as O'Connor led their pair, blindfolded, off the Caspian, Richard was glad he insisted. Even after several days at sea, the pair, both from Darcy's stable, looked far better than the other nags in the area.
Before long he and his sergeant were dodging London traffic as they headed for Matlock House and a well-deserved rest on a bed that wasn't lumpy with rocks or moving constantly. He had hoped to have stayed at Darcy House, but Darcy's letter telling him that he'd closed the place up and returned to Pemberley had caught up with Richard in Lisbon. He'd replied immediately with his future plans, and sent it off on one of the boats that refused to take his horses. Richard knew he could not say much as the censors checked everything, but tried to convey his new position in the most general terms and finished his own letter in reply by mentioning he'd be travelling around so much that it would be little point in Darcy replying unless it was than important news, anything else could wait until he caught up with Darcy when he was first in the same area, assuming it would be Pemberley. Richard thought of going to Darcy House anyway, there was a room permanently set out for him, but thought it unfair on the few servants left, who would try too hard to accommodate him, where all he really needed was a bed and few cold cuts for the odd time he would eat there.
The first order of business the next day was a visit to the Horse Guards, which was the location of the War Department, having missed meeting his father, the Earl, this morning as his father was there already, leaving early most days, and working late just as often. While breaking his fast, Richard discovered that his brother, the Viscount, appeared to have repaired the breach with their father, and was in London, although thankfully in a residence in Brook St rather than here in Matlock House.
The visit to the Horse Guards went well, he met with Captain Kingham and Captain Baines who Lord Wellington had suggested as the first place to start. They were enthusiastic about some of the ideas Richard had come up with during his return trip to England but less so for others, with one causing them to look so appalled Richard decided that he best just stop without finishing. In return they let him know what they were doing, Wellington having already having them start the process of recruiting men from the Militia into the Regulars, but with patchy results, his own success likely explained why Wellington wanted him to be involved.
However as Richard moved about the Horse Guards building, visiting the other sections he needed to work with, while most were happy to assist he encountered resistance in other quarters, where even orders from Wellington were unable to un-stick the workings. Realising he needed a bigger hammer, Richard had no choice but to enlist the help of his father, as much as he preferred to fight his own battles, even the bureaucratic ones.
Father was surprised to see him (Richard wondered what happened to the letter he'd sent), although looked as if it was a pleasant one for the Earl. Richard showed his new orders and explain what he had planned. The Earl listened to all of it before suggesting a few changes, and with Richard's agreement, after explaining why Richard was encountering resistance, but said he could deal with it, give him a few days and it would not be a problem. Richard was only too happy to do so, and quickly agreed, giving the Earl carte blanche, while he got on with the rest of what he needed to do.
They broke for luncheon at Father's club. After spending the meal catching up, over a brandy Richard asked about Sumerville's return to London. The Earl explained that he had finally relented because Sumerville had said he wanted to take more interest in the family seat in the House of Lords as he would take up the seat in time. Richard could not fathom why his father would believe this, but the Earl was adamant that his brother was very contrite and wanted to make amends. Richard thought Father was running on hope over substance, but he supposed it wouldn't hurt, given there was the smallest chance that Sumerville was genuine. To back this up, Father explained Viscount had even offered to act as proxy to allow him more time to spend prosecuting the war. Although when Richard questioned this, the Earl could not point to one time Sumerville had actually done so, but explained each away because Viscount always had legitimate reasons for not being able each time, apparently, not that Richard thought that was the case.
It became harder to believe when Father continued to say that Sumerville had discovered Mr Edridge (his father-in-law) was extremely anti-government, and was advocating for making peace with Napoleon, even if that meant surrendering, to restore trade with the Continent. From what Richard surmised any trade that Mr Edridge would be involved with now since making his fortune would be with India and elsewhere overseas, where the Navy, by keeping the French bottled up in their ports, had prevented any real disruption of those routes, but did not know that was definitely the case. He suspected his brother was just slandering his father-in-law to play on his Father's own prejudices against those in trade, as part of the Viscount's efforts to have his allowance and freedom of movement restored. But when Richard said as much to his Father, the Earl would hear nothing of it, so Richard gave up.
They went their separate ways returning to the War Department. Richard went back to Captains Kingham and Baines and they discussed the changes his Father had suggested, incorporating most of them in their immediate plans. Richard decided his first order of business would be a trip to Brighton tomorrow to see the new training grounds that should be completed in a matter of weeks and may be ready for the first Militia units even earlier. This meant needing to visit yet more parts of the labyrinthine building, which took up the rest of the afternoon and the first part of the evening. As Richard passed through the various corridors, he noted a few officers give him an odd look, best characterised as revulsion, and they moved as if he was someone to avoid as they went past. Richard wondered if he was imagining it, but it happened just enough to be worrying, always with that specific reaction.
Talking with the Earl that night, Richard almost came to believe he was imagining it, as Father hadn't noticed anything of the sort himself. But on returning the next morning to finalise a few details before heading south it happened a couple more times. Both times, Richard made a point of introducing himself. When doing so the other officer was all that was polite, if reserved, in their replies. Richard casually made general enquiries about both, the only thing they appeared to have in common was a merchant family background. That seemed little reason for their reaction, until Richard realised if they had trade connections, these could include Mr Edridge, and given Father was likely to be passing on Sumerville's comments, this might explain their reactions. Richard resolved to see if he could get Father to refrain from continuing to comment, not because it was likely to be untrue (but Father would not listen to that), but because it could make Richard's own duties more difficult.
The trip to Brighton was as expected. On arrival Richard found the camp less complete than reported and that more funds had been spent than should have for the amount of work done. He was frustrated with the lack of progress, and knowing full well little could be done to get the Works Supervisor and men to proceed faster given the general shortage of men, he was still close to sacking the lot. However, O'Connor made a casual comment, along the lines that the most of work was just like they used to do in preparing for a siege, only the almost completed structures needed the workmen. Realising this was the answer, Richard tasked the Works Supervisor with completing the buildings within two weeks, a lot more time than they should need. If they did they'd get paid the remainder, otherwise he would make good on his threat to sack the lot if it was not done by the time he returned. By the third morning a good proportion of the remaining work had been done so Richard paid over half the remaining funds, with a promise of the rest when finished, and returned to London to arrange for the first Militia units to use the training grounds.
The first Richard chose was the Tower Hamlets Militia, under the direction of Lord Francis Rawdon-Hastings, the Earl of Moira, who was the Constable of the Tower of London at the time. As a fellow Whig, it was an easy assignment to get him to agree to send the Second Tower Hamlets Militia to Brighton for training (and unstated, a good part of their training would be to complete the external works) by next Friday. As Richard had found in the past, once away from home militiamen and their officers were much more amenable to accepting the bounty to exchange their service to the regulars. It became even easier for Richard when the Earl of Moira used his own influence with two of the other London Militia commanders to get their units to join his for the month of training planned.
In addition, Father was good to his word and had managed to grease the mill, and now other favourable decisions were forthcoming from elsewhere in the Horse Guards. After a few days of what seemed like non-stop work, Richard was set to travel again, the only decision left was which of the numerous Militia companies to visit to arrange for them to follow the first Militia group. There was no letter from Darcy, but as Richard said not to write unless it was important, no news was most likely good news or at least a lack of the bad. Although he did wonder how Darcy was going with wooing the fair Miss Elizabeth Smith. Maybe he should make Ramsgate and its two attractions his next stop? Which led to his heart lurching as he wondered, how was Charlotte? Had she gone into a decline as some ladies did? No, he knew she was too practical to do so, it was one of her attractions. But it would be unfair on both of them to bring up the past. His discussion with Darcy at Rosings had put it all in perspective. He was done with it. There was no value in digging over old ground and re-wounding Charlotte's already bruised heart. Visiting Ramsgate was out of the question.
In the end he had Captains Kingham and Captain Baines draw up a list of various Militia units to visit, and with their help and the Constable, sorted the list into an order, with the most likely to relocate at the top. The main criteria was the commanding officer, was he progressive and willing to listen to new ideas? They then removed those that were a prominent landlord in the area, as they'd be reluctant to leave the area. Younger sons or those known to have made their fortune in trade and were not rooted in the land were put up to the top of the list. At the top of the list was the Wiltshire Militia, but they were stationed in a dozen towns throughout the county, although the commander, a personal friend of the Constable, was quartered in Salisbury. Apparently this was common in the western counties, the militia serving there were dispersed throughout to police the local area than kept in a larger single unit as a defence against a landing by Napoleon, as it was done in the south and east of England.
Not looking forward to the possibly of traipsing around Wiltshire, if the commanding officer decided he needed to talk to all the other officers, Richard looked to the next on the list. The second was in one place, but in West Yorkshire. However the third place on this rather arbitrary list was a Nottinghamshire unit commanded by a Colonel Forster stationed a little north of St Albans, about half a day's ride from London. Colonel Forster was the second son of a man who made his fortune in the Indian trade. This was ideal, the unit was all in one place, a non-land owning commander, with the men already out away from home and all close to London as well. Telling them of his choice, Richard made arrangements for him and O'Connor to leave next Monday.
On the Monday chosen, summer disappeared, leaving behind a grey drizzly autumnal replacement, which lead to a slow, long slog north. Rather than making St Albans for luncheon as intended, it was at a roadside inn miles south. They didn't actually get to St Albans until mid-afternoon. Thankfully as they worked their way through the town and further north, it rained itself out and the wind picked up a little, causing the clouds to scuttle off. For that entire trip north, Richard had had a nagging feeling about his destination, but could not put a finger on it, and it only got stronger as he left St Albans.
It was a good deal more than the hour it should have taken travelling on the very muddy St Albans road when they came to the outskirts of a small town that looked positively overrun by militia officers. They seemed to have the run of the place! Thankfully for the locals, none of the men appeared to have been allowed out of the camp. But the large number of officers about meant Richard did not have to go all the way into town to get directions, he just followed the largest block of traffic.
The reason for the lack of discipline was explained when the highest ranking officer, a Captain Hawley apologised as Colonel Forster and a good many of the more senior officers were away at the good Colonel's wedding celebration, but should return in a se'ennight or so.
'Well', thought Richard sarcastically, 'This has been a great start!'
But he supposed it was a good thing he'd decided to start somewhere close, imagine going all the way to Yorkshire and finding the same. Not looking forward to another muddy ride back, he asked for him and his sergeant to be put up for the night, which was quickly arranged.
While having dinner with the remaining officers, consisting of another captain, a few more lieutenants and almost a full complement of ensigns, Hawley mentioned that the locals were putting on a dance, and as many of them were going, would the Colonel like to attend? There would be space in one of the coaches they'd be taking. Richard was ambivalent, but allowed himself to be talked into it. So after dinner, with good natured ribbing for poor Denny (a Lieutenant Dennison) and the four ensigns left behind to maintain order, the party set out.
They got most of the way into town, when Richard suddenly overheard something.
"Did you say Meryton?"
"Yes, indeed, Colonel." replied Hawley, "Meryton has been very hospitable, including holding these weekly dances to give our young officers a chance of society as well as of war."
That confirmed it! That nagging feeling about where they were suddenly was clarified. The town of Meryton! That is Miss's Lucas... Charlotte's home! Richard's first instinct was to leap out of the coach and run off, but he was wedged in his seat. The next thought was to see if could come up with an excuse, anything really, to get out of this. But his usual quick wit had left him. Richard wasn't given much time, and hadn't though of anything when the coach stopped. He still hadn't when Hawley said sternly, with a fierce glare to the other officers after they had all disembarked, "We're here. Now I shouldn't have to mention for you to behave yourself, but a few of you were a little too friendly with some of the younger ladies last time, which is why Denny is the one staying back at camp. Don't make me regret allowing you this liberty." Hawley then proceeded to usher his charges into the hall.
For Richard there was nothing left to do but act calmly and politely, if he met her here. But, with thought that lifted his spirits, Charlotte could well be at Ramsgate even now, thus all this worry for naught. Here's hoping. But with discretion being the better part of valour, Richard hung back and let all the others into the Assembly Rooms before quietly slipping in behind and off to one side.
It was the wrong way to turn! Richard found himself only a few yards away from her, with only a clear space between. Charlotte! Unwilled, his heart leapt.
She gave a strangled cry.
He froze, conflicted between making the polite greeting that he'd resolved to do only moments ago or greeting her how he really wanted to, with all the familiarity they had developed in Ramsgate, but if he did so it would shock the entire company.
Heads turned, including some of his party, as he stood there in indecision.
As Charlotte flushed red and, in a swirl of skirts, fled the room.
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As with any author I love to read your reviews.
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To help me improve my writing, could you consider answering the following if you post a review for any chapter:
- What parts did you most enjoy?
- Were there any parts you didn't like, or think out of place?
- Were there any parts you thought "what was that about"?
- Do the various characters seem to be as you imagine them to be from P&P or MMDAJ?
- Have I made any glaring continuity errors from what is written in MMDAJ
Plus one to answer now:
- It starts with a funeral - whose?
