The response to this story has been fascinating so far, and I thank all of you who've made comments. I hope this chapter answers your questions, and I'd love to hear your reactions (good or bad, "No way!" or "Obviously. Duh."). And to those of you who are worried about content, no, there is no r***. That issue would require much more sensitivity and experience than I have the courage to imitate. And btw, I'm still not Jane Austen, and I still hope she'll forgive me for this What If.

04/16/2014 Update: I adjusted some timing mistakes but no other content. This is all happening around June 25th, and the baby is due at the end of August.

Havenswood, Chapter 2

The silence in the room roared in Elizabeth's ears like the thundering of a rolling summer storm. She stood very still, blushing and feeling faint, even a little dizzy.

Finally, using all her courage, she flicked a glance up at the frozen man across the room. His face was as red as hers, his eyes wide and staring, and she wondered whether he was more embarrassed to see her so misshapen or more horrified at the reality of her situation and the work he'd put into discovering her.

He stared for several seconds, his mouth hanging open, before suddenly closing his eyes, as if to erase the sight of her from his memory. He spun again and practically ran to the window, bracing himself against both sides and leaning his forehead against the glass, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly.

Her instant response, seeing his shock, was to race from the room and hide for the rest of her life. Yes, she had spent the last several months working with Mr. Pippins, an unusual man of the cloth if ever there was one. His own history, the loss of a beloved daughter who died in childbirth after running away from home to hide her shame, had softened his religious views over a lifetime of sorrow and made comforting broken-hearted souls his life's particular mission, thus his living provided by Suzanna. He believed now, contrary to the teaching of the Church at large, that although God condemns sins, he does not condemn the sinner, that an earnest penitent can receive forgiveness and live thereafter a worthy life.

The guilt that had consumed Elizabeth's heart during those wretched weeks before the Netherfield Ball had only increased upon arriving at Havenswood. She had wished to speak to someone about her feelings but hadn't felt worthy of speaking to the spiritual, kind Mr. Pippins. And there were moments when her guilt subsided, when she listened to some of her new sisters, who saw their pregnancies not as great sins but only as unfortunate mistakes. But the feelings always returned when she was alone, when she wanted to pray and felt unworthy to kneel before God.

She was finally half-dragged to see Mr. Pippins by Suzanna herself after it was discovered that although she had no sickness, she was eating almost nothing and sleeping hardly at all. His reception had been so kind, so gentle and earnest that she had broken down in miserable sobs and confessed everything, and during the subsequent weeks and months, she found great comfort in his teaching and the time they spent discussing the love of God together.

Elizabeth had finally learned to believe that she had repented, that God had forgiven her, but she still struggled to forgive herself for her own stupidity, for her sensual weakness, and she couldn't bear the condemnation she could read in Mr. Darcy's horror. She had not told anyone besides her Aunt Gardiner, not even Jane, because she could not bear the thought of their reactions. She had come to accept that she would never see them again and had therefore never prepared herself for the misery of facing anyone from her past and watching them judge and then cast her aside.

And of course, the first person to discover her had to be this man, the one who knew best all her faults and the one who was least likely to forgive her for them. She tried to tell herself that she did not care for his opinion, but that had all ended months before, and she couldn't hide the pain his reaction was causing her. A few unwilling tears slipped down her cheek, but she contained the sound of the sob threatening to escape.

God loves you, said Mr. Pippins' voice inside her mind. He knows you made mistakes, He knows you are human, and He knows that you are sorry. You have repented, dear girl, and your heart has been cleansed. Forgive yourself and move forward, trusting in His love.

Elizabeth drew in a fortifying breath, drying the tears. God did not condemn her, and she would not give this man more right to judge her than God. Besides, he was of all people the least worthy to censure her.

That thought gave her courage, and she looked up, ready to meet his response.

She watched him straighten and stand tall, resettling his jacket by tugging the lapels. He drew in a deep breath and turned around to her, wearing once again the haughty expression she so despised.

He seemed perfectly in control, though his words were unnaturally rigid and separate. "Who is the father, Miss Bennet?"

She stepped back in surprise, his words as effective a weapon as a slap across the face. "I beg your pardon?" she cried. "How can you ask me that?"

His tranquility fell away again as he stepped toward her, curling his fists. "I only wish to help you, I swear it. Who is the blackguard who left you in such a state without doing his duty and caring for you and the child?"

She stared at him, her mind churning. He seemed so honest, so emotional and sincere, and yet his pretended ignorance was the gravest insult.

"Did you come here just to be cruel?" she asked, her voice shaking with anger. "Did you come here to torture me?"

He looked surprised and then wounded. "I came here to find you, to offer you my help in whatever way I could. Please, Miss Elizabeth, I only want to assist you. Tell me the name of your…" He swallowed heavily, looking vaguely ill. "…the child's father. I will do everything in my power to influence him to marry you."

He was serious! Even in the midst of all her turmoil, she could not doubt his earnestness. But how?

She stumbled over her next words before finally pushing them out. "Sir, I… I never wished to force myself or this child on… the father. We are better off here."

"Is he a wicked man? I mean, obviously he is a man of low morals, but is he a gentleman? Would he not do the honorable thing? Did he not even offer to care for you and the child?"

"I never told him I was with child," she said carefully, watching his face. "I did not want to force him into a marriage he did not want, and the idea of being put up quietly as a former mistress was unbearable. I would rather ship myself off to America alone."

"But he made it clear he did not want you? Was there no affection involved?" he asked uncomfortably. Then his face reddened again and his fists clenched. "Did he force himself upon you?"

"No!" she cried, frightened of his agitation. "No, he did not. Sir, how can you ask me these questions? Are you unwell?"

He frowned, confused. "I am perfectly well. Forgive me if I seem improprietous, but considering the situation, I really must know these answers if I am to help you. Please, Miss Elizabeth, I will not judge you. I swear on all I hold dear that I only wish to act as your friend. You do not deserve to be cut off from all who love you, relegated to spending your life in obscurity. Let me help you."

She stared at him, moved by his plea despite herself. Could it be that he did not know? It was practically impossible, but it had to be true. No person could be as good of an actor as this man before her would have to be for his words to be false.

"At least tell me when it happened," he finally said, looking defeated. "Was it an… ongoing interaction?"

"Of course not," she answered quickly, blushing. "What sort of woman do you think I am?"

He breathed out, relieved. "Until today, madam, I would never have considered having this conversation with you at all. I am simply trying to understand."

She supposed she could not blame him for asking. She bristled internally—could she blame him? Oh, she didn't understand what was happening here!

"It happened in mid-November. A single night."

"So the child will be born in…"

"The end of the summer."

He looked urgent suddenly and finished crossing the room toward her. "Are you well? You said they provide a doctor's care here? Is the child… is all as it should be?"

"I am well," she answered, blushing at such an intimate question but wanting to assuage his concern. "My sisters here believe it might be twins."

His eyebrows raised, and he grasped her hand, practically forcing her back onto the sofa and taking the seat beside her. "Twins," he breathed. "That can be dangerous."

"There is no reason to worry yet," she said soothingly, all the while wondering why she was comforting him. "It is just a theory."

He looked down, troubled, still chafing her hand as he held it tightly. Suddenly, he seemed to realize what he was doing and released it like a hot coal. She folded her hands together, blushing for his sake and her own.

"And where did it happen?"

She blushed more deeply. "I do not see how that's relevant."

"Well, since you won't tell me the man's name outright, I must go at it from any direction I can."

Elizabeth smirked at his directness then raised her head to watch him as she gave her answer. "It happened at Netherfield, while I stayed to care for Jane during her illness."

Mr. Darcy's eyes bulged, and then he closed them, covering them with a hand. "One of the Netherfield servants?"

"No."

"One of mine?"

"No."

"Someone in Meryton? An old friend? A neighbor?"

"No, sir."

He struggled, thinking through who the potentials might be. He stiffened and stared up at her in horror. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly, seemingly unable to bear the words he might say.

She saw him struggling, and though still confused, she was seized upon with a desire to relieve his suffering and open her own understanding.

"I cannot bear to ask, Miss Bennet, but there are others… Did Mr. Hurst… Or B-b-bingley…?"

She stood suddenly, struggling to her feet and crossing the room away from him. She heard him rise to his feet behind her, polite even in the midst of his agony.

"It happened two nights before I left Netherfield, sir. A Friday night. We had all spent the evening in the parlor, though I do not remember what we did there or of what we spoke. I only remember feeling frustrated and impatient to return home. Jane was mostly improved, and she could see that I was weary from getting so little sleep and from the emotional trial of staying in a home where the better part of the residents wished for nothing more than my instant removal. She begged me to take some of the medicine the doctor had left, really just some wine and laudanum to help her sleep. I refused at first, but I was truly so tired, and she was so insistent, that I gave in, taking just a little.

"I felt its effects almost immediately, making me both very happy and extremely sleepy, so I bid Jane goodnight. I was already in my nightclothes, so I moved down the hall quickly so as not to be seen and entered my bedroom, going straight to my bed and lying down. I remember nothing more until…"

Her voice trailed off, and she blushed, facing the window and struggling to keep going. How could she say these words to this man, and yet, what had she to fear from him?

"Please," he said roughly. "Please tell me."

"When I awoke, the room was dark except for one lit candle, and I was experiencing the strangest sensation. It took me several seconds to realize that I was being kissed, on my neck and under my jaw. I was extremely aware of every detail—the sensation was powerful, as was the scent of alcohol and the scarlet of the bed curtains—but I was unable to move, pinned to the bed by a sort of alert laziness. I never even considered leaving. I was simply curious and overwhelmed.

"Finally, the man moved his head away, raising up to look at my face. I knew him instantly, but his expression was different than I had ever seen on his face before. He was intense and tender, and he let his hand come off the bed to cup my cheek. He called me his love, said my name so reverentially that I could scarcely breathe, and said he had waited all his life for me but never imagined I would come to him."

"I should have spoken, demanded an explanation and sent him away, or even uttered a cry for help, but at the time, I heard only the sweetness of his words, and I didn't think I could speak at all. Then he kissed me again."

Elizabeth had gotten lost in her words, in the memory of that night, but she came back to herself suddenly, gazing out the same window through which Mr. Darcy had been staring only a few minutes before. She wanted to turn around, to see his reaction, but she couldn't bear it.

"The rest of the night was… The memory is like watching something out of a dream, almost as if it happened to someone else. So much emotion, so much sensation, so many whispered endearments and words of love. At some point I know the laudanum wore off—my memories suddenly become much clearer—but I was too involved by that point, too caught up in the experience to pull away, and every moment when I calmed enough to have been able to experience regret, I was suddenly pulled back in, swallowed up in a reality I couldn't begin to understand."

"We finally lay exhausted, his arms around me and his face buried in my hair. He said… he said my hair smelled like lavender, that surely God would grow lavender in Heaven. We fell asleep, and when I opened my eyes again, it was nearly dawn. It was only then that the reality of what happened descended upon me."

She felt heavy now, all the embarrassment of the revelation drifting away and leaving only misery. "I knew he had been drunk, as impaired in his way as I was, and in the very early light, I realized that in my drugged almost-sleep, I had retired to a room besides my own, obviously his. He had thought I was offering myself, and my reaction certainly would not have convinced him otherwise. I was horrified at what I'd done, at what we'd done, but I remembered his tenderness, his whisperings of love, and thought perhaps all would be well. I did not know him well—in fact, the man he'd been in his room that night had been entirely foreign to me—but I thought that if he had inside him the man I'd… known, then I could marry him.

"Then fears overwhelmed me, fears that he would, in the light of day, regret our assignation, and I could not bear to wait for him to wake. I ran from the room, luckily meeting no one, and hid in my own room all morning, claiming to be tired. Finally I talked myself into emerging, deciding it would be better to know than to worry. When I first encountered him that day, I braced myself for any sort of reaction, but the only one for which I had not prepared was indifference.

"He acted as if he didn't even know I was in the room. He spent all day pretending I didn't exist, even when I purposely placed myself in a room alone with him for almost half an hour. I spent all day preparing a way to approach him but always lost my courage at the last moment. I could hardly believe it, and by that evening I was so despondent that I begged my sister to leave the next day. She could tell something was wrong, but I couldn't confide in her."

"In the days that followed, I decided that I would never speak to another soul of what had occurred. I could, of course, never marry, so I would live with Jane for the rest of my life, the beloved aunt. I had accepted that as my fate, and I only prayed I would never again before forced into company with that man. The next week, I came upon a gentleman who told me things that only confirmed the callousness of said man, making me even more aware of the hopelessness of my cause. I had accepted all, spending most days in a mire of remorse but trying not to let anyone see it.

"Then, when my time did not come the next week, all my hope disappeared. I recognized the signs of a baby, and of course I could no longer keep it all to myself. The only one in whom I could confide was my Aunt Gardiner, and she told me of Suzanna and Havenswood, although she begged me to share the truth with my family and to approach the gentleman and see whether he would right me. I had little confidence, but I would never forgive myself for not trying, if only for the sake of my child.

"On the night of the ball at Netherfield, November twenty-sixth, I prepared to approach him. I planned to corner him somewhere, to force him to hear me out, as our interactions since I'd left Netherfield had been practically non-existent. Much to my surprise, he asked me to dance, and he seemed thoughtful. I hoped he would listen to my plea, perhaps that he had even decided he held some affection for me, but our conversation failed almost before it began. He frustrated me, and I insulted him, and he disappeared. All hope was lost."

Elizabeth suddenly felt exhausted, as full of the emotion now as she had been that night. She wanted to sit, but she couldn't bear to turn around, or even to move, because she wasn't sure she'd be able to finish.

"That night, as soon as the rest of my family had gone to bed, I packed a small valise, stole twenty pounds from Papa's desk, and sneaked out of the house. I wore a deeply hooded cloak and caught the first post to London. I got off at a stop along the way and switched roads, beginning my journey to Surrey. There was a gentleman traveling to the same place I was. He had a kind face, and when I accidentally revealed my destination, he grew grave but offered even greater sympathy. When we exited the carriage late that night, he conducted me here. It was only at that point that I discovered he was here to visit his own daughter, who had left her home for the same reason I had but managed to remain in contact with her father over the several years of her stay."

She sighed, trying to shake off her deep melancholy. She had not mentioned the troubles and sorrow of that trip to him, and she never would. "And now I am here, and I am learning the skills to be hired as a housemaid, or as a seamstress or governess, once my child is old enough to leave for the days, or even for a few weeks at a time. I am surrounded by kind women who have also made mistakes but desire to make something of their lives, and we support and care for one another as best we can. And now you are come, asking strange questions and behaving as if you have no idea of what I speak. Can you truly say you are not being cruel?"

Her final words sounded accusing, but honestly, she was left with no emotion but relief. To have gotten it all out, to have him know all that had happened in the weeks after the night they spent together, was more than she had ever imagined.

There was no sound behind her, no sound for long enough that she had to turn around to make sure he was still there. A moment later, she almost wished she hadn't. The paleness of his countenance and the shaking of his hands were bad enough, but the abject desolation of his expression filled her with regret.

"Mr. Darcy?" she questioned gently, moving slowly towards him. "Sir, are you all right?"

His eyes followed her movement, but she wasn't sure he could actually see her. He looked lost, and his devastation, which she had thought for months would bring her a most pleasant vengeance, instead broke her heart.

She moved until she stood right in front of him, and then with some difficulty, she knelt on the floor in front of him. His eyes stayed on her, as if they were tied to her, and she reached out to take his hands. "How is it that you did not remember? I can see from your face that you did not, but I do not understand how."

She was relieved when he finally began to speak, although the halting, emotionless words sounded almost like the voice of someone else coming from his mouth. "I thought it was a …a dream. I'd dreamt of you… so often already by then… though never with such vividness. I'd had too much to drink… trying to drown the thoughts of you that kept me awake… so many nights. When you were gone the next morning… there was no evidence of your presence…"

"Only my nightdress was soiled," she said, blushing but determined to help him understand. "I burned it when I got back to my room."

"The more I awakened, the more I realized what I'd dreamt was impossible," he continued stiffly. "I decided you had become a dangerous obsession. I determined to ignore you entirely, to try to extract myself, though at every moment, memories of what I thought was a dream threatened to ruin my resolve. I never imagined… I never thought it possible…" He trailed off. After several seconds, he closed his eyes and slid to his knees before her, bringing his face almost beside hers and inhaling deeply. "Lavender in heaven. You know not how that scent has tortured me."

Elizabeth felt a shiver run down her spine. How was it that after all these months, after all her misery and anger and loneliness, all it took to weaken her knees was the reality of this man before her?

"Elizabeth," he whispered, all the agony now returned to his tone. He repeated her name, sounding entirely shattered, and dropped his forehead onto her shoulder as if all the life had just drained from his body.

She couldn't help her response—she raised her arms and wrapped them around his shoulders, holding tighter as his breathing hitched and a few tear drops landed on her chest. She hadn't wanted to break him, had never imagined her words could affect him in such a way. Her own eyes stung, and she cried with him, cried for her own pain but even more for his, sure now in the knowledge that this was a good man who'd made a mistake, just as she was a good woman.

Thank you, God, she thought, for bringing him here to me.

They stayed that way for several minutes, although as soon as they'd managed to calm, she realized that her knees had thought it was hours. She shifted in her place and let out an involuntary groan.

Immediately his head shot up. "I'm so sorry, Elizabeth. Are you all right?"

"It's just my knees, sir. They begin aching quickly these days."

"Oh!" He reached for her hands and raised her easily, despite her added bulk, then lowered her onto the sofa, sitting beside her and clutching her hands like lifelines. "I had no idea… the sorrows and discomforts you've been enduring… all because of my thoughtless passions."

"We were both foolish that night," she assured him. "We both have decisions to regret. But neither of us is as fully to blame as we might be, and neither of us intended any harm. You know not what a relief it is, what a blessed lifting of my burden, to know that you never intended to use me and then cast me aside, that I was not simply duped into believing better of you."

"I cannot imagine the burden you've borne. That I might ever have made you feel so worthless—I will never forgive myself for that! And I will spend the rest of my days making it up to you."

Elizabeth felt her stomach clench into a tight knot. "Please, do not…"

"I will care for you, Elizabeth, I swear it. You have no need to stay here alone. I will take you away from here—you and the child shall want for nothing." His eyes widened. "Or the children. Twins! My children." He looked both haunted and reverential.

"No."

He brought his attention back to her. "I beg your pardon?"

"No. Please, you needn't burden yourself with us. I already told you—we will be well cared for here. There is no place where we would be happier. I am surrounded by friends, I will be gainfully employed, and my child will be raised up to contribute well to the world around him."

"You… you want to stay here?"

"I believe I was already clear about this. I will be no man's 'unfortunate mistake.' I don't want to live alone in a small home on some out-of-the-way estate, surviving uselessly on an annual stipend for our care, and I do not want my child to live its' life as a rich man's bastard. We would be better off here."

"Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said after a moment, his voice low and tender, "you and I do not know each other nearly as well as we should, and being transparent in our communication may always be a challenge since I am unskilled at sharing my thoughts or feelings. However, let me try to make myself very clear to you. Will you listen and believe me?"

She nodded slowly.

"I do not want you as my mistress, Elizabeth, and I do not want to place you somewhere forgettable like a shameful mistake. I am a man who takes his duty seriously, and my duty now, above all else, is to correct my errors with you. I will marry you. I will take you away from here, back to Pemberley where you can carry and bear our child in peace. Is that clear enough?"

She was relieved that he would not choose to be ashamed of her, but that did not remove the sting of all his words. She thought through what he'd just said, giving herself time to try and understand, and when she still came up unhappy, she decided to take him at his word and test his openness. She removed her hands from his and sat up straighter. "So you want to marry me out of duty? Forgive me, sir, but that is still not what I want. I would rather spend the rest of my life alone than force either of us into a marriage of duty. I thank you for your good intentions, but I cannot accept your kind offer."

Mr. Darcy released a frustrated huff of air, looking so boyish suddenly that she was instantly charmed, and in the next instant, completely annoyed with herself. "I do not want to marry you out of duty, blast it all. I want to marry you because I am in love with you!"

She felt her eyes widen, but she contained any other markers of surprise. He'd implied as much before, at least that he'd been more than a little drawn to her in Hertfordshire, and his whispered endearments on that fateful night had been more than clear, but the idea of him loving her even now, after so long, was almost impossible to believe.

"I cannot imagine why," she blurted, covering her mouth a second too late.

His eyes softened. "Can you not? I have been in love with you since… well, I can't even say when. I admitted it as soon as we received the news of your disappearance and I felt my heart burst with misery, but as you are well aware…" He coughed, trying to hide a blush. "…My feelings for you were quite engaged by the time you left Netherfield with your sister. You are beautiful and witty, but you are so much more than that. You are selfless and kind, you are loyal to a fault, you are clever and intelligent, well-read and thoughtful. When you are in a room, no other can hold my attention, and when I speak to you, it is as if no one else exists. At Netherfield, I used to start arguments with you on purpose. Did you know that?"

She shook her head vaguely, unable to stop staring at him.

"I loved watching your eyes flash in your righteous indignation, loved the way you defended the things you believed. I even loved your sharp attacks against Miss Bingley, the way you set her down without ever behaving badly. I know I only truly knew you for a few weeks, but you've changed me, Elizabeth. I have spent the last seven months barely living in my own skin, my thoughts always with you wherever you might be, praying for your safety and that I might find you and bring you home."

His eyes dimmed. "You've no idea the pain of discovering that I was the cause for your leaving in the first place. That I am the source of my own torture is horrifically ironic." Then he looked back at her, his expression pleading. "I see now how differently you saw the last weeks of our time in Hertfordshire than I did, and you might justly hate me for the pain I've caused you. It had even been made clear to me, from some references by Bingley, your sister, even your aunt, that you thought much less of me during those weeks than I did of you. I'd forgotten my tactless comment about your appearance the night of the assembly until Bingley reminded me of it when questioning my dedication to continuing the search for you. I was a fool, the world's greatest fool, and as far as I can tell, you know no actual good of me, but I can only confess my feelings for you and beg for an opportunity to convince you that I can be a man worthy of your love."

He hung his head, as if already bracing himself for her rejection.

Her mind raced. She couldn't discover what her feelings were or even figure out how to pin them down to examine them. They were moving and shifting too fast, too many contradictions and questions and uncertainties to grasp onto them. But she had to speak. She owed him an answer.

"Sir, I…" She bit her lip, ridiculously moved by the reluctant hope in his eyes as he looked back up at her. "I know not what to think, or what to do. The entire world, the history of the most influential months of my life is, I have today discovered, wholly different from what I thought it to be. You love me? It is outside of all I have come to understand. And yet, I cannot disbelieve you. I cannot even consider it."

"You believe me because it is true," he said, his hands ghosting over hers again. "Let that night we spent together stand as condemning evidence. Every word I spoke to you was true, every feeling of my heart earnest. It was the pain of believing it all a delusion that led to the rest of my stupidity, for I could not bear having thought I'd gained you only to discover it to be impossible."

"But your loving me, loving that memory of me, does not mean we would be happy. I…" She swallowed, fearing to cause him more pain. "I do not know you at all, and therefore I know not whether I would be happy or whether our marrying would be best for my child. I cannot marry you without knowing my own heart."

She was surprised that instead of looking dejected, he seemed almost eager. "Then know your own heart, I beg of you. When did you say the child will be born? September?"

She stared at him but managed to answer, "Around the end of August, although it will be sooner if it is truly twins."

"Twins!" he said again, this time looking a little dizzy. She almost giggled. He rushed on. "It will not matter so much if we wait then, will it? Not as long as we marry before the birth."

"Wait?"

He stared at her intently again as he slid off the couch onto one knee before her. "Elizabeth, allow me to court you. Let yourself come to know me better. Give me the chance to earn your love, your respect and admiration. I have been a fool, but I have learned much these past few months, much of myself and much of the world around me. I am humbled in ways I never imagined." He looked down at himself and laughed. "I am literally on my knees before you. And if in six weeks you still wish to remain here rather than marry me, I will do whatever you wish, even if that means leaving you alone. But please, let me try."

"Sir," she began, but her voice evaporated. She cleared her throat. "I…" Why could she not decide? Where had all her newfound confidence gone? Finally, she released another groan. "Oh, I cannot give you an answer! I cannot settle my thoughts! These are too many revelations for one morning."

"Of course," he said immediately, rubbing the backs of her hands soothingly with his thumbs. "Of course you needn't decide this moment. I shall… leave you, if you wish. May I return tomorrow?"

She could suddenly breathe again. "Yes," she said, her voice full of gratitude. "Yes, come back tomorrow afternoon. I am in the kitchen tomorrow morning."

He leaned back, dismayed. "They make you work in the kitchen? Like a scullery maid?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You said you were humbler now, Mr. Darcy?"

He looked sheepish. "I'm sorry—being a maid is honest labour. But you are a gentlewoman, and you were not bred for such a life."

"I am no gentlewoman here, sir, and even if I were, what is so different about a young lady that makes her above useful work? I have learned more in the last seven months here, sir, than I have in the last seven years at home, at least in terms of usefulness. Going back to a life of long, aimless walks, bored plinking on a pianoforte, and reading philosophy will be next to impossible. I suppose you must prepare for that, if you truly want me as your wife."

She could see him thinking carefully, planning out his words. The expression was familiar, and she suddenly wondered how many times she had given him credit for judging or disdaining when he was only being cautious.

"You are correct, I believe, that most young ladies are raised up in a sort of exalted idleness, and I have no objection whatsoever to your desire to make a meaningful contribution to whatever home you choose for yourself. My only concern would be whether you would plan to beat the carpets and muck the stables yourself. My wife, hopefully you, will have far too many duties to be wasting her time doing someone else's job. That would make both her and the one she displaced useless."

Elizabeth cocked her head thoughtfully. "And what are the duties of the future Mrs. Darcy?"

He smiled a little. "Mrs. Darcy will be the rightful mistress of my homes, both in London and at Pemberley. She will be the keeper of keys. She will be responsible for maintaining order and discipline among my staff, discussing and planning menus, acting as hostess to make sure any and all guests are well-entertained and cared for, chaperoning my younger sister until she marries, and supervising the education of any and all of our children. She will be responsible for the well-being of my tenants, a weighty job all on its own. She will be responsible, given her place in society, for handling all invitations, most social correspondence, and any dinners, gatherings, or house parties we conduct. And last of all, she will be the keeper of the Master of Pemberley, responsible for managing his needs, his moods, his duties, and his desires, with skill, balance, fairness, and, I hope, tenderness."

The early part of his description left her head spinning—so much for being useless! Yes, someone else could do all those jobs, take on all those duties, as she suspected he'd been doing for a long time, but they were the rightful role of Mrs. Darcy. Could she live up to such expectations?

The latter part of his description, however, made her stomach roll and her skin tingle all at once. To be the keeper of the heart of the Master of Pemberley—the idea was surprisingly appealing, which was ridiculous considering her general confusion.

"There is obviously more to being your wife than I had at first considered," she said, trying to prevent herself from blushing again. "It would take many more years here before I felt prepared for such a responsibility."

"Anything new takes time, but you are already equipped with all the tools you need," he said confidently. "You are intelligent, honest, loving, wise, and kind. And you are, I think, determined to be the best you can be at whatever you do. That is all you need. Well, besides my heart. You already have that, too."

She rolled her eyes at him, and he grinned in response. His smile was so cheerful, so unexpected, that it flipped her stomach again.

"You are very forward," she chided, trying to look unimpressed.

He seemed to see right through her, only smiling wider. "I promised I would be entirely honest. I am only keeping my word."

"Hmmm." Finally, she allowed a small smile, and his grin turned smug.

She moved to stand, deciding she needed to end the interview quickly before he caused her any more confusion. He shot to his feet and helped her up courteously, but he didn't release her hand.

"I will go now, Elizabeth," he said, perfectly serious again, "and I will return tomorrow afternoon. I pray you will think carefully, and I hope you decide to trust me, to give me a chance. After all, what harm could it do?"

What harm, indeed?

Aloud, she said, "I will think carefully, and I will tell you my decision tomorrow."

He nodded then raised her hand to his lips. "I am sorry, my love, sorry for all you have suffered." He kissed her fingers softly.

His eyes were troubled, and without forethought, she reached out and ran her fingers across his cheek, cupping his jaw. "I am sorry, too, for your suffering, both for the last few months and for the pain I suspect you will allow yourself to suffer as soon as you leave here. I may not know you as well as I should, but I believe I do know you are a man of deep feelings. Forgive yourself, as I have forgiven both of us. Do it for my sake if not for your own."

He covered her hand with his, holding her gaze intently. "I will try."

She smiled softly, but instead of returning her smile, his gaze intensified and swept over her face. He changed his grip on her hand, sliding his fingers slowly over hers, making them light up with warmth like stoked embers. She couldn't look away from him as he slid her hand over his cheek and onto his lips, placing a lingering kiss on the knuckle of each one of her fingers.

Her mind flashed back to similar kisses on the sensitive skin of her hand, his final kiss just before they both fell asleep that night seven months before. The warmth in her fingers spread like lightning through the rest of her body, so much more vibrant and dangerous now that she knew he remembered things exactly as she did.

"Until tomorrow, my love," he said, his eyes dark.

"Good day, sir," she answered, her voice embarrassingly breathy.

He released her hand finally and turned away, striding out the parlor door. He turned back just before disappearing, pausing in the hallway and giving her a penetrating look full of a thousand emotions. Then he left, and she listened to the sound of his exit, following it even to the beating of his steps on the stone of the front path.

She stepped backwards until her legs bumped the seat of a chair, and she sank onto it, overwhelmed. She sat there for an unknown amount of time, feeling full and yet completely blank.

She finally looked up at the sound of a tentative knock at the door.

"Beth?"

"Suzanna."

"He has gone?"

"Yes."

Suzanna swept in gracefully despite her reliance on a cane she'd found somewhere. She came and took the seat across from Elizabeth, looking at her seriously.

"That was him, wasn't it? The father of the child?"

"How did you know?" Elizabeth asked vaguely, suddenly exhausted.

"I could see it by the scared-rabbit look on your face, my dear. I thought you said no one knew of your situation."

"I thought no one did, no one but my aunt. She sent him here."

"And what did he have to say?"

"Oh, Suzanna!" she breathed, overrun by her array of emotions. "Oh, Suzanna!" Then she laid her head into Suzanna's lap and cried like a child. Suzanna stroked her hair gently, making patient, soothing noises, and even in the midst of her collapse, Elizabeth wondered how many other young women she'd comforted in just the same manner.

Finally, after gaining some control, she told Suzanna everything, all the truths she'd chosen not to reveal upon coming here. Suzanna had never asked questions, except needing to know whether any angry relatives might be seeking Elizabeth, making trouble for everyone. Now Elizabeth shared it all, down to the confusing morning and the conflicting feelings she was experiencing.

"Oh, my dear one," Suzanna said kindly, "you have suffered so much. It is all right to be confused, to not know what you want. Give yourself some time to adjust. And then tomorrow, tell the man that he may court you."

Elizabeth sat up, stunned. "What? I thought you said it was all right to be confused."

"I did. But my dear, from what you are saying, I think it's very clear that you are uncertain of your future, but you seem very sure that he is a good man who loves you deeply and wants to take care of you. It is only your fear that would keep you from giving him the chance to win your heart."

"My fear? But he offers me a life of ease and honor if I marry him. Isn't that the easy way out?"

"Of course not! The easy way would be to choose what you know here just because you are afraid of the unknown with him, no matter how attractive it may be. Be honest with yourself—you want him to court you."

Elizabeth thought for a moment then very slowly nodded her head. "You are right. I do."

"And while you are recognizing things about yourself, you should also be aware that although you are confused by all the hurt and pain of the last few months, your feelings regarding this man are exceptionally tender. I may be wrong, but knowing you as I do now, I believe you are closer to being in love with him than you think."

"But Suzanna, that makes no sense!"

"Love rarely makes sense, child. But think how protective you were of him today, even when you thought he was being deliberately difficult. The night you spent together changed your view of him. All your anger since then only covered up your attachment to him."

"That does not mean he is a good man," Elizabeth said weakly.

"No, and you are wise to insist on a time of courtship so you can learn more about him. You may come to discover that the two of you would be terrible to one another." She waited for a moment, looking deeply into Elizabeth's eyes. "But I do not think that is what you expect, is it?"

"No," Elizabeth whispered, overwhelmed again. "I expect he'll turn out to be every bit the incredible man I believe him to be."

Suzanna smiled sympathetically. "Six weeks should be plenty then."

"I am frightened, Suzanna. I do not know what these next weeks will bring. I am not ready to…"

"Not ready to be happy?"

"I have been happy here!" Elizabeth offered defensively.

"No, dearest. You've been content. That is different from real happiness, and much less frightening."

Elizabeth had no argument.

"Allow him to court you. Allow yourself to love him if he deserves it. Allow yourself to be happy, my dear. We all deserve the chance, but few of us receive it. Take it, for all our sakes."

Elizabeth felt tears in her eyes now, but this time it was with gratitude. "Thank you, Suzanna. You are wonderful."

"You are right," she shrugged elegantly. "I am."

They laughed together, helping each other rise, and as Elizabeth left the parlor, she knew that her life would be different now, that this day, this man, had once again changed everything. And this time, she was sure it would turn out for the better.