A/N: Thank you all for your kind reviews for the last chapter. You have no idea how much reviews mean to an author--your response was enough to make me definitively decide to make this a series as opposed to a one-shot, so look for more chapters in the future. And, without further ado, please enjoy the Clairfield's story, set just about seven months after the last...

The Clairfields

The second that Mr., Mrs., and Miss Clairfield entered Pemberley House one September morning, it became very clear that they had chosen the wrong day to visit. Usually, houses as grand as this were for the most part unoccupied, but the sight that greeted the Clairfields as they walked through the door was of 3 children running across the entryway and dashing up the stairs. Seconds later came an old, haggard looking woman with a toddler on her hip, running after them.

The servant that had opened the door for them tried to talk over all of the noise. "We are so sorry," said she, "but today Mrs. Darcy is in labor and we are not accepting any visitors—"

But she was interrupted by the woman calling after the children. "Elizabeth! Catherine! George!" she shrieked, struggling to chase them and failing to their youthful agility. She turned to enlist the help of the servant. When she saw that they had guests, she instantly changed her face.

"Oh why hello!" she said warmly. "I'm Mrs. Bennet, good to meet you. I take it you are here to tour the house? 'Tis a house worth seeing, no doubt. My daughter, you know, is the mistress here, Elizabeth Darcy? She enjoys it, I do suspect, but she is ever so modest, never talking about her privileged lifestyle in front of those less fortunate. This is her son, you know, Fitzwilliam? And just about now she's having another child, which is the reason for this chaos. Oh, dear me, the children! Mrs. Reynolds, could you?"

"Certainly," said the servant, and she hurried up the stairs after Elizabeth, Catherine, and George.

"May I shew you into the parlor?" Mrs. Bennet asked the guests. Mr. Clairfield nodded shyly, quite sure that he no longer wished to see the house and the chaos that came with a new child and yet sensing that Mrs. Bennet would not be very happy with them if they declined.

The parlor proved to be no calmer a place. A tall, dark man was pacing anxiously in front of the window while a girl read in a quiet chair in the corner. Another girl, no older than seventeen, calmly talked with two women on a sofa. Four men, two young and two elderly, were immersed in their own conversation somewhere else in the room.

"Everyone!" said Mrs. Bennet. "Everyone!" she called, louder. Nine faces turned to look at her exasperatedly.

"These are the…" Mrs. Bennet looked at the Clairfields for the name. Mrs. Clairfield interjected:

"Clairfields."

"Yes, yes, the Clairfields," Mrs. Bennet said. "The come to tour the house."

"Today?" One of the elderly men interjected. The man pacing in front of the window also looked surprised and a little frustrated at the news.

"Well, yes, Mr. Bennet, obviously today! Please forgive my husband," she said to the Clairfields. She proceeded to introduce them all.

"The girl in the corner there is my daughter, Mary Bennet. Her fiancé is over here, talking to Mr. Bennet. The other two young men in conversation are my daughter Jane's husband Mr. Bingley and my brother, Mr. Gardiner. His wife is over talking with my daughter Kitty Bennet, and they are conversing with Mr. Bingley's sister Caroline. Oh, and pacing in front of the window is Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth's husband."

Mr. and Mrs. Clairfield took in none of this, and their daughter only deciphered from Mrs. Bennet's introduction that none of the men were single.

"I'm afraid that there won't be much of the house to see today; my daughter has strictly forbidden anyone to go upstairs save my daughter Jane and dear Georgiana Darcy. Never mind we come all this way, and me in my bad health…" She looked very agitated. "No, we all must stay in the parlor for news. Silly girl, it's a wonder she married so well…"

Miss Clairfield, who was staring fairly shamelessly at Mr. Darcy, could have sworn that she saw him roll his eyes at this. He walked forward and addressed Mr. Bingley in a low voice.

"I think I'll go upstairs again and request to see her. She won't allow me, but no matter. I can't bear it here. Come and find me if you hear news."

"I think I'll accompany you, Mr. Darcy," said Caroline. He shot her a look that was both very confused and very agitated, but addressed her politely none the less.

"Certainly, Caroline," he said.

"And I'll show our guests a bit more of the downstairs," said Mrs. Bennet to the room at large. No one heard or addressed her. She led them out of the parlor, but before she exited the room, Mrs. Clairfield heard a snippet of conversation between Kitty Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner.

"I tell you, Mr. Darcy is horrid unpleasant when he's not around Lizzy. I never realized it before because he is so rarely without her," Kitty Bennet said.

"He's just worried about her. He's not always this way when removed from her company," Mrs. Gardiner reassured her. "He's much more amiable since they married. And she more sensible and accepting. A good match, aye Kitty?"

And then it was odd for Mrs. Clairfield to linger any longer and she followed the party into the library.

But upon entering, little Fitzwilliam suddenly threw up all over a very disgruntled Mrs. Bennet's dress.

"Oh dear me! You silly child! I swear it, you have your mother in you already. Always creating trouble, and such a lack of concern for clothes and bonnets! Are you sickly, young man?" She asked him. Then she turned to the Clairfields.

"Do occupy yourselves with books while I go wash up and get a servant to tend to you and this little pest," she said shrilly.

The Clairfields nodded their heads awkwardly and followed orders. Miss Clairfield chose not a book off the shelf but one lying on a table by the chair next to the door, clearly being read at present. Emma, it was called.

She sat down in the chair but couldn't bring herself to concentrate on the book, for outside in the hall a very interesting conversation could be heard from her place by the door.

"To bring guests into the house on a day like this! Stupid woman!" Caroline Bingley was saying. "And all her talk of advantageous marriages. It must be wearing on you to have her around. Truly, Mr. Darcy, I do pity you."

"Do not pity me," he said, exasperated. "I am most content, save the fact that I must return now to that dreadful parlor. I don't see why Elizabeth is so adamant…" He trailed off.

"Oh yes, Elizabeth," Caroline snickered. "Your controversial wife. And how are things going between the two of you?"

Mr. Darcy, who, judging by the sound of footsteps, was walking towards the parlor, said tonelessly, "Wonderful, Caroline."

She seemed to confuse his frustration with her as pent-up frustration with his wife, for the next thing that came from her mouth was said in a rather seductive tone. "Fitzwilliam, look at me," she demanded. And then, with more intensity that suggested that he had cooperated, she went on: "You must be wondering why I accompanied Jane and my brother to see your wife give birth to your child, considering my obvious distaste for the woman. It is because I need to talk to you.

"I see your pain. I know you—you got out of your arranged marriage to your ridiculous cousin Anne by allowing your current crush to have your hand, and now, you are regretting the decision, after having to live with her."

"Caro—"

"Please. I have not come to criticize. I have come because I have thought this out—believe me, I have. And I have decided that it matters not to me that I shall be the second choice, the second bride. Should you care to divorce her, and if I know you, then you do, I am willing to let you have me."

It was silent for a long time. Finally, Caroline cut it sharply:

"Say something!" she demanded.

"A moment!" said Mr. Darcy. "I am gathering my thoughts."

Several more seconds passed. Finally, Mr. Darcy began carefully, slowly, as if it was imperative that she understood what he said and yet he was unsure how to convey this to her. There was also a curious edge of both fury and pity to his tone.

"Caroline, you do not know me. You do not know me if you misinterpret my feelings for my wife in such a way. I loved her more than I thought myself capable when I proposed to her, and my regard has done nothing but grow—exponentially! Caroline, the more I see of her, the more I fall in love with her. I miss her when we are apart, and when we are near I feel it is not near enough. I do not know how I can make you understand how wrong you are. Had she been a nothing but a crush, I certainly would not have gone through the hell that I did to secure her hand. The last thing that I would ever wish to do, and quite literally the last thing, Caroline, save hurting one of my children, would be to willfully part from her forever."

Miss Clairfield was both awed and moved at the beautiful speech. She instantly felt very stupid for her earlier staring. Miss Bingley was quiet for a while, and Miss Clairfield pitied the woman with quite obviously little sense. How she must be hurting right now! To be so very wrong! But Mr. Darcy had been very kind to her, not to speak of how ridiculous she was.

"But I don't see how you could…" she trailed off. "And then all of that angry pacing a moment ago! Was that not agitation with her and her family?"

"You misinterpret me, Caroline. That was worry—worry for her and our child! And anxiousness—you have no idea how excited I am to see them finally. And surely a little agitation for her mother, but my regard has grown a little for the woman since I have come to understand her love for her children."

"I guess I should leave now, and not trouble you with my presence."

"Caroline, do not feel the need to remove yourself so soon—"

"I am quite mortified, Mr. Darcy, and confess that it may be best for myself should I go as soon as possible."

Miss Clairfield judged from her tone that mortification was not an emotion that she often felt, and that it was a feeling that she absolutely despised.

"As you wish," Mr. Darcy said quietly. "I wish you the best, Caroline. Truly. Find someone that is to you what Elizabeth is to me. I promise to you that nothing will give you greater happiness."

All Miss Clairfield heard then were quick footsteps, and she knew Caroline Bingley to be gone from Pemberley, likely for ever.

Mrs. Reynolds entered the library then, Fitzwilliam on her hip. The Clairfields exited the beautiful room, and as they passed Mr. Darcy, little Fizwilliam called to him.

"Daddy!" said the little boy, reaching for his father. Mr. Darcy took him and held him casually on his hip, smiling at his adorable face.

"He just threw up on Mrs. Bennet, Sir," Mrs. Reynolds stated.

Mr. Darcy chuckled quietly and muttered something under his breath that sounded something like: "Good for you, son."

But out loud, he said to the toddler, "Are you sick?"

And he started to walk into the parlor with him. On his way past her, Miss Clairfield caught his eye and smiled. It was a friendly smile, kind and warm with no hint of flirtation.

She knew now that he was taken in a more significant way than just husband and wife. That was considered to be the ultimate union, but Miss Clairfield knew that married men did not always consider themselves unavailable. Mr. Darcy was different. He was completely and wholly his wife's.

Mr. Darcy retreated into the parlor, thinking of Miss Clairfield's smile. There was a new respect in her eyes that made it quite clear to him that she had overhead his conversation. He didn't particularly mind. Let his love for his wife and poor Caroline Bingley's ignorance be known to the world. It was not as if each was not clear to the sensible observer.