Author's note: No, this has not been abandoned! Sorry this latest installment is so late and so short! I'd been setting this installment aside for months, thinking that I would finally get around to picking the entire story apart and restructuring it, however, based on my current zippy track record, that probably won't happen anytime this century. Hopefully I'll crank out the next chapter before year's end! In the meantime (if anyone is still out there!), thank's for your continuted consideration.

Chapter 3

A particularly fine day in early April of the following year saw Pemberley House all aflutter with activity. Along with the usual bustle and comings and goings that normally occurred in such a large house, preparations were also afoot for the upcoming arrival of a small party of friends. While seemingly a matter of little note, this was fact a momentous occasion for the new Mrs. Darcy, as it would mark her first time serving as hostess in this grand place. Due in part to her close familiarity with one of the two couples, consisting as it did of her husband's best friend Charles Bingley and her own dear sister Jane, Elizabeth was not at all anxious. However, the second couple was unknown to her, and as explained by her husband, this meeting would be one of some delicacy. This guest, accompanied by his new bride, was an old school acquaintance with whom both Darcy and Bingley had been out of touch for nearly eight years, and there was the very real possibility that things might not go well. Despite her husband's cautious words, Elizabeth possessed an innate ability to rise to every occasion, and was therefore spurred on to meet this person, and challenge, with nothing less than her usual pluck, happy enthusiasm and acute anticipation.

So it was with a spring in her step that she went off to find her husband this day, as she wished to question him regarding the food preferences of his long lost Eton friend. As she neared her husband's suite of rooms she happened to pass his valet who was just on the way out from that place. In his arms he carried an immense stack of neatly folded, vaguely familiar looking apparel. After nodding and smiling to the man in greeting she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, the uppermost garment in the pile having happened to draw her undivided attention.

"Foster?"

Foster backed up carefully until he stood directly across from his inquiring mistress, craning his neck around the pile of garments in order to better place the lady in his line of sight. "At your service, ma'am."

"Where, exactly, are you taking those?"

"These clothes, ma'am?"

Elizabeth pursed her lips ever so slightly as she tamped down a needlessly pointed bon mot. "Yes Foster, those clothes."

"Well you see, ma'am, this past week I've been working with the master to cull out some of his older garments, and today I am carrying out his instructions to deliver them to Warwick and Mr. Garrison. This is the last batch, ma'am."

"To what purpose? What do the butler and steward intend to do with these garments?"

"I believe it is the master's intention for them to oversee their distribution amongst both the staff and any tenants who might be in need. Such a generous man the master is! Always looking out for the well-being and comfort of others."

"Yes indeed!" Elizabeth concurred, "Mr. Darcy is, without a doubt, the very best of men. However," she demurred, as she reached up to pluck the uppermost garment from the pile, "I'm certain there's been a mistake, as I know Mr. Darcy would never want to part with these."

"But… but ma'am…!"

Always one to carry out his master's instructions to the letter, Foster's first inclination was to sputter in protest. Luckily, however, prudence soon intervened, and any lingering perturbation on his part quickly melted away under the unrelenting brightness of Mrs. Darcy's sunniest smile.

"Of course you are absolutely correct, ma'am. No doubt there has been some mistake. On my part, certainly."

"Thank you Foster. If you happen to see Mr. Darcy, be sure to let him know I've been looking for him. And Foster, one more thing if you please…"

"Yes ma'am?"

"We never had this conversation."

"… Conversation, ma'am?"

With one final, cloud parting smile, Mrs. Darcy hugged her contraband close to her chest. Her original purpose completely overthrown Elizabeth swiftly turned back towards her own rooms. Any discussion of the culinary likes and dislikes of her husband's Eton friend, a Mr. John Barrow, could certainly await another hour or two!

Watching as the lady fairly skipped to the neighboring door, Foster could not help but wonder how a ratty old pair of buckskin breeches could bring such joy to the Mistress of Pemberley. Finding no answer in the immediate vicinity, and indeed, for that matter, even doubting the existence of one, he slowly shook his head and carried on with his duties.

Upon reaching her sitting room and closing the door Elizabeth slowly unfolded her treasure, holding the garment first to her cheek then aloft before her happy eyes. A careful examination confirmed that yes, these were the very same buckskin breeches that had been worn by her beloved on nearly every significant occasion prior to and immediately following their reaching an understanding. Indeed, it had been several months since she last saw Fitzwilliam wearing them, as they had recently been displaced in his favor by a much newer pair. Elizabeth had not realized how much they were missed! The resultant demonstration of her happy reunion included the kissing, fondling and sniffing of said garment, and the holding of it against her body whilst cavorting about in front of a mirror. Indeed, so intent was she in the execution of her joyful jig that she failed to hear a knock at her door, followed by the entrance of the very person of her ruminations.

"Dearest, Foster says you've been looking for m... ...Elizabeth? Elizabeth!"

Well and truly caught, Elizabeth blushed to the tips of her hair. Carefully folding her ill-gotten gains, she tucked them away into the safety of a nearby work basket. After crossing the room to re-close the door, she took her husband's hand and guided the poor, dumbfounded soul to a settee, sat him down, took a seat beside him and proceeded to tell her tale. It was a testament to Elizabeth's powers of persuasion that when Darcy left his wife's suite one half hour later, he was wiping his eyes and red with laughter.

And the breeches stayed behind.

o~O~o