Author's Notes: Well, I honestly don't have an excuse for why I abandoned this story. I guess life got in my way a bit in 2016 and then I didn't have a working computer for the majority of 2017. I still have a very clear vision for where I'm taking this story, and I intend to finish it. I will not make any update promises that I can't honestly keep. Thank you so much for all the interest this story has received so far, your support has meant the world. I just can't help but love to play with these characters and examine them and it's so nice to have a community that's equally as fascinated with ODC. Please continue leaving your constructive criticism. It is greatly appreciated.

And finally, Chapter 3

PS: I don't have a beta


Some three or four miles down a country lane from Longbourne sat the house of Netherfield Park. It had once been the seat of a prominent family in the area, who's residence in the neighborhood had almost been as enduring as the Bennets'. However two generations prior, the young heir of the family had met with ill consequences while traveling from Hertfordshire to London and died without issue of his own. The property was willed to his young wife who gladly allowed the management of the estate to be in the control of her father. The original family of Netherfield continued to reside their until their deaths and it had subsequently been lent out since their passing.

It was an undeniably handsome estate, and kept in good repair by the owners with the aid of a stalwart steward and house keeper. An easy distance from London, fashionably appointed, and with a manageable amount of fruitful lands it was the ideal estate where an untried young man of six and twenty might try his hand at the life of a gentleman farmer. Certainly, that was what Charles Bingley had thought when he leased the place.

An easy going man, Charles was the sort of person inclined to being pleased under all circumstances in which he could be and then forgiving on those sad and rare occasion where he must not. No simpleton, Bingley had received a gentleman's education and complimented his learning with his bright, curious nature and sharp mind. However there were those among his acquaintance who felt that they must provide him with a prodigious deal of care, for his optimistic disposition was such as to always look for the best in everyone and everything, and this could sometimes lead to trouble.

It was this very care that brought Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire to the rolling hills of Hertfordshire. Darcy was far from hard hearted, but naturally reticent and inherently suspicious of strangers from a life time of study. He had been raised in a small, unvarying society of those relations and special friends considered worthy of the Darcy association. His only sibling was a younger sister, twelve years his junior and so he was often left to his own devices as a young man. The friendship between Darcy and Bingley was a strong and true bond. Bingley lightened Darcy and forced Darcy to expand his understanding of society, Darcy's level head and strong personality helped to keep Bingley steady and purposeful in his activities. It had only been natural that when considering an estate to lease and perhaps purchase that Darcy, almost six years into his role as master of a grand estate, would be by his friend's side for such an endeavor.

One friend naturally inclined to be pleased, while the other suspicious had lent itself to some rather varied opinions of their stay in the county thus far. They had been in the neighborhood almost a fortnight, and begun receiving callers almost as long ago as that. Bingley was greatly heartened by out pouring of welcome to the new community, Darcy wondered how precipitous such a welcome might have been had the new tenant been a family rather than wealthy bachelor and his more wealthy and equally unattached friend. Invitations to the upcoming assembly had been readily offered, not two full days after settling in the manor house. Regrettably, in Darcy's opinion, Bingley had accepted the invitations as speedily as they had been issued.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had expected the country assembly to be a tedious waste of an evening, as so many of them seemed to be. The cacophony of music and chatter filling the hall did not lend itself to much sensible conversation, and the taciturn Darcy found little to say in the course of a set. He despised standing up for a dance unless he was particularly acquainted with his partner. An assembly such as this one, in which he and his friends were to the be objects of the entire community's curiosity was an intolerable prospect.

The night had begun exactly as he had imagined it, the stares upon their arrival, the whispers that ripped through the room like wildfire, the fawning mothers and preening daughters. However, the night had taken an unexpected turn just past the first hour. They were introduced at last to the Collins family, the reported beauties of the county. Longbourne being the principal seat of the area they had already exchanged calls with the head of the family, but Mr. Collins had not seen fit to introduce his wife or charge to the gentlemen. They had heard many rumors of the ladies, little morsels of information from this new acquaintance or that.

Mrs. Collins was said to be formally Miss Jane Bennet of Longbourne, the eldest of several sisters to an estate entailed away from the female line. It seemed that the youngest of the girls had been sent away to school upon her marrying the heir to the estate, and the older sisters remained in the house under Mr. Collins' protection. There were also allusions that one of the sisters had gone away to seek a position that Darcy had caught briefly in passing…yet when this sister was brought up another had changed the conversation rapidly to another subject.

If there was one piece of information that did not disappoint it was in Mrs. Collins' sincere beauty. To say that Mrs. Collins was a remarkable visage was to do her a grave injustice. Bingley would later remark that he had found her to be positively angelic, and Darcy found even that glowing praise to be somewhat lacking. She cut a striking figure, fully figured but tall and lithe, thick honey gold hair elegantly arranged under a delicate lace cap. Her smiles were warm and inviting, her tone soft, sweet, her manners well bred and elegant but lacking affectation. Her cornflower blue eyes were lined by rich thick lashes that seemed to flutter with a mind of their own. Darcy was not a blind man, and while admiring, was not overcome. Bingley had become something of a besotted fool, and bemoaned his bad luck in her having a living and vigorous husband.

It was not Mrs. Collins who had grabbed Darcy's attention, it was her charge Miss Mary Bennet. He had not been sure at first what kept drawing his eye toward the young woman. She could not be more than twenty, and possibly younger still, she was so small and slender. Her skin was a stark, silky ivory that contrasted beautifully with the deep mahogany curls of her hair. She had strong features with a long thin nose and full lips which seemed to be set most often in a winsome sort of smirk. When he gave her his bow, he had seen her blue eyes assess him coolly, and been startled to feel a sense of indifference wash over him from her direction.

It had been Bingley and his gregarious nature who had instigated Darcy interacting with the Bennet girl for more than an introduction. He had stepped away from the floor after finishing a set with a local girl and strode toward his friend with purposeful, excited steps.

"Come Darcy!" The younger man cried, throwing his hands in the air with energy, "I must have you dance! I hate to see you standing about in this stupid manor!"

Darcy shook his head with a soft smile but his tone was firm. "I have already stood up once with each of your sisters, and you know it would be a punishment for me to stand up with any other woman present."

Bingley laughed a loud, his normally jovial nature heightened by an excess of company, good spirits, and dancing. He was practically ebullient when he snapped back, "Upon my honor, Darcy. I would not be as fastidious as you for a kingdom! I have never seen such an array of friendly people and pretty girls in my life."

"You have monopolized the attentions of the most beautiful woman in the room for half the evening. You are fortunate that Mr. Collins is not fond of dancing."

Bingley smiled widely and met his friends eyes unapologetically. "Mrs. Collins is an angel, there can be no second opinion on that score. Any man of sense must admire her, and she is a very kindly woman as well. Mr. Collins appears very fortunate in his choice of wife."

"Indeed Mrs. Collins seems to be a very fitting leader of society in this small town. Her manners were everything elegant and proper, your sisters may very well enjoy her companionship in the neighborhood."

"Look Darcy, there is Miss Bennet, her charge. They are sisters from what I understand of the local talk thus far. She is a very pretty girl and just as well mannered as her guardian. Ask her to dance."

Darcy had barely opened his mouth to speak when a confident feminine voice interrupted him. "Forgive me gentlemen, but I fear I must interrupt, your conversation is not as private as you may wish it to be." Mary Bennet's sky blue eyes turned toward them with a quizzical lift of her brow.

"Miss Bennet!" Charles sputtered, red faced in embarrassment. Bowing low to her he continued, saying, "Please pardon us if my friend and I have in anyway offended you."

The little lady gave her curtesy to them, her smirking lips pulling up at the corners as she turned her dancing eyes on him. "No apology is necessary Mr. Bingley, I seem to have forgotten I heard anything at all. I will return to my seat now, I am afraid I have had my fill of dancing for the evening, and am quite worn out." "Of course, Miss Bennet." The gentlemen bowed to her and she returned to her seat several feet away. As she stepped away the strains for the next set began to play, and clapping Darcy on the back, Bingley ran off to join his next partner. He had committed himself to every dance of the evening.

Darcy had continued to make his way around the room, nodding to those who looked his way but put forth no effort to engage with anyone at all. He heard snippets of conversation "two sets with Charlotte Lucas -". "Ten thousand a year! -" but could not focus on any particular one as his eyes continually sought out Miss Bennet from every vantage point across the room.

He could not call it an attraction for Darcy had felt passionate longing, had known the erotic pull of a woman's sweet smiles, and he did not feel drawn to her in such a way. She was not an unattractive young woman, but Darcy knew love, lust, and admiration and it was not those that he felt. Rather he was intrigued by her. Darcy was not sure if it was the sharp intelligence that shone through her clear blue gaze, or the way she chose to sit out the last half of the evening with an impatient look on her face and her fingers tapping. He felt an odd sense of comfort when his gaze would land on her, as if he was running into a very old friend. He felt she was altogether too familiar to him to be a stranger, yet knew with all his reason that they had just met. He felt nostalgic as he looked at her as if she was a member in a fleeting dream or pleasant memory.

Finally near the end of the evening, Darcy had navigated his way fully around the circuit and found himself standing by her again. He stood behind her, drinking in her slender ivory neck and the kiss of dark curls that danced along the nape of her neck as she tapped small feet to the time of the music. She was a graceful thing to look at, and Darcy found himself admiring her in a dispassionate way.

Suddenly, she turned in her seat, slender neck tilting her head at a jaunty angle. "Would you care to sit down, Mr. Darcy?" She asked with cool politeness.

So startled was he to find himself addressed by the very object of his study, he found himself at a loss for words. Her smirking lips twitched with stifled amusement. "Surely after so many laps around a ballroom even a healthy young man such as yourself might require a respite?" Soft white hands gestured toward one of the many empty seats near her.

"I thank you," Darcy replied, bowing with gravity. "no." His dark eyes met hers and could not help but be taken aback by the cold intelligence he discerned within them.

"As it pleases you, Mr. Darcy." She nodded, all politeness. "I suppose if Mr. Bingley has not yet tired out, it would make very little sense that you had."

She turned away from him then, craning her neck forward to watch the couples go by. Darcy was rooted to the spot, so surprised as he was to have been caught watching her. If her words had been said by another, said sweeter or with more humor, Darcy may have assumed this was another young woman who cared to flirt. Yet she was not a flirtatious young woman. If anything, Darcy had found her brusque and business-like. She was well mannered, and spoke with perfect civility, but there was an underlying severity in her tone and countenance that an observant man could not help but to study there.

He found himself sitting down.

Several long minutes passed, one set finished and the next began. Darcy attempted to keep his eyes on the dancers but they seemed to willfully disobey the edicts of his mind as he drank Miss Bennet in. He thought he might spend the night watching this young woman, and then she spoke to him once more - her tone bold, even quite possibly annoyed.

"Surely we must have some conversation, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy was surprised to be addressed by her yet again, and wondered at the propriety of being spoken to so directly. Yet they had been introduced, and he had been seated near her for several minutes now. He answered formally, "Do you speak as a rule then, when at an assembly Miss Bennet?"

"Indeed I do not, I take very little pleasure in the niceties, yet they must be observed for the preservation of society. It is a tedious task, but it is our duty to see it done. You may remark on the size of the room, and I shall comment on the number of couples."

Cynical Darcy could not help but crack a small smile, having felt similarly many times. He was in no humor to give consequence to young ladies who were slighted by other men, and had determined to remain aloof, but his quick wit could not be suppressed. He replied,"Having canvassed those topics, I suppose next I should compliment the musicians and you may…perhaps address the superiority of the refreshments offered here in comparison to another establishment."

Mary turned to look at him, her eyes brightened by the unexpected exchange. "With that said, we may return to our silent reveries. I believe we have exchanged all the necessary civilities." Her eyes smiled, but her lips did not.

Darcy nodded at her, his own lips twitching to keep back his laughter. It was an unexpected pleasure to meet a lady with some humor, caustic as it was. It had been a very long while since he had so much amusement in a conversation with the fairer sex…

Suddenly, a disconcerting notion struck him. The familiarity he felt, the bittersweet tug on his heartstrings, the way his eyes could not stop following her…she was familiar to him, too familiar at that. It had been almost two years since he had last seen her likeness, but there could be no mistaking it now that he recognized her. The long, thin nose and pert lips, the dark wild curls piled on Miss Bennet's head, he had seen them on another woman before, a woman that he had loved like no other.

It was more than likely coincidence, but Darcy could not settle the racing of his heart at the notion that he may be close to her in some way. Darcy had long ago realized that any actress of Covent Garden would have a stage name, was it so far fetched to imagine that Adelaide Bernard could be a relation of Miss Bennet's? He had always assumed that Adelaide had not been brought up high - had never thought that a gentleman's daughter might take to the stage. Perhaps she was a poor relation, or a sister born on the wrong side of the marriage bed.

The two were certainly not twins, he could attest to that. Miss Bennet was a very petite girl, almost doll like in comparison to Darcy's own tall and broad frame. His Miss Bernard had been much taller, with a lush figure. He had noticed her curves first when he had seen the now famous painting of her, The Laughing Venus, adorning the blue parlor of The Duke of _'s home. When he was introduced to her at the Covent Garden, he had thought that no painting could do justice to the elegant femininity of her form. The eyes were wrong as well - and Darcy privately thought that no other pair could be the same, green and honey gold and full of fiery passion, Miss Bennet held an icy blue pair, though her lashes were dark and thick in the same fashion.

Darcy looked at the girl, and wondered if he would have ever made the connection to Adelaide Bernard if not for Miss Bennet's biting wit. Adelaide had used words as her rapier and had cut more than one important man to size with her tongue. However, she was always so sweet, so arch, teasing and playful, that it was often impossible to find offense with her. Miss Bennet lacked that sweetness entirely, but the wit, the very obvious quickness of mind was present and made all the similarities between the two women even stronger.

Against his better judgement, Darcy spoke. "Has your family resided in Hertfordshire long, Miss Bennet?"

She seemed as surprised to be addressed by him as he had been by her own speech. "There have been at least six generations of Bennets residing in Longbourne, sir."

They fell silent again for a long moment. Darcy's curiosity was at war with his reticence. Eventually, curiosity won out and he asked what he had been longing to say. "I understand that Mrs. Collins is your elder sister, and Mr. Collins your father's heir. Have you any other siblings?"

Mary's eyes flashed in surprise at such a question. "I have several sisters." was her noncommittal reply.

"Indeed?" Darcy answered, attempting to keep his composure, "Please, tell me about them. It is very important for Bingley and myself to become well acquainted with all the principal families in the neighborhood."

And so the interrogation began.

vVvVvVvVvVvVv

Benito Forelli was not a young man. He felt the weight of each day that passed drape around his shoulders and settle on his bones. He was living on borrowed time, of that, he was certain. Scarlet fever had ravaged his body almost ten years prior, and Benito had been sure that his end had come. His last rite's had been read, and yet he lingered in agony for days floating between life and death.

When the fever had broken and he began to recover, he had wondered at God's plan for him. Why had his life been spared when so many younger and stronger people had fallen to the very same illness? He carried on with life, for what else was a man to do, but he felt listless and dispassionate.

Then one balmy spring morning a very flustered Michelson had approached him. There was a young woman calling, a very young woman, who claimed an acquaintance with him and demanded an audience. She had been turned away the day before, and today claimed that she would not be turned away, that she would starve herself outside the front door before she would leave the property. Michelson was a gentle sort, and did not have the heart to forcibly remove a woman hardly more than a child. He wrung his hands as he approached his master, unsure if he had made the right decision.

Forelli had been more amused and curious about such a to-do than anything else, and bid that she be admitted entrance. He walked into the parlor not knowing what to expect, and delighted at the prospect of a little mystery in the humdrum day.

Imagine his shock to discover that a fiery English rose, no more than fifteen had made her way alone to his door step. She was thinner than he recalled from the previous year, and certainly not as well kept as that delightful day he had sketched her in the factory.

"Signora Bennet," He had said with a charming smile, "how many I be of service to you on this lovely spring morning?"

"My name is Bernard," she spat, with a proud thrust of her chin, her speaking eyes flashing, "I have come to offer my services in your employ, if you will have me. I mean to be your model."

Forelli had known at that moment why God had spared him of the fever, why he continued to linger still on Earth years follow. He was meant to be the protector of that rare English flower, for hers had perished. In return, she served as his inspiration, his muse, and he soon came to love her as he had never loved anyone. It was a fatherly love, for she was just a girl, but in his heart Forelli knew that if he had been a younger man, if circumstances had been different, she would have captured him body and soul. She had that power, even then, little more than a child, to arrest a man with her passion. She was a soul that could not be contained by the constraints of society - an artist's temperament through and through.

It had begun with the offer of tea, which had subsequently become an offer to stay for supper. His soft inquiry had found that the girl had nowhere to sleep that night, the Aunt and Uncle he had met the year before were no longer an option to her. She would not explain the situation to him at first, but when he began to make plans to return her to her the protection of her family in Cheapside, her distress was so great that Forelli had forced her to explain herself.

She told him that she was ruined - that her parents were dead and that she had been cast out by her guardian because her reputation was sullied. She had little more than the clothes on her back and a small pittance of money which Forelli was almost positive she had stolen. She had come to him because she remembered how fascinated he had been by her, how aggravated he was that he did not have the luxury of time too capture her likeness with more accuracy. She said it had been a fool's errand to come, but she had nowhere else to go in this strange city, no other family to turn to. If Forelli would not hire her, she would seek employment as a servant.

Benito Forelli was a man of the world, learned, well-travelled, supported by wealthy patrons who appreciated his skill. He was an artist in every sense of the word, and had lived his life fully, enjoying both the philosophical rhapsodies of exploring life's highest meanings while also indulging all of his most base instincts. He was no fool - and he knew that an unprotected young woman, hardly more than a child, with not a schilling to her name, with no skills and no character reference would not end a servant in a respectable employ. If she did not die on London's violent streets, she would quickly find herself work in a whore house, the madams of London always had eyes on the streets looking for desperate young girls such as herself, especially one so lush and ripe.

His invitation to dine had soon turned into an invitation to stay the night, he could not in good conscious send her on the streets again. He had only one guest bedroom that was fit for company, for the other family rooms had been turned into studios for his work, as he lived alone. The next day that invitation had become one to stay a week, and rapidly from there a month to forever. He would not pay her a wage, but called her his guest, and saw to it that she received some new clothing fit to wear in the home. In return for his kindness, she would sit for him as he often as he wished to study her.

She was bright, perhaps one of the brightest young people Forelli had ever had the pleasure of meeting. She had only wanted for a furthering of her education, for opportunity to harness such intelligence and give it a proper direction. As much as Forelli enjoyed painting her, with her fine eyes and strong features, he found equal delight in educating Adelaide as well. He mixed with an eclectic set of bright minds and grand ideals, and exposed to such superior intellectual company, Adelaide rapidly flourished. By his own hand she was taught to draw with some skill, and by calling in favors of dear friends, she had the opportunity to study language, to train her singing voice, to become a true proficient at the piano-forte. She did not always take to her lessons, for like many young people the vigilant practice required to command any subject became tiresome very quickly. Yet she would deny Forelli nothing in her gratitude for his protection, especially when he teasingly told her that submitting to these lessons was her payment for room and board.

As Forelli looked on her now, standing elegant and poised in a room full of peers, he felt very blessed that he had been granted a few extra years on this Earth. He had been ready to slip away, but seeing the thin, feisty slip of a girl rise to her full potential was worth the pain of slowly aging. Dinner had been a grand a success, as Forelli had known it would be. The Matlocks had long been supporters of the arts in England. He had painted each of their son's portraits and dined with them once already. Lady Matlock was the true society leader of the family, an influential patroness of Alack's and one of the most well coiffed and handsome women Forelli had met. Her dinner parties were well known for their elegance, as well as the company that presided. Lady Matlock always made sure to have a proper mix of important society and people of interest to create stimulating and diverting evenings.

The evening's entertainment was on a somewhat more intimate scale than some of her Ladyship's more grand offerings. It was a table of one dozen, Forelli and Adelaide included. His Lordship presided over the head of the table, with the Duke of Essex in the seat of honor beside him. The Duke and Duchess were newly-weds when the old Duke had died, and only recently gone into half-mourning and begun to go out in society again. The Earl had been on intimate terms with his father. There was also the honorable Colonel Fitzwilliam, whom Adelaide and himself were both previously acquainted with, Mr. Reginald Ashbury, and his unmarried twin daughters, Eugenia and Clara Ashbury.

The Miss Ashburys, ardent fans of the theatre, were beyond thrilled to make the acquaintance of Miss Adelaide Bernard. She was no Sarah Siddons to be sure, but the young women were of the opinion that Miss Bernard could very well be on her way to the same greatness, and were eagerly informing her of such over their cordials post-meal.

"It is my greatest loss to have never seen Mrs. Siddons perform as Lady Macbeth - although we were able to attend a reading she did two years ago, and it was of all things delightful. She has such power in her voice, such passion - we were reminded of it greatly in your performance of Ophelia, Miss Bernard." Miss Eugenia turned toward her sister who was eagerly adding her affirmation.

"Indeed, Miss Bernard! My sister and I were moved to tears by your performance, and Ophelia is normally such a tepid, changeable creature…you quite made her Hamlet's equal!"

Adelaide ducked her head, a becoming blush gracing her cheeks. "I thank you, you are very generous in your praise. I beg of you though - please, do not put me in contrast to the incomparable Mrs. Siddons! For the sake of my own fragile vanity, I could not stand it. Can there be another like her? Do I dare presume to try?" The last was said with a playful smile.

"It is a brave man who follows in the footsteps of a legend, Miss Bernard." Forelli watched keenly as Colonel Fitzwilliam, the younger song of Lord and Lady Matlock crossed the drawing room to join in their conversation. "I imagine that the following in the footsteps of Lord Nelson was no small feat as well."

Adelaide and the Miss Ashburys laughed, the sound light and melodic. "No one alive can deny your bravery, Miss Bernard, or yours of course, Colonel." Miss Clara spoke, "I could no more dream of performing on stage than I could of rushing into battle. They are both equally beyond my capabilities."

Lady Matlock interjected then, her commanding voice guiding the conversation along. "It seems that there are as many forms of bravery as moments in time, or perhaps bravery is a matter of the individual's perspective. A thespian such as Miss Bernard must delight in being on the boards, not afraid of it."

Miss Clara seemed abashed for a brief moment, but rose to the occasion, she had not been brought up in the first circles of society for nothing after all. "Your Ladyship brings up a very valid point. Is bravery the act of doing anything one might consider a bold action, or is bravery the act of doing the one action that is most feared by the individual in spite of those fears? Can one be considered brave without first being afraid?"

Miss Bernard smiled in a becoming manner. "I do not think that either example signifies to one clear answer. Do I believe the absence of fear necessitates the presence of bravery? That is always a possibility, and yet it could very well signify a profound foolishness instead. However I do not think that one must truly fear something before taking a brave action - for instance, some of the more daring colors the ladies are wearing this season…were we afraid of orange and chartreuse in previous years, or simply taking brave and bold steps to set new fashions?" The laughter of those attending her conversation trickled through the room with the saucy lift of her brow. She continued, adding, "I do believe that most people carry at least some small degree of self preservation with them at all times. Even the most confident performer and the most capable soldier must carry some trepidation - to do otherwise would mark a worrisome loss of common sensibilities. Do you not agree Colonel?"

The Colonel inclined his head toward the actress in acknowledgment. "Any sensible man has felt fear, and many fools are exemplary examples of courage."

"I wonder than Miss Bernard," Lady Matlock queried to her guest, "what sort of bravery do you possess to take on the role of Juliet now? It is no small undertaking to be sure."

Forelli laughed, deep and warm, pleased to see that the Lady's keen humor did not disappoint. There was nothing he enjoyed more than intelligent company that provided lively conversation. It was in drawing rooms such as these where all the greatest minds and the cleverest of scenes of society's foibles came to play. Watching his charge, his darling girl, so elegant and poised, so fitting in this grand society brought joy and inspiration to him. With the charm only a foreigner and an artist could so possess, he joined the fray, "Perhaps, your Ladyship - Miss Bernard is a fool."

The Miss Ashburys appeared somewhat alarmed, but Adelaide's tickling laughter quickly assuaged any affront. "My dearest friend may attest to that fact - I am a fool, indeed, for we are all fools in love, and I have found my deepest love is the stage."

She could feel the Colonel's gaze assessing her before he spoke. "I am finding that soldiery and play-acting have more similarities than differences. I do not know a solider alive who would not say that the army is his first love - all other passions come second to serving King and country."

"There is one key difference between us Colonel." Adelaide replied, "A soldier can not entertain his hosts and company in a drawing room with his prowess on the battlefield."

The Earl broke his conversation with the Duke and Duchess to intercede. "Indeed, Richard, you can not argue the point with the good lady on that subject. Tales of the battlefield can make for excellent conversation at the club, but certainly not in mixed company such as this. I am longing for some entertainment, if the ladies present would be so kind as to oblige an old man?"

Lady Matlock was swift to arrange the young women to perform. The Miss Ashburys performed one duet with great skill and sweet charm and one piece each alone, the Duchess, being in half mourning, was permitted to be excused - "a great pity, there is no one who plays the harp with more credit" - and finally, it was Adelaide's turn to perform.

The actress stood with natural fluid grace and crossed the room to stand in front of the piano forte. "I am very sorry to disappoint or disoblige my gracious hosts, but I am afraid I can not perform as Juliet for you this evening - I beg you would excuse me on that score. Our rehearsals have only just started, and I could not perform the role with the credibility I so desire. Instead I will recite for you one of my favorite sonnets, something to catch the mood of my upcoming artistic endeavors." She smiled charmingly, her hazel eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

It was at that moment Adelaide caught the Colonel's eye, watching her with the polite visage of a casual acquaintance. They had been friends once, two years prior, but her rift with him had caused a natural rift to occur with the good Colonel as well. Adelaide found that she could not be bitter at the loss of the Colonel's friendship, it was only fitting that he should be protective of a cousin he viewed as more of a brother - she would be equally as guarded in the protection of her own family. Yet still, she found that the coldness of his address rankled…was she to be forever despised for something that had caused her enormous pain as well?

It had not been easy to turn away from such passionate regard, no matter how belittling and improper Mr. Darcy's address had been, yet she could not regret her choice. Clearly Darcy had carried much bitterness over the rejection of his suit, for though he had not publicly slandered her, the easy camaraderie she had shared with Colonel Fitzwilliam, their mutual acquaintance, remained severed. She had mourned the loss of his friendship as well as Darcy's. The hard glint in his eyes, buried beneath a life time of excellent breeding, was possible only for a studier of character such as herself to uncover. While no one could fault his manners, it was obvious to Adelaide that his resentment was an ever-fixed mark in his mind. Would he speak to his parent's against supporting Adelaide's next project? To have the backing of the Matlocks was truly imperative - to support new, bold, playwrights was a gamble few were willing to take - if she could but have the Matlock's endorsement would pave the way to much more support.

Oh! It was not to be borne. She had never set out to make any man fall in love with her, and certainly not to break his heart in rejection. She could not control that she was not at liberty to marry…women had such little control over their own lives before they came of age, and Adelaide had been three long years away from such freedom at the time of Darcy's disastrous proposal. To seek her guardian's consent was an impossibility that Mr. Darcy could never have understood, had she been willing to accept such an address…which of course she had not been. Was her life always to be beholden to the power of men!?

A rueful smile lightly graced Adelaide's lips before she began - between men and women, one had all the appearance of power and the other all the source of it - if she must soften the cold Colonel's heart to her benefit, she would use all her feminine wiles to do so. Inspiration struck, the artist's genius rising when she needed it most.
Casting her startling eyes toward the floor, one hand elegantly draped along the piano forte she began a much different sonata than the one she had rehearsed -

"When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state -

Her tone was dulcet, yet rich with restrained pain. Adelaide had always found that calling her hurt to the surface was remarkably easy to do - and seeing past the elegant drawing room and the sparkling glitter of guests in their finery, she allowed herself to become lost in memories while the Bard's words moved her through the journey.

"And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries And look upon myself and curse my fate, "

She swayed with the cadence of the words, her soft hand trailing along the piano forte in an absent minded caress. She allowed herself to be pulled further in to the familiar words, the comforting pain, and sensed that her audience began to be pulled into that same darkness with her. Her eyes glimpsed Colonel Fitzwilliam through a bevy of lashes… and her heart called to him as she spoke, urging him to feel as she did.

"Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least; "

The room faded away as Darcy's visage came blinking into her mind's eye. Oh he had been something of a fool in his address, but she could not remember him without some fondness. His affection had not been the work of a few weeks, but the duration of an entire season in very active company together. In another world, another life, he would have been the exact sort of gentleman she might have wanted to marry - but that life was closed to her - could the good Colonel not understand the pain that had been her burden to bare in refusing him? Surely he must feel it now, after all this time.

Quite unconsciously, Adelaide's powerful eyes called Colonel Fitzwilliam's to meet hers as she spoke. They were mournful pools of luminescent brown, drowning her audience into the depth of her sorrow. The room had grown very still in the power of her emotion, the tension rising incrementally with each line. As she neared the conclusion of her little speech, she quite forgot herself entirely.

"Remember him." Her heart called firmly, "You must remember him." And she did. Indeed, she could not forget him, though two years had passed. She remembered the slight upturn of his lips when he tried to conceal an improper laugh, she saw his dimples twinkle at her when he allowed himself a full grown smile, heard the timber of his rich voice caress her ears. She allowed those memories to warm her, to bolster her, to remember the past only as it's remembrance gave her pleasure. "You were loved once," her heart hummed with joy, "no matter what else becomes of you, once, you were truly loved. You mattered."

The warmth of that memory infused the finale of her sonata, just as she had known it would. She felt it fill her voice, sensed the thankful joy of love remembered kiss her skin, move her feet and guide her hands…and finally, finally, touch her eyes and spill towards her audience, saying all the words that the Bard could not find himself.

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;
For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings."

A heavy, pregnant silence filled the drawing room with the conclusion of her speech. Each guest seemed unwilling or unable to break the spell that been cast. Forelli felt the same rush of both unadulterated pride and euphoric joy he always experienced when witnessing Adelaide perform her art at her best. That he was a part in that talent, however small! Looking around the room, he saw the way his hostess's eyes glittered in the candlelight, and knew that his darling girl had triumphed once again.

"Oh Miss Bernard!" Miss Eugenia Ashbury breathily punctuated the silence, pulling a handkerchief to her eyes. "Oh my!"

The room then broke into enthusiastic applause, always the most true testament to the skill of an actress. Adelaide accepted their praise with curtsies filled with humility and good humor, begging to take her seat again and let others perform. However, Lady Matlock had little interest in being entertained in the usual methods when such an example of artistry was before her. Only hearing from Adelaide would now satisfy her, and the actress answered this call with mild-mannered aplomb.

The evening passed in this pleasant fashion for some time following and did not draw to a close until just past the fashionable hour. Lady Matlock was full of grand ideas to help promote Miss Bernard's run as Juliet, and engaged with the maestro in heated tete-a-tete as master and pupil awaited their carriage. Seeing her unencumbered, Colonel Fitzwilliam took his opportunity to speak freely to his former friend.

"You are as enchanting as I recalled you, Miss Bernard." He said, not unkindly.

She dipped her head in acknowledgement, a slight hint of girlish pink dancing across her cheeks. "You are very kind, Colonel Fitzwilliam. I am very pleased to see you again, and in such good health. When we last met, it was under much more grim circumstances."

He nodded calmly, his plain face set in an unreadable mask of civility. "Has it been two years entirely since we last met?"

"No," she answered, just a touch too quickly, "it was at the end of the season that we last met, not the beginning…I believe it must have been April at least."

A flicker of interest flashed in the Colonel's eyes, "Indeed madam, you are quite right. I seem to recall that time in much better detail now."

Adelaide recognized that he was assessing her, and could not help but squirm somewhat under the scrutiny of his gaze. She forced a light laugh before she spoke, she was an actress after all. "Tell me Colonel, were your friends all in good health when last you met?" Her tone remained even, but the rose of her countenance made it clear to them both who she enquired of.

"Yes, all in excellent health." He answered with a significant look. "Though it has been some months since I have met with most of my friends. Our mutual acquaintance spends the little season in Hertfordshire, at a friend's estate, I expect that he will be in Town shortly enough."

It was then that the Colonel witnessed a sight of which few others could boast. The actress's face paled considerably, and no amount of thespian talent could erase the fact that he had seen her become quite discomposed. Her speaking eyes came alive with their golden highlights, nerves jolting them into a brightened alertness. She looked positively frightened, though the Colonel was too well bred to dare make that observation to the lady herself.

"Mr. Darcy resides in Hertfordshire? She answered, wringing her small hands together.

"Indeed, he stays there in aid of a friend who has recently leased an estate - I can not recall if you are acquainted - Mr. Bingley, is the gentleman's name…the estate I believe is called, Netherhall, or Hallfied…something to that effect. Darcy means to assist his friend in establishing residency at his first estate before joining us in Town for the holidays."

"Netherfield Hall." The words escaped her lips quite of their own accord.

"Yes quite right! Netherfield. I take it you are acquainted with the area Miss Bernard?" Colonel Fitzwilliam did not take care to conceal his interest in Miss Bernard's admission - it was perhaps the most he had heard her speak of a spot that was not in London.

Adelaide remained pale, but she regained her equanimity enough to speak in her usual teasing manner. "Yes, I spent some time there before I took to a professional stage. It is a very easy distance from Town."

Just as the Colonel was about to reply, Signor Forelli's carriage arrived on the drive, and Fitzwilliam family was obligated to bid their guests goodnight. The pair boarded their equipage with very mixed emotions, triumph, pride, anxiety, exultation, all bandied together, but the most palpable of all was unmitigated fear.


Obviously the sonnet used does not belong to the author. Please review with constructive criticism. I appreciate all feedback. Hope you are enjoying this story of (kinda obvious) intrigue!