Fitzwilliam Darcy trotted along on the back of his Bess insensible to the crisp air and everything else an autumn morning in Hertfordshire provided. His mind was still surrounded by the events of two nights previous and the last time she had spoken with him. That particular night, perhaps the best in his life, could have only gone better if he had woke up with his fingers entwined in her hair, her leg wrapped around his hip, her mouth… No, better not go there.

His horse bucked a bit as if reminding him to be the gentleman rider he was. It appeared Bess was much like her namesake, perhaps he should mind the Good Queen and strive for his mind stay in moral purity… for at least as long as possible… the next five minutes?

Impossible when I have not laid my eyes her form in over four and twenty hours.

Nevertheless, Darcy had rightly seen Elizabeth Bennet the next morning after their accidental assignation in the billiards room; she was just not as dewy and tousled as he would have wished.

She had appeared at the breakfast table prior to their party boarding the carriage for Sunday services. As much as he silently willed her to look his way, she would not.

No little tongue darting out to catch a dab of cream smattered on her lip, no neckline just a little too low to tempt his restraint, and not even an acknowledgement that now they might be friends after such a night of intimacy… even if it was intimacy which did not really cross such any sort of defined line. No, no, clear lines were most certainly not crossed… just the obscured ones.

Such a tormenting wisp of a…

His horse gave a shake before he could finish that thought. "Yes, Bess, friendship is irrevocably out of the question now. At least that line was crossed."

"Pardon, Darce?"

"Nothing, Bingley. Let us ride on."

The men directed their steeds upward and onward toward the slip of a town that was Meryton on a cloudless Monday morning, and Darcy allowed his mind to assail him again of the previous day.

Despite not having his lady muse all mussed in his arms upon waking on the Lord's Day, he had woken yesterday morning feeling calmer and at peace than he had since the summer previous – it was such a content feeling. One night spent in her company – even fully clothed and not bodily attached, and he felt revived.

And being so finely affected, he at least expected a nod of acknowledgment when he entered the breakfast room before they departed for services. Was one of her smiles too much to ask?

Apparently so.

He spent his time pretending to eat his eggs but instead was doing everything he could to catch her eye short of dripping his yolk into the four folds of his white neckcloth. Though he had only seen her hours previous in Bingley's game room, he wanted to know if the morning light held as much promise as the moonlight had.

Apparently not.

After shaking the paper out more than was necessary and clearing his throat no less than five times, he finally had settled for the direct approach of wishing her a good morning, but before he gathered the courage to speak aloud in front the assembled group, Bingley's sister had to enter the room with all her stately airs and something dreadfully fowl upon her head. Did a morning's worship really require such an animal sacrifice?

My god, they were English Christians, not pagans of antiquity.

Perhaps Miss Bingley qualifies as both? If the dead canary on her head had his say prior to being stuffed and dyed, he would certainly cast Miss Bingley into the lot of the latter.

"Dear Lord, Caroline! What in the blazes has roosted in your hair?" Mr. Hurst's bluntness could occasionally be counted upon when needed, and Darcy chuckled again to himself of the horror which went around the breakfast parlor the morning before.

The vain woman's decidedly unfashionable choices were good for something at least when Elizabeth looked up from her plate. She did not smile. But, her cheeks were pink and when her eyes met his, he knew the laughter was tucked away into the brilliance.

Finally… a connection – he would take it.

He had not even noticed the faint puffs under her lashes which showed perhaps too little slumber.

Somehow, Darcy, the Bingleys, Bennets, and Hursts all made their way to the little parish church not above three miles away. Silence was the order of the morning after Miss Bingley's spectacular set-down of Hurst in response to his careless observations.

Bingley and Darcy wisely chose to ride instead of entering the carriage that morning. As much as handsome Bennet women and the promise of confined space were privately a draw to perhaps both men, the screeching scene at breakfast was still too fresh and awful for Darcy to be tempted by the almost longing look Elizabeth shot his way as she was handed in the conveyance.

Horses eventually stopped in front of the stone chapel, steps were lowered, and the ladies were escorted out and down by an abandoned Hurst, who really did not care for being the only male in a carriage of four ladies. At least Darcy and his friend dismounted to offer their services of escort.

Darcy was jolted back into the present Monday morning from the one before by his horse's effortless jump and adjusted his seat.

He kicked Bess into a full gallop leaving Bingley in his dust. Better to remove himself lest he call out his friend for having a witch of a sister. An offense, helped or not, worth a fight to at least first blood.

He did not like to think on the exhibition which occurred yesterday in the parish yard, but a steeple now clearly in the distance called it into his mind anyhow.

Such a brash, horrible….

When the gentlemen went to move the ladies into the church, somehow Darcy managed to outmaneuver the feather-headed shrew to instead offer his arm to the woman who captured his interests most.

Miss Bingley was not pleased, to say the least, and as Darcy flicked a coin to a young lad to tend his prized horse who was cooling off from their short ride, Evil Incarnate let her jealous wrath be known as she was forced to take her brother-in-law's hockish arm.

"Ah, Mr. Darcy, your queen is a supreme little thing. How charming for you publically bring her to the church today so all these fine people may see your superior selection in fillies. We would have made room in the carriage, you know. I do hope it was no burden to ride Elizabeth as savagely as you have and on God's day no less. But, I suppose it is in her nature to enjoy a thorough tumble in the wide open with a gentleman such as yourself – such a vigorous, impertinent creature prancing around as she does! I dare say I fail to understand how you appreciate such insolence despite the fineness of her features."

Darcy felt Miss Elizabeth tense to a stop and turn her body as if to offer a firm defense. How was she to know the formal name of his horse? Not that it mattered, the slight went inflicted where it was intended. And, some insults were too clear-cut to go unchecked.

He could feel the flames rolling off her, and it was more of the brimstone variety as opposed to the sensual intensity he recalled from the night before when his body almost ran the length of hers over the edge of the billiards table.

He had quickly covered her hand where it rested on his arm with an assuring grip, and that seemed to stop her long enough to allow the other Elizabeth, Elizabeth Tudor, Defender of Faith, Good Queen Bess, to respond apropos. He could not have played it better than his horse.

No wonder I hold this beast in such esteem.

Said beast, a true regal piece of horseflesh, named for a virgin queen, and who was also at the center of Miss Bingley's comments, was held in place firmly by the young lad. But, having a mind of her own (just the same as the lady who coincidentally shared the name), she chose at that moment to give a snort of disapproval. A slippery string of clear discharge sputtered a short distance landing squarely on Miss Bingley's late bird friend.

Before the Bigley crone could squawk, Darcy raised both brows and issued a glare that none in their party could mistake for anything other than grave disapproval. "My horse, named for our past Monarch, Elizabeth of England, or as I affectionately refer to her as Bess, clearly does not approve of your comments, Miss Bingley. And, as her admirer, I do care for your insulting words either. But, please accept my handkerchief."

All be damned, as much as he wished against it, he bowed as slight as he dared, produced a linen square for Miss Bingley with one hand, and pulled Miss Elizabeth Bennet closer with the other. He leveled a look to those around him daring them to speak. "Miss Elizabeth, may I escort you to your family?"

She inclined her head then looked Caroline Bingley square in the eyes knowing the witnesses were already in place. And then, she did the unthinkable, she lifted her chin and deliberately looked away.

The only sound was Miss Bennet's gasp.

Good God, he hoped never to be the target of the daggers coming from her eyes. It was bad enough to be in the vicinity. For all that Elizabeth was good and kind, she apparently did not take an affront on her back.

And that begged the question, what would she accept on her back? Or would he be the one on his back as she took control over him just as she had done with Miss Bingley?

He pushed those thoughts away and neither said a word as they led their party to the church. When he kept her closer than what was correct, she did not pull away. And, the warmth transferring from her to him which was the earlier result of her blameless fury was somehow spreading into a feeling he should not feel as he walked into a church.

He was honored to come to her defense and at least publically correct the matter of the name of his horse, but she was a woman to stand on her own if required. Independent, so far above any crass behavior to acknowledge it with a war of words. No, like him, she was a person of action when so required.

She was a strange combination of Athena and Aphrodite. He had no doubt the cut she had just given Bingley's sister would have something more akin to bloodshed had they not been standing in the parish yard. It would not have even been a contest.

He worshipped her strength of composure and wished to tell her, but she remained silent and he thought he should keep his commendations and apologies mute as well lest he run away with himself and march her up the nave to demand the parson marry them straight away so he could carry her off and exhibit how emboldened he was by her own self-possession.

The object of his veneration cleared her delicate throat, and the only hint of her return to calm civility was a strange smile she graced him as she moved into the pew with her father.

Mr. Bennet stood and his mien was not a kind one. Once Darcy noticed the other man, he cast the crazed reverence off his person and willed his face… and only his face to be hard as he hastily took to his own seat.

As it seemed, God was not the only one to fear if he accidentally gave any indication of the unchaste sensations Miss Elizabeth's gloved hand and poise in the face of malevolence induced his person.

Better yet, he should take up Miss Bingley's sacrificial cause and go find some innocent lamb's blood to anoint over his head.

He needed some way to expunge the sins of his mind because his free-will was not allowing him a choice in the matter of pure thoughts. If some version of a Passover occurred in this very Christian house, he was well-aimed for hell. I am a first-born after all.

Oh, how the sight of her righteous indignation fueled his basest passion, and it was not abating at the droning of the clergyman. He closed his eyes during the prayer and sent one up for his wasted self. He almost seduced Elizabeth Bennet on a Billiards table the night before, and now in the light of day, he could not control his desires.

He should not be experiencing these kinds of feelings in a house of his Lord and Savior. Yes, I need a savior, and she is in the form of lithe limbs, ample curves, and inner strength.

God save me.

And, God save her should she not save me first.

The parishioners were led in song. Darcy chanced a glance across the aisle.

Then he saw it. A single tear escaped her eye.

If Caroline Bingley were a man and a gentleman at that, he would have called her out.

The sweet, playful woman of the moonlight he had almost kissed was hurt despite the strength she showed.

Better yet, God save Caroline Bingley.


"Darcy! I say, Darcy! Slow your beast, man. You cannot go barreling into town like a horseman of the Apocalypse."

I certainly feel like one.

Darcy reluctantly slowed his horse. He was still angry with Bingley for not sending Miss Bingley to London after yesterday.

"Come now. Let's make our way through Meryton and then on to Longbourn. I am eager to know if Miss Bennet is feeling well."

Darcy nodded and refrained from rolling his eyes. After Elizabeth had hinted, he now realized his friend was utterly infatuated with the elder Miss Bennet. It was pathetic, almost pathetic as his own obsession with the sister.

This reminder added to Darcy's foul mood.

"I say, perhaps we do not have to go all the way to Longbourn. Look there Miss Bennet is with her sisters… and some gentlemen." Bingley kicked his horse to trot ahead.

Darcy went to do the same as his eyes alighted for the woman who flooded his senses even when she was not near.

There was a prick in his chest.

She was not alone.

If Bingley had thought he was a horseman sent to reign down damnation just a few moments previous, now the whole town of Meryton would witness Fitzwilliam Darcy as a harbinger of judgement. He may as well have had his sword in hand and his horse painted red.

Elizabeth Bennet had his full attention. And, now it was not himself who was in danger.


A/N: Well, some seemed to encourage me to make this into a story... though it will not be a long one. Had to introduce a little conflict I suppose. My apologies if anyone finds my references a little too sacrilege.

The light-hearted fun will return at the end of the next chapter.

Also, didn't really proofread part of this as I'm sick and just want to go to bed. Ignore the typos and I'll try to fix tomorrow if they are too glaring.